Alexander the Great story: Love Letters by Moon71
LOVE LETTERS by Moon71
Chapter 9: Though he knows it's wrong, Alexander cannot help reading Hephaestion's letters. It gives him a precious insight into his friend's true feelings - but what if Hephaestion finds out?
He abandoned his ride, his session in the gymnasium; he even abandoned his obligatory bath. All that seemed to matter was getting back to his room before Hephaestion returned. All that mattered were Hephaestion's letters. They haunted him. They frightened him. They tantalised him. They lifted him on a wave of Hephaestion's hopeful love only to toss him down on the rocks of his despair. Unwillingly he found himself challenged by Hephaestion's arguments to the point where he longed to run to him and launch into debate.
Here, laid bare and vulnerable to Alexander's violation, was the mind, heart and soul of his beloved. Alexander, always so full of thoughts, concepts, ideas, of fears and worries and wild hopes and dreams, had thought he would go mad for lack of a true confidante until Hephaestion had entered his life. From the moment they had become friends, it suddenly seemed to Alexander, he had never stopped talking, nor had Hephaestion stopped listening.
And he did listen, thinking through everything Alexander chattered to him at high speed; whenever he was asked, he always had an opinion. Should Alexander himself have listened more and talked less? Until this spring, when they had begun to push apart, Hephaestion had never seemed to want to do more of the talking; his confidences had been boyish ones, trouble with family or other boys, fears about his studies, his combat skills. Even these complaints seemed forced out of him; Hephaestion, Alexander acknowledged as he sat there, nagged by guilt, was tremendously proud. And might not ever have wanted Alexander to know this much about him.
He should have put the letters back and forgotten about them, then made some suitable sacrifice to the Gods. A true sacrifice, a personal one, as penance for this wickedness. But the allure was simply overpowering. He wanted again and again to plunge into the depths of Hephaestion's inner world; to know his friend inside and out. How could he not have known, not have suspected, how deeply the still waters ran? Hephaestion's struggle for and against his own desires; his disappointments and dashed hopes, took on heroic proportions in Alexander's romantic heart. There was only one aspect of this Love-Tragedy of Hephaestion that Alexander did not want to acknowledge - the identity of the Beloved.
It could be, must be, surely had to be -
But just possibly it wasn't. And even if it was…
But one letter most of all, the one he should most have detested, kept drawing him back. In a way it said nothing Alexander had not already guessed. But the words touched him in a way that none of the others, with their various arguments, their alternating pleas, protests, apologies and defiance, had managed to do. There was love here, as there was in all the others, but there was more than that - there was happiness. There was hope.
Dearest Beloved,
For a few moments I have peace. I cannot tell you why, please do not ask, and I know it will not last, it never does. But I do have peace. So let me tell you the happy images I hold in my heart. Let me dream my perfect dream of our first night as lovers, just as I want it to be.
We would begin our perfect evening with lamplight and sweet wine. I will sit on the bed and you will sit between my knees with your head back against my shoulder. And you will read to me in your sweet, clear voice, maybe something from the Iliad or perhaps, if you will not laugh at it, some stories from my book about the loves of Heracles. I like the ones about Iolaus best, because he was a squire in battle and a good chariot driver, just like Patroklos…
As you read I will touch you. I will stroke your hair, your face, your neck; I will rub your shoulders until I feel you sink into my arms like cloth, soft and boneless, but I will tell you to keep on reading, I will hold back my desire for as long as I can. While you read I will touch you more, your belly and hips, your thighs, first on top, then in between, and you will tell me if it feels good or if it doesn't. At last, when I know you are truly happy, I will ask you to tell me where else to touch you. Wherever you say, I will touch you until you tell me where to go next. When you are ready, lay the book aside, and then if you like you can touch me too. At last we will kiss, on the cheeks, on the lips, on the throat…let me kiss you all over your body, I have dreamed of that for so long…
After that? Perhaps we will stop then and take some more wine. Perhaps we will put out the lamp and slip under the blankets. Or hold each other close and talk? Perhaps we will just carrying on kissing and touching? We could go to sleep then and there in each other's arms, I could do this if I knew it was only the first of many nights. What would you like? Which one of these appeals most to you?
Do you like how this sounds? If only I had the courage to leave this letter for you to read! I am ready at this moment to do it, but I know my nerve will desert me very soon and I will snatch it back, and hide it with all the others…
Alexander felt a strange shudder pass through his body as he read the words again and again, unable to tear his eyes away. He felt his skin growing hot - he even felt a stirring in his loins which mortified him but was not enough to scare him off. He touched his fingers to his lips, feeling them tingle as if after a kiss, stroked his throat, slipped his hand downward to his bare chest, and found himself wishing it was Hephaestion's hand. Oh, how could he ever give in to Hephaestion's desires when just one foolish letter overflowing with boyish ardour was enough to enthral him?
The sound of footsteps in the corridor sent Alexander scurrying to replace the letters and leap upon his own bed like a guilty thief. When Hephaestion appeared at last, moving quietly, a little wearily, Alexander watched him with the eyes of a person able to see after years of blindness and wondered if he really knew him at all. His heart jumped as Hephaestion looked over at him, frightened by what he felt. If Hephaestion came to him now and demanded love, he was not quite sure he could refuse.
But Hephaestion did not come near; he settled at his desk with a very heavy sigh. Alexander continued to stare at him, biting his lip in anticipation. Another letter - he had to be about to start another letter!
But there was no letter that night. Hephaestion simply sat staring at his desk for a long time before retreating to his bed.
The next day was a rest-day. Alexander awoke with a pang as he remembered; once he and Hephaestion had dreamed of their days away from study, carefully planning how best to spend their time together. Now they seemed to spend more time planning how to avoid one another. Alexander, who hated lying in bed doing nothing, stayed where he was while Hephaestion rose and began to dress, but could not pretend to be asleep.
"Where are you going today?" he asked to break the crushing silence.
"My parents," Hephaestion answered too quickly, too brightly. It seemed as though he had been waiting eagerly for Alexander to talk to him; both struggled to say more, then gave up. Alexander's sigh was almost a moan. Had it really got so bad between them?
"Will you send them my… best wishes?" Alexander managed at last. He no longer felt he had the right to offer them his love.
"Of course!" Hephaestion flashed him a brief smile, then, as if inspired, took a few steps towards Alexander's bed. "Alexander, would you…"
"What?" Alexander snapped convulsively, startling both himself and his friend.
"Nothing, it doesn't matter, I'll see you this evening. Health to you." Hephaestion retreated before Alexander could stop him. Alexander groaned into his pillow, cursing himself. What was the use? How could he talk to Hephaestion when he did not know what he wanted to say?
Perhaps he could write a letter, just as Hephaestion had? He could always throw it away afterwards if he didn't like what it said! Glancing towards the door, he slid out of the bed and went to Hephaestion's trunk. He would have a last look at the letters for inspiration before he apologised to the gods for his prying. He found his hands shaking as he unrolled them, unable to resist reading his favourite one yet again.
"Alexander, listen, why don't you come with me today? We need to…"
Hephaestion's words trailed off as he stopped in the doorway, staring at Alexander crouched by his trunk as if he could not understand what he was seeing. "Alexander…?"
Alexander glanced from Hephaestion to the letter in his hand, then back to his friend, determined to meet his eye despite the fact his own face was burning and he was aching with shame. "Hephaestion, I…"
"Alexander, how could you?" Hephaestion's voice was a thin whisper.
"I… I didn't mean to… I thought…" A hundred excuses leapt into his head, but he dismissed them all. He was guilty; as a Prince, he needed to take responsibility for his actions. He held his head up proudly, though he felt he was about to be sick. "I'm sorry, Hephaestion."
"How could you…?" Hephaestion repeated, his voice fractured with emotion, "Why did you? Must you take everything from me, aren't my heart and soul and… body… enough? Gods know they all belong to you, even if you don't want them! Won't you leave me anything for myself? At least in… them…" he gestured clumsily to the letters in Alexander's hand, "I could be honest… at least… with myself… I could imagine… let myself believe that… perhaps…"
"I'm sorry," was all Alexander could say, choked with guilt, "I'm so sorry…"
"I hate you!" Hephaestion's words struck Alexander like a blow; by the time he had recovered, his friend was gone.
Alexander wanted to bury his face in his hands and cry, to strike out at his own body, to punish himself; to suffer. More than anything else he wanted to sink into the ground and disappear. But he did not. This time he was not going to run away and hide.