Alexander (Vol. 2) (32 page)

As the army passed over the salt, the sun was just beginning to descend behind the mountains and the shining sun refracted by millions of salt crystals created a fantastic effect – an unreal, magic atmosphere. The soldiers looked on in silence at this marvel without managing to take their eyes from the continuous changes in colour, from the rays of light refracted by the infinite crystalline facets into triumphs of fire-like sparks.

‘Gods of Olympus!’ said Seleucus. ‘What splendour! Now we really can say that we are far from home.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Ptolemy. ‘I have never seen anything like this in all my life.’

‘And this is not all that awaits you,’ continued Aristander. ‘Farther on is Mount Argaeus, which spits fire and flames from its summit and covers whole regions with ash. It is said that the giant Typhon is chained up within it.’

Ptolemy made a gesture to Seleucus to follow him and spurred his horse forward as though off to inspect the column. He continued for half a stadium before drawing rein and slowing to a walk.

‘What’s wrong with Alexander?’ he asked.

Seleucus drew up alongside, ‘I don’t know. He has been this way ever since the Egyptian visitor came to see him.’

‘I don’t like Egyptians,’ Ptolemy declared. ‘Who knows what nonsense he has put into Alexander’s head? This seer was bad enough, this Aristander.’

‘I think Hephaestion knows something, but he won’t give anything away.’

‘I’m sure. He always does exactly what Alexander wants him to do.’

‘Right. What can it be about? It certainly must be bad news. And then all this haste to move onwards . . . do you think something might have happened to Parmenion?’

Ptolemy looked briefly at Alexander, riding ahead but not very far off.

‘He surely would have said something. And then Parmenion is with the Black, Philotas, Craterus and even Alexander’s cousin, Amyntas, who has command of the Thessalian cavalry. Is it possible that no one survived?’

‘Who knows? Perhaps an ambush . . . or perhaps Alexander is thinking about Memnon. That man is capable of anything – as we speak he might well have landed in Macedonia, or at Piraeus.’

‘What shall we do? If he invites us to supper this evening then perhaps we could ask him.’

‘It depends on what sort of mood he’s in. Perhaps it would be better to speak with Hephaestion.’

‘Yes, that’s it. Let’s do that.’

In the meantime the sun had disappeared below the horizon and the two friends’ thoughts turned to the young women they had left behind in Pieria or in Eordaea and who perhaps at that melancholy time of day were thinking of them.

‘Have you ever thought of getting married?’ Ptolemy suddenly asked.

‘No. And you?’

‘Me neither. But I wouldn’t have minded marrying Cleopatra.’

‘Oh yes!’

‘Perdiccas wouldn’t have minded either, if it comes to that.’

‘Right. Perdiccas too.’

A great shout came from the head of the column. The scouts were returning at a gallop from a reconnaissance mission, the last before dark: ‘Kelainai! Kelainai!’

‘Where?’ asked Eumenes.

‘Five stadia in that direction,’ replied one of the scouts, pointing to a hill in the distance on which myriad lights twinkled. It was a wonderful sight, like a giant anthill illuminated by thousands of fireflies.

Alexander seemed to liven up and he lifted his arm to stop the column: ‘We will camp here,’ he ordered. ‘Tomorrow we will approach the city. It is the capital of Phrygia and the seat of the Persian satrap of the province. If Parmenion has not already taken it, we will do the job; there must be a lot of money locked away in that fortress.’

‘His mood seems to have changed,’ said Ptolemy.

‘Indeed,’ said Seleucus. ‘He must have remembered what Aristotle used to say: “There is either a solution to the problem and therefore it is pointless to worry about it, or there is no solution and it is pointless to worry about it.” Perhaps he will invite us to supper after all.’

W
INTER WAS WELL ON
its way, and Aristotle arrived in Methone on one of the last ships to leave Piraeus. The captain had decided to make the most of a strong and constant southerly wind to deliver a consignment of olive oil, wine and beeswax which otherwise would have had to wait in the warehouses until the arrival of spring, and lower prices.

On landing he climbed up on to a carriage drawn by a pair of mules and asked the driver take him to Mieza. He had the keys to all of the buildings with him and was authorized to come and go and make use of the facilities whenever he wished. He was perfectly aware that he would meet someone whom he very much wanted to speak to, someone who would perhaps be able to give him first-hand news of Alexander – Lysippus.

The sculptor was busy working in the foundry when Aristotle arrived, creating the clay model for the great statuary complex of Alexander’s troop on the Granicus, which would then be cast in its final proportions for the monument itself. It was almost evening and lamps were already burning inside the laboratory, the refectory, and in some of the guests’ rooms.

‘Welcome, Aristotle!’ Lysippus greeted him. ‘I am sorry, but I cannot even shake hands with you – I’m all dirty. If you wait just one moment, I will be with you.’

Aristotle moved closer to look at the model. It was a sculpture of twenty-six characters on a platform some eight to ten feet in length. The effect was amazing – the churning of the water and the furious rhythm of the charging horses could almost be felt physically. And in it all Alexander stood out proud in his armour, the wind in his hair, astride a rampant Bucephalas.

Lysippus rinsed his hands in a basin of water and came closer.

‘What do you think of it?’

‘Superb. What strikes one most in your works is the quivering energy within the forms, like a body in the midst of some all-consuming orgasm.’

‘The visitor will see them all of a sudden,’ Lysippus explained, with inspiration written all over his face as he lifted his enormous hands to describe the scene, ‘on coming over the top of a small rise. The impression will be of having the troop charging towards the observer, of being crushed by them. Alexander asked me to make them immortal and I am expending all of my energies in satisfying him and to repay, at least in part, their parents for their sad losses.’

‘And at the same time you are granting him the status of a living legend,’ said Aristotle.

‘I think that will happen without my help, won’t it?’

Lysippus took off his leather apron and hung it on a nail. ‘Supper is almost ready, will you have something to eat with us?’

‘I’d be delighted,’ replied Aristotle, ‘Who else is here?’

‘Chares, my assistant,’ replied the sculptor, pointing to the young man with thin hair who was over in the corner, working away with a gouge on a piece of wood and who greeted the philosopher with a respectful bow of his head. ‘And then there is an envoy from the city of Tarant, Evemerus of Kallipolis, a good man who perhaps will have news for us of King Alexander of Epirus.’

They left the foundry and walked along the internal portico towards the refectory. Aristotle thought sadly of the last time he had eaten there with King Philip.

‘Will you stay long?’ Lysippus asked.

‘Not very long. I have given instructions to Callisthenes, with my most recent letter to him, to reply to me here at Mieza and I am anxious to read what he has to say. Then I will go on to Aegae.’

‘Are you going to the old palace?’

‘I will make an offering at the King’s tomb and I must see a few people.’

Lysippus hesitated for a moment. ‘I have heard a tale that you are investigating the assassination of King Philip, but perhaps these are just rumours.’

‘They are not rumours,’ Aristotle stated, apparently impassible.

‘Does Alexander know?’

‘I believe so, even though initially he had given the job to my nephew Callisthenes.’

‘And the Queen Mother?’

‘I have not communicated the fact to her, but Olympias has ears and eyes everywhere. It is most likely that she knows.’

‘And are you not afraid?’

‘I am confident that the regent, Antipater, will make sure that nothing untoward happens to me. Can you see that carriage driver over there?’ he said, pointing to the man who had brought him to Mieza and who that moment was tending to his mules in the stables. ‘In his bag he carries a Macedonian sword of the type issued to the palace guards.’

Lysippus took a look at the character – a mountain of muscles who moved as stealthily as a fox. He could see, even at this distance, that he was a soldier of the royal guard. ‘By the gods! He could pose for a statue of Hercules.’

They made their way to the dining room.

‘No dining beds,’ said the artist. ‘Things are still as they were, everyone eats sitting at table.’

‘I prefer it. I’m no longer used to eating stretched out. Well then, what news do you have of Alexander?’

‘I imagine that Callisthenes keeps you informed.’

‘Of course. But I am keen to know your own impressions. Have you seen him recently?’

‘Yes, once, to show him the plan for the sculpture.’

‘And how was he?’

‘He is completely immersed in his dream. Nothing will stop him until he reaches his goal.’

‘And in your opinion, what is that goal?’

Lysippus was silent for some time, he seemed to be watching a servant poke the fire in the grate. Then he said, without turning, ‘To change the world.’

Aristotle sighed. ‘I think you have understood. The thing is, will he change it for the better or for the worse?’

At that moment the foreign guest, Evemerus of Kallipolis, entered, and introduced himself while supper was being served – chicken soup with beans, bread, cheese and hard-boiled eggs with oil and salt. And wine from Thasos.

‘What news do you have of Alexander of Epirus?’ asked Lysippus.

‘Important news,’ replied the guest. ‘The King leads his own and our armies together and moves on from victory to victory. He has defeated the Messapians and the Iapyges and all of Apulia is in his hands, a land almost as big as his own realm.’

‘And where is he now?’

‘He must be in his winter quarters now, waiting to continue his campaign next spring against the Samnites, a barbarian people to the north, in the mountains. He has made an alliance with other barbarians, called Romans, who will attack from the north while he will march from the south.’

‘And how do the people of Tarant see him?’

‘I am not a politician, but as far as I can understand, they view him positively . . . at least for the moment.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘My fellow citizens are strange people – their main passions are trade and living the good life. For these reasons they have no taste for combat and when they find themselves in trouble they call on someone to help them. This is exactly what they have done with Alexander of Epirus. But I am sure there will be those who are already saying that he is helping them too much and too well.’

Aristotle smiled sarcastically, ‘Do they think that Alexander has left his land and his young bride, that he is facing dangers and difficulties, sleepless nights, endless marches and bloody battles just to let them concentrate on trade and the good life?’

Evemerus continued. ‘A group of wealthy citizens has had the idea of collecting money for a grand project which will spread the city’s fame throughout the world.’

Lysippus, who had finished eating, rinsed his mouth with a cupful of red wine and leaned against the backrest of his chair. ‘Carry on,’ he said.

‘They would like to build a gigantic statue of Zeus, not in a temple or in a sanctuary, however, but in full light, in the open air, at the centre of the agora.’

At this point young Chares’ eyes widened. More than once the young assistant had spoken to his master of the dreams and the fantasies he nourished.

Lysippus smiled, imagining his assistant’s thoughts, then he said, ‘The point is, just how gigantic?’

Evemerus seemed to hesitate for a moment, then all of a sudden said, ‘Let’s say forty cubits.’

Chares started, Lysippus gripped the arms of his chair and sat up straight.

‘Forty cubits? Gods in heaven, man! Do you realize you’re talking about a statue as tall as the Parthenon in Athens?’

‘Indeed. We Greeks in the colonies think big.’

The sculptor turned to his young assistant. ‘What do you think, Chares? Forty cubits is some size, no? Unfortunately there is no one in the world, at the moment, capable of erecting a giant of that size.’

‘The remuneration would be most generous.’

‘It’s not a question of remuneration,’ replied Lysippus. ‘It’s a matter of techniques – we simply don’t have the necessary techniques to keep the bronze liquid long enough to cover such distances and the temperature of the external casting block cannot be increased accordingly without risking the fracture of the mould. I’m not saying it’s completely out of the question; you might ask other artists . . . why not Chares here, for example?’ he said, ruffling the hair of his timid pupil. ‘He says that one day he will create the largest statue in the world.’