On the Sunny Banks of the Cydnus - Ch. 4
Fandom: Alexander the Great
Rating: FRT/PG/K+
Genre: Drama/Humor
Summary: Retelling of the anecdote about Alexander's trust in his doctor Philip. Diades, Critodemus, and the usual Companions also appear, but it's an Alexander-and-Hephaestion story at heart.
Chapter 4: The event of the anecdote: Just as Philip gives Alexander the medicine, Alexander gives him the letter accusing him of treachery...
© Copyright Joyeee 2007
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A/N: For people who like going back to the original source: Plutarch and Curtius provided the framework for this story, but especially in this chapter (with the event itself) a lot stems from their accounts - especially Curtius'.
So, the "political" and other discussion stuff here was quite tricky to write - I would much appreciate comments/constructive criticism on this aspect, especially!
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Chapter 4: Natural
Hephaestion must have meant it, literally, about the soldiers camping outside Alexander's rooms, for no sooner had Philip finished pulling aside the last curtain than the first man peered tentatively around the door. Alexander recognized the wrinkled, sunburned visage - a soldier who had answered some of Alexander's earliest questions about battle, who was already a tough old sergeant-at-arms when Alexander got his first command. All the more significant, then, the hesitation in his grim, weathered features.
It brought a smile to Alexander's face - made it easy, almost, to sit up a little straighter, and give a reassuring nod. "What, Heracleides? I haven't turned into another Gorgon, have I?"
A sudden grin broke across the old warrior's countenance. He turned back momentarily to announce, "He is awake, lads," emotion straining through the hush of his voice, and immediately a cluster of them, young, old, hale, hobbling, from recent recruits to seasoned veterans, tumbled into the room, unwontedly clumsy as they attempted to file in and stand in order.
One of the youngest, a foot soldier who had only just got his first battle scar, blurted out, "You wanted to see us, Alexander, so we're here!"
A few half-hearted frowns were shot his way but no one rebuked him, for he had merely spoken for them all - and Alexander would have perceived that, were he twice as ill. "Yes," he said, his smile broadening. "I wanted to see you. And I wanted you to see me. To see that I'm just fine."
They stopped fidgeting at that. Grins appeared on the younger faces, while a few of the older gazes even started shining with tears; they abandoned all efforts to stay respectably disciplined and poured forth a flood of anxious inquiries and fervent wishes for Alexander's health. Even as the commanders started arriving, not one of the soldiers took notice, and the ranking officers had to elbow their way in.
Leonnatus squinted hard at Alexander, then grinned. "Zeus' blessings, Alexander! You look better than you have in days!"
"Which isn't saying much!" Perdiccas chuckled. "But it's something!"
Alexander did not miss the general air of relief, so obvious even in the commanders' greetings. Even Craterus' voice was a little rougher than usual as he admitted, "We feared the worst, for a while there."
"Nonsense," Alexander declared, smiling as he met each man's gaze in turn. "And I'm already better than I was."
The officers' skeptical frowns told Alexander what they thought of that, and Alexander sensed that Eumenes, ever a pragmatist, might even be on the point of saying it aloud - so Alexander said it first. "So far, only a little better, true. But I have the best doctors looking after me. Isn't that so, Philip?"
He turned, to watch as much as listen for Philip's response.
He had known Philip all his life, it seemed, and the more he thought about it, the less he credited the suspicions reported in Parmenion's letter. Yet, no matter how it lifted his spirits to see his men, he had certainly not lost his presence of mind. If, Gods forbid, the letter's warning were true, these final moments before he actually took the medicine would tell him so. And if the letter was false, as he believed, then this was the perfect time to show Philip his trust.
Philip chuckled good-naturedly, going along with Alexander's show of confidence for his soldiers. But as he approached with the medicine he murmured, low so only Alexander could hear, "You must still take care, Alexander. Yes, I know what you'll say to that, but truly this is only the first step in curing you -"
"It's a step," Alexander said, equally quiet. "Is it not?"
Taking Alexander's intense gaze as a touch of his usual resistance to any cautionary medical advice, Philip sighed. "A first step it is," he conceded with a fond smile, then continued at his normal volume. "Drink it slowly - nurse it, as you do your wine when you're with friends. Otherwise it'll give your innards a good kick, sharp as a wild colt."
More than ever Alexander was convinced - the letter was wrong, and he was right.
The other physicians had arrived by now, and the spacious chamber was packed. At a glance, Alexander took it all in: the physicians, these soldiers whom he loved and who loved him in return, and the officers, his friends, men he trusted and esteemed. And there at the door, finally, Hephaestion - just now ushering in Critodemus with especial courtesy. The hardheaded surgeon looked unwontedly flustered by this particular consideration, though Hephaestion seemed quite oblivious, unaware that he was doing anything remarkable at all. Alexander felt buoyed, felt like laughing.
He made a point of holding out his own hand for Philip's brew.
Philip raised an eyebrow, and was careful to hold on to the cup until Alexander's grasp was sure. But he did give it over. So it was, that Alexander accepted the medicine with his right hand, and drew the letter from under the pillows with his left.
"Have a look, dear Philip," he said, not yet raising the cup to his lips, making sure to speak clearly, so everyone could hear. "I think it will interest you."
Then he had to fight the urge to contort his features in disgust, incongruous as that would be with his point of trusting Philip. He had mixed his fair share of healing brews, however, and was not surprised - naturally, the medicine smelled utterly awful.
He continued watching Philip as he accustomed himself to the concoction's reek.
Philip's eyes widened as he read. He blinked several times at the letter, then, slowly, looked up at Alexander.
"This - I - It's -" He broke off, trying in vain to steady himself. "I don't know why Parmenion says this, Alexander, but I swear, I would never -! This - this is not true, I - I am no traitor!" he spat out the word like a curse. Then, as if just now realizing there were others in the room, he glanced in horror toward the horde of shocked and suddenly very hostile faces crowding all around. His expression twisted in indignation, in injury - and that, more than anything, assured Alexander, even before Philip's mouth thinned in determination, his eyes falling on the cup still resting in Alexander's hand, its contents untouched. "If you take the medicine, Alexander, your recovery will be proof enough of my innocence. And the sooner you take it, the better, but there is more being made. So if you wish it, if you no longer trust me as you have all these years -"
He reached for the cup, but Alexander had heard more than enough. "Trust?" Alexander snorted. "I sent you with Hephaestion. Don't be ridiculous!"
Hephaestion had been watching the two of them in growing alarm as Philip's words sank in, but at this he actually flinched, as if the words had struck a physical blow. For a moment, shock and dismay and a terrible dread all warred across his features at once, but the next instant he shot out of the crowd toward Alexander, bounding over a large couch as if it were a mere stepping stone (only to trip up, nearly, over a tiny footstool), while the other officers cried out in consternation and started forward, too, stands and fancy little tables toppling in their wake. But even as they lunged, tumbling furniture and papers and valuable pottery every which way, even as Hephaestion dived for the cup, Alexander had lifted it to his lips and gulped the contents down.
It was decidedly the most revolting medicine he had had to swallow yet, and his stomach roiled in protest. But he drank it all at one go.
"There," he gasped in satisfaction when he was done.
The commanders froze, their gazes fixed on the now-empty cup as Alexander returned it to a speechless Philip (with - considering the abominable taste - an impressive amount of nonchalance, if he might say so himself).
Hephaestion just stared at Alexander, appalled.
Amid the wreck of pottery, there was one last, miniscule break, as a piece of what had been a rather large and expensive vase splintered into even smaller bits. With a tiny tinkle, they settled into their final place in the ruins.
At last, Leonnatus broke the silence. "Well what'd you do that for!"
"Alexander!" Craterus groaned, smacking a hand to his forehead.
"Arrest him. Arrest the lot of them," Eumenes murmured vaguely to no one in particular, but the physicians shrank back as even the secretary's order broke the soldiers violently from their daze.
"Was that . . . poison?" one of them hissed, pointing an incriminating finger at the now-empty cup.
"Poison," repeated another, pointing even more incriminatingly at Philip.
"Treason!" someone cried, and then all of them, it seemed, took up the heated call.
"Traitor!"
"Drag him out!"
"Put him in chains!"
Philip shook his head mutely in despair as the soldiers started to advance. For a moment he glanced toward Alexander, aggrieved.
Just now recovering his full senses from the wave of nausea that had followed the medicine, Alexander frowned. This was not how it was supposed to go. Had he not just declared, for everyone to hear, his trust in Philip! "Wait!" he called, certain he could still set things aright easily. But the full brunt of the medicine's side effects chose that moment to strike.
It occurred to him he really should have listened to Philip, about drinking it slowly. The room wavered in his sight like air above a suit of armor on a hot day, and it felt more sickening than ever to hold himself upright, but no, he could not give in; he had to stop his men from doing something rash against Philip. "Don't you see," he forced between ever more difficult breaths, "he could have done with the letter as he wished! I just told you all, he's above suspicion!"
But the soldiers did not hear him amid their cries. He tried to speak louder, only to succumb to a fit of coughing - and then Hephaestion was advancing on him, towering in wordless wrath, shoving him none too gently back into the cushions.
Alexander grasped Hephaestion's wrist despite the grim fury in his friend's face. "I . . . Hephaestion . . . " But he did not have the strength to yell over everyone, not at this moment, so he gasped out, "tell them -"
He understood that look, how Hephaestion's jaw tightened - we're hashing this out later, you're not getting out of it I swear by all the gods of Olympus - but Hephaestion immediately rounded on the others, straightening to his full height like a bow springing unbent for a new arrow. "Quiet!"
It did not quiet down entirely. Moreover, many of the high command looked askance at one another, or bristled outright.
Normally Alexander would have understood their reflexive indignation at having someone as much as decades their junior (who was not Alexander himself) taking the reins. Normally, Alexander would have let it go. But right now he was hard put merely to refrain from throwing up, and his brow furrowed; he was going to get indignant himself, in a moment -
But then Hephaestion continued, "Alexander wishes to speak," voice deadly even, ringing clearly over the tumult. And Alexander did not have time to get indignant then, for the soldiers, at least, obeyed fully this time, hushed completely, ready to listen to Alexander again.
With a supreme effort, Alexander steadied himself, raised his voice to address everyone at once. "I trust Philip - and so should you all."
He turned to Philip, who was as pale as any sickly patient now.
"You wouldn't have chosen this way to discover the extent of my trust in you, would you?" Alexander sighed. "But you have it; you could not be more certain of it. I read the letter, and I drank your medicine. Vile stuff . . ." he disguised an errant cough as a chuckle - "but I drank it."
Though he was no longer able to sit up from the cushions, he held out his right hand. Philip had practically wedged himself into the tiny space between the bed and the table, so Alexander did not have to lift it far, thank goodness.
Philip stared at him blankly.
"I wanted nothing more than to get better," Alexander added. "But now, believe me, I am just as eager to prove your loyalty. To everyone."
Trembling, Philip took his hand. Alexander managed a smile.
He could do no more after that. Philip had been wrong in one thing: the medicine's kick was not merely that of a colt - it was like a kick in the gut from Bucephalus. Alexander's field of vision wavered before dark exploding stars, and his chest tightened briefly with alarm; perhaps he had not yet done enough for Philip. But there was a strange ache churning up his stomach, making a cold sweat break out on his brow, constraining his breath to ever quicker, shallower gasps, demanding more of his attention with each passing moment. It would be quite a while, at least, before he could speak intelligibly again.
But to his side, at the edge of his darkening vision, there was Hephaestion - and he did not feel too worried as he finally turned his energy fully to confronting the medicine's effects.
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Alexander's hand slipped away from Philip's to press against his stomach.
Slowly, Philip looked around. The soldiers looked to their sergeants, the sergeants looked to the officers, the officers looked at each other. Philip caught Critodemus' gaze for a moment; the surgeon's glance mirrored his apprehension, sharp with sympathy. The rest of the doctors were too frightened to look at anyone.
Philip shuddered. Alexander had said he trusted him - but Alexander had lost all color, and his features were scrunching up in pain. Philip could not help thinking Alexander rather deserved it; he had told him to drink slowly! However, by the Gods he was done for if the officers could not be made to understand about side effects, if they took this the wrong way - and how could they not, with Alexander folding up like that?
As Alexander coiled more tightly into himself, Hephaestion made to grip his shoulders, but Alexander moaned at the slightest touch and Hephaestion drew back his hands as if scalded. For a moment he just stood there, frustration stark upon his face, but then he whirled and seized the letter from where it had dropped at Philip's feet.
He scanned it rapidly, then looked up. Philip was not at all encouraged to see that gaze focus on him, weighing, measuring - but with a glint of something more perilous, an uneasy edge, far from cool contemplation.
Then Hephaestion took a breath, as if coming to a decision, and turned to the soldiers. "A set of guards, for Philip," he said curtly.
Even though most of the soldiers were still staring bewildered at Alexander, a few of them tore away from the sight and stepped forward, squaring their shoulders in determination.
The commanders, of course, were not so easily swayed.
"For Philip!" exclaimed Leonnatus. "But why?"
"Alexander likes to show trust in others, naturally," Eumenes muttered, "but this - this is really going too far! A warning - wasn't it from Parmenion, no less? - and he just waves it aside - !"
"There are some who respect the word of a general who's served three generations of kings," Craterus growled, stalking over and taking the letter from Hephaestion's hands to glance over it himself.
"Parmenion advises caution," Hephaestion countered, "nothing more."
"But look here, damnation!" Craterus pointed as he read. "It's been confirmed. Darius has announced a reward of a thousand - a thousand - talents, to anyone who'll take Alexander's life!"
Leonnatus swore.
Hephaestion gritted his teeth. "There's another possibility. There, after that line - the way Parmenion puts it, the informer was ridiculously easy to discover and capture."
"We've had a lot of experience," Craterus retorted. "Would've gone to Hades long ago, otherwise."
"Wait . . ." Ptolemy frowned at the letter, which was now in his hands. "Hephaestion means . . . it could be a ploy."
"Darius announces a reward for anyone who'll try," Perdiccas caught on, "and gets us jumping like mad at shadows."
"It would slow us down, to be suspecting everyone within our own camp," Ptolemy observed.
Hephaestion nodded grimly. "Speed is one of our side's greatest advantages."
Craterus snorted, incredulous. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. You're dismissing Parmenion's report based on a bunch of if's and maybe's? If someone's charging at you with a knife in hand, you don't wait to make sure he's aiming for you; you act; the greenest boy in the army knows this." He narrowed his eyes at Hephaestion. "If we really want what's best for Alexander, we'd have the guts to disagree with him when he's wrong."
At that, Hephaestion snapped rigid, eyes flashing, every line of his body taut as a bowstring. His answer came swift, low, strained with fury. "Quite so!"
But then he visibly took a breath, pulled up, drew back. He shot a fleeting glance toward the soldiers, who - like the physicians, like the other officers - were watching them wide-eyed, stock-still. "Quite so," he repeated tightly, schooling his features to cold aloofness. "We do tell him when we disagree."
Craterus understood the glance and grimaced - one of his strongest beliefs was that commanders needed to keep at least a somewhat cohesive front in front of the rank and file. But he folded his arms, giving no ground. "It's our job, naturally, as his commanders."
Hephaestion gave the slightest nod of assent. "However," he challenged, "can you be certain he's wrong about Philip?"
Several commanders looked uncertain now, but there was still no response.
"Look," Hephaestion sighed, "forget how we found out about it. The question now is, do we really believe Philip is guilty?"
"But that's the point," Eumenes muttered darkly. "He might be. And it's only common sense to deal immediately with any enemy agents - confirmed or suspected."
"Fine," Hephaestion replied, "then think of the guard as guarding against him. But whether he's guilty or not it does us no good to kill Philip off. He's the only one who knows what exactly went in that medicine, and if it really was poison, he'd be the only one to know the antidote, too."
The others blinked at that, then turned ominous gazes on Philip, but Philip was past shock by now. At this point he only thought, with curious detachment, that not even Critodemus would be able to sew him back up once the officers were through.
But then Hephaestion added, emphatically, "Besides, Alexander trusts him."
Leonnatus blinked. With a sudden flash of insight, he asked, "Do you, Hephaestion?"
"Yes. But it doesn't matter if I do or not," Hephaestion said, very carefully not looking at the senior-most commanders.
". . .'phaestion."
Startled, they all turned toward Alexander. He had uncoiled - had stretched out, even, craning toward the edge of the bed.
It was only because he was so close that Philip understood when Alexander mumbled, "G'ing t' be . . . sick." However, his paleness, the sheen of sweat on his brow, the very fact that he was not articulating clearly, was enough to rattle the soldiers. They froze, stricken.
Taking this astounding confession in stride - for astounding it undeniably was, coming from Alexander - Hephaestion got an empty bowl from the table. "Disposing of the doctor is not an option," Hephaestion continued matter-of-factly, grunting as he shifted Alexander bodily toward the edge of the bed. "Keeping Philip around is the better choice, no matter if he's sold out to Darius or not." Then he remarked, "Well Philip, you weren't lying when you said the first dose acts as a purge."
He said it almost conversationally - as if he were not, in fact, talking to a person whose fate was teetering on the brink of torture and ignominious death. "Well, I'm . . . surprised," Philip replied, feeling faint. "That's remarkably fast, for it to start taking effect."
"Nat'rally," Alexander murmured, hiccuping in between irregular breaths. "It's me . . . rec'v'ring . . ." Hephaestion thumped his back, quite forcefully.
"Alexander!" the soldiers cried, heartened anew by this latest avowal of a quick convalescence. The commanders exchanged glances ranging from skeptical to helpless.
Craterus shook his head in exasperation. "Well!" he growled, glowering at the soldiers. "Where's that guard for Philip?"
This time all the men clamored to be chosen, resolute, lit up with devotion. Preference was given to those who previously volunteered and Heracleides was immediately chosen to be in charge, while the commanders fired off a few questions at the rest about their ranks, positions, backgrounds. In the end, they seemed satisfied.
Philip noticed that Hephaestion's gaze raked them over too, though he said nothing. Strangely, upon seeing that, he felt marginally better - if only by the barest margin.
"See to it he doesn't try anything suspicious!" Craterus finished emphatically.
"Yes. But let him work," Hephaestion said. In the middle of balancing a bowl, a cup of water, a cloth, and a still-hiccuping Alexander, he turned on them with a look even more chilling than the Cydnus. "If you interfere with his duty in any way, you'll answer for Alexander's life."
At this point, Alexander made a noise strangely like a chuckle. Hephaestion frowned at him. "Philip, what's next?"
"Well - since he drank so quickly," Philip stammered, "the side effects will be rather severe - chills, you know, and weakness. Most of all, he should let himself just sleep - "
Alexander grunted disapprovingly. Hephaestion just said, "Understood."
"And, the next batch is simmering - I need to go see -"
"Fine."
Alexander drew in a wheezing breath and waved vaguely at everyone, though his chest was now heaving in what seemed a very painful manner as he mumbled, "All you . . . 've duties. Go . . . on . . ."
"Get out," Hephaestion translated flatly.
Craterus glowered as darkly as a thundercloud and wheeled around. "Well, let's get on with it then! Clear out! And, by Zeus' almighty wrath, you'd think someone could've cleaned up this wreck of broken pottery by now!"
Alexander's men had long since proven themselves capable of extraordinary speed. In under a minute, they were gone, and the wreck of pottery too.
* * * * *
He managed not to actually throw up until they were well out of hearing range - thank the gods they left when they did. After all, puking in front of one's soldiers was never a sight to impress, no matter how positive a sign it was that he was recovering fast.
So it was a good thing, a small triumph. In fact, he felt much better as he finished, and even thought himself quite a new man - for the moment at least - after Hephaestion sponged down his face and chest and gave him a drink to chase down the lingering queasiness.
"I'm better," he said.
Hephaestion said nothing, merely piled a tray with the used bowls and cloths.
"I really am."
Still Hephaestion said nothing, just opened the door, thrust the tray to the pages who sprang hastily to attention, closed the door, and stalked back to pour a fresh cup of water.
"You think I've been foolish."
Hephaestion frowned, suddenly fierce. "Did I say that?"
"Just now. I wasn't unconscious - "
"No, you were only curled in on yourself like you'd been caught at the wrong end of a spear," Hephaestion remarked sharply.
"I wasn't unconscious," Alexander repeated, deliberately ignoring what Hephaestion just said, "so I heard everything. And you said 'forget how we found out.' Which means, 'forget how Alexander broke the news to us.'"
Hephaestion was silent again.
"I know you have something to say."
Abruptly Hephaestion turned to the table, away from Alexander, plunging a fresh cloth into a basin. "It can wait until you . . . get your strength back."
Alexander sat up a little straighter. There was steel there, under the quiet. He recognized those last words for what they were - a warning.
Naturally, he barged straight into it.
"Say it. Whatever you've got on your mind, say it."
"I don't think we should do this . . . now," Hephaestion said, very low, the set of his shoulders severe. Dangerous.
Alexander disagreed. They should do this now, as soon as possible. If he were to make Hephaestion see things his way, he needed to be free of nausea, wracking coughs, and all such pesky distractions, and unfortunately he could already feel the heavy pull of drug-induced sleep.
He decided to go on the offensive while he still could. "Look at me, Hephaestion."
Hephaestion did. And at that look, although he still meant to get it all out of Hephaestion here and now, his sense of aggression melted entirely away.
"I'm all right," he murmured sincerely. "Really."
Unexpectedly, that did it.
"The others were right," Hephaestion ground out. "You could have handled it better. It's a good thing Philip's got a strong constitution himself, or he'd have died of fright."
It was a reproach - on several fronts - but when Hephaestion paused Alexander knew better than to think that was the end of it. Hephaestion was still trying to hold back, had not even warmed up yet.
Alexander glanced at the furniture, now righted but bereft of ornaments and pottery, and the little footstool, still turned on its side. "I got my share of runny noses when we were boys," he said quietly, "and I wouldn't have gone to Philip nearly so often, if not for you. Did you really think Philip would poison me?"
"No. Yes. I don't know. You know I don't do well with split-second decisions," Hephaestion muttered. "And you didn't allow the rest of us any time to consider it."
A slow, wide smile spread anew on Alexander's face. "For someone who doesn't do well with split-second decisions," he sighed, "you were magnificent."
"Oh no you don't." Hephaestion scowled. "I was quite ready to throttle Craterus, for a moment."
"It wasn't fair, what he said," Alexander mused. "You definitely let me know when you think I'm wrong. More than anyone."
"Don't patronize me," Hephaestion said crossly. "I was on the verge of decking one of your senior-most commanders. If I handled diplomatic missions like that we'd have to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground between here and Babylon."
"I suppose," Alexander conceded, "I didn't break the information to the rest of you very smoothly."
"Smoothly," Hephaestion repeated, raising an eyebrow, "as swinging a hammer at our heads."
Alexander grinned drowsily, but it was fleeting, as he recalled something else.
Hephaestion's hands were steady as always now. But Alexander remembered him flinching, earlier.
"If you didn't think Philip would poison me," he asked, genuinely curious, "what were you thinking then?"
Hephaestion suddenly looked very tired. "I only thought . . ." he muttered, "well, that you'd sent him with me. With me, just as you said. But no one on the mission got sick, Alexander. Yet here you were, with only second-rate physicians, afraid to treat you for fear of breathing on you the wrong way."
Alexander was going to reach for Hephaestion's hand, but Hephaestion abruptly stood and moved away, pacing restlessly. "I - I got Philip back here as fast as I could. Thank the Gods, for every possible problem, there seemed to be a reprieve - we didn't arrive too late, and there was a cure, and Philip had everything he needed; you appeared to be improving a little today, even before Philip's medicine was ready; but then you spring that - that . . . that! - on us, and suddenly I find out I'd just brought you the very person who's thought to be trying to kill you; what do you think I was thinking!"
Alexander was very awake, now. Hephaestion's pacing sped up, grew more forceful.
"Gods, Alexander, when we came within earshot of the city - do you remember, Erygius warbling bawdy songs while you were trying to memorize something for Aristotle's lessons? And you'd endure until you couldn't anymore, and then you'd yell, I can't even think, it's hurting my brains! Well, let me tell you Alexander this was worse, a hundred times worse, a thousand, because I couldn't think either, and it wasn't my brains, it was -" Hephaestion stopped suddenly, breathing hard, whirled and looked directly at Alexander.
Barely breathing, Alexander met his eyes, as steadily as he could. It was the least he could do.
Hephaestion's voice became strained, remote, like memory. "I - I heard them, the men. Before the gates. And for a moment, there, I just stopped. I wasn't moving forward; I wasn't doing anything - I'd already ridden the poor beast half-dead and I'd stopped urging it on - because I was nearly afraid to set foot in the city. Because, you see, it -" Hephaestion halted, took a shaky breath. "It sounded like mourning."
Alexander did not try to answer that. Silence fell, and burgeoned.
What he wanted to say, to put it into words like thank you, and don't worry anymore, and even I'm sorry - I didn't mean for you to . . . No. It would be diminished, even trite. And what he felt was so much more.
The bed was quite large. Wordlessly, he shifted, though with heavy limbs.
If anything, Hephaestion only looked sterner. For several long moments, he did not move any closer.
He did not mean it as such, Alexander knew; but that look, apprehension and exhaustion - and the memory of fear - was one of the strongest reproaches Alexander could ever know.
"I - I won't go jumping into any more strange rivers," said Alexander. What he meant was, I can't promise not to do something, on the battlefield, just because others say it can't be done, but in little things like these . . .
Yet, it seemed Hephaestion understood the essence of it. "Let me guess," he said, "you'd just heard that Darius was driving his giant army along at some impossible speed, when someone told you nobody ever went swimming in the Cydnus?" and then he came over and, with a quiet sigh, collapsed quite willingly into the offered space.
He was leaning back against the pillows, but still sitting up; Alexander was lying down halfway. And it was natural, so very natural, that Alexander's head should come to rest in the curve between Hephaestion's shoulder and chest, like that. Just like that.
Alexander smiled a little, drowsier than ever but not minding it, now.
"All that . . ." he murmured, thoughtful. ". . . You did all that, with so much weighing on your soul?" He sighed contentedly. "I meant it, you know. When I said you were magnificent."
Hephaestion's expression did not lighten at all. He only gave Alexander a long, searching look.
At last, his jaw set with determination. "Promise me something, then."
Alexander blinked. Hephaestion rarely requested anything from him; while his other friends happily accepted all sorts of extravagant gifts and lavish rewards from him, Hephaestion held himself to a different standard altogether, just because he was that much closer to Alexander. And Alexander knew, also, that all those things he could bestow as King - lands, wealth, rank, power - Hephaestion would only turn around in the using and somehow, some way, return to him a hundred-fold.
"Anything," Alexander breathed, meaning it wholeheartedly.
Hephaestion looked at him a moment more.
"Stay," he said simply. "Stay and rest here - really rest - until Philip says you're cleared completely of the fever."
Alexander stared.
Hephaestion calmly held his gaze.
"Hephaestion," Alexander murmured, frustration rising. "Why, why must you ask that? That - that, I cannot promise you, even you, and you know it. Darius is on the march, and we need to move on soon - you, of all people, should understand all the preparations I've made -"
"Yes, the army will have to move on. But it needs you. You. Not with fever lingering in you, liable to flare again at any time because you cut your own recovery short, but leading at the front as you've always done, hale and hearty. Free of illness."
Alexander groaned. "No. What if Darius comes knocking on the door?"
"I doubt he'll knock," Hephaestion answered dryly. "Besides," - even drier - "you have an army. We won't let him get within a hundred miles of the gates."
"No," Alexander said again, and scrubbed tiredly at his eyes.
Hephaestion pulled his hands away from his face. To Alexander's surprise, he did not look angry, though there was a certain steely glint in his gaze.
"Don't fret about it," Hephaestion said lightly. "Just - just sleep, for now."
"Hephaestion - I -"
"Hypnos has come to collect his dues," Hephaestion declared. "Well, a tiny portion of what you owe him, anyway."
"But -"
"Don't worry." Hephaestion smiled, his eyes still glinting with that strange, confident light. "When you wake again, we'll have plenty of scores to settle. I promise."
Alexander blinked, then smiled, too. That was the sort of thing he liked to hear.
It was natural, then, for him to relax back into Hephaestion's arms. And it was natural, too, the way he fell asleep shortly after, his head against Hephaestion's shoulder, Hephaestion's fingers stroking gently through his hair, Hephaestion's voice accompanying him into the darkness, speaking of this and that and the other thing - everything that was waiting for him, and would still be waiting for him, whenever he woke, however long and deep his slumber.
So he slumbered, long and deep. Just like that.
* * * * *
last tweaked 02 July 2007
Feedback most welcome!
Rating: FRT/PG/K+
Genre: Drama/Humor
Summary: Retelling of the anecdote about Alexander's trust in his doctor Philip. Diades, Critodemus, and the usual Companions also appear, but it's an Alexander-and-Hephaestion story at heart.
Chapter 4: The event of the anecdote: Just as Philip gives Alexander the medicine, Alexander gives him the letter accusing him of treachery...
© Copyright Joyeee 2007
* * * * *
A/N: For people who like going back to the original source: Plutarch and Curtius provided the framework for this story, but especially in this chapter (with the event itself) a lot stems from their accounts - especially Curtius'.
So, the "political" and other discussion stuff here was quite tricky to write - I would much appreciate comments/constructive criticism on this aspect, especially!
* * * * *
Chapter 4: Natural
Hephaestion must have meant it, literally, about the soldiers camping outside Alexander's rooms, for no sooner had Philip finished pulling aside the last curtain than the first man peered tentatively around the door. Alexander recognized the wrinkled, sunburned visage - a soldier who had answered some of Alexander's earliest questions about battle, who was already a tough old sergeant-at-arms when Alexander got his first command. All the more significant, then, the hesitation in his grim, weathered features.
It brought a smile to Alexander's face - made it easy, almost, to sit up a little straighter, and give a reassuring nod. "What, Heracleides? I haven't turned into another Gorgon, have I?"
A sudden grin broke across the old warrior's countenance. He turned back momentarily to announce, "He is awake, lads," emotion straining through the hush of his voice, and immediately a cluster of them, young, old, hale, hobbling, from recent recruits to seasoned veterans, tumbled into the room, unwontedly clumsy as they attempted to file in and stand in order.
One of the youngest, a foot soldier who had only just got his first battle scar, blurted out, "You wanted to see us, Alexander, so we're here!"
A few half-hearted frowns were shot his way but no one rebuked him, for he had merely spoken for them all - and Alexander would have perceived that, were he twice as ill. "Yes," he said, his smile broadening. "I wanted to see you. And I wanted you to see me. To see that I'm just fine."
They stopped fidgeting at that. Grins appeared on the younger faces, while a few of the older gazes even started shining with tears; they abandoned all efforts to stay respectably disciplined and poured forth a flood of anxious inquiries and fervent wishes for Alexander's health. Even as the commanders started arriving, not one of the soldiers took notice, and the ranking officers had to elbow their way in.
Leonnatus squinted hard at Alexander, then grinned. "Zeus' blessings, Alexander! You look better than you have in days!"
"Which isn't saying much!" Perdiccas chuckled. "But it's something!"
Alexander did not miss the general air of relief, so obvious even in the commanders' greetings. Even Craterus' voice was a little rougher than usual as he admitted, "We feared the worst, for a while there."
"Nonsense," Alexander declared, smiling as he met each man's gaze in turn. "And I'm already better than I was."
The officers' skeptical frowns told Alexander what they thought of that, and Alexander sensed that Eumenes, ever a pragmatist, might even be on the point of saying it aloud - so Alexander said it first. "So far, only a little better, true. But I have the best doctors looking after me. Isn't that so, Philip?"
He turned, to watch as much as listen for Philip's response.
He had known Philip all his life, it seemed, and the more he thought about it, the less he credited the suspicions reported in Parmenion's letter. Yet, no matter how it lifted his spirits to see his men, he had certainly not lost his presence of mind. If, Gods forbid, the letter's warning were true, these final moments before he actually took the medicine would tell him so. And if the letter was false, as he believed, then this was the perfect time to show Philip his trust.
Philip chuckled good-naturedly, going along with Alexander's show of confidence for his soldiers. But as he approached with the medicine he murmured, low so only Alexander could hear, "You must still take care, Alexander. Yes, I know what you'll say to that, but truly this is only the first step in curing you -"
"It's a step," Alexander said, equally quiet. "Is it not?"
Taking Alexander's intense gaze as a touch of his usual resistance to any cautionary medical advice, Philip sighed. "A first step it is," he conceded with a fond smile, then continued at his normal volume. "Drink it slowly - nurse it, as you do your wine when you're with friends. Otherwise it'll give your innards a good kick, sharp as a wild colt."
More than ever Alexander was convinced - the letter was wrong, and he was right.
The other physicians had arrived by now, and the spacious chamber was packed. At a glance, Alexander took it all in: the physicians, these soldiers whom he loved and who loved him in return, and the officers, his friends, men he trusted and esteemed. And there at the door, finally, Hephaestion - just now ushering in Critodemus with especial courtesy. The hardheaded surgeon looked unwontedly flustered by this particular consideration, though Hephaestion seemed quite oblivious, unaware that he was doing anything remarkable at all. Alexander felt buoyed, felt like laughing.
He made a point of holding out his own hand for Philip's brew.
Philip raised an eyebrow, and was careful to hold on to the cup until Alexander's grasp was sure. But he did give it over. So it was, that Alexander accepted the medicine with his right hand, and drew the letter from under the pillows with his left.
"Have a look, dear Philip," he said, not yet raising the cup to his lips, making sure to speak clearly, so everyone could hear. "I think it will interest you."
Then he had to fight the urge to contort his features in disgust, incongruous as that would be with his point of trusting Philip. He had mixed his fair share of healing brews, however, and was not surprised - naturally, the medicine smelled utterly awful.
He continued watching Philip as he accustomed himself to the concoction's reek.
Philip's eyes widened as he read. He blinked several times at the letter, then, slowly, looked up at Alexander.
"This - I - It's -" He broke off, trying in vain to steady himself. "I don't know why Parmenion says this, Alexander, but I swear, I would never -! This - this is not true, I - I am no traitor!" he spat out the word like a curse. Then, as if just now realizing there were others in the room, he glanced in horror toward the horde of shocked and suddenly very hostile faces crowding all around. His expression twisted in indignation, in injury - and that, more than anything, assured Alexander, even before Philip's mouth thinned in determination, his eyes falling on the cup still resting in Alexander's hand, its contents untouched. "If you take the medicine, Alexander, your recovery will be proof enough of my innocence. And the sooner you take it, the better, but there is more being made. So if you wish it, if you no longer trust me as you have all these years -"
He reached for the cup, but Alexander had heard more than enough. "Trust?" Alexander snorted. "I sent you with Hephaestion. Don't be ridiculous!"
Hephaestion had been watching the two of them in growing alarm as Philip's words sank in, but at this he actually flinched, as if the words had struck a physical blow. For a moment, shock and dismay and a terrible dread all warred across his features at once, but the next instant he shot out of the crowd toward Alexander, bounding over a large couch as if it were a mere stepping stone (only to trip up, nearly, over a tiny footstool), while the other officers cried out in consternation and started forward, too, stands and fancy little tables toppling in their wake. But even as they lunged, tumbling furniture and papers and valuable pottery every which way, even as Hephaestion dived for the cup, Alexander had lifted it to his lips and gulped the contents down.
It was decidedly the most revolting medicine he had had to swallow yet, and his stomach roiled in protest. But he drank it all at one go.
"There," he gasped in satisfaction when he was done.
The commanders froze, their gazes fixed on the now-empty cup as Alexander returned it to a speechless Philip (with - considering the abominable taste - an impressive amount of nonchalance, if he might say so himself).
Hephaestion just stared at Alexander, appalled.
Amid the wreck of pottery, there was one last, miniscule break, as a piece of what had been a rather large and expensive vase splintered into even smaller bits. With a tiny tinkle, they settled into their final place in the ruins.
At last, Leonnatus broke the silence. "Well what'd you do that for!"
"Alexander!" Craterus groaned, smacking a hand to his forehead.
"Arrest him. Arrest the lot of them," Eumenes murmured vaguely to no one in particular, but the physicians shrank back as even the secretary's order broke the soldiers violently from their daze.
"Was that . . . poison?" one of them hissed, pointing an incriminating finger at the now-empty cup.
"Poison," repeated another, pointing even more incriminatingly at Philip.
"Treason!" someone cried, and then all of them, it seemed, took up the heated call.
"Traitor!"
"Drag him out!"
"Put him in chains!"
Philip shook his head mutely in despair as the soldiers started to advance. For a moment he glanced toward Alexander, aggrieved.
Just now recovering his full senses from the wave of nausea that had followed the medicine, Alexander frowned. This was not how it was supposed to go. Had he not just declared, for everyone to hear, his trust in Philip! "Wait!" he called, certain he could still set things aright easily. But the full brunt of the medicine's side effects chose that moment to strike.
It occurred to him he really should have listened to Philip, about drinking it slowly. The room wavered in his sight like air above a suit of armor on a hot day, and it felt more sickening than ever to hold himself upright, but no, he could not give in; he had to stop his men from doing something rash against Philip. "Don't you see," he forced between ever more difficult breaths, "he could have done with the letter as he wished! I just told you all, he's above suspicion!"
But the soldiers did not hear him amid their cries. He tried to speak louder, only to succumb to a fit of coughing - and then Hephaestion was advancing on him, towering in wordless wrath, shoving him none too gently back into the cushions.
Alexander grasped Hephaestion's wrist despite the grim fury in his friend's face. "I . . . Hephaestion . . . " But he did not have the strength to yell over everyone, not at this moment, so he gasped out, "tell them -"
He understood that look, how Hephaestion's jaw tightened - we're hashing this out later, you're not getting out of it I swear by all the gods of Olympus - but Hephaestion immediately rounded on the others, straightening to his full height like a bow springing unbent for a new arrow. "Quiet!"
It did not quiet down entirely. Moreover, many of the high command looked askance at one another, or bristled outright.
Normally Alexander would have understood their reflexive indignation at having someone as much as decades their junior (who was not Alexander himself) taking the reins. Normally, Alexander would have let it go. But right now he was hard put merely to refrain from throwing up, and his brow furrowed; he was going to get indignant himself, in a moment -
But then Hephaestion continued, "Alexander wishes to speak," voice deadly even, ringing clearly over the tumult. And Alexander did not have time to get indignant then, for the soldiers, at least, obeyed fully this time, hushed completely, ready to listen to Alexander again.
With a supreme effort, Alexander steadied himself, raised his voice to address everyone at once. "I trust Philip - and so should you all."
He turned to Philip, who was as pale as any sickly patient now.
"You wouldn't have chosen this way to discover the extent of my trust in you, would you?" Alexander sighed. "But you have it; you could not be more certain of it. I read the letter, and I drank your medicine. Vile stuff . . ." he disguised an errant cough as a chuckle - "but I drank it."
Though he was no longer able to sit up from the cushions, he held out his right hand. Philip had practically wedged himself into the tiny space between the bed and the table, so Alexander did not have to lift it far, thank goodness.
Philip stared at him blankly.
"I wanted nothing more than to get better," Alexander added. "But now, believe me, I am just as eager to prove your loyalty. To everyone."
Trembling, Philip took his hand. Alexander managed a smile.
He could do no more after that. Philip had been wrong in one thing: the medicine's kick was not merely that of a colt - it was like a kick in the gut from Bucephalus. Alexander's field of vision wavered before dark exploding stars, and his chest tightened briefly with alarm; perhaps he had not yet done enough for Philip. But there was a strange ache churning up his stomach, making a cold sweat break out on his brow, constraining his breath to ever quicker, shallower gasps, demanding more of his attention with each passing moment. It would be quite a while, at least, before he could speak intelligibly again.
But to his side, at the edge of his darkening vision, there was Hephaestion - and he did not feel too worried as he finally turned his energy fully to confronting the medicine's effects.
* * * * *
Alexander's hand slipped away from Philip's to press against his stomach.
Slowly, Philip looked around. The soldiers looked to their sergeants, the sergeants looked to the officers, the officers looked at each other. Philip caught Critodemus' gaze for a moment; the surgeon's glance mirrored his apprehension, sharp with sympathy. The rest of the doctors were too frightened to look at anyone.
Philip shuddered. Alexander had said he trusted him - but Alexander had lost all color, and his features were scrunching up in pain. Philip could not help thinking Alexander rather deserved it; he had told him to drink slowly! However, by the Gods he was done for if the officers could not be made to understand about side effects, if they took this the wrong way - and how could they not, with Alexander folding up like that?
As Alexander coiled more tightly into himself, Hephaestion made to grip his shoulders, but Alexander moaned at the slightest touch and Hephaestion drew back his hands as if scalded. For a moment he just stood there, frustration stark upon his face, but then he whirled and seized the letter from where it had dropped at Philip's feet.
He scanned it rapidly, then looked up. Philip was not at all encouraged to see that gaze focus on him, weighing, measuring - but with a glint of something more perilous, an uneasy edge, far from cool contemplation.
Then Hephaestion took a breath, as if coming to a decision, and turned to the soldiers. "A set of guards, for Philip," he said curtly.
Even though most of the soldiers were still staring bewildered at Alexander, a few of them tore away from the sight and stepped forward, squaring their shoulders in determination.
The commanders, of course, were not so easily swayed.
"For Philip!" exclaimed Leonnatus. "But why?"
"Alexander likes to show trust in others, naturally," Eumenes muttered, "but this - this is really going too far! A warning - wasn't it from Parmenion, no less? - and he just waves it aside - !"
"There are some who respect the word of a general who's served three generations of kings," Craterus growled, stalking over and taking the letter from Hephaestion's hands to glance over it himself.
"Parmenion advises caution," Hephaestion countered, "nothing more."
"But look here, damnation!" Craterus pointed as he read. "It's been confirmed. Darius has announced a reward of a thousand - a thousand - talents, to anyone who'll take Alexander's life!"
Leonnatus swore.
Hephaestion gritted his teeth. "There's another possibility. There, after that line - the way Parmenion puts it, the informer was ridiculously easy to discover and capture."
"We've had a lot of experience," Craterus retorted. "Would've gone to Hades long ago, otherwise."
"Wait . . ." Ptolemy frowned at the letter, which was now in his hands. "Hephaestion means . . . it could be a ploy."
"Darius announces a reward for anyone who'll try," Perdiccas caught on, "and gets us jumping like mad at shadows."
"It would slow us down, to be suspecting everyone within our own camp," Ptolemy observed.
Hephaestion nodded grimly. "Speed is one of our side's greatest advantages."
Craterus snorted, incredulous. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. You're dismissing Parmenion's report based on a bunch of if's and maybe's? If someone's charging at you with a knife in hand, you don't wait to make sure he's aiming for you; you act; the greenest boy in the army knows this." He narrowed his eyes at Hephaestion. "If we really want what's best for Alexander, we'd have the guts to disagree with him when he's wrong."
At that, Hephaestion snapped rigid, eyes flashing, every line of his body taut as a bowstring. His answer came swift, low, strained with fury. "Quite so!"
But then he visibly took a breath, pulled up, drew back. He shot a fleeting glance toward the soldiers, who - like the physicians, like the other officers - were watching them wide-eyed, stock-still. "Quite so," he repeated tightly, schooling his features to cold aloofness. "We do tell him when we disagree."
Craterus understood the glance and grimaced - one of his strongest beliefs was that commanders needed to keep at least a somewhat cohesive front in front of the rank and file. But he folded his arms, giving no ground. "It's our job, naturally, as his commanders."
Hephaestion gave the slightest nod of assent. "However," he challenged, "can you be certain he's wrong about Philip?"
Several commanders looked uncertain now, but there was still no response.
"Look," Hephaestion sighed, "forget how we found out about it. The question now is, do we really believe Philip is guilty?"
"But that's the point," Eumenes muttered darkly. "He might be. And it's only common sense to deal immediately with any enemy agents - confirmed or suspected."
"Fine," Hephaestion replied, "then think of the guard as guarding against him. But whether he's guilty or not it does us no good to kill Philip off. He's the only one who knows what exactly went in that medicine, and if it really was poison, he'd be the only one to know the antidote, too."
The others blinked at that, then turned ominous gazes on Philip, but Philip was past shock by now. At this point he only thought, with curious detachment, that not even Critodemus would be able to sew him back up once the officers were through.
But then Hephaestion added, emphatically, "Besides, Alexander trusts him."
Leonnatus blinked. With a sudden flash of insight, he asked, "Do you, Hephaestion?"
"Yes. But it doesn't matter if I do or not," Hephaestion said, very carefully not looking at the senior-most commanders.
". . .'phaestion."
Startled, they all turned toward Alexander. He had uncoiled - had stretched out, even, craning toward the edge of the bed.
It was only because he was so close that Philip understood when Alexander mumbled, "G'ing t' be . . . sick." However, his paleness, the sheen of sweat on his brow, the very fact that he was not articulating clearly, was enough to rattle the soldiers. They froze, stricken.
Taking this astounding confession in stride - for astounding it undeniably was, coming from Alexander - Hephaestion got an empty bowl from the table. "Disposing of the doctor is not an option," Hephaestion continued matter-of-factly, grunting as he shifted Alexander bodily toward the edge of the bed. "Keeping Philip around is the better choice, no matter if he's sold out to Darius or not." Then he remarked, "Well Philip, you weren't lying when you said the first dose acts as a purge."
He said it almost conversationally - as if he were not, in fact, talking to a person whose fate was teetering on the brink of torture and ignominious death. "Well, I'm . . . surprised," Philip replied, feeling faint. "That's remarkably fast, for it to start taking effect."
"Nat'rally," Alexander murmured, hiccuping in between irregular breaths. "It's me . . . rec'v'ring . . ." Hephaestion thumped his back, quite forcefully.
"Alexander!" the soldiers cried, heartened anew by this latest avowal of a quick convalescence. The commanders exchanged glances ranging from skeptical to helpless.
Craterus shook his head in exasperation. "Well!" he growled, glowering at the soldiers. "Where's that guard for Philip?"
This time all the men clamored to be chosen, resolute, lit up with devotion. Preference was given to those who previously volunteered and Heracleides was immediately chosen to be in charge, while the commanders fired off a few questions at the rest about their ranks, positions, backgrounds. In the end, they seemed satisfied.
Philip noticed that Hephaestion's gaze raked them over too, though he said nothing. Strangely, upon seeing that, he felt marginally better - if only by the barest margin.
"See to it he doesn't try anything suspicious!" Craterus finished emphatically.
"Yes. But let him work," Hephaestion said. In the middle of balancing a bowl, a cup of water, a cloth, and a still-hiccuping Alexander, he turned on them with a look even more chilling than the Cydnus. "If you interfere with his duty in any way, you'll answer for Alexander's life."
At this point, Alexander made a noise strangely like a chuckle. Hephaestion frowned at him. "Philip, what's next?"
"Well - since he drank so quickly," Philip stammered, "the side effects will be rather severe - chills, you know, and weakness. Most of all, he should let himself just sleep - "
Alexander grunted disapprovingly. Hephaestion just said, "Understood."
"And, the next batch is simmering - I need to go see -"
"Fine."
Alexander drew in a wheezing breath and waved vaguely at everyone, though his chest was now heaving in what seemed a very painful manner as he mumbled, "All you . . . 've duties. Go . . . on . . ."
"Get out," Hephaestion translated flatly.
Craterus glowered as darkly as a thundercloud and wheeled around. "Well, let's get on with it then! Clear out! And, by Zeus' almighty wrath, you'd think someone could've cleaned up this wreck of broken pottery by now!"
Alexander's men had long since proven themselves capable of extraordinary speed. In under a minute, they were gone, and the wreck of pottery too.
* * * * *
He managed not to actually throw up until they were well out of hearing range - thank the gods they left when they did. After all, puking in front of one's soldiers was never a sight to impress, no matter how positive a sign it was that he was recovering fast.
So it was a good thing, a small triumph. In fact, he felt much better as he finished, and even thought himself quite a new man - for the moment at least - after Hephaestion sponged down his face and chest and gave him a drink to chase down the lingering queasiness.
"I'm better," he said.
Hephaestion said nothing, merely piled a tray with the used bowls and cloths.
"I really am."
Still Hephaestion said nothing, just opened the door, thrust the tray to the pages who sprang hastily to attention, closed the door, and stalked back to pour a fresh cup of water.
"You think I've been foolish."
Hephaestion frowned, suddenly fierce. "Did I say that?"
"Just now. I wasn't unconscious - "
"No, you were only curled in on yourself like you'd been caught at the wrong end of a spear," Hephaestion remarked sharply.
"I wasn't unconscious," Alexander repeated, deliberately ignoring what Hephaestion just said, "so I heard everything. And you said 'forget how we found out.' Which means, 'forget how Alexander broke the news to us.'"
Hephaestion was silent again.
"I know you have something to say."
Abruptly Hephaestion turned to the table, away from Alexander, plunging a fresh cloth into a basin. "It can wait until you . . . get your strength back."
Alexander sat up a little straighter. There was steel there, under the quiet. He recognized those last words for what they were - a warning.
Naturally, he barged straight into it.
"Say it. Whatever you've got on your mind, say it."
"I don't think we should do this . . . now," Hephaestion said, very low, the set of his shoulders severe. Dangerous.
Alexander disagreed. They should do this now, as soon as possible. If he were to make Hephaestion see things his way, he needed to be free of nausea, wracking coughs, and all such pesky distractions, and unfortunately he could already feel the heavy pull of drug-induced sleep.
He decided to go on the offensive while he still could. "Look at me, Hephaestion."
Hephaestion did. And at that look, although he still meant to get it all out of Hephaestion here and now, his sense of aggression melted entirely away.
"I'm all right," he murmured sincerely. "Really."
Unexpectedly, that did it.
"The others were right," Hephaestion ground out. "You could have handled it better. It's a good thing Philip's got a strong constitution himself, or he'd have died of fright."
It was a reproach - on several fronts - but when Hephaestion paused Alexander knew better than to think that was the end of it. Hephaestion was still trying to hold back, had not even warmed up yet.
Alexander glanced at the furniture, now righted but bereft of ornaments and pottery, and the little footstool, still turned on its side. "I got my share of runny noses when we were boys," he said quietly, "and I wouldn't have gone to Philip nearly so often, if not for you. Did you really think Philip would poison me?"
"No. Yes. I don't know. You know I don't do well with split-second decisions," Hephaestion muttered. "And you didn't allow the rest of us any time to consider it."
A slow, wide smile spread anew on Alexander's face. "For someone who doesn't do well with split-second decisions," he sighed, "you were magnificent."
"Oh no you don't." Hephaestion scowled. "I was quite ready to throttle Craterus, for a moment."
"It wasn't fair, what he said," Alexander mused. "You definitely let me know when you think I'm wrong. More than anyone."
"Don't patronize me," Hephaestion said crossly. "I was on the verge of decking one of your senior-most commanders. If I handled diplomatic missions like that we'd have to fight tooth and nail for every inch of ground between here and Babylon."
"I suppose," Alexander conceded, "I didn't break the information to the rest of you very smoothly."
"Smoothly," Hephaestion repeated, raising an eyebrow, "as swinging a hammer at our heads."
Alexander grinned drowsily, but it was fleeting, as he recalled something else.
Hephaestion's hands were steady as always now. But Alexander remembered him flinching, earlier.
"If you didn't think Philip would poison me," he asked, genuinely curious, "what were you thinking then?"
Hephaestion suddenly looked very tired. "I only thought . . ." he muttered, "well, that you'd sent him with me. With me, just as you said. But no one on the mission got sick, Alexander. Yet here you were, with only second-rate physicians, afraid to treat you for fear of breathing on you the wrong way."
Alexander was going to reach for Hephaestion's hand, but Hephaestion abruptly stood and moved away, pacing restlessly. "I - I got Philip back here as fast as I could. Thank the Gods, for every possible problem, there seemed to be a reprieve - we didn't arrive too late, and there was a cure, and Philip had everything he needed; you appeared to be improving a little today, even before Philip's medicine was ready; but then you spring that - that . . . that! - on us, and suddenly I find out I'd just brought you the very person who's thought to be trying to kill you; what do you think I was thinking!"
Alexander was very awake, now. Hephaestion's pacing sped up, grew more forceful.
"Gods, Alexander, when we came within earshot of the city - do you remember, Erygius warbling bawdy songs while you were trying to memorize something for Aristotle's lessons? And you'd endure until you couldn't anymore, and then you'd yell, I can't even think, it's hurting my brains! Well, let me tell you Alexander this was worse, a hundred times worse, a thousand, because I couldn't think either, and it wasn't my brains, it was -" Hephaestion stopped suddenly, breathing hard, whirled and looked directly at Alexander.
Barely breathing, Alexander met his eyes, as steadily as he could. It was the least he could do.
Hephaestion's voice became strained, remote, like memory. "I - I heard them, the men. Before the gates. And for a moment, there, I just stopped. I wasn't moving forward; I wasn't doing anything - I'd already ridden the poor beast half-dead and I'd stopped urging it on - because I was nearly afraid to set foot in the city. Because, you see, it -" Hephaestion halted, took a shaky breath. "It sounded like mourning."
Alexander did not try to answer that. Silence fell, and burgeoned.
What he wanted to say, to put it into words like thank you, and don't worry anymore, and even I'm sorry - I didn't mean for you to . . . No. It would be diminished, even trite. And what he felt was so much more.
The bed was quite large. Wordlessly, he shifted, though with heavy limbs.
If anything, Hephaestion only looked sterner. For several long moments, he did not move any closer.
He did not mean it as such, Alexander knew; but that look, apprehension and exhaustion - and the memory of fear - was one of the strongest reproaches Alexander could ever know.
"I - I won't go jumping into any more strange rivers," said Alexander. What he meant was, I can't promise not to do something, on the battlefield, just because others say it can't be done, but in little things like these . . .
Yet, it seemed Hephaestion understood the essence of it. "Let me guess," he said, "you'd just heard that Darius was driving his giant army along at some impossible speed, when someone told you nobody ever went swimming in the Cydnus?" and then he came over and, with a quiet sigh, collapsed quite willingly into the offered space.
He was leaning back against the pillows, but still sitting up; Alexander was lying down halfway. And it was natural, so very natural, that Alexander's head should come to rest in the curve between Hephaestion's shoulder and chest, like that. Just like that.
Alexander smiled a little, drowsier than ever but not minding it, now.
"All that . . ." he murmured, thoughtful. ". . . You did all that, with so much weighing on your soul?" He sighed contentedly. "I meant it, you know. When I said you were magnificent."
Hephaestion's expression did not lighten at all. He only gave Alexander a long, searching look.
At last, his jaw set with determination. "Promise me something, then."
Alexander blinked. Hephaestion rarely requested anything from him; while his other friends happily accepted all sorts of extravagant gifts and lavish rewards from him, Hephaestion held himself to a different standard altogether, just because he was that much closer to Alexander. And Alexander knew, also, that all those things he could bestow as King - lands, wealth, rank, power - Hephaestion would only turn around in the using and somehow, some way, return to him a hundred-fold.
"Anything," Alexander breathed, meaning it wholeheartedly.
Hephaestion looked at him a moment more.
"Stay," he said simply. "Stay and rest here - really rest - until Philip says you're cleared completely of the fever."
Alexander stared.
Hephaestion calmly held his gaze.
"Hephaestion," Alexander murmured, frustration rising. "Why, why must you ask that? That - that, I cannot promise you, even you, and you know it. Darius is on the march, and we need to move on soon - you, of all people, should understand all the preparations I've made -"
"Yes, the army will have to move on. But it needs you. You. Not with fever lingering in you, liable to flare again at any time because you cut your own recovery short, but leading at the front as you've always done, hale and hearty. Free of illness."
Alexander groaned. "No. What if Darius comes knocking on the door?"
"I doubt he'll knock," Hephaestion answered dryly. "Besides," - even drier - "you have an army. We won't let him get within a hundred miles of the gates."
"No," Alexander said again, and scrubbed tiredly at his eyes.
Hephaestion pulled his hands away from his face. To Alexander's surprise, he did not look angry, though there was a certain steely glint in his gaze.
"Don't fret about it," Hephaestion said lightly. "Just - just sleep, for now."
"Hephaestion - I -"
"Hypnos has come to collect his dues," Hephaestion declared. "Well, a tiny portion of what you owe him, anyway."
"But -"
"Don't worry." Hephaestion smiled, his eyes still glinting with that strange, confident light. "When you wake again, we'll have plenty of scores to settle. I promise."
Alexander blinked, then smiled, too. That was the sort of thing he liked to hear.
It was natural, then, for him to relax back into Hephaestion's arms. And it was natural, too, the way he fell asleep shortly after, his head against Hephaestion's shoulder, Hephaestion's fingers stroking gently through his hair, Hephaestion's voice accompanying him into the darkness, speaking of this and that and the other thing - everything that was waiting for him, and would still be waiting for him, whenever he woke, however long and deep his slumber.
So he slumbered, long and deep. Just like that.
* * * * *
last tweaked 02 July 2007
Feedback most welcome!