First entry: Four Months, an Alexander Fanfiction - Part I
Hello, everybody.
I'm still trying to figure out how to post in LJ... this is part I of a story I wrote about Alexander the Great.
It's dedicated to my dearest Jun_Yumemakura.
Four Months - part one
Some say that, upon the black earth,
the most beautiful thing is an army of knights,
or infantry, or a fleet.
I say it is the one you love.
(Sappho, fr.16)
She sat on a padded armchair in her room, head held with one hand, deeply focused in her thoughts. Her appearance was dignified, composed; only her eyes, rimmed with red, and a certain aura of neglect lingering around her the evidence of her true mood. She shook her head when her servant tried, pleading gently with soft words, to convince her to help herself to some sweet treats that lay on a tray, left on a carved table near her bed.
She didn't want to eat. She didn't want to speak to anyone. She only wanted to sit there, her eyes fixed on the table. She had been there since the day before, when the messenger from Ecbatana was first admitted to her rooms.
Her servant, Anahambis, sighed, distressed by her mistress’ grief; unable to find a way to soothe her. She turned her eyes to the table, where some items were placed next to the unwelcome tray of food.
Anahambis had known her mistress, whose name was Drypetis, since the day she was born: a Princess of the noblest blood, and had remained by her side throughout all the extraordinary events she and her family had gone through.
She had been at Issus when the Great King had fled the battlefield, leaving his family behind in his enemy's hands. She had followed the women of the Royal Family back to Susa, where the new King coming from West had settled them.
She had lived there, waiting on her, sharing her boring life, listening to the amazing stories told by the eunuchs, (they seemed to know everything that was going on in the Empire, or, at least, everything juicy), watching her attending the Greek lessons given to her and her sister, which were taken at the behest of King Alèxandros, waiting for the message from him that would reveal her fate.
Drypetis was one of the Great King’s daughters, and from a very young age she had known what her destiny was to be: she should help her family the only way a woman could, by marrying any noble man her father chose for her.
Her fate, and her sister's too, didn't change when her father died; she knew that she and Barsine (1) would grant continuity to the Persian inheritance through their marriage to anyone the new King considered useful.
She remembered the day when they finally received the message from King Alèxandros, announcing that they were to be married: Barsine to the King himself, Drypetis to the Khilìarkhos. When the eunuch delivered the scroll with the Royal Seal they were all sitting in the Princesses'
grandmother's room, talking, playing chess, gossiping and laughing with their chaperones, the same as any other ordinary day, unaware that this was to be a day that would change their lives forever.
Alèxandros' decision was not unexpected for the elder sister; everyone thought it likely that he would choose Darèius' first-born daughter as one of his wives, it would, after all, fit well with his politics of integration among their two peoples. Alèxandros had urged her to improve her knowledge of the Greek language for this reason, apparently.
But Drypetis was caught by surprise by the news of her engagement to the Khilìarkhos. She had thought the King would possibly have her married to one of his Makedonian dignitaries, or a satrap, or perhaps a powerful ally in order to bind him to the Crown.
But the Khilìarkhos himself... this truly was a windfall. It meant she could probably stay close to her sister, and she would become one of the most honoured women in the Empire... The Khilìarkhos' wife! His first wife. After Alèxandros, he was the most important man in the Empire. And as people liked to repeat, he was also the best looking man in the army...
Drypetis could remember Hephaistion's appearance, though she had met him only once, in the Royal tent at Issus, when all the women of the Royal Court and the Harem were sure the young "yahuna" (2) and his companions would take advantage of them.
She was only a little girl at the time, but she remembered Hephaistion's dignified countenance and the reassuring smile he flashed at the terrified women in the tent, before grandmother Sisygambis knelt before him, mistaking him for the King because of his righteously splendid appearance.
Drypetis couldn't believe her good luck. She had been happy, those days, absorbed in the preparations for the wedding, excited, though obviously a little worried, like any young bride was supposed to be.
All was over, now, and Anahambis was forced to witness her young mistress's early widowhood, utterly lost in providing her some form of comfort.
"Mistress," - she dared to address Drypetis, her voice sweet and sorrowful, - "Please, don't scare me like this. Dear child, please, speak to me."
Tears rolled down her lined face. Drypetis finally turned her eyes to her servant, a heavy sigh issuing from her lips, and she smiled a tiny, resigned, sad smile, breaking Anahambis’ heart.
Suddenly, Drypetis got up out of the armchair and walked to the table. She turned to her servant and whispered, as if she hadn’t the strength nor will to speak louder: "Come, I want to show you something," pointing to the few items displayed on it.
"Do you see?" - murmured the young woman - "That's all he left behind for me."
Anahambis approached the table and carefully admired the objects Drypetis was speaking of: a scroll with a broken seal; a bracelet; a silver diadem; a little horse carved out of wood, and another scroll, thicker than the first one, made apparently of several sheets folded together, tied up with a crimson ribbon.
Drypetis caressed the bracelet, a very fine and elegant piece of Egyptian jewellery made up of several golden wires, with green malachite, vivid colours enamel and blue lapislazuli embedded within them. Anahambis remembered it very well; it had been delivered by Bagoas, the King’s eunuch, a few days after the message from Alèxandros, together with the scroll which now laid there, its seal broken. It was from Hephaistion. Drypetis didn't have to read it again to remember what was written in it, and she repeated it absently, raising the bracelet to rest it on her wrist:
'Hephaistion Amyntoros to Princess Drypetis, joy to you. I hope you will accept this little gift, which surely adds nothing to the celebrated beauty of such a magnificent spring of the noblest Persian family. It's only a small sign of my gratitude for the great honour that's been granted to me, to become your husband.'
This was their first personal contact, the first time he addressed her, although with a cold formality which spoke of duty more than real interest.
She wasn't disappointed, yet, when she received the message and the gift. How could she have expected anything different? He didn't know her; he possibly didn't even remember her. He was older, experienced; he surely had had plenty of lovers, females and, more than likely, males, according to the Makedonian customs. He had been (some said that he still was) the King's beloved. He surely was his favourite. Why on earth would he be interested in an unknown Persian girl, Royal Princess or no?
Besides, gossip travelled fast in the Court, and the eunuchs swore that Alèxandros wanted he and Hephaistion to marry sisters, so that their children could share the same blood. It was, thought Drypetis, the closest thing Alèxandros could ever get to marrying Hephaistion himself.
She wouldn't object to this plan. Why should she? She considered it to be a great honour, instead. Besides, she was happy that she wasn't forced to get married to any Makedonian of the Old Guard, a man who would despise Persians and their customs, and would have wanted her to forget all about her past and live the life of a good Makedonian woman.
She had thought with sorrow of her cousin Amastris, Oxatre's daughter, who had been chosen for Krateròs. She was going to be unhappy with him, though, of course, it was a great honour to be the important, philobasilèus (3) general's wife.
Hephaistion, on the contrary, was said to be an admirer of both Persian culture and customs; the all-knowing eunuchs said he wore Persians garments, properly honoured Persian noble courtesans according to their rank, and had even learned to speak a good Persian, too.
The more impertinent among the servants said that this was the reason why Krateròs and Hephaistion didn’t get along at all. Rumours had spread swiftly that they had fought fiercely back in India, and that Alèxandros himself had been called to fix things between them. Listening to those stories, she had wondered if she would ever be allowed to see her cousin again, after the marriage.
Drypetis sighed, placing the bracelet back on the table, next taking the silver diadem and examining it deeply, as if she had never seen it before. Then she shook her head, her eyes tightly closed, as if trying to rid herself of a painful thought.
"Do you remember when I wore this?" she asked Anahambis, her voice still no more than a whisper.
"Of course I remember. You were the most beautiful bride in the hall, that night. Everyone could tell."
Drypetis smiled a little, her eyes fixed on the little diadem that was part of her bridal attire. She could remember her feelings when she entered the hall, escorted by a cousin of her father's, because her uncle Oxatre was far too busy with Barsine, now Statira, and his own daughter.
The very second she stepped inside, her eyes searched for her soon-to-be husband, and immediately found him sitting to the King's right, listening intently to something the Alèxandros was telling him in a low voice, nodding briefly from time to time. When Chares, the chamberlain, gave the announcement that the brides had arrived they both rose from their seats, their eyes turning towards the women.
Drypetis felt her heart miss a beat when she saw him standing near the throne.
He was stunning in his Persian clothing; he stood there, tall, slender: more similar to a Persian nobleman than to a foreign general, except that he wore no beard. When she was presented to him, her face still covered by the traditional silk veil, held in place by the silver diadem, he simply reached out to take her hand in his, guiding her to stand at his side.
Drypetis missed almost the entire ceremony, lost in her thoughts. So, now this man was her husband. This silent, dignified, serious man. She would follow him and bear his children. She felt excitement, fear, daze, sorrow for her lost childhood and a thrilling expectation for her new life, all in a single moment.
She barely noticed her surroundings, the King taking her sister's hand, the ritual words spoken, the cheers and wishes of luck. She was taken to her husband’s room before she could hear a single word from him. The men were to stay back in the hall for more celebrations while she was prepared for the night by her servants, and then sat alone in an armchair, waiting for her husband to come, studying the room and appreciating the elegance of the furniture and the refinement of the furnishings. He surely was a man of good taste, a lover of elegance and sophistication.
Her heart pounded in her chest when finally she heard footsteps in the antechamber, and brief words spoken softly by a male voice. It must be his voice. 'I'm going to sleep with this man, and I haven't heard his voice until now', she couldn't help but think, even as she trembled with fear.
Finally a eunuch entered the room, two golden cups in his hands, and put them on the table near the bed, retiring soon after bowing to Drypetis, and again to Hephaestion, who entered just as he made to exit. The Makedonian dismissed him with a polite nod and then he stepped inside, gently smiling to Drypetis. He took a cup and handed it to her, exhorting her to drink some wine. She thanked him with a feeble voice, and then sipped from the cup, the feeling of his gaze upon her only heightening her uneasiness.
An unexpected chuckle made her raise her eyes on him. He shook his head, looking at her with sympathy, and then, for the first time, he spoke to her with his deep, soothing voice: "There's no need to be nervous, Drypetis; you know, this is my first marriage, too."
Drypetis shook her head, remembering how this sentence had upset her at first, but, at least, he had started a very friendly conversation, dealing with subjects that she could easily speak about, and little by little she relaxed and began to feel more confident. "Even in his bedchamber, on his wedding night, he used his strong powers of diplomacy; his much celebrated ability to make people comfortable," she mused aloud, speaking to no-one in particular.
He had been careful and caring, tender with her in the few nights they shared before he left for another mission, following the King. By that time Drypetis already knew she was going to miss him; by that time she had become fully aware of what she represented for him: another duty to fulfil for his King, another mission to carry out with all his abilities. She didn't blame him for this; she had taken advantage of the short time he spent with her to get to know him as best as she could, and she could tell without difficulty he was Alèxandros' right arm in more ways than anybody could guess.
Besides, she couldn't reproach Hephaistion for anything. He was respectful, caring in his own, nonchalant way; he spoke sweetly and politely to her, and, to her utter surprise, he looked genuinely interested in what she had to say. He spoke about the children they would have, saying that they were to be the living signs of the birth of a new world, and she knew he meant it. But his eyes, though they shone with sympathy, offered no affection, nor desire, nor attraction.
Drypetis sighed again, caressing one last time the diadem before putting it back on the table. "We were together for such a short time, Anahambis. I can't remember his voice any more."
The old woman nodded thoughtfully. She knew that, by now, her mistress was trying to cling on to anything that could remind her of him. She knew from the whispers that had spread around the Court like wildfire that the King was doing the same, away in Ecbatana. But he had shared almost his entire life at Hephaistion's side, and could draw from an endless supply of memories.
But Drypetis…Drypetis had only the few items laid out before her to show for his legacy. She shed some more tears, sobbing, unable to contain herself.
"Do you see this?" said Drypetis, pointing at the little wooden horse."It was his last gift; he gave it to me the day he took his leave from Susa."
He stepped in her room with his usual steady, yet fast steps, greeting her with a hint of impatience in his voice, his eyes glowing with an excited light she had never seen before.
She dutifully welcomed him, setting her servants on the move to fetch the Khilìarkhos some wine and cakes. She had hoped he would stay the night, but he disappointed her, announcing his departure. He hastily gave his farewells, letting her know that the army was leaving Susa the following morning.
It was not that Drypetis expected anything more; she was instead happily surprised that he had come to speak to her at all before leaving. Nevertheless, she felt a pang in her chest, a pain which was made up of fear, jealousy, concern and loneliness at the same time. ‘It’s too soon... too soon to lose him!’ she couldn’t help but think.
She did her best not to show any of these feelings, and she wished good luck to him, assuring she was going to pray for the Gods to grant him success and good health. She could sense the scepticism in his smile, but he politely thanked her nonetheless, nodding, as if she had done exactly what he expected from her.
Then he gave her a wooden box, leather reinforcements set about its edges. “I want you to keep this. It’s a little toy I used to play with when I was a child. My grandfather Demetrios carved it for me.”
She opened the box and found a little wooden horse in it, its raised front hoof a little too big, its mane barely visible, and she found herself thinking that probably Hephaistion’s grandfather was better at fighting than at carving wood. Though it didn’t matter, because the toy was not meant to be a piece of art; its only meaning was to get a child accustomed to his military future, playing with wooden horses and dreaming of real ones.
“It was my first horse, long before I learned to ride,” Hephaistion continued, “I took it with me when I left Makedonia, because I wanted to save it for my son. He will be a fine knight, one day, like his Makedonian and Persian ancestors were. I will make sure he’ll be. He’d better get used to horses as soon as possible.” He smiled tenderly at the thought of a son of his riding by his side.
Again Drypetis felt a little upset at the thought of carrying this man’s children. She couldn’t name the feeling, but once again it was like she was performing a duty without having any say in it. She dismissed the feeling, given she couldn’t put her finger on it, as something useless, woman-like and weak. Of course she was honoured to breed the Khilìarkhos’ sons and daughters. Though, if what her older chaperon told her was true, in order to beget children she should share her husband’s bed many times, and she had the odd feeling that this wasn’t going to happen so often from now on.
Maybe it was the shine in Hephaistion’s eyes that made her feel that way. He was explaining to her what the next mission was about, but she didn’t really listen to the words, distracted by the excitement and the almost tangible satisfaction in his voice. She realized he was happy, happier than he had been in the few weeks after the marriage.
She knew that this was the world where he truly belonged: a men’s world, one of riding and war plans and tents in the wilderness; or, if not that, then one of luxurious palaces, government’s duties and diplomatic speeches.
This was simply the way it was meant to be. He would always go away, and she would always stay behind. A good wife’s duty. Nothing to think about, nothing to recriminate. Just a woman’s fate. Though it was more difficult to accept, now that she had gotten used to his voice, his smell, the strength of his arms when he held her, his tanned skin, marred by scars in places she could recall by memory.
But then, she had always been forewarned: a woman’s life was one of sacrifices, self-denial, and eternal wait.
He quickly, but considerately, fulfilled his marital duty one last time before leaving her. He promised to write to her as often as his duties would allow him, and asked her to let him know immediately if she needed something or, above all, if she found herself with child.
Then he kissed her forehead and was gone.
She would never see him again.
[1] She changed her name in Statira when she married Alèxandros.
[2] “The Greek”, as Alèxandros was called at the Persian Court.
[3] Philobasilèus: fond of the King, as Alèxandros considered
Krateròs, while he called Hephaistion Philalèxandros, “fond of
Alèxandros” ((Plùtarkhos, Alexander, a commentary. 47.10)
I'm still trying to figure out how to post in LJ... this is part I of a story I wrote about Alexander the Great.
It's dedicated to my dearest Jun_Yumemakura.
Four Months - part one
Some say that, upon the black earth,
the most beautiful thing is an army of knights,
or infantry, or a fleet.
I say it is the one you love.
(Sappho, fr.16)
She sat on a padded armchair in her room, head held with one hand, deeply focused in her thoughts. Her appearance was dignified, composed; only her eyes, rimmed with red, and a certain aura of neglect lingering around her the evidence of her true mood. She shook her head when her servant tried, pleading gently with soft words, to convince her to help herself to some sweet treats that lay on a tray, left on a carved table near her bed.
She didn't want to eat. She didn't want to speak to anyone. She only wanted to sit there, her eyes fixed on the table. She had been there since the day before, when the messenger from Ecbatana was first admitted to her rooms.
Her servant, Anahambis, sighed, distressed by her mistress’ grief; unable to find a way to soothe her. She turned her eyes to the table, where some items were placed next to the unwelcome tray of food.
Anahambis had known her mistress, whose name was Drypetis, since the day she was born: a Princess of the noblest blood, and had remained by her side throughout all the extraordinary events she and her family had gone through.
She had been at Issus when the Great King had fled the battlefield, leaving his family behind in his enemy's hands. She had followed the women of the Royal Family back to Susa, where the new King coming from West had settled them.
She had lived there, waiting on her, sharing her boring life, listening to the amazing stories told by the eunuchs, (they seemed to know everything that was going on in the Empire, or, at least, everything juicy), watching her attending the Greek lessons given to her and her sister, which were taken at the behest of King Alèxandros, waiting for the message from him that would reveal her fate.
Drypetis was one of the Great King’s daughters, and from a very young age she had known what her destiny was to be: she should help her family the only way a woman could, by marrying any noble man her father chose for her.
Her fate, and her sister's too, didn't change when her father died; she knew that she and Barsine (1) would grant continuity to the Persian inheritance through their marriage to anyone the new King considered useful.
She remembered the day when they finally received the message from King Alèxandros, announcing that they were to be married: Barsine to the King himself, Drypetis to the Khilìarkhos. When the eunuch delivered the scroll with the Royal Seal they were all sitting in the Princesses'
grandmother's room, talking, playing chess, gossiping and laughing with their chaperones, the same as any other ordinary day, unaware that this was to be a day that would change their lives forever.
Alèxandros' decision was not unexpected for the elder sister; everyone thought it likely that he would choose Darèius' first-born daughter as one of his wives, it would, after all, fit well with his politics of integration among their two peoples. Alèxandros had urged her to improve her knowledge of the Greek language for this reason, apparently.
But Drypetis was caught by surprise by the news of her engagement to the Khilìarkhos. She had thought the King would possibly have her married to one of his Makedonian dignitaries, or a satrap, or perhaps a powerful ally in order to bind him to the Crown.
But the Khilìarkhos himself... this truly was a windfall. It meant she could probably stay close to her sister, and she would become one of the most honoured women in the Empire... The Khilìarkhos' wife! His first wife. After Alèxandros, he was the most important man in the Empire. And as people liked to repeat, he was also the best looking man in the army...
Drypetis could remember Hephaistion's appearance, though she had met him only once, in the Royal tent at Issus, when all the women of the Royal Court and the Harem were sure the young "yahuna" (2) and his companions would take advantage of them.
She was only a little girl at the time, but she remembered Hephaistion's dignified countenance and the reassuring smile he flashed at the terrified women in the tent, before grandmother Sisygambis knelt before him, mistaking him for the King because of his righteously splendid appearance.
Drypetis couldn't believe her good luck. She had been happy, those days, absorbed in the preparations for the wedding, excited, though obviously a little worried, like any young bride was supposed to be.
All was over, now, and Anahambis was forced to witness her young mistress's early widowhood, utterly lost in providing her some form of comfort.
"Mistress," - she dared to address Drypetis, her voice sweet and sorrowful, - "Please, don't scare me like this. Dear child, please, speak to me."
Tears rolled down her lined face. Drypetis finally turned her eyes to her servant, a heavy sigh issuing from her lips, and she smiled a tiny, resigned, sad smile, breaking Anahambis’ heart.
Suddenly, Drypetis got up out of the armchair and walked to the table. She turned to her servant and whispered, as if she hadn’t the strength nor will to speak louder: "Come, I want to show you something," pointing to the few items displayed on it.
"Do you see?" - murmured the young woman - "That's all he left behind for me."
Anahambis approached the table and carefully admired the objects Drypetis was speaking of: a scroll with a broken seal; a bracelet; a silver diadem; a little horse carved out of wood, and another scroll, thicker than the first one, made apparently of several sheets folded together, tied up with a crimson ribbon.
Drypetis caressed the bracelet, a very fine and elegant piece of Egyptian jewellery made up of several golden wires, with green malachite, vivid colours enamel and blue lapislazuli embedded within them. Anahambis remembered it very well; it had been delivered by Bagoas, the King’s eunuch, a few days after the message from Alèxandros, together with the scroll which now laid there, its seal broken. It was from Hephaistion. Drypetis didn't have to read it again to remember what was written in it, and she repeated it absently, raising the bracelet to rest it on her wrist:
'Hephaistion Amyntoros to Princess Drypetis, joy to you. I hope you will accept this little gift, which surely adds nothing to the celebrated beauty of such a magnificent spring of the noblest Persian family. It's only a small sign of my gratitude for the great honour that's been granted to me, to become your husband.'
This was their first personal contact, the first time he addressed her, although with a cold formality which spoke of duty more than real interest.
She wasn't disappointed, yet, when she received the message and the gift. How could she have expected anything different? He didn't know her; he possibly didn't even remember her. He was older, experienced; he surely had had plenty of lovers, females and, more than likely, males, according to the Makedonian customs. He had been (some said that he still was) the King's beloved. He surely was his favourite. Why on earth would he be interested in an unknown Persian girl, Royal Princess or no?
Besides, gossip travelled fast in the Court, and the eunuchs swore that Alèxandros wanted he and Hephaistion to marry sisters, so that their children could share the same blood. It was, thought Drypetis, the closest thing Alèxandros could ever get to marrying Hephaistion himself.
She wouldn't object to this plan. Why should she? She considered it to be a great honour, instead. Besides, she was happy that she wasn't forced to get married to any Makedonian of the Old Guard, a man who would despise Persians and their customs, and would have wanted her to forget all about her past and live the life of a good Makedonian woman.
She had thought with sorrow of her cousin Amastris, Oxatre's daughter, who had been chosen for Krateròs. She was going to be unhappy with him, though, of course, it was a great honour to be the important, philobasilèus (3) general's wife.
Hephaistion, on the contrary, was said to be an admirer of both Persian culture and customs; the all-knowing eunuchs said he wore Persians garments, properly honoured Persian noble courtesans according to their rank, and had even learned to speak a good Persian, too.
The more impertinent among the servants said that this was the reason why Krateròs and Hephaistion didn’t get along at all. Rumours had spread swiftly that they had fought fiercely back in India, and that Alèxandros himself had been called to fix things between them. Listening to those stories, she had wondered if she would ever be allowed to see her cousin again, after the marriage.
Drypetis sighed, placing the bracelet back on the table, next taking the silver diadem and examining it deeply, as if she had never seen it before. Then she shook her head, her eyes tightly closed, as if trying to rid herself of a painful thought.
"Do you remember when I wore this?" she asked Anahambis, her voice still no more than a whisper.
"Of course I remember. You were the most beautiful bride in the hall, that night. Everyone could tell."
Drypetis smiled a little, her eyes fixed on the little diadem that was part of her bridal attire. She could remember her feelings when she entered the hall, escorted by a cousin of her father's, because her uncle Oxatre was far too busy with Barsine, now Statira, and his own daughter.
The very second she stepped inside, her eyes searched for her soon-to-be husband, and immediately found him sitting to the King's right, listening intently to something the Alèxandros was telling him in a low voice, nodding briefly from time to time. When Chares, the chamberlain, gave the announcement that the brides had arrived they both rose from their seats, their eyes turning towards the women.
Drypetis felt her heart miss a beat when she saw him standing near the throne.
He was stunning in his Persian clothing; he stood there, tall, slender: more similar to a Persian nobleman than to a foreign general, except that he wore no beard. When she was presented to him, her face still covered by the traditional silk veil, held in place by the silver diadem, he simply reached out to take her hand in his, guiding her to stand at his side.
Drypetis missed almost the entire ceremony, lost in her thoughts. So, now this man was her husband. This silent, dignified, serious man. She would follow him and bear his children. She felt excitement, fear, daze, sorrow for her lost childhood and a thrilling expectation for her new life, all in a single moment.
She barely noticed her surroundings, the King taking her sister's hand, the ritual words spoken, the cheers and wishes of luck. She was taken to her husband’s room before she could hear a single word from him. The men were to stay back in the hall for more celebrations while she was prepared for the night by her servants, and then sat alone in an armchair, waiting for her husband to come, studying the room and appreciating the elegance of the furniture and the refinement of the furnishings. He surely was a man of good taste, a lover of elegance and sophistication.
Her heart pounded in her chest when finally she heard footsteps in the antechamber, and brief words spoken softly by a male voice. It must be his voice. 'I'm going to sleep with this man, and I haven't heard his voice until now', she couldn't help but think, even as she trembled with fear.
Finally a eunuch entered the room, two golden cups in his hands, and put them on the table near the bed, retiring soon after bowing to Drypetis, and again to Hephaestion, who entered just as he made to exit. The Makedonian dismissed him with a polite nod and then he stepped inside, gently smiling to Drypetis. He took a cup and handed it to her, exhorting her to drink some wine. She thanked him with a feeble voice, and then sipped from the cup, the feeling of his gaze upon her only heightening her uneasiness.
An unexpected chuckle made her raise her eyes on him. He shook his head, looking at her with sympathy, and then, for the first time, he spoke to her with his deep, soothing voice: "There's no need to be nervous, Drypetis; you know, this is my first marriage, too."
Drypetis shook her head, remembering how this sentence had upset her at first, but, at least, he had started a very friendly conversation, dealing with subjects that she could easily speak about, and little by little she relaxed and began to feel more confident. "Even in his bedchamber, on his wedding night, he used his strong powers of diplomacy; his much celebrated ability to make people comfortable," she mused aloud, speaking to no-one in particular.
He had been careful and caring, tender with her in the few nights they shared before he left for another mission, following the King. By that time Drypetis already knew she was going to miss him; by that time she had become fully aware of what she represented for him: another duty to fulfil for his King, another mission to carry out with all his abilities. She didn't blame him for this; she had taken advantage of the short time he spent with her to get to know him as best as she could, and she could tell without difficulty he was Alèxandros' right arm in more ways than anybody could guess.
Besides, she couldn't reproach Hephaistion for anything. He was respectful, caring in his own, nonchalant way; he spoke sweetly and politely to her, and, to her utter surprise, he looked genuinely interested in what she had to say. He spoke about the children they would have, saying that they were to be the living signs of the birth of a new world, and she knew he meant it. But his eyes, though they shone with sympathy, offered no affection, nor desire, nor attraction.
Drypetis sighed again, caressing one last time the diadem before putting it back on the table. "We were together for such a short time, Anahambis. I can't remember his voice any more."
The old woman nodded thoughtfully. She knew that, by now, her mistress was trying to cling on to anything that could remind her of him. She knew from the whispers that had spread around the Court like wildfire that the King was doing the same, away in Ecbatana. But he had shared almost his entire life at Hephaistion's side, and could draw from an endless supply of memories.
But Drypetis…Drypetis had only the few items laid out before her to show for his legacy. She shed some more tears, sobbing, unable to contain herself.
"Do you see this?" said Drypetis, pointing at the little wooden horse."It was his last gift; he gave it to me the day he took his leave from Susa."
He stepped in her room with his usual steady, yet fast steps, greeting her with a hint of impatience in his voice, his eyes glowing with an excited light she had never seen before.
She dutifully welcomed him, setting her servants on the move to fetch the Khilìarkhos some wine and cakes. She had hoped he would stay the night, but he disappointed her, announcing his departure. He hastily gave his farewells, letting her know that the army was leaving Susa the following morning.
It was not that Drypetis expected anything more; she was instead happily surprised that he had come to speak to her at all before leaving. Nevertheless, she felt a pang in her chest, a pain which was made up of fear, jealousy, concern and loneliness at the same time. ‘It’s too soon... too soon to lose him!’ she couldn’t help but think.
She did her best not to show any of these feelings, and she wished good luck to him, assuring she was going to pray for the Gods to grant him success and good health. She could sense the scepticism in his smile, but he politely thanked her nonetheless, nodding, as if she had done exactly what he expected from her.
Then he gave her a wooden box, leather reinforcements set about its edges. “I want you to keep this. It’s a little toy I used to play with when I was a child. My grandfather Demetrios carved it for me.”
She opened the box and found a little wooden horse in it, its raised front hoof a little too big, its mane barely visible, and she found herself thinking that probably Hephaistion’s grandfather was better at fighting than at carving wood. Though it didn’t matter, because the toy was not meant to be a piece of art; its only meaning was to get a child accustomed to his military future, playing with wooden horses and dreaming of real ones.
“It was my first horse, long before I learned to ride,” Hephaistion continued, “I took it with me when I left Makedonia, because I wanted to save it for my son. He will be a fine knight, one day, like his Makedonian and Persian ancestors were. I will make sure he’ll be. He’d better get used to horses as soon as possible.” He smiled tenderly at the thought of a son of his riding by his side.
Again Drypetis felt a little upset at the thought of carrying this man’s children. She couldn’t name the feeling, but once again it was like she was performing a duty without having any say in it. She dismissed the feeling, given she couldn’t put her finger on it, as something useless, woman-like and weak. Of course she was honoured to breed the Khilìarkhos’ sons and daughters. Though, if what her older chaperon told her was true, in order to beget children she should share her husband’s bed many times, and she had the odd feeling that this wasn’t going to happen so often from now on.
Maybe it was the shine in Hephaistion’s eyes that made her feel that way. He was explaining to her what the next mission was about, but she didn’t really listen to the words, distracted by the excitement and the almost tangible satisfaction in his voice. She realized he was happy, happier than he had been in the few weeks after the marriage.
She knew that this was the world where he truly belonged: a men’s world, one of riding and war plans and tents in the wilderness; or, if not that, then one of luxurious palaces, government’s duties and diplomatic speeches.
This was simply the way it was meant to be. He would always go away, and she would always stay behind. A good wife’s duty. Nothing to think about, nothing to recriminate. Just a woman’s fate. Though it was more difficult to accept, now that she had gotten used to his voice, his smell, the strength of his arms when he held her, his tanned skin, marred by scars in places she could recall by memory.
But then, she had always been forewarned: a woman’s life was one of sacrifices, self-denial, and eternal wait.
He quickly, but considerately, fulfilled his marital duty one last time before leaving her. He promised to write to her as often as his duties would allow him, and asked her to let him know immediately if she needed something or, above all, if she found herself with child.
Then he kissed her forehead and was gone.
She would never see him again.
[1] She changed her name in Statira when she married Alèxandros.
[2] “The Greek”, as Alèxandros was called at the Persian Court.
[3] Philobasilèus: fond of the King, as Alèxandros considered
Krateròs, while he called Hephaistion Philalèxandros, “fond of
Alèxandros” ((Plùtarkhos, Alexander, a commentary. 47.10)