once more. Having set out to conquer, I found myself a king with countless menial responsibilities, making me a slave to my own subjects. The accumulated irritations eventually drained my enthusiasm for this unprecedented spree of victories: I was filled with doubt.
When Hephaestion pressed me, I invented a justification:
"Darius is dead, but those faithful to him still resist us as if he were alive. Until I have pacified the Persian territories in their entirety, there could be revolts, towns we have already conquered could turn against us, the Achemenides nobility could betray us. We must flush out those who will not submit and exterminate every last one of them."
I could not admit to him that I missed the exultation of war, that at twenty-eight I was covered in scars and sometimes longed for rest and the sweet pleasures of family life. But a living Darius was a poison dripping stealthily into my thoughts. I could not reveal this truth to my friends, who believed I was already victorious: I am tracking a rival who confronts my strength with his cunning; he and I are competing in a trial of endurance and perseverance. Darius's flight drew me inexorably in his pursuit.
"There is no room for discussion," I told him yet again. "We must advance!"
Hephaestion withdrew sadly. He had long since stepped aside for Bagoas, who had seen him as a rival and done everything to distance him from me. The young eunuch had put on weight, like a Persian cat fattening up the moment it was well treated. Other younger and more beautiful boys had taken his place in my bedchamber. Their bodies might be slender or solid, tall or small, sometimes sculpted by exercise, their eyes might be green, brown, blue, or tawny, alive with passion or intelligence… they were like so many landscapes drawing me onward and appeasing me. But Bagoas was still my favorite because there was no official replacement for him in my heart. Since I had been called Alexander the Great, surrounded by courtesans, eunuchs, and guards, I had lost my appetite for love. My one constancy was Olympias, a diffuse light, an outpost that still answered my missives. I had become impatient and irascible.
Riding the umpteenth stallion called Bucephalus, I saw my abandoned past reeling out behind me. From an illegitimate girl, I had revealed myself a man. From weakness, I had acquired strength. My fear of Philip and the pain of rape had allowed me to build a life on revenge. By putting myself at the forefront of my attacks on every city, I had made myself the king of kings, leading men who were taller, more adept, and stronger than myself. I had lived intensely, wasting nothing of the lessons Aristotle taught me. I had done nothing to disappoint the gods who adopted me.
My courage was now legendary. My strength had been crowned with glory. My determination had taken me to heights forbidden to the sons of men. All these earthly rewards did nothing to gratify me. I was no longer happy.
How could I forget that Hephaestion, Bagoas, and all my friends and lovers created an invisible rampart condemning me to endless sterile solitude? How could I forget that glory was shortlived, that death might take me naked, with no crown and no lands but only regrets?
What was missing, and painfully so, was a wife who could accompany me on my journeys and through my life. What was missing was a child to whom I could pass on the ring of command. The absence of a family weakened me. The conspiracies around me multiplied, all with a view to assassinating a king with no heir.
A constant stream of young men appeared, to charm me. I saw this as an insidious maneuver intended to keep me from women. I used these boys and threw them away, convinced they had been sent to sound me out, to watch me and fill my free moments. Somewhere behind them was a man planning to take hold of my army and my empire.
I sat on my throne alone, and said nothing.
***
It started as a slanderous rumor. Then it grew, borne
When Hephaestion pressed me, I invented a justification:
"Darius is dead, but those faithful to him still resist us as if he were alive. Until I have pacified the Persian territories in their entirety, there could be revolts, towns we have already conquered could turn against us, the Achemenides nobility could betray us. We must flush out those who will not submit and exterminate every last one of them."
I could not admit to him that I missed the exultation of war, that at twenty-eight I was covered in scars and sometimes longed for rest and the sweet pleasures of family life. But a living Darius was a poison dripping stealthily into my thoughts. I could not reveal this truth to my friends, who believed I was already victorious: I am tracking a rival who confronts my strength with his cunning; he and I are competing in a trial of endurance and perseverance. Darius's flight drew me inexorably in his pursuit.
"There is no room for discussion," I told him yet again. "We must advance!"
Hephaestion withdrew sadly. He had long since stepped aside for Bagoas, who had seen him as a rival and done everything to distance him from me. The young eunuch had put on weight, like a Persian cat fattening up the moment it was well treated. Other younger and more beautiful boys had taken his place in my bedchamber. Their bodies might be slender or solid, tall or small, sometimes sculpted by exercise, their eyes might be green, brown, blue, or tawny, alive with passion or intelligence… they were like so many landscapes drawing me onward and appeasing me. But Bagoas was still my favorite because there was no official replacement for him in my heart. Since I had been called Alexander the Great, surrounded by courtesans, eunuchs, and guards, I had lost my appetite for love. My one constancy was Olympias, a diffuse light, an outpost that still answered my missives. I had become impatient and irascible.
Riding the umpteenth stallion called Bucephalus, I saw my abandoned past reeling out behind me. From an illegitimate girl, I had revealed myself a man. From weakness, I had acquired strength. My fear of Philip and the pain of rape had allowed me to build a life on revenge. By putting myself at the forefront of my attacks on every city, I had made myself the king of kings, leading men who were taller, more adept, and stronger than myself. I had lived intensely, wasting nothing of the lessons Aristotle taught me. I had done nothing to disappoint the gods who adopted me.
My courage was now legendary. My strength had been crowned with glory. My determination had taken me to heights forbidden to the sons of men. All these earthly rewards did nothing to gratify me. I was no longer happy.
How could I forget that Hephaestion, Bagoas, and all my friends and lovers created an invisible rampart condemning me to endless sterile solitude? How could I forget that glory was shortlived, that death might take me naked, with no crown and no lands but only regrets?
What was missing, and painfully so, was a wife who could accompany me on my journeys and through my life. What was missing was a child to whom I could pass on the ring of command. The absence of a family weakened me. The conspiracies around me multiplied, all with a view to assassinating a king with no heir.
A constant stream of young men appeared, to charm me. I saw this as an insidious maneuver intended to keep me from women. I used these boys and threw them away, convinced they had been sent to sound me out, to watch me and fill my free moments. Somewhere behind them was a man planning to take hold of my army and my empire.
I sat on my throne alone, and said nothing.
***
It started as a slanderous rumor. Then it grew, borne
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