Alexander: Child of a Dream (4 page)

 
ingratiate himself with his teacher and neither did he do anything to charm or flatter his superiors.
Lysimachus and Leonnatus were the most undisciplined because they came from the interior and had grown up free out in the woods and the prairies, taking the horses out to graze and spending much of their time outdoors. Living cooped up within four walls was like life in prison for them.
Lysimachus, who was a little older, was quicker in adapting to this new life while Leonnatus, who was only seven, looked like a little wolf because of his rough appearance, his red hair and the freckles over his nose and around his eyes. When punished he reacted by kicking and biting, and Leonidas tried taming him by making him go hungry and locking him up while the others were playing; he even made ample use of his willow cane. But Leonnatus had his own form of revenge in that every time he saw the teacher appear at the end of a corridor he would shout out a rhyme at the top of his voice:
Ek kori kori korone! Ek kori kori korone!
‘Here he is, here’s the old crow!’ and all the others would join in, including Alexander, until poor Leonidas went red with rage and lost his temper, chasing them and brandishing his cane above his head.
When he fought with his companions, Leonnatus simply had no concept of the idea of losing and he even came to blows with those bigger than him, the result being that he was always covered in bruises and scratches, almost always unpresentable on official occasions or at court ceremonies. This was quite the opposite of Perdiccas, who of the group was the most conscientious, always present both in class and on the games and training fields. He was only a year older than Alexander and, together with Philotas, they often played the same games.
‘When I grow up I’m going to be a general like your father,’ Perdiccas used to say to Philotas, who of all his friends was the one who was most like him.
Ptolemy, almost fourteen, was quite stocky and well developed for his age. The first spots were appearing on his face together with a few wry hairs, and he had funny features dominated by a large nose and hair that was always ruffled. His companions poked fun at him, saying that he’d started growing nose-first, and this upset him no end. He would lift up his tunic to show off other protuberances that were growing no less rapidly than his nose.
Apart from these moments of excess in his high spirits, Ptolemy was a good boy, very fond of reading and writing. One day he let Alexander come to his room and showed him his books. He had at least twenty of them.
‘So many!’ exclaimed the Prince as he went to touch them.
‘Stop right there!’ said Ptolemy as he blocked him. ‘They’re delicate objects: papyrus is fragile and it disintegrates easily; one has to know the right way to unroll and roll them. They have to be kept in a well-ventilated and dry place with a mousetrap nearby because mice love papyrus and if they get hold of the scrolls that’s
the end of that. They can polish off two books of the Iliad or a tragedy by Sophocles in one night. Wait just a moment and I’ll get one for you.’ He took out a scroll marked with a small red card.
‘There. You see? This is a comedy by Aristophanes. It’s called Lisistrata and it’s my favourite. It tells of an occasion when the women of Athens and Sparta were truly fed up with all the wars that kept their menfolk away from home and they were all desperate for …’ he stopped when he saw Alexander’s face, his mouth gaping. ‘Well, let’s skip that, you’re too young for these things. I’ll tell you all about it some other time, all right?’
‘What’s a comedy?’ asked Alexander.
‘Haven’t you ever been to the theatre?’ asked Ptolemy, shocked.
‘Children aren’t allowed. But I know that it’s like listening to a story, only there are real men with masks on their faces and they pretend to be Hercules or Theseus. Some of them even . pretend to be women.’

 
‘More or less,’ replied Ptolemy. ‘Tell me, what are your teacher’s lessons about?’
‘I can add and subtract, I know the geometrical figures and I can distinguish the Great Bear from the Little Bear in the heavens as well as more than twenty other constellations. And then I can read and write and I’ve read Aesop’s fables.’
‘Mmmm …’ observed Ptolemy, carefully putting the scroll back in its place. ‘Kids’ stuff.’
‘And then I know the entire list of my ancestors, both on my father’s and on my mother’s side. I am a descendant of Hercules and of Achilles; did you know that?’
‘And who were Hercules and Achilles?’
‘Hercules was the strongest hero in the world and he carried out twelve labours. Shall I tell you about them? The Nemean lion, the Hind of Cery … Ceryne …’ The boy couldn’t quite get his tongue round it.
‘I see, I see. You’re very good. But if you like I can read you some of the beautiful things I have here in my study … what do you think? And now, why don’t you run along and play? Did you know there’s a boy who’s just arrived here in Pella and who’s just your age?’
Alexander’s face lit up. ‘Where is he?’
‘I saw him in the courtyard kicking a ball around. He’s a strong-looking specimen.’
Alexander ran down as fast as he could and sat under the portico to watch the new guest without daring to speak to him.
All of a sudden the boy kicked a little harder and sent the ball rolling to Alexander’s feet. The newcomer ran after it and the two youngsters found themselves face to face.
‘Do you want to play with me? It’s better when two play. I’ll kick it and you catch it.’
‘What’s your name?’ asked Alexander.
‘Hephaestion, and yours?’
‘Alexander.’
‘Right. Come on then, up against that wall. I kick first and if you catch the ball you get a point, then it’s your turn to kick.
If you don’t catch it I get a point and I get to kick again. Understand?’
Alexander nodded in agreement and they started playing; soon the courtyard was filled with their shouting. They only stopped when they were dead tired and dripping with sweat.
‘Do you live here?’ Hephaestion asked as he sat on the ground.
Alexander sat down beside him. ‘Of course. This is my palace.’
‘Don’t tell tales. You’re too little to have a palace this big.’
The palace is mine because it belongs to my father King
Philip.’
‘By Zeus!’ exclaimed Hephaestion, waving his right hand in a gesture of amazement.
‘Do you want to be friends?’
‘Of course, but to become friends we have to exchange some token of friendship.’
‘What’s a token of friendship?’
‘I give you something and you give me another thing in exchange.’
Hephaestion rooted in his pocket and pulled out a small white object.
‘Gosh! A tooth!’
‘Yes,’ whistled Hephaestion through the gap where one of his front teeth had been. ‘It fell out a few nights ago and I almost swallowed it. Here it’s
yours.’
Alexander took it and immediately felt at a loss because he had nothing to give in exchange. He fumbled in his pockets while Hephaestion stood there in front of him holding his hand out in expectation.
Alexander, finding himself completely lacking in a gift of equal significance, gave a deep sigh, gulped, and then put his fingers into his mouth and took hold of a tooth that had been wobbling for some days but which was still quite solid.
He began to rock it backwards and forwards, pushing and pulling hard and holding back tears of pain until it finally came

 
out. He spat out a gob of blood, washed the tooth in the drinking-water fountain and handed it to Hephaestion. ‘There you are,’ he mumbled. ‘Now we’re friends.’ ‘Until death?’ asked Hephaestion, pocketing his token. ‘Until death,’ replied Alexander.
Summer was already coming to an end when Olympias told her son that there was to be a visit from his uncle, Alexander of Epirus.
He knew he had an uncle his
mother’s younger brother -and he knew that they shared the same name. But even though Alexander had seen his uncle on previous occasions, he had no real recollection of him because he had been so young.
Prince Alexander saw his namesake arrive on horseback one evening, accompanied by his escort and his tutors.
He was a handsome boy of twelve with dark hair and deep blue eyes; he carried all the trappings of his dignified rank: a ribbon of gold around his hair, a purple cloak and in his right hand an ivory sceptre, because he too was a king, albeit a young one and of a country that was all mountains.
‘Look!’ exclaimed Alexander, turning to Hephaestion who was sitting next to him with his legs dangling over the balcony. ‘That’s my uncle, Alexander. He has the same name as me and he’s a king too, did you know that?’
‘King of what?’ asked his friend, swinging his legs.
‘King of the Molossians.’
He was still speaking when Artemisia grabbed him from behind. ‘Come here! You have to get ready now to meet your uncle.’
Alexander kicked his legs because he didn’t want to leave Hephaestion, but Artemisia carried him bodily to his mother’s bath chamber where she undressed him, washed his face, made him put on a tunic and a Macedonian cloak trimmed in gold, put a ribbon of silver around his head and then stood him up on a chair to admire him. ‘Come on, little King. Your mother’s waiting for you.’
She led him to the royal antechamber where Queen Olympias was waiting, already dressed and perfumed and with her hair arranged. She was stunning: her black eyes contrasted with her flame-coloured hair and the long blue stole embroidered with golden palmettes along the edges covered a chiton tunic in the Athenian style, slightly low-cut and held up on her shoulders with a thin cord, the same colour as the stole.
Her cleavage, which the chiton left partly visible, was beautifully embellished with a large drop of amber, as big as a pigeon’s egg, set in a capsule of gold in the shape of an acorn a
wedding present from Philip.
She took Alexander by the hand and went to sit on the throne alongside her husband who was ready to receive his young brother-in-law.
The boy entered at the bottom of the hall and bowed first to the King, as protocol required, and then to the Queen, his sister.
Philip was full of pride as a result of his military successes, and rich because of the gold mines he had occupied on Mount Pangaeos. Indeed, he was fully aware of being the most powerful lord of all the Hellenic peninsula or perhaps even the most powerful in the world after the Persian emperor. For these reasons he increasingly behaved in such a way as to inspire awe in his visitors, both in the finery of his clothes and the splendour of the ornaments he wore.
Following the ritual greetings, the young King of Epirus was led to his apartments so that he could make himself ready for the banquet.
Alexander, too, would have liked to take part, but his mother told him he was still too young and that he and Hephaestion could play with the ceramic soldiers that she had had made for him by a potter in Aloros.
That evening, after the banquet, Philip invited his brother-in-law to a private room to talk about politics and Olympias was

 
doubly offended firstly
because she was the Queen of Macedon and secondly because the King of Epirus was her brother.
In truth, Alexander was only King in name, not in fact. Epirus I was actually in the hands of his uncle, Aribbas, who had no I intention of stepping down, and only Philip, with his strength, his army and his gold, would ever have the power to install, Alexander firmly on the throne. I
To do so was certainly in Philip’s interests because he would thus keep the young King tied to him and at the same time dampen Olympias’ ambitions. She often felt that her husband neglected her and in the exercise of power she had found some . satisfaction in a life that was otherwise colourless and monotonous.
‘You must be patient for a few more years,’ explained Philip to the young King. ‘Just for the time it will take me to drum some sense into all the cities on the coast that are still independent and to make sure the Athenians understand who is strongest in this area. I have nothing against them as such, it’s just that I do not want them in the way here in Macedon. And I want control of the straits between Thrace and Asia.’
‘Whatever you say, my dear brother-in-law,’ replied Alexander, who felt flattered at being treated, at his age, like a real man and a real king. ‘I realize that there are more important things for you than the mountains of Epirus, but if one day you are able to help me, I will be grateful to you for the rest of my life.’
Although only just adolescent, the youngster had a fine head on his shoulders and Philip was most favourably impressed.
‘Why not stay here with us?’ he asked. ‘The situation in Epirus will be increasingly dangerous for you and I would rather be sure that you are safe. Your sister, the Queen, is here, and she has your best interests at heart. You will have your apartments, your royal income and all the prestige befitting your rank. When the time comes I will personally accompany you to take possession of your father’s throne.’
The young King accepted willingly and so he remained in the palace at Pella until Philip completed the political and military programme through which Macedon was to become the richest, the strongest and the most feared state in Europe.
In her resentment Queen Olympias had gone to her rooms where she waited for her brother to come and say goodnight and pay his respects before retiring. From, a room nearby came the voices of Hephaesnon and Alexander playing with their toy soldiers and shouting:
‘You’re dead!’
‘No I’m not! You’re dead!’
Then their voices subsided into silence. The energies of the little warriors soon dwindled into sleep as the moon made its appearance in the sky.

 
was seven and his uncle, the King of Epirus, was twelve when Philip attacked the city of Olynthus and the Chalcidicean League, the association which controlled the large trident-shaped Chalcidice Peninsula. The Athenians, allies of Olynthus, sought to negotiate, but Philip proved to be quite intractable.
‘Either you leave here or you will have to chase me out of Macedon,’ was his answer, which on the face of it did not leave much room for manoeuvre.
General Antipater tried to make Philip consider other aspects of the problem and as soon as the Athenian envoys, all of them furious, left the council room, he said, ‘This attitude, Sire, will only help your enemies in Athens, especially Demosthenes.’
‘I am not afraid of him,’ said the King, shrugging his shoulders.
‘Yes, but he is an excellent orator as well as a skilful politician. He is the only one to have understood your strategy. He has noticed that you no longer use mercenary troops, that you have created a “national army which is united and motivated, and you have made this the key feature of your reign. He is convinced that this makes you Athens’ most dangerous enemy. An intelligent opponent always merits consideration, Sire.’
Right there and then Philip was lost for words. All he said was, ‘Keep an eye on Demosthenes through some of our men ; in Athens. I want to know everything he says about me.’
‘It shall be done, Sire,’ replied Antipater, and he immediately alerted their informers in Athens, telling them to make sure they sent news of Demosthenes’ activities rapidly and effectively. Every time a text of the great orator’s speeches arrived in Pella, however, there was trouble. The King always asked for the tide first.
‘Against Philip,’ came the inevitable reply.
‘Again?’ he would shout, his temper boiling. These readings would upset him so much that if the bad news arrived just after a meal, it meant instant indigestion. He would stride up and down the room like a caged lion while his secretary read the speech out loud, and every now and then he would interrupt, shouting, “What was that? Damnation! Repeat it … read that bit again!’ His reaction was so fierce that the secretary came to feel that the words he was reading were actually his own.
The thing that drove the King to distraction more than anything else was Demosthenes’ insistence on calling Macedon ‘a barbaric or second-class state’.
‘Barbaric?’ he shouted, sweeping everything off the table onto the floor. ‘Second-class? I’ll show him second-class!’
‘You must bear in mind, Sire,’ the secretary pointed out, trying to calm him, ‘that, as far as we know, the people’s reaction to these diatribes of Demosthenes is rather lukewarm. The people of Athens are more interested in knowing how problems in land ownership and the distribution of lands to the peasants of Attica will be resolved. They could not care less about Demosthenes’ political ambitions.’
The passionate speeches against Philip were followed by others in favour of Olynthus, an attempt to convince the people to vote for military aid for the besieged city, but even this approach brought negligible results.
The city fell the following year and Philip razed it to the ground to provide a clear, unequivocal message for whoever dared challenge him.
‘This really will give Demosthenes good reason to call me a barbarian!’ he shouted, when Antipater invited him to reflect on the consequences, in Athens and in Greece, of such radical action.