Forgetfulness - Chapter 3
Forgetfulness - Chapter 3
Forgetfulness - Chapter 3
"What was it that you forgot?" an almost slobbering Ptolemàios awoke Hephaistion from his day-dreaming. He bitterly shook his head.
"I forgot that Alèxandros likes that man, only the gods know why. He would never allow me to reduce Krateròs' Makedonian ass to pieces. In fact, he didn't."
He sipped from his cup again. He should have been stone-cold drunk by this time, but his voice was still firm and he still seemed to be very much himself.
“Come on” continued Ptolemàios “You know why.”
Hephaistion snorted. Oxatre wanted desperately to know more on the subject, and was trying to compose a polite question, but Ptolemàios anticipated him. “Oxatre, you know, Alèxandros likes the man because he is ...”
“...a rotten bootlicker and the most rugged stinker that can be found in the whole known world,” interrupted Hephaistion, the look on his face reminiscent of sniffing the stench of the army latrine.
“Now you're unfair” a munching Ptolemàios objected “You know the man is a very good soldier and commander, and that he loves our king. Plus” he turned to Oxatre again, aware that he may not know all the implications of the feud “He comes from Orestìs, a land closely linked to Olympias and her family. Alèxandros has a great respect for him.”
“And Krateròs knows it, that's why he's always getting in my way. I know what he whispers in Alèxandros' ear, that I'm not as skillful a warrior as he is; that I should be left to take care of the Royal harem... I guess it's his fault I am yet to be officially announced as the king's second in command. And he's so irritating, always harping on about the ancient customs and Makedonian supremacy...”
“You know, Hephaistion, my friend” interjected Oxatre, this time well aware of the matter “As much as I thank you for your openness about my own culture, the old guard is still a major force in this army and, after what's happened with poor Klèitos, the king must show them respect and consideration.”
Hephaistion couldn't help but puffing. “I know it all so well. Those old nitwits think they are still back in Pella, arguing with the highlanders for some herd of sheep... And we have to listen to them and cherish them... I hate politics, sometimes.”
Ptolemàios laughed: “No, you don't, son. You were born to be in politics. And you adore it.”
The younger man nodded, smiling. “You seem to know me better than I do,” he answered to his friend in a warmer tone.
"I wonder” reflected Leònnatos “Who was the one that informed the king..."
To Oxatre's utter disgust, Hephaistion spat on the floor. "It was that painted, ridiculous tart. I saw him waddling around before Krateròs approached me. He must have run like hell to his adored king, eager to thrust his pretty abused ass in the air before him in that damned proskìnesis (sorry, Oxatre) and spread his venom at his feet. I can almost hear him speaking."
Hephaistion graciously blinked several times and started mocking Bagoas’ high-pitched voice and thick Persian accent "Oh, halmighty kreat ging of ging, pleaze comee... De Lort Epaistion and de lort Grateròs are nearlee gilling each oder... pleaze..."[1]
Ptolemàios and Leònnatos were splitting their sides with laughter, and even Oxatre laughed at the excellent imitation. He was relaxing, little by little, affected by the loosened mood, his mind unbridled by the strong wine he was drinking. Lately, this was happening more and more frequently, when he was with his Makedonian friends, and he had started to think that they were leading him onto a very wrong track.
He let himself go, joining the laughter and enjoying the entertainment of a very skillful Hephaistion, mimicking the way the young eunuch kept on smoothing his hair behind his ears.
When they were done having fun at the poor boy’s expense, they realized they were in need of food. Hephaistion called a page and gave the orders, and noises could be heard through the tent's leather walls, of pottery and whispered words.
Meanwhile, more wine was being sipped from cups, and the four men in the warm chamber felt blissfully at ease and comfortably fuzzy.
Ptolemàios resumed the subject. "Oxatre, you probably never heard of how the whole Athenian whore thing began...”
Hephaistion let his body settle on his couch, as much as the massive presence of his friend allowed him, and cleared his throat. "Well, I don't think our guest here is really interested in it..."
Oxatre was, however, very interested indeed. He was eager to know about the Hipparch's past. He knew very little about his childhood over in Makedonia. So he begged the young man to tell how it happened that he became an Athenian whore.
Hephaistion smiled, changing his position on the cushions, and waited for his pages to fetch some bread, cheese, fruit and honey. He waved the youngest, a boy of about 14, to rekindle the braziers and fetch the jar of wine. He dismissed the pages, assuring them they wouldn't be needed anymore. Oxatre noticed a hint of dislike on the youngest page's face. He smiled to himself. He was a young, gorgeous boy that had surely shared his master's bed several times now. Hephaistion loved beauty, and he wasn't one to leave to others what he could so easily claim for himself. The boy was clearly disappointed to be dismissed, he had probably hoped to stay the night. But discipline is discipline, so he wished the four men health and left with a bow.
"As you may have guessed, my ancestors were actually from Athens” Hephaistion helped himself to some bread. “That's why in my family, we all have these Athenian names. I was named by the temple of Hèphaistos, the one facing the Agora. I used to complain with my father, why hadn't he named me Perdìkkas, or Amyntas, or even Alèxandros? All my friends constantly teased me for that strange name of mine."
"Come on, you have to agree, it's such a weird name!" laughed Ptolemàios, chewing some exotic fruit, the name of which he probably wasn't able to tell.
"Yes, but at least I'm not mistaken for about a million other guys” retorted Hephaistion “But I'm rambling...Well, then, I was about twelve or thirteen when I went with my father to Athens, with a diplomatic delegation sent by King Philip[2]. He sent my father among the envoys, because, due to our Athenàios origins, we had some relatives living there, and he hoped that it could help to fix things with those stubborn people. We stayed there almost a year, I assisted the debates, and I heard Demosthenes' speeches.”
“I learned a lot about diplomacy, in those months, and I learned a lot about myself, too. As a matter of fact, I was in the age when boys become men. And it turned out that I was quite attractive....to cut matters short, in the end the son of the richest man in Athenian offered me to be his eròmenos. They do things that way, over there. An older one and his little boy.[3]” he stopped talking for a moment, focusing on the silent shape of Leònnatos, whose cup was dangerously tilted. “Are you sleeping, Leònnatos?"
Shaken by the almost yelled words of his friend, Leònnatos shook away his lethargy and smiled. "No, of course, how could I sleep when I'm going to finally find out the truth about your debauched life? Please, go on, let us know your stunts..."
Hephaistion didn't pay him any more attention, and quietly resumed his tale: "Well, this Agathon was quite cute, and I said to myself, what if I try? I refused to bind myself in that eròmenos-erastès thing, anyway, because I wanted to go home as soon as possible, but I had my sexual education right there and then. You laugh, my friend, I know what you're thinking: we Greek are perverted...."
"I'm not thinking anything like that!" protested Oxatre. He knew he should be indignant; however he couldn't help but be incredibly interested in his host’s story.
"You are! I can tell from that shocked look on your face. I know what you Persians think about two men together... But if I could tell you... No, no, I'm not going to ramble again, so, straight to my farewell to Agathon and my return to Pella, where I was supposed to become a page to King Philip. You can imagine that within two days from my arrival the entire town knew what had happened with Agathon. One day, during a wrestle contest, I defeated Kàssandros, the current Regent's older son, and in revenge he called me Athenian whore. It has been an everlasting success since then."
"But you Makedonians are so proud of your scandalous demeanor, what was wrong with you sleeping with a man?" asked Oxatre, amused.
"Ah, he wasn't a just a man, he was an enemy, an Athenian. Besides, Makedonian court was.... I should say, is, highly competitive. We were like a pack of wolves, all trying to become the alpha. And Kàssandros could see, crystal clear, that I was a threat to him. He was trying to become the little prince's best friend, and he wanted to get rid of any possible rival.”
Hephaistion shook his head, chuckling. “The funny thing is that I couldn't have been less interested in Alèxandros at first. He was simply an insipid brat in my opinion, ruined by the harsh training done with that ogre, Leonidas, and obsessed with the need to be the best in everything he did. In a word: annoying. To be honest I found much greater interest in sweet Perdìkkas, who liked to follow me in the orchards at night."
Leònnatos nodded vigorously, "I remember his father beating him one day, when he realized he hadn't slept at home... And I also remember Kàssandros fussing about Alèxandros night and day."
"I remember that he informed him, with plenty of details, of your achievements", added Ptolemàios, sneering.
"But Kàssandros forgot one thing. More wine, Oxatre?" Hephaistion asked politely.
"Have you watered this wine enough, Hephaistion? I feel a little dazed" replied the Persian, his eyelids feeling as heavy as stone.
"Oh, come on, don't gripe at me. Have another cup. It won't kill you!"
"I hope! How come you can drink all night and still be able to think?"
"Mm…mm, hard training and constant practice, I think."
"Oh, I don't know. I think Makedonian babies suck milk and wine from their mothers' breast. But what did Kàssandros forget? And how came he didn't succeed with Alèxandros?" Oxatre was, by now, really involved in the story. He hardly remembered that he was speaking about the Great King, his -almost- second in command, and the Makedonian regent's son.
"Ah, that poor, poor boy. He forgot that Alèxandros was the most competitive of us all. So when he heard all the commotion about my Athenian experience, and he noticed that I was a target for many lustful glances, he started to look at me in another way. Are you shocked again?"
"Er... no. I think I could have imagined all this." answered Oxatre.
"May be it's only that he doesn't really want to imagine it," teased Ptolemàios.
"Moron."
"Pervert."
"Bigot."
"Asshole."
"All right” Oxatre judged it was time to interrupt the skirmish “What happened then?"
"Er... Yes, Alèxandros started drooling over me. I didn't see it coming. I began my service as a page, and immediately was bedded by King Philip; not the best experience in my life, I can honestly say."
"Now you're joking!"
"Why?” Hephaistion shrugged “He bedded any breathing being within his reach. Why not a young, charming, handsome noble kid? It was what any page expected of him. But Kàssandros tried his blow in trying to lessen me in my favor with Alèxandros, telling him that I was sleeping with everyone at Pella, even with his father. But again, he achieved the opposite goal. Alèxandros decided that this was enough, and that if everybody wanted me, and above all his father, he had to have me at any cost. So he started to openly court me, despite the fact that every other boy was openly courting him."
"Romantic," Oxatre couldn't help but comment.
"Indeed. I was initially taken aback, but then I thought that it could be a great fluke, to be in the prince and future king's favor. I therefore planned my campaign."
"More and more a romance. And I thought it was love at first sight!"
"You have been reading too much poetry. But then I had a problem. If I had to be with him, I needed to be irreplaceable, better than all the wolves in the pack. I studied the others' behavior, and saw how they constantly flattered him, letting him have his way, which pleased him immensely. It still does. But as much as he likes to be pampered, I could see he didn't really trust any of them. So I launched my cavalry and beat him in a wrestling match on the first occasion."
"Is that the Makedonian idea of courting?"
"It's the Makedonian way to get to a prince's heart. At first he was furious, and called me many unrepeatable names. But I stared at him with eyes wide open and my best look of innocence: 'Would you like me to let you win?' A master-stroke, you have to admit it. He couldn't help but apologize, and secretly realize that I was different from the others. First battle won.”
Hephaistion was staring in his cup, like he could see scenes from his youth displayed in the wine.
“But at the same time I couldn't help but think that he had been brave, and that he had acknowledged his defeat with dignity. From that day, we started to stroll about for hours, and I had to admit he wasn't as boring as I had first thought him to be. He shared his dreams with me, his love for Homer, whom I loved too, his secret wish to be worthy of his ancestor, Akillèus.”
He laughed, self-deprecating: “I knew I shouldn't let my feelings sway me from my purposes, but then, I was only a boy... I won other battles: more and more he searched for my company and accepted that I wouldn't simply say yes to each and every one of his requests. He forgot that he had to have me, and he realized that he wanted me. But his new compliant, sometimes sheepish demeanor made me change the way I viewed him, and besides, as months went by, he became a real beauty, and I started to feel attraction for him.”
The Hipparch sighed, like he was admitting a defeat: “So in the end, he won the war. I fell in love with him and his visions of a glorious future world for us to conquer. To end this story, one bright summer night we went to his father's palace garden, and we finally kissed."
The jasmine flowers emitted a strong and intoxicating scent. The moonlight was strong enough to allow the two boys to find their way through the bushes and plants in the palace's garden. Alèxandros finally found his favorite spot, a bench under a hedge of jasmine. They sat quietly, not daring to break the comforting silence, listening to the crickets’ concert, and to the rustling leaves.
Alèxandros couldn't withhold his feelings any more. He turned to find his friend's captivating eyes, shining in half-light and once again felt a pang in his chest, like a pain, a delightful pain. "Hephaistion, I... You... What if...." he slurred, trying to find the courage to say the words that remained trapped on his tongue.
Hephaestion's heart skipped a beat. He knew not how, but from some distant knowledge long buried inside him, he realized this task, this first step, was not Alexander’s to take. It was not for Alexander to do this, as it was not for Akillèus to; this was the responsibility of Pàtroklos, and as such, was the responsibility of Hephaistion.
He became suddenly aware that this would be his duty forever; that this was the first time, but many times were yet to come. But he had forgotten how to speak, and there was no time to learn again. So, instead, he leaned to Alèxandros and closed his eyes, placing his lips on the other's gently, like a butterfly resting lightly upon a precious flower.
He was about to withdraw, but Alèxandros followed his movements, leaning into him to keep their lips in contact. Hephaistion felt his heartbeat racing, and held him tightly, while their kiss deepened. They were no virgins, but that night they felt like it was the first time they felt desire. Both had had sex before now, but that night they both made love for the first time.
Hephaistion's eyes darkened, the sweetness of this memory embittered by his present situation. He shook his head, and didn't even pretend to be lighthearted when he finished: "And that's how I became Alèxandros' favorite, and the public enemy number one. And I've been so lovestruck ever since that I’ve been putting up with hate and hostility for a hell of a long time. And for what? Just to come to this land forsaken by the Gods and hear him say that I am nothing!"
He slammed his cup on the table. He had again lost all his cheerfulness.
"What a reward! I've followed him to the edge of the world, I gave up any idea of a life on my own, I suffered all kinds of humiliations with any form of promotion that I was granted, because I was supposed to have gained it in his bed, I accomplished all of his crazy requests... by Athenà, I even bowed before his mighty majesty (sorry, Oxatre...) and all I get in the end is a tent in the mud and a bad mood!"
Oxatre stared at him, feeling innately terrible for his friend.
It was difficult for him to follow Hephaistion's logic. For a Persian, a king was a God, unquestionable, untouchable. At least, almost untouchable.
It was hard for him to think that Hephaistion considered Alèxandros a peer. But with some effort, and thanks to the wine he had drunk, he could just about see the Makedonian's point of view. He had every right to be furious, and in a sudden flash of lucidity he remembered that he himself had expected Hephaistion to be mad at the king.
But then, he had showed rage, tiredness, a placid countenance, cheerfulness and again rage in the space of few hours…he was a little confused by the sudden changes of Hephaistion's mood.
The Hipparch seemed to read his mind. "Oxatre, my friend, you will regret having come so far this night, to hear me talking disrespectfully about the king."
"I never regret being with a friend whom I respect and love. And, besides, I think the King did you wrong. You deserve more than this. May Ahura Mazda forgive me, for daring to criticize the King."
Hephaistion smiled and reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. If by any chance there's any God at all, he knows that a king is still a man. No matter if he forgets it. He is still a man." he bowed his head for a while. “Actually…he does sometimes forget this. He forgets that he is only a man. But I remember."
Ptolemàios had remained silent for a while, but hearing the bitterness in Hephaistion's voice, he thought that it was time to lighten the atmosphere. "So, you were in the garden and you kissed. And then who had who?"
"Now who's the pervert? Why do you want to know?" Ptolemàios shrugged, and Hephaistion rolled his eyes. "You made a bet on it! I can't believe it! And whom did you bet with?"
"Perdìkkas," said the older man, glad to share the blame with another.
"That old filthy man... I could take my revenge and tell you what he used to do, over there in the orchards." snorted Hephaistion.
"I don't think I really want to know... and besides, you were the one with him!" Ptolemàios wore a very indignant expression, unable to convince anyone.
"True, that's why I won't tell you anything. And who's on top between me and Alèxandros is none of your business, and I won't tell you, either."
Sweating body to sweating body, breath to breath, their salty, musky smells mingled in the peculiar scent that was their own. In Hephaistion's strong arms, Alèxandros could let go of all his thoughts and worries.
He could forget he had to be perfect, to be the first, the best, to be always the winner. He could cease for a while to be in charge of everything, to have everything under control. He could surrender, allow himself to be weak and take strength from the warm body which pressed against him.
He could be free.
Leònnatos yawned, stirring in his chair. "And in the end, Kàssandros, with all his scheming and planning, was left behind, in Pella."
"It was your own job, wasn't it, Amyntoros?"
Hephaistion wore an innocent look as he replied: "What? No, it wasn't. I only suggested to Alèxandros that Antìpatros would need a reliable person by his side to rule Makedonia while we were away... and who could be more trustworthy than his own older son?"
Ptolemàios grinned, "We all know where Alèxandros' best ideas come from."
Oxatre was following the conversation, having given up indefinitely on any hope of decency. He decided to intervene."It was then when you became Pàtroclos for his Akillèus?"
Hephaistion rolled his eyes and puffed. "You have no idea of how much this thing annoys me. But he is like a girl in these things. And, to answer to your question, it was after the battle at Chàironeia that he first brought up the subject.”
He sadly shook his head. “And it was entirely my fault. We had slaughtered all those fine warriors, and he was in his epic mood. I approached him, and I said him he reminded me of Akillèus himself. I thought it would please him."
He sighed, and closed his eyes. "And of course, it did. He grabbed my arms and stared at me with those lunatic eyes, and told me that Akillèus only fought well because he had his Pàtroclos at his side. Would I like to be Pàtroclos for his Akillèus? I felt a shiver down my spine, and my balls wrinkled."
Oxatre frowned, and Hephaistion at once explained "You know, Pàtroclos died first."
Ptolemàios sneered knowingly, raising his cup in a silent toast.
"What was I supposed to say? Could I answer 'Oh, love, I do not even want to hear it... I won't steal from you the great honor to die young, chasing glory... I'd rather get old and see my grandchildren grow...' ? Of course I couldn't. So I swore I'd be his Pàtroclos for ever. And he liked it. Oh, how he liked it... He even told his mother."
Laughter in unison followed this statement at the thought of Olympias' face at such an announcement.
"But the worst thing was that ridiculous, humiliating ceremony he arranged at Troy. I tried my best to be exempted, but in the end I had to run naked around that cursed tomb and make sacrifices to Pàtroclos' soul... I felt like his soul was really there, sympathizing with me. After all, he knew all too well what it is to be with an insane king."
Everybody laughed, remembering that day in the warm Troàs sun.
Oxatre was really enjoying the talking by now. But a disturbing thought kept buzzing in his head, trying to find its way to consciousness through the alcoholic clouds that filled his mind. He finally found the words: “So, you're saying that you were only complying with his wishes... you didn't believe in it....”
Hephaistion waved his hand, like he wanted to sweep away the uncomfortable feeling from his friend: “Oh, let me explain: I loved the meaning of the ceremony, the fact that he wanted to publicly show his affection for me. But it was me they - he nodded to the other Makedonians - would tease forever. Not him.”
Ptolemàios nodded as vigorously as his drunkenness would allow: “Ah, but you were such a glorious sight, your naked skin glittering with oil in the sun, and those celebrated thighs tense in the effort of the run... Half of the army drooled after you, and the other half hated you out of envy.”
Leònnatos assented, unable to stop yawning, “I was near Klèitos that day, and as hard as he tried he couldn't hide his arousal... I teased him for a while, and in the end he told me: 'You know, Leònnatos, I've never wished to be a king, since today! I'd even run naked three times around those tombs if that meant I could sleep with Kaloi - Meròi tonight ' . That's what he said.”
“Kalòi - Meròi?” Asked a puzzled Oxatre, afraid that his Greek had already dissolved in wine.
“Oh, you had to mention it, didn't you, Leònnatos?” Grunted a frowning Hephaistion, but Ptolemàios patted his hand twice upon his friend's thigh, covered by the Persian fabric of his pants. “Come on, take it easy, man, it was that damn philosopher who started it[4]. I bet that when he asked Alèxandros to move away, it wasn't because of the sun: he simply wanted to have a better view of your thighs!”
Hephaistion smacked Ptolemàios hand, feigning indignation, while the older Somatophylax explained to Oxatre that Klèitos had had a habit of teasing Hephaistion, calling him “Beautiful thighs”.
Hephaistion softly smiled at the thought of the man. Even if, during the last years of the Melas,[5] they were of opposite opinions on the king's policy of integration, he had never ceased to respect and love him.
Many things had they shared: both had been, at some time, a King's favorite, they had to prove their worthiness with their deeds, they sometimes were despised by those who thought they were only sycophants, each one for his own King. And, besides, there were those months in Pella, before Alèxandros claimed Hephaistion for himself...
“I tell you lad, you're worthy for a king,” breathing heavily, covered with sweat and definitely content, Klèitos teased the boy who lay beside him.
Hephaistion smiled with his eyes still closed, punching the strong shoulder of the man: “Are you suggesting you're a king in bed?”
Klèitos suddenly became serious, taking the boy's jaw in his hand. “I'm serious, brat. And it won't be a bed of roses. Remember it, Hephaistion.” Hephaistion stared in his eyes and nodded earnestly, silently explaining to the man that he understood.
He had never forgotten. And that cursed night, while Klèitos was kneeling, pierced by that spear, he had searched for Hephaistion's eyes, as Hephaestion stared at him in horror. And the younger man was sure he could hear the whispered words bubbling within the blood:
“Remember, Hephaistion!”
The Hipparch sighed, shaking his head. It was over now.
Ptolemàios took another piece of bread, smearing some honey on it. He glanced at Leònnatos, who was nearly dozing on his couch. He swallowed his bread and rose from his seat: “Well, Hephaistion, it's almost dawn, and I think we've taken too great an advantage of your hospitality. Before I leave, I feel obliged to tell you again that I sincerely hope you reconsider your decision.”
Hephaistion nodded, smiling, but everyone in the tent knew that he wouldn't change his point of view. Oxatre stood too, and was about to take his leave when a sudden commotion could be heard coming from outside the tent.
A page ran hastily into the inner chamber, panting and looking utterly distraught. “Hephaistion, Hipparch, the king... King Alèxandros is here! He wants... he wants to speak to you!”
Four pairs of eyes immediately fell on the Hipparch. He didn’t even flinch on his couch, instead merely staring at the wine stains on the carpet. The only sound that could be heard was the heavy breathing of the bewildered and terrified page. His friends simply kept on staring at him, not daring to interrupt his thoughts.
Finally he seemed to reach a conclusion, and briskly raised his head. He spoke to the page with a calm, quiet voice: “Are there any dried figs left?”
“I... I think there are some, Hipparch” answered the page, obviously worrying for his master's mental health. Figs, when the King was in the antechamber, waiting for an answer?
“Take a plate of them, bring them to the king, and tell him that I want to know if he's asking me or ordering me.” The page swallowed hard, but he was well trained and hurried to obey, even if he was possibly on his way to being punished by the king for pure insolence.
Hephaistion stood up, unconsciously fixing his Persian attire and smoothing his hair. He felt the questioning looks from his friends upon him, but shook his head firmly. Waiting for the King's answer, despite his stubbornness, he was tense; he wasn't in the mood for explanations.
They waited for many uncomfortable minutes in total silence. Hephaistion's behavior had surprised all of them, but Ptolemàios was almost sure that there was some form of special meaning behind the gift of figs, one that only the two of them knew about. He waited hopefully.
Hephaistion silently opened the door.
Alèxandros, oblivious to the state of utter confusion that lay around him, was standing ignorantly amongst an array of discarded chitons, scrolls and various objects lying everywhere, with servants running all over the room packing the prince’s personal items, as if under the impression he was of an organized nature.
He was throwing scrolls in the fire of a brazier, casting those, which he chose to keep, onto the bed, from where a servant was taking them to put them in a separate chest. Hephaistion approached the busy prince with a plate of dried figs. “That's all I could gather in the kitchen without being caught... have one. You aren't eating enough.”
Alèxandros smiled to his friend, took a fig, and began to chew it reluctantly. “You always know what I need, Hephaistion. I will miss you.”
“No, you won't. My baggage and horses are ready, and I wrote to my father. I guess he will not be surprised at all with what has happened between your father, Attalos and you. We can leave whenever you are ready.”
“You're not coming with me. I'm in danger; my father could have me killed at any moment. I won't expose you to this danger. I want you safe, here in Pella, to wait for things to get better. My father won't harm you if you are not at my side while I'm away.”
Hephaistion simply nodded. “And are you asking me, or is this an order?”
Alèxandros looked into those bright, sparkling eyes. He could read determination in them, and he knew he should fight to prevail. But he didn't particularly want to prevail, and, besides, he knew it would be unfair to use his power to force Hephaistion to obey.
“I'm asking you, because I will never forgive myself if something should happen to you. Please, stay.”
Hephaistion smiled. “Fine, then. I'll come with you, like Pàtroclos would have done with his own stubborn Akillèus. And I'll tell you just this once, I'll always come with you, whether you want me to or not.”
“I know, Hephaistion. And I’ll tell you just this once; I’ll always want you by my side.”
Hephaistion smiled softly, as if he could not quite believe the prince’s words. Alexander raised a single eyebrow, an encouraging smile uplifting his expression, the glimmer of his eyes dancing with amusement. “I tell a lie. Perhaps I shall not tell you just this once; perhaps I shall simply have to remind you every day.”
“And, my Pàtroclos, one more thing: I hate dried figs.”
The page appeared at the opening of the chamber, his eyes wide with shock. Hephaistion brusquely nodded, urging him to speak.
The boy stuttered in utter confusion: “The king... the king laughed and now is eating the figs. He said he is asking you, and that you should have known it.”
Hephaistion smiled to himself. He then turned to his guests: “I'm afraid, my friends, I have to ask you to leave. I'm going to punch some sense in our almighty king's head. I'll see you tomorrow.”
Ptolemàios nodded and stepped near his friend, patting his shoulder. “Are you sure everything's alright? Do you want us to stay to help you?”
Hephaistion smiled brightly. He put his hand on Ptolemàios’ arm and thanked him.
“Don't worry, my faithful friend. Everything's going to be alright.” He turned to the page and ordered him to let the king in; then he wished his guests health.
They all headed for the exit, but before leaving, Ptolemàios turned to look one last time at Hephaistion. Their eyes locked, and Hephaistion finally nodded. “It's alright. Eventually, he has come.”
He threw his friend a bright, confident smile. “Don't worry, he'll have to pay through his nose. I won't let him off. You know me.”
And with those parting words, he casually took a seat on the couch, ready to confront the king. The last words Ptolemàios heard were whispered by an absent minded Hephaistion to no one in particular:
“After all, he didn't forget.”
[1] I really don't know how the persian accent could have sound in Greek, so I invented a weird pronounciation...
[2] In 344 a Makedonian delegation was acually sent by Philip in Athens, but of course I have no way of knowing if Amyntor was in the envoy's number, much less Hephaistion.
[3] This well know pattern is a typical athenian costume. Makedonians were Dori's descendants and so they followed their tradition, which favored homoerotic relationships between boys, or even man, of about the same age as well. Akillèus and Pàtroklos are the most famous example of that behaviour (Akillèus is likely a "doric" character) (R.L.Fox)
[4] Diogenes to Alèxandros, letter 24
[5] The Black (Klèitos)