Orion and the Conqueror (6 page)

Chapter 8

The air of the palace seethed with intrigue. The king was conducting one military campaign after another along his borders while at the same time negotiating with delegations from regions as far-flung as the Peloponnesus and Syracuse in Sicily, as well as receiving ambassadors from the Great King of Persia.

No one seemed to know what Philip was aiming at, what his goals were. There was no dearth of opinions on the subject, however. I heard as many different guesses as there were men speaking on the subject. Philip wanted to rule all of the Greeks, said one. He wanted to conquer the Persian Empire, said another. No, he wanted to be dictator of Thebes, the city where he had spent several of his younger years as a royal hostage. No, he wanted to humiliate Athens and hang Demosthenes by his scrawny neck. Nonsense, said still another, his real intention is to expand Macedonian colonies northward into the backward, bickering tribes of the Balkans, but to do that he must safeguard the kingdom's southern borders, where the great cities of Thebes and Athens and the others are waiting for him to turn his back.

I was one of the guards standing behind Philip's throne the afternoon that the Persians were presented to the king. They were exotic in their long silk robes of many colors, bedecked with sparkling jewels. They brought magnificent gifts of spices and incense from their new king, Dareios III. Philip accepted them as if they were his due and gave in return a hundred cavalry horses: all geldings, I learned later. The other guardsmen laughed themselves sick over Philip's trick.

The king himself was not even smiling after the Persians left his court.

"Spies," he said grimly to Parmenio and Antipatros, after the Persians had left. "They're here to see how strong we are, how well we're getting along against Athens."

"I'll bet they're heading straight for Athens now, to tell Demosthenes everything they learned here," said Antipatros.

"And to pour more gold into his hands," added Parmenio.

There were other intrigues, as well, much closer to the court. Attalos was pushing his young niece, Kleopatra, as a fitting bride for Philip. I knew that the king had taken several wives, mainly as diplomatic gestures, and he had a powerful sexual appetite: male or female did not much concern him as long as they were young and pretty.

Kleopatra was such a common name among the Macedonians that many of the nobles at court referred to the fourteen-year-old niece of Attalos by an honorary name that Philip had bestowed on her: Eurydice, the name of the supernally beautiful wife of legendary Orpheos. Orpheos had voluntarily descended into Hades to recover his dead love. I thought that Olympias would rather see Philip in hell before she would accept his marriage to Kleopatra/Eurydice.

Olympias was scheming constantly. She had driven all of Philip's other wives out of the court, although she resolutely refused to sleep with him, according to the palace gossip. She wanted to make certain that her son, Alexandros, would be the only possible heir to Philip's throne. That meant that there must be no new marriages and no new legitimate sons. I knew that all the tales about her powers of witchcraft were more than true, and that she could somehow command me at her whim. What she planned for me I did not know, and after that first wild night of lovemaking she did not so much as glance at me.

For his part, Philip was also scheming. A marriage into the house of Attalos would benefit the throne. So would an advantageous marriage of his daughter by Olympias, who was also named Kleopatra. Even younger than Attalos' niece, and painfully shy, Philip's daughter was a very valuable pawn in the game of nations.

And that game went on without cease. Ambassadors and couriers arrived at the court almost every day. From my post as one of the king's guards I saw that Philip could be tactful, generous, flexible, patient, a good host, a firm friend, a reasonable enemy ready to make peace even when he had the upper hand. Especially when he had the upper hand.

But I began to see, also, that he was implacable in his pursuit of one goal. No matter how generous or flexible or reasonable he was, each agreement he made, each objective he sought, was aimed at making Macedonia supreme, not merely over the surrounding tribes and the port cities along the coast; Philip wanted supremacy over the major city-states to the south—Thebes, Corinth, Sparta, and especially Athens.

"Demosthenes rouses the rabble down there against us time and again," Philip complained to a visiting Athenian merchant. "I have no reason to fight against Athens. I revere the city of Perikles and Sokrates; I honor its ancient traditions. But the Athenians think they are the lords of the earth; they are trying to strangle us by cutting us off from the sea."

The merchant had been sent to negotiate for the year's grain harvest that we had seized. Philip wanted Athens to cede control of Perinthos and the other port cities along the Bosporus.

"All the port cities?" gasped the Athenian. "But that, most honored king, would put your mighty hands at the throat of our people. Macedonia would be able to shut off the grain supply whenever you chose to."

Leaning an elbow on the withered thigh of his crippled leg, Philip looked down at the white-robed merchant from his throne. "It would make us friends, Athenian," he said. "Friends trust one another. And they do not rouse their people to make war against one another."

"You speak of Demosthenes."

"None other."

The merchant tugged at his beard for a moment, then smoothed the front of his robe. At last he replied, "Athens, sir, is a democracy. In the past, our city was ruled by an oligarchy. Even earlier, by tyrants. We prefer democracy."

Patiently, Philip said, "I have no intention of ruling Athens. All I want is for Athens to stop making war on us."

"I shall so inform the Assembly when I return."

"Very well."

Philip traded the grain for a promise that Athens would no longer support Perinthos against him. Nothing was said about Byzantion.

Philip saw the merchant off with full diplomatic honors. The royal guard was lined up at the palace gate for him. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of an autumn storm, and cold driving rain made everything gray and miserable. Philip limped back to his rooms with me and three other picked guardsmen following close behind him. The cold raw weather must have bothered his bad leg intensely.

His three chief generals were waiting for him in his work room, together with slaves bearing pitchers of strong red wine. It was a smallish room, dominated by a heavy trestle table on which a large map of the Aegean coast was held down by heavy iron paperweights.

"The agreement means nothing," Parmenio grumbled as he put down his first goblet on the edge of the sheepskin map. "The Athenians will keep their word only as long as they choose to. In the meantime they get the grain."

"And their navy can strike anywhere along the coast, unhindered," Antigonos pointed out.

Antipatros agreed vigorously. "You should have held onto the grain. Let them feel hungry for a while. Then they'd be more reasonable."

Philip took a deep grateful draught of the wine. Then he said, "They'd get hungry, all right. And blame us for it. Then we'd just be proving what Demosthenes has been telling them for years: that I'm a bloodthirsty tyrant intent on conquest."

"Tyrant," spat Parmenio. "As if you rule all by yourself, without the Council or the elders to account to."

But Philip was hardly listening. His mind was already spinning out the next move. I stood guard at the door until it was dark, when I was relieved. When I got to the barracks Pausanias told me that the queen had sent for me.

He eyed me suspiciously. "Why is the queen interested in you?"

I returned his gaze without blinking. "You will have to ask her, captain. She has summoned me; I didn't ask to see her."

He looked away, then warned, "Be careful, Orion. She plays a dangerous game."

"Do I have any choice?"

"If she says a word against the king—even a hint of a thought against him—you must tell me."

I admired his loyalty. "I will, captain. I am the king's man, not the queen's."

Yet, as I made my way through the deepening shadows of night toward Olympias' rooms in the palace, I knew that she could control me whenever she chose to. I was hopelessly under her spell.

To my surprise and relief, Alexandros was with her. A slave woman met me at the door to the queen's suite of rooms and guided me to a small chamber where she sat on a cushioned chair talking earnestly with her son. Even in an ordinary wool robe she looked magnificent, copper-red hair tumbling past her shoulders, slender arms bare, lithe body taut beneath the light-blue robe.

Alexandros was pacing the small room like a caged panther. He radiated energy, all golden impatience, pent-up emotion that made his smooth handsome face seem petulant, moody.

"But I'm his only legitimate heir," Alexandros was saying when I was ushered into the room.

Olympias acknowledged my presence with a glance and gestured for the servant who had brought me to depart. She closed the door softly behind me and I stood there, silent and immobile, waiting to be commanded.

Alexandros was no taller than my shoulder, but he was solidly built, with wide shoulders and strong limbs. His golden hair curled down the back of his neck. His eyes glowed with restless passion.

"There's no one else," he said to his mother. "Unless you count Arrhidaios, the idiot."

Olympias gave him a pained smile. "You forget that the Council may elect whom it chooses. The throne does not automatically pass to you."

"They wouldn't dare elect anyone else!"

She shrugged. "You are still very young, in the eyes of many. They could elect Parmenio or—"

"Parmenio! That fat old man! I'd kill him!"

"—or they could appoint a regent," Olympias continued, unshaken in the slightest by her son's outburst, "until you are old enough to rule."

"But I'm old enough now," Alexandros insisted, almost whining. "I've already served as regent while the king was off at his wars. What do they expect of me?"

"Vision," said Olympias.

"A vision? Like an oracle?"

"No," she said, in a slightly disappointed tone. "The kind of vision that excites men's souls. A goal for the future that is so daring that men will flock to you and follow wherever you lead them."

He stopped his pacing and stared at her. "What are you talking about?"

"You must lead the Greeks against the Persian Empire."

Alexandros frowned at his mother. "By the gods, Philip has been talking about fighting the Persians for ten years or more. There's nothing new or daring in that."

Olympias gestured to the chair next to hers. I saw that her fingernails were long and lacquered blood-red.

Alexandros sat.

"Philip talks about fighting the Persians. You will speak of conquering the Persian Empire. Philip uses the Persians as an excuse in his drive to bring all the Greek cities under his dominion. You will tell all the Greeks that no Greek city can be free as long the Persian Empire threatens us."

"That's what Aristotle told me—"

"Of course he did." Olympias smiled knowingly.

"But the Persians aren't threatening us," Alexandros said. "Their new king is struggling to hold his empire together. They have no intention of invading us."

"Little matter. People remember the tales of their grandfathers, and
their
grandfathers before them. The Persians have invaded us in times past; they all know that.

Even today the Persians control the Greek cities of Ionia and interfere in our politics, paying one city to war against another, keeping us weak and divided. Only by crushing the Persian Empire can cities such as Athens be truly free."

Alexandros gaped at her. At last he said, "You could be a better orator than Demosthenes himself."

Olympias smiled and patted her son on his golden curls. "Philip has an army. Demosthenes has a cause. You can have both."

"To conquer the Persian Empire." Alexandros breathed the words, inhaled the idea like heady perfume. "To conquer the
world
!"

Still smiling, Olympias turned to me. "Orion, I have a command for you."

I knew that I must obey.

"This is my son," she said. "You will protect him at all times against all his enemies. Including the man who believes himself to be his father."

"Against Philip?" I asked.

"Against Philip and anyone else who would stand in his way," Olympias said to me.

"I understand."

Abruptly she turned back to Alexandros, still sitting there musing about conquering the world. "Be patient. Learn from the One-Eyed Fox himself. Bide your time. But when the moment finally comes, be prepared to strike."

"I will, mother," said Alexandros fervently. "I will."

Olympias dismissed me as soon as Alexandros left. I went to my barracks bed that night with my thoughts in a swirl. I owed my allegiance to Philip, yet Olympias had commanded me to protect Alexandros even against Philip himself. What did she fear? What did she plan?

I forced myself to sleep, willed myself to dream. Once again I found myself on the sunny hillside overlooking the magnificent city by the sea. It sat beneath its glittering dome of energy, looking totally empty, completely abandoned.

The woman I loved had lived there once. The woman I knew as Athena. Anya was her true name, or as true a name as any of the Creators possessed. They were far beyond the need for names, even the need for words. They were as far beyond mortal human form as the stars are beyond my reach.

The Creators. I remembered the word, the concept. One of them had created me. Hera had called me a creature, a being created by—by the Golden One, Aten. I remembered that much. My memory was slowly returning. Or were the Creators merely allowing me to remember some things so that I could serve them better?

Determined to learn more, I started walking toward the glowing city.

Only to find myself in my rumpled bed in the barracks at Pella, sunlight beaming through the high windows and roosters crowing in the distance.