Alexander fic: Behind the Veil
Title: Behind the Veil
Author: trust_n0_1
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish they were.
Summary: Hephaistion is sick and Bagoas needs to repay a debt. Bagoas' POV.
Warning: Angst angst angst
I have tried to convince myself that when I went to see Hephaistion early that October evening in Ekbatana it was because I owed him a debt of more than just gratitude. In truth, I was ashamed of my own thoughts and I could not hide it from myself any longer. I understood that as I walked the corridors of the summer palace thinking of that morning in the Gedrosian desert, when I danced with death so closely that I almost forgot Alexander’s embrace. And just as I was ready to sink, a pair of strong arms, and an even stronger will, had pulled me back from the brink of the inevitable, had set me on a horse and had reminded me of the place that I was lucky enough to hold at my King’s side
‘Look after him,’ Hephaistion had said then. ‘I cannot. I have my own work to do,’ the words spoken not harshly as I had expected, but rather with the exhaustion that was little wonder after his incursion in the deadly territory that had already claimed thousands of lives. Yet I understood him then.
There were times when I wondered if Hephaistion’s countrymen could actually bring themselves to see past their own jealousy and bother to look deeper, or if any of them had ever caught a glimpse of what lay beyond what Hephaistion was willing to show the world. But I had looked deeper, having studied my erstwhile rival closely for years, and found with no small amount of surprise that my youthful hatred quelled down to curiosity and disturbingly - fascination. It had taken a long time to even allow myself to accept that maybe, behind the mask that Hephaistion painstakingly kept in place, lurked something else entirely. That this man blessed with the looks of a god, although with none of the thick skull and arrogance that seemed to go with it, had a spirit more indomitable than all of Alexander’s close companions put together.
Be it as it may, things would have stopped there and I would not have looked further had it not been for that morning in the Gedrosian desert, where Hephaistion had done the unthinkable and gone back for me, in that forsaken place where those who fell behind were left behind and every man fended for himself. Having my life handed back to me like that added a new measurement to my invisible hurts: that of duty. Something unspoken had passed between us that day, something that I was certain Hephaistion had lost no sleep over, but that had altered my own thinking in many ways. A remnant of jealousy, pushed deep inside the recesses of my heart and almost forgotten, had reared its head, bringing with it the harsh sting of shame. For how could I continue to be jealous of a man who had saved my life and given me back to his beloved?
It was said that saving someone’s life henceforth made the saviour responsible for the one he’d saved. That could not be further from the truth, I thought while making my way towards Hephaistion’s chambers. The palace noise was muted for that time of the day, when just before dinner it would be at its noisiest, with people of all ranks coming and going. It was entirely possible that there were orders for the noise to be kept down, what with Hephaistion lying sick as he was for more than a week.
But it was more than silence. This wing of the palace seemed eerily still, like a tomb, the open corridors wind-swept and deserted but for a handful of scurrying slaves. In spite of the heat, I shivered as my destination came into view. Even the guard standing outside Hephaistion’s apartments looked carved in stone. He made no sound or move to stop me and yet I hesitated for a long moment before pushing the door open, wondering what I was truly doing here. I had to be convinced once again that my heart was in the right place when I entered that sanctuary.
The evening light bled into dark red shadow when I stepped inside and my eyes needed some moments to adjust. The aroma of incense was so overpowering that it blotted out the smell of sickness, perhaps, I thought, not for the better. If I had to languish sick in there, I would choke. Yet I knew that even with unexplained fevers such as the one that had struck Hephaistion, the medicine caused the patient to be often worse before he became better, even with the healing herbs burning and whose potency made my breath catch.
A figure sat by the bed and I almost collided with the chair when it turned to face me, the shaft of light caused by my entrance having alerted them to my presence. I half-expected to see Alexander, even though I knew that he was away at some award-giving or other to the game victors of that day. He would come along shortly to check on his friend and keep him company until he slept, as every other night since Hephaistion had fallen ill.
My eyes, still slightly unfocused, could not make out the features but a rustle of beading and jewellery told me that this must be the princess Drypetis, Hephaistion’s wife. And indeed it was, because she unfolded to her full stature, reminiscent of her father’s, and I almost discerned her worried features in the reddish light.
‘He’s sleeping,’ she whispered. She seemed glad to see me. In spite of the rumours I heard at the time of their marriage only a few short months before, I had recently learned that, as reluctant as Hephaistion was in the beginning, he had in fact grown quite fond of her. Surely, for his part, he must take the production of heirs very seriously, any personal feelings aside. Although, as I saw it, enjoyment could hardly hurt - if indeed it was the case. But the young princess was another example of how easy it was for Hephaistion to work his charm, although I was willing to wager that he didn’t try very hard in this particular instance.
‘How is he faring?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice as low as hers.
‘Perhaps a little better than yesterday,’ she replied and I perceived from her serious, urgent tone that she wanted the talking kept low for fear of disturbing his seemingly quiet slumber. ‘But the fever has returned this afternoon.’
‘It is always worse in the afternoons, Princess,’ I tried to soothe, sharing what little I had learned in the years of campaigning with Alexander. ‘I will watch over him for you, it is nearly supper time.’ After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.
‘Thank you, Bagoas,’ she said, turning towards her husband once more. ‘I sent all the servants away, they bothered him. Please keep them out, they keep bringing incense and healing herbs and he cannot take anymore,’ she instructed. She looked genuinely worried for her new husband and her step was unsure when she slid out of the room, no lady in waiting trailing after her.
Once she was gone, I looked at my charge, settling into the chair beside him. He was swaddled in many blankets, in spite of the heat, all witness to the chills of the fever that had been ravaging his body for the better part of a week. Alexander had told me that Hephaistion was better than yesterday and that he had even tried to sit up, but clearly that had taxed his hard-won inner resources, for he looked exhausted even in sleep. From the little I saw in the half-light, I noticed that his tangled hair curled slightly from the dampness of sweat, like it did in India, after many days of rain and humidity. I had noticed then, as I did later, that it did little to rob his face of the grace he always carried so effortlessly. Yet he seemed like a waxen statue, with lips white and cracked and I could not help but wonder if Alexander would kiss him now. It pained me to think - to know - that he probably would and I wondered what part of me enjoyed tormenting my own self with entertaining such worthless thoughts.
Suddenly, I found myself grateful that he was asleep for what would I tell him if he were to awaken? Our dealings, though polite enough, had never been cordial. And yet I felt compelled to be there and after three days’ hesitation, I had finally decided that it was time to repay a debt. Surely, I could not restore Hephaistion’s health more than I could have helped myself that morning in the desert, when he found me, but it felt like the only right thing to do. In Alexander’s absence, at least I could tell him if anything had improved or not. Not that I had fully resolved to tell Alexander about my visit. It had crossed my mind that should anything happen to Hephaistion while I was in this room, Alexander would demonstrate no mercy. Maybe that was the true reason why I hesitated until I learned that indeed he was better. It would take a few days to shake his fever off, but he was young and exceptionally strong and before the week was out, word had it that that he would be cheering the games at Alexander’s side during the day and working hard at night to provide his King’s future heirs with little cousins. After all, it was Alexander’s wish that children be born out of their unions with Darius’ daughters, thus making their fathers kin.
My contemplation was cut short by a feeling of being watched me and I refocused my eyes to find Hephaistion staring me square in the face. Even in sickness, his eyes were bright though bloodshot and rimmed red and the frailty I saw there worried me. It looked to me as if he held some knowledge that he would not share with anyone, least of all with Alexander, and I saw a shadow of something that I tried to dismiss as a mere reflection of the poor light. But all the while it gnawed at the back of my consciousness. He pinned me with a long, almost disbelieving look before I finally remembered myself.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ His eyelids dropped closed in assent. I glanced around his bedside table, where an assortment of medicine cups were arrayed.
‘Water, not those vile teas,’ he rasped and I poured him a cup from the pitcher. I couldn’t really blame him, he had been on a diet of liquids ever since his fever had started and he had to be sick of the various concoctions that the doctors had forced into him.
With difficulty, he lifted himself on one elbow but it was too much effort for him to bring his hand out from under the covers, so I held the cup against his lips and he took slow sips. It must have been painful to swallow, for he stopped and I heard him sigh after each gulp. He did not give up though and he almost spent his energy when he flopped back onto the pillows, his hairline glistening with fresh sweat. It moved me that he did not show suspicion that I might be giving him something foul to drink and I remembered how, years ago, blinded by my first jealousy, I had wanted to poison him. To have him drink from my hands showed me that indeed, if he did not trust me beforehand, he did not think me a real threat. The realization did not anger me as I expected.
‘Would be good… to have some wine….,’ he said haltingly, glancing at the ceiling. Even in that light I could discern that he had turned pale with the effort. I took a while before he found his voice again and I busied myself with arranging his pillows and folding the many blankets around him. I did not want him to know I had realized how weakened he really was.
‘Would you like me to take some of the covers away?’ I asked and I had to train my voice to sound detached, like a healer speaking to a patient. He shook his head, so I tucked the covers tighter around his body.
‘Did Alexander send you?’ he said hoarsely, though coherently enough. Even with his ragged voice I could detect his surprise.
‘No, he did not,’ I replied and he shifted amongst the pillows, trying to find some comfort.
‘I thought so. He trusts you though,’ he stated the obvious and yet I could not think why he sounded remotely satisfied. There was a lot that I had yet to understand about him.
His body, I reasoned, was used to activity, and he must be sore from lying in bed for so many days. He would never say it, but I saw it in the way he shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a better position and I heard it form the frustrated groan he let out. A little part of my heart breathed a sigh of relief, for indeed if he was bothered by being bed-ridden, he must have been getting better. And I threw myself into believing it with all my heart.
Then I did something that he did not expect but which was the reason why I had wanted to visit him in the first place: I reached for his hand under the blanket and grasped his wrist with my fingers, gently tugging it out of the warm nest. The skin was clammy and cold and it seemed as if his fingers had frozen in painful stillness. I met little resistance yet before I went any further I glanced at him and saw that he was only partially surprised.
‘Your joints must be sore,’ I explained and I weaved my fingers through his, gently cracking the stiff knuckles, mindful of pain. ‘If you’ll allow me, perhaps I can be of help.’ He nodded briefly and I saw his mask slip a little. And through it I glimpsed it again, that which no one could see, except for Alexander.
I had brought perfumed oil along to rub into his callused hands, made coarser by the sickness. Slowly, I kneaded each finger, rubbing along the bone, gradually using more strength when I saw that he did not recoil and that it brought him relief. I worked circles into the palm then around each knuckle, stroking the pain upwards to the fingertips as if I could draw out the disease. Using both hands, I rubbed down and around his wrist and pressed firmly along the sides of his lower arm bone, where I had been taught that repeated pressure would release tension in stiff joints and make nausea disappear. I felt his muscles tighten at some point and had no doubt that his sensitized flesh was smarting from the repeated pressure, but he shook his head imperceptibly and prevented me from ceasing the movement. Finally, I weaved our fingers together and rolled our hands loosely, easing the remaining tension. When I was done with his left hand and I placed it gently under the covers, noticeably warmer than before, I climbed - boldly - on the other side of the bed beside him, reached for his right hand and started all over again. In all this time he spoke not a word, but his eyes were heavy-lidded and his breathing quiet. Not a shiver ran through his body and at some point he threw the covers aside, seeking the comfort of air against his skin.
It was well past dinner-time when I finished. The lamp light was stronger and for a moment I was fooled into thinking that he had fallen asleep. He looked more comfortable and his features had gained a measure of unruffled tranquility that had not been there earlier. As I gently released his hand on top of the covers I pulled around him anew, I felt his blood pounding steadily in his wrist and his cheeks were now flushed with more colour than the deadly pallor I had found on him. I could not help but smooth away a rebel strand of hair falling across his cheek, a single imperfection on that near perfect face. It was far more of an intimate gesture than the massage I had just given him and yet I felt abashed at the thought that he might awaken at my touch.
‘Thank you, Bagoas,’ he murmured through closed eyes and I started a little. I would have preferred him to sleep and not notice me slip out though I couldn’t think why. ‘You have good hands.’
I half expected him to say that he didn’t wonder that Alexander kept me by his side, but he did not and it only served to increase my self-rebuke. Then he opened his eyes and to my shame, I was forced to acknowledge all over again why Hephaistion was a world where even Alexander lost himself. It had nothing to do with the glimpse of vulnerability which he never let anyone see, but I knew without a doubt that it was something else also which he did not wish to hide from me any longer. I had the certainty that what I had suspected all along was there: a light of spirit that burned with a quiet steady flame, unlike Alexander’s own brilliant and all-consuming one, yet somehow no less formidable, if less visible. It was that which had kept them joined for so many years and it was only this kind of flame that would have survived Alexander’s proximity without being smothered. In front of this certainty, I was awed and again my heart constricted painfully. He did not need to say anything to me, because he understood.
The flutter of his smile broke abruptly as he was overcome at once by a chill that made his whole body jerk involuntarily and I heard his teeth chatter with the intensity of it. There was a moment of silence when I could think of nothing to say to him. Instead I looked at his upturned face and a feeling engulfed me when I saw Hephaistion’s eyes squeeze shut: if he should die, Alexander would not survive. I had known this for what seemed like a lifetime, but, looking at Hephaistion, the certainty of it slammed me against the borders of sanity. I wondered then if there were any god willing to strike a bargain with me: that I would turn my back and never see Alexander again, if only Hephaistion could be spared. For Alexander’s sake.
‘Please don’t die. Please don’t leave him…’
To my utter horror, I had spoken the words out loud, because he focused a piercing glance on me and I realized that he had heard me perfectly. His shaking subsided and he said nothing for a moment, but he frowned and I saw the outline of his jaw muscles clearly as he tightened it.
‘I’m not going to die, Bagoas. I’ve been sicker than this,’ he said with surprising gentleness, though I fully expected a harsh rebuke for my ill-chosen words.
There was truth in his words, for I knew he had been sicker. I’d heard that in India he went down with a nasty jaundice fever. But I could not be rid of the feeling that, in spite of the show of nonchalance he put on, he was in fact slipping away, and no matter how much my inner voice tried to silence the thought, it imbued my mind, portending disaster. I told myself in vain that it was my concern for Alexander’s soul that pushed me to reach such outrageous conclusions. Yet at the same time it felt as if I had now crossed a barrier and that Hephaistion had acknowledged it, because he closed his eyes and just barely, something resembling a smile curled the end of his lips.
Pitiful words crowded in my mouth and I dreaded speaking them for fear of sounding above my station, but I spoke them nonetheless. ‘When you saved me, my life and wellbeing became your duty. Don’t give up on us now,’ even as I said ‘us’, I saw his eyelids drop for a moment. But my meaning was not lost to him.
‘You are a survivor, Bagoas,’ he said slowly, and I perceived that the effort made him breathe in short, pained breaths. ‘But your heart is in the right place. So I’ll ask you again to look after him, like I did that morning in the desert,’
It was the only favour that he would ever ask of me. Had he perceived his death before Alexander’s at the time that he had saved me and known that I loved him enough to sustain him for a little while? Hard to believe as it was, yet it was something that I had learned he would do, out of his love for Alexander.
‘Go to him,’ he said finally and it sounded as if he were releasing me into Alexander’s care when in fact it was quite the opposite. There was odd mirth in his face when he spoke again and for a moment he looked younger than I’d ever seen him.
‘It’s your turn now,’ he said enigmatically. If he had let go, or wanted to tell me to look after his beloved once he was gone, I realized that he would not say it any other way.
It was the last thing he said to me before he closed his eyes and not long afterwards he drifted off to sleep. I slipped out of his room, silently as I had arrived, wondering at the meaning of his words, knowing it in my heart and praying that it would not come to pass.
It was only two days later, when Alexander had been forcefully pried from his beloved’s stiffening corpse, that I understood the enormity of the task that Hephaistion had appointed to me: I was charged with my King’s well-being, for however long he still had to live, as the only other living being whom Hephaistion trusted enough to love his Alexander. I truly mourned for him then and if I had another wish beyond Alexander’s comfort, it would have been to see Hephaistion one more time and thank him for his faith. As it was, I could only hope that he felt my gratitude, reaching beyond the afterlife and that when Alexander joined him, Hephaistion would be waiting, his inner light a beacon to his immortal love.
~ The End ~
Author: trust_n0_1
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine, though I wish they were.
Summary: Hephaistion is sick and Bagoas needs to repay a debt. Bagoas' POV.
Warning: Angst angst angst
I have tried to convince myself that when I went to see Hephaistion early that October evening in Ekbatana it was because I owed him a debt of more than just gratitude. In truth, I was ashamed of my own thoughts and I could not hide it from myself any longer. I understood that as I walked the corridors of the summer palace thinking of that morning in the Gedrosian desert, when I danced with death so closely that I almost forgot Alexander’s embrace. And just as I was ready to sink, a pair of strong arms, and an even stronger will, had pulled me back from the brink of the inevitable, had set me on a horse and had reminded me of the place that I was lucky enough to hold at my King’s side
‘Look after him,’ Hephaistion had said then. ‘I cannot. I have my own work to do,’ the words spoken not harshly as I had expected, but rather with the exhaustion that was little wonder after his incursion in the deadly territory that had already claimed thousands of lives. Yet I understood him then.
There were times when I wondered if Hephaistion’s countrymen could actually bring themselves to see past their own jealousy and bother to look deeper, or if any of them had ever caught a glimpse of what lay beyond what Hephaistion was willing to show the world. But I had looked deeper, having studied my erstwhile rival closely for years, and found with no small amount of surprise that my youthful hatred quelled down to curiosity and disturbingly - fascination. It had taken a long time to even allow myself to accept that maybe, behind the mask that Hephaistion painstakingly kept in place, lurked something else entirely. That this man blessed with the looks of a god, although with none of the thick skull and arrogance that seemed to go with it, had a spirit more indomitable than all of Alexander’s close companions put together.
Be it as it may, things would have stopped there and I would not have looked further had it not been for that morning in the Gedrosian desert, where Hephaistion had done the unthinkable and gone back for me, in that forsaken place where those who fell behind were left behind and every man fended for himself. Having my life handed back to me like that added a new measurement to my invisible hurts: that of duty. Something unspoken had passed between us that day, something that I was certain Hephaistion had lost no sleep over, but that had altered my own thinking in many ways. A remnant of jealousy, pushed deep inside the recesses of my heart and almost forgotten, had reared its head, bringing with it the harsh sting of shame. For how could I continue to be jealous of a man who had saved my life and given me back to his beloved?
It was said that saving someone’s life henceforth made the saviour responsible for the one he’d saved. That could not be further from the truth, I thought while making my way towards Hephaistion’s chambers. The palace noise was muted for that time of the day, when just before dinner it would be at its noisiest, with people of all ranks coming and going. It was entirely possible that there were orders for the noise to be kept down, what with Hephaistion lying sick as he was for more than a week.
But it was more than silence. This wing of the palace seemed eerily still, like a tomb, the open corridors wind-swept and deserted but for a handful of scurrying slaves. In spite of the heat, I shivered as my destination came into view. Even the guard standing outside Hephaistion’s apartments looked carved in stone. He made no sound or move to stop me and yet I hesitated for a long moment before pushing the door open, wondering what I was truly doing here. I had to be convinced once again that my heart was in the right place when I entered that sanctuary.
The evening light bled into dark red shadow when I stepped inside and my eyes needed some moments to adjust. The aroma of incense was so overpowering that it blotted out the smell of sickness, perhaps, I thought, not for the better. If I had to languish sick in there, I would choke. Yet I knew that even with unexplained fevers such as the one that had struck Hephaistion, the medicine caused the patient to be often worse before he became better, even with the healing herbs burning and whose potency made my breath catch.
A figure sat by the bed and I almost collided with the chair when it turned to face me, the shaft of light caused by my entrance having alerted them to my presence. I half-expected to see Alexander, even though I knew that he was away at some award-giving or other to the game victors of that day. He would come along shortly to check on his friend and keep him company until he slept, as every other night since Hephaistion had fallen ill.
My eyes, still slightly unfocused, could not make out the features but a rustle of beading and jewellery told me that this must be the princess Drypetis, Hephaistion’s wife. And indeed it was, because she unfolded to her full stature, reminiscent of her father’s, and I almost discerned her worried features in the reddish light.
‘He’s sleeping,’ she whispered. She seemed glad to see me. In spite of the rumours I heard at the time of their marriage only a few short months before, I had recently learned that, as reluctant as Hephaistion was in the beginning, he had in fact grown quite fond of her. Surely, for his part, he must take the production of heirs very seriously, any personal feelings aside. Although, as I saw it, enjoyment could hardly hurt - if indeed it was the case. But the young princess was another example of how easy it was for Hephaistion to work his charm, although I was willing to wager that he didn’t try very hard in this particular instance.
‘How is he faring?’ I asked, trying to keep my voice as low as hers.
‘Perhaps a little better than yesterday,’ she replied and I perceived from her serious, urgent tone that she wanted the talking kept low for fear of disturbing his seemingly quiet slumber. ‘But the fever has returned this afternoon.’
‘It is always worse in the afternoons, Princess,’ I tried to soothe, sharing what little I had learned in the years of campaigning with Alexander. ‘I will watch over him for you, it is nearly supper time.’ After a moment’s hesitation, she nodded.
‘Thank you, Bagoas,’ she said, turning towards her husband once more. ‘I sent all the servants away, they bothered him. Please keep them out, they keep bringing incense and healing herbs and he cannot take anymore,’ she instructed. She looked genuinely worried for her new husband and her step was unsure when she slid out of the room, no lady in waiting trailing after her.
Once she was gone, I looked at my charge, settling into the chair beside him. He was swaddled in many blankets, in spite of the heat, all witness to the chills of the fever that had been ravaging his body for the better part of a week. Alexander had told me that Hephaistion was better than yesterday and that he had even tried to sit up, but clearly that had taxed his hard-won inner resources, for he looked exhausted even in sleep. From the little I saw in the half-light, I noticed that his tangled hair curled slightly from the dampness of sweat, like it did in India, after many days of rain and humidity. I had noticed then, as I did later, that it did little to rob his face of the grace he always carried so effortlessly. Yet he seemed like a waxen statue, with lips white and cracked and I could not help but wonder if Alexander would kiss him now. It pained me to think - to know - that he probably would and I wondered what part of me enjoyed tormenting my own self with entertaining such worthless thoughts.
Suddenly, I found myself grateful that he was asleep for what would I tell him if he were to awaken? Our dealings, though polite enough, had never been cordial. And yet I felt compelled to be there and after three days’ hesitation, I had finally decided that it was time to repay a debt. Surely, I could not restore Hephaistion’s health more than I could have helped myself that morning in the desert, when he found me, but it felt like the only right thing to do. In Alexander’s absence, at least I could tell him if anything had improved or not. Not that I had fully resolved to tell Alexander about my visit. It had crossed my mind that should anything happen to Hephaistion while I was in this room, Alexander would demonstrate no mercy. Maybe that was the true reason why I hesitated until I learned that indeed he was better. It would take a few days to shake his fever off, but he was young and exceptionally strong and before the week was out, word had it that that he would be cheering the games at Alexander’s side during the day and working hard at night to provide his King’s future heirs with little cousins. After all, it was Alexander’s wish that children be born out of their unions with Darius’ daughters, thus making their fathers kin.
My contemplation was cut short by a feeling of being watched me and I refocused my eyes to find Hephaistion staring me square in the face. Even in sickness, his eyes were bright though bloodshot and rimmed red and the frailty I saw there worried me. It looked to me as if he held some knowledge that he would not share with anyone, least of all with Alexander, and I saw a shadow of something that I tried to dismiss as a mere reflection of the poor light. But all the while it gnawed at the back of my consciousness. He pinned me with a long, almost disbelieving look before I finally remembered myself.
‘Would you like something to drink?’ His eyelids dropped closed in assent. I glanced around his bedside table, where an assortment of medicine cups were arrayed.
‘Water, not those vile teas,’ he rasped and I poured him a cup from the pitcher. I couldn’t really blame him, he had been on a diet of liquids ever since his fever had started and he had to be sick of the various concoctions that the doctors had forced into him.
With difficulty, he lifted himself on one elbow but it was too much effort for him to bring his hand out from under the covers, so I held the cup against his lips and he took slow sips. It must have been painful to swallow, for he stopped and I heard him sigh after each gulp. He did not give up though and he almost spent his energy when he flopped back onto the pillows, his hairline glistening with fresh sweat. It moved me that he did not show suspicion that I might be giving him something foul to drink and I remembered how, years ago, blinded by my first jealousy, I had wanted to poison him. To have him drink from my hands showed me that indeed, if he did not trust me beforehand, he did not think me a real threat. The realization did not anger me as I expected.
‘Would be good… to have some wine….,’ he said haltingly, glancing at the ceiling. Even in that light I could discern that he had turned pale with the effort. I took a while before he found his voice again and I busied myself with arranging his pillows and folding the many blankets around him. I did not want him to know I had realized how weakened he really was.
‘Would you like me to take some of the covers away?’ I asked and I had to train my voice to sound detached, like a healer speaking to a patient. He shook his head, so I tucked the covers tighter around his body.
‘Did Alexander send you?’ he said hoarsely, though coherently enough. Even with his ragged voice I could detect his surprise.
‘No, he did not,’ I replied and he shifted amongst the pillows, trying to find some comfort.
‘I thought so. He trusts you though,’ he stated the obvious and yet I could not think why he sounded remotely satisfied. There was a lot that I had yet to understand about him.
His body, I reasoned, was used to activity, and he must be sore from lying in bed for so many days. He would never say it, but I saw it in the way he shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a better position and I heard it form the frustrated groan he let out. A little part of my heart breathed a sigh of relief, for indeed if he was bothered by being bed-ridden, he must have been getting better. And I threw myself into believing it with all my heart.
Then I did something that he did not expect but which was the reason why I had wanted to visit him in the first place: I reached for his hand under the blanket and grasped his wrist with my fingers, gently tugging it out of the warm nest. The skin was clammy and cold and it seemed as if his fingers had frozen in painful stillness. I met little resistance yet before I went any further I glanced at him and saw that he was only partially surprised.
‘Your joints must be sore,’ I explained and I weaved my fingers through his, gently cracking the stiff knuckles, mindful of pain. ‘If you’ll allow me, perhaps I can be of help.’ He nodded briefly and I saw his mask slip a little. And through it I glimpsed it again, that which no one could see, except for Alexander.
I had brought perfumed oil along to rub into his callused hands, made coarser by the sickness. Slowly, I kneaded each finger, rubbing along the bone, gradually using more strength when I saw that he did not recoil and that it brought him relief. I worked circles into the palm then around each knuckle, stroking the pain upwards to the fingertips as if I could draw out the disease. Using both hands, I rubbed down and around his wrist and pressed firmly along the sides of his lower arm bone, where I had been taught that repeated pressure would release tension in stiff joints and make nausea disappear. I felt his muscles tighten at some point and had no doubt that his sensitized flesh was smarting from the repeated pressure, but he shook his head imperceptibly and prevented me from ceasing the movement. Finally, I weaved our fingers together and rolled our hands loosely, easing the remaining tension. When I was done with his left hand and I placed it gently under the covers, noticeably warmer than before, I climbed - boldly - on the other side of the bed beside him, reached for his right hand and started all over again. In all this time he spoke not a word, but his eyes were heavy-lidded and his breathing quiet. Not a shiver ran through his body and at some point he threw the covers aside, seeking the comfort of air against his skin.
It was well past dinner-time when I finished. The lamp light was stronger and for a moment I was fooled into thinking that he had fallen asleep. He looked more comfortable and his features had gained a measure of unruffled tranquility that had not been there earlier. As I gently released his hand on top of the covers I pulled around him anew, I felt his blood pounding steadily in his wrist and his cheeks were now flushed with more colour than the deadly pallor I had found on him. I could not help but smooth away a rebel strand of hair falling across his cheek, a single imperfection on that near perfect face. It was far more of an intimate gesture than the massage I had just given him and yet I felt abashed at the thought that he might awaken at my touch.
‘Thank you, Bagoas,’ he murmured through closed eyes and I started a little. I would have preferred him to sleep and not notice me slip out though I couldn’t think why. ‘You have good hands.’
I half expected him to say that he didn’t wonder that Alexander kept me by his side, but he did not and it only served to increase my self-rebuke. Then he opened his eyes and to my shame, I was forced to acknowledge all over again why Hephaistion was a world where even Alexander lost himself. It had nothing to do with the glimpse of vulnerability which he never let anyone see, but I knew without a doubt that it was something else also which he did not wish to hide from me any longer. I had the certainty that what I had suspected all along was there: a light of spirit that burned with a quiet steady flame, unlike Alexander’s own brilliant and all-consuming one, yet somehow no less formidable, if less visible. It was that which had kept them joined for so many years and it was only this kind of flame that would have survived Alexander’s proximity without being smothered. In front of this certainty, I was awed and again my heart constricted painfully. He did not need to say anything to me, because he understood.
The flutter of his smile broke abruptly as he was overcome at once by a chill that made his whole body jerk involuntarily and I heard his teeth chatter with the intensity of it. There was a moment of silence when I could think of nothing to say to him. Instead I looked at his upturned face and a feeling engulfed me when I saw Hephaistion’s eyes squeeze shut: if he should die, Alexander would not survive. I had known this for what seemed like a lifetime, but, looking at Hephaistion, the certainty of it slammed me against the borders of sanity. I wondered then if there were any god willing to strike a bargain with me: that I would turn my back and never see Alexander again, if only Hephaistion could be spared. For Alexander’s sake.
‘Please don’t die. Please don’t leave him…’
To my utter horror, I had spoken the words out loud, because he focused a piercing glance on me and I realized that he had heard me perfectly. His shaking subsided and he said nothing for a moment, but he frowned and I saw the outline of his jaw muscles clearly as he tightened it.
‘I’m not going to die, Bagoas. I’ve been sicker than this,’ he said with surprising gentleness, though I fully expected a harsh rebuke for my ill-chosen words.
There was truth in his words, for I knew he had been sicker. I’d heard that in India he went down with a nasty jaundice fever. But I could not be rid of the feeling that, in spite of the show of nonchalance he put on, he was in fact slipping away, and no matter how much my inner voice tried to silence the thought, it imbued my mind, portending disaster. I told myself in vain that it was my concern for Alexander’s soul that pushed me to reach such outrageous conclusions. Yet at the same time it felt as if I had now crossed a barrier and that Hephaistion had acknowledged it, because he closed his eyes and just barely, something resembling a smile curled the end of his lips.
Pitiful words crowded in my mouth and I dreaded speaking them for fear of sounding above my station, but I spoke them nonetheless. ‘When you saved me, my life and wellbeing became your duty. Don’t give up on us now,’ even as I said ‘us’, I saw his eyelids drop for a moment. But my meaning was not lost to him.
‘You are a survivor, Bagoas,’ he said slowly, and I perceived that the effort made him breathe in short, pained breaths. ‘But your heart is in the right place. So I’ll ask you again to look after him, like I did that morning in the desert,’
It was the only favour that he would ever ask of me. Had he perceived his death before Alexander’s at the time that he had saved me and known that I loved him enough to sustain him for a little while? Hard to believe as it was, yet it was something that I had learned he would do, out of his love for Alexander.
‘Go to him,’ he said finally and it sounded as if he were releasing me into Alexander’s care when in fact it was quite the opposite. There was odd mirth in his face when he spoke again and for a moment he looked younger than I’d ever seen him.
‘It’s your turn now,’ he said enigmatically. If he had let go, or wanted to tell me to look after his beloved once he was gone, I realized that he would not say it any other way.
It was the last thing he said to me before he closed his eyes and not long afterwards he drifted off to sleep. I slipped out of his room, silently as I had arrived, wondering at the meaning of his words, knowing it in my heart and praying that it would not come to pass.
It was only two days later, when Alexander had been forcefully pried from his beloved’s stiffening corpse, that I understood the enormity of the task that Hephaistion had appointed to me: I was charged with my King’s well-being, for however long he still had to live, as the only other living being whom Hephaistion trusted enough to love his Alexander. I truly mourned for him then and if I had another wish beyond Alexander’s comfort, it would have been to see Hephaistion one more time and thank him for his faith. As it was, I could only hope that he felt my gratitude, reaching beyond the afterlife and that when Alexander joined him, Hephaistion would be waiting, his inner light a beacon to his immortal love.
~ The End ~