The shadow king, p.6
The Shadow King, page 6
Menecrates was a famous doctor, who styled himself the King of Medicine. Not content with that, he had taken to referring to himself as Zeus, and even dressing as the god, because in his own estimation he had the power of life and death. Taking him at his word, when the food was brought in the night before, Philip had ordered only incense burnt before Menecrates.
‘Are you sure Aristotle is the right tutor for your son?’ Parmenion asked. ‘You were responsible for the destruction of his hometown.’
‘His father was doctor to mine.’ Philip’s good eye was shrewd. ‘No doubt he hopes good service might be rewarded with the refounding of Stagira.’
‘Philosophers are trouble at court,’ Parmenion continued, ‘remember Euphraeus.’
A pupil of Plato, Euphraeus had held great influence over Philip’s brother Perdiccas. He had tried to insist that no one could share in the royal feasts unless he knew how to practise geometry or philosophy. It had been much resented by the hard-drinking Macedonian barons. When Perdiccas was dead, Euphraeus had fled home to the island of Euboea.
‘That is why Aristotle will educate Alexander and the others in the countryside at Mieza.’
‘That, and it gets Alexander away from the influence of his mother,’ Antipater said.
Philip laughed. Were it not for his ruined eye, he was a handsome man. ‘And that too.’
‘Well, I did not like the look of Aristotle,’ Parmenion said. ‘Too pleased with himself, always has that superior smile on his face. The pack of philosophers teach the young to question the gods.’
‘No, Aristotle does not doubt the gods,’ Antipater said.
‘I had forgotten, Antipater, that you are now quite the man of letters.’ Parmenion’s tone was mocking, but not unkind. ‘The Deeds of Perdiccas in Illyria, an odd subject for a history considering how it ends.’
Philip answered before Antipater could speak. ‘Not odd at all. My brother met his fate at the hands of a great warrior.’ The King raised his cup, first to me, then to each of my nephews. ‘It is all the more to our credit that the gods eventually granted us victory.’
The graceful compliment left me cold.
‘How is your work going?’ the King asked.
Antipater pulled a face like a farmer asked why the harvest was late. ‘It would go quicker if you did not keep finding other tasks for me.’
‘On that line, there are things we must discuss.’
Both the generals laughed, Parmenion somewhat ruefully. He fished out a gold coin from the wallet on his belt, and tossed it over to Antipater.
‘Parmenion bet me you wanted nothing but the pleasure of our company.’ Antipater tucked the coin away.
‘The walls of the palace have too many ears,’ Philip said.
Parmenion waved his hand in a circular motion. ‘And the countryside does not?’
‘If I do not trust my Royal Pages,’ Philip said, ‘how will they learn to trust me?’
More fool, you, I thought.
‘For now the west is settled. The Illyrians are peaceful.’
Tell that to the Lyncestians who died last year on the path to Lake Lyke, I thought.
‘We have placed Olympias’ brother on the throne of Epirus.’
Antipater chuckled. ‘Of course he is well accustomed to serving you.’
Pausanias flushed and looked furious. The youth was jealous. So it was true – Philip had taken the Epirote prince as lover as well as hostage.
Philip ignored the interruption. ‘It is time we turned east and dealt with the tribes of Thrace. Next month I will open the campaign against the Odrysians ruled by Cersobleptes. His kingdom must be conquered.’
‘What about the Getae up towards the Danube?’ Parmenion asked.
‘Their King Cothelas has a daughter of marriageable age. Oaths and a wedding and some mules with panniers full of gold – it is more pleasurable to make an alliance in the marriage bed than on the battlefield.’
Antipater nodded. ‘The smaller tribes will come over to you. The Odrysians and the Getae are their neighbours. They fear them more than distant Macedonia.’
‘What about the Hellenes in the south?’ Parmenion said. ‘Athens depends on grain from the Black Sea. The nearer you get to the Hellespont, the greater the danger the Athenians will break the treaty.’
‘Some of their orators claim we were behind the failed attempt to burn their fleet in port,’ Antipater said.
‘They have no proof,’ Philip said. All three men smiled. An unvoiced admission of complicity. ‘I have written offering to give the island of Halonnesus to Athens, and proposing to extend our treaty with the Athenians to a common peace among all Hellenes.’
‘They will not be won over by one tiny island, and a peace that might benefit other cities,’ Parmenion said. ‘And there is the civil strife on Euboea. It is right on the doorstep of Athens.’
‘We must be allowed to aid those on Euboea who ask for our protection. It is just in the eyes of the gods.’ Philip beamed at his companion. ‘And that is why you, Parmenion, will go there with sufficient force. You will take mercenaries – all Hellenes, no barbarians, and no Macedonian troops. It might help allay Athenian fears.’
‘When do I go?’
‘As soon as we return from the hunt. You will take ship from Pydna. The mercenaries are already gathered there.’
‘And me?’ Antipater said.
Philip took off his ring, and handed it to the older man. ‘You will remain as Regent in Macedonia. Keep an eye on all the Hellenes. In the autumn go to Delphi, and preside over the Pythian Games in my name. Men gather from all Hellas, tongues are loose at a festival; nothing remains secret.’
They all took a drink, and turned to practicalities: logistics, the division of forces, and the need for light infantry in the wild ranges of Thrace. So the fate of kingdoms and cities, of many tens of thousands, was decided by three men over lunch.
Philip made offerings to Heracles the Hunter and Artemis, goddess of the chase, before we set off. Somehow I knew his piety was not feigned. For all his deep cunning, this was a man who respected the gods.
The locals took us through small fields moated by ditches. Aspens were growing up along the ditches, but this flat landscape obviously had recently been reclaimed from the marsh. Gulls screamed overhead. Someone said they came inland before a storm out in the gulf. So far the sky remained cloudless.
After a time we came to an open sward, backed by a thick bank of reeds, and our guides said we must proceed on foot. The hunting gear was unloaded, and the horses tethered. Kalos and the other new boy were left to look after them. With the hounds leashed, we walked into the untamed marshland.
The path was muddy and sucked at our boots as we laboured along burdened by all the unwieldy impedimenta needed for the chase. The tall reeds shut out the view. It was hot and close, without a breath of wind. Clouds of gnats hung round our heads, whining into our eyes and ears. A fetid stench of decay filled the air.
The locals said we were close to the lair, and Philip slipped his favourite Laconian bitch. She quartered the ground, nose down, tail erect. When she picked up the scent, she made no sound, but looked back. At a word, she trotted ahead, and we followed in single file.
Soon there were signs of the boar: hoof prints in the soft ground, broken branches in the undergrowth. Where there were trees, often the bark was scarred by its tusks. The damage was ominously high on the trunks. Weighed down by a bulky roll of netting, and unarmed except for the sword in its scabbard, at every step I expected the beast to burst through the reeds. The runt of the litter, my father had called me. I would prove myself a true son of Lyncestis, a better man than him. Fear would not master me.
Following the line, the hound came to a wooded hillock. Boars make their dens in such places; shaded and well watered, warm in the winter, cool in the summer. The bitch stopped and barked, just once, not to provoke the boar. Philip tied her with the others, and told us to get everything ready. There is an art to setting nets. The belly of the net must be set forward, the supporting stakes well placed, so the beast can see through and not see the trap when it charges. We fixed the outside cords to trees. A boar can easily uproot thorn bushes or scrub. Beyond the nets, we blocked the open ground with brushwood, so the beast would not run out to the sides.
‘Philip, you wait here, Parmenion and I will flush it out,’ Antipater said.
‘And have my Pages think that I would send my two oldest Companions into the most danger, while I look to my own safety? No, you two stay behind the nets. You can compete for the honour of the kill.’
‘The King can never hunt with just boys.’ Antipater was firm. ‘It is against our customs. At least one Companion must always go with him. It will be me.’
Accepting this, Philip told Amyntas and another Page, and both the guides, to attend Parmenion. The hounds were put on slip leashes, and the weapons passed out. I took a boar-spear, and the leads of a pair of big Molossian dogs.
Philip addressed those who would accompany him. ‘Antipater and I will lead. You boys keep well spaced. If he turns, and we are too close together, someone will get gored. Release the hounds on my command, and raise a shout. Should he double back, and get past your spear, throw yourself flat, grip the earth with your fingers. His tusks curve up, to savage you he needs to get them under your body. You will not be much hurt if he only tramples you. If anyone goes down, the nearest must go to his aid, draw the beast towards himself. Are you ready?’
We skirted the base of the knoll. It was slow going, splashing through stagnant pools, and stumbling over fallen boughs. Keeping my feet took all my attention, leaving no room to dwell on the proximity of a ferocious, man-killing animal. Eventually, satisfied that we had put the lair between us and Parmenion, Philip gave the order to spread out in a line, facing back the way we had come.
I found myself near the centre. Philip was on my left, Antipater beyond him. Neoptolemus was to my right.
‘Slip the hounds!’
They went bounding up and vanished into the timber.
‘Alalalalai!’ We yelled the war cry.
As we went up the slope, the trees were bigger, more widely spaced. The day had turned overcast, almost gloomy.
A furious burst of barking somewhere up ahead.
Lame from an old war wound, Philip was slow. Neoptolemus to my right was drawing slightly ahead.
The cornel wood shaft of my spear was smoothed by the sweat of previous hunters. The long iron spearhead and projecting wings, all razor sharp, gave a certain reassurance. I kept pace with Philip, moving carefully, half turned, spear in both hands, left leading.
The barking was louder. Then something large crashed through the undergrowth, and a hound howled in pain.
‘Alalalalai!’ We bellowed at the top of our voices.
Suddenly the boar emerged from a tangle of briars. The hounds jumbled out after, yapping and darting, just out of its reach.
The boar stood, tail twitching. Its head swinging this way and that, snout dipping, tearing up clods of earth and roots in its fury. Perhaps, long schooled in the hunt, it had learnt that the entangling nets waited if it fled away from the hounds and the noise of the beaters.
A Molossian rushed at its flank. The boar, nimble for all its bulk, swung round. A toss of its head, and the dog went tumbling, a hideous red gash in its side. The other hounds retreated.
And then the boar saw the line of puny men. Without hesitation, the hounds forgotten, it charged the nearest. Accelerating quickly, it thundered down the slope straight at Philip.
The King crouched, braced himself, spear poised. Frozen, I watched the muscles flexing in the smooth flank of the boar. Men were shouting. Antipater was running to his friend. Then it was over. A terrible impact and Philip staggered back a couple of paces. Somehow the King kept his feet as the beast ran itself onto the wicked point. Two or three massive convulsions, and the boar collapsed. Blood was surging from where Philip’s spear was lodged deep in its chest.
Men were cheering. Antipater had cast aside his weapon to hug Philip. Up in the wood a few of the hounds were still barking.
Dead, it looked no bigger than other boars. Not the gigantic creature of myth. Its tusks were short. Its left shoulder was unmarked. Not a boar, but a sow.
Everyone was moving to congratulate the King. A movement upslope, at the edge of my vision. Those hounds still giving tongue in the wood. Turning, I saw the new threat.
Massive, slope-shouldered, with a bristling ridge down its back, it pushed half out of its cover. A jagged, white scar showed on its dark flank. Here was the primeval beast that had put terror in the hearts of the villagers.
Its piggy little eyes, shone with malevolence, as it regarded the two unarmed men standing over the body of its mate. In the beat of a heart, it had made its bestial calculations. No thought of flight, it wanted revenge.
Antipater was nothing to me, and Philip had beaten me like a child.
The boar pawed the ground, gathering itself.
But I had sworn an oath: so long as I am alive, and see the light of day.
The beast hurled itself forward.
With a wordless cry of warning, I ran into the path of the boar.
The ground trembled under its onset. Hefting the spear, I tried to get into the correct stance – trying to remember everything Eumaeus had taught me – left foot in front, left hand over it, right hand and foot together, legs bent, no further apart than wrestling. The boar was on me before I was set. At the last moment, it jinked its head to one side. Instinctively, my left hand, guiding the spear, started to follow. Somehow I dragged it back. The beast straightened. It was not a clean strike. The spearhead punched in below the throat, but at a glancing angle. The impetus drove me backwards, boots slipping. The boar’s jaws were snapping at the shaft. And then the spear snapped. As I went down, I felt a terrible pain in my thigh. Then a crushing weight as the beast landed on top of me.
It was impossible to breathe. The boar was thrashing. Hot blood was stinging my eyes, running into my mouth. As if from a great distance men were shouting. The beast tried to rise, a foot hit me hard in the ribs. Then the awful weight descended again, and was still.
‘Is he alive?’
They heaved the corpse off me. I gulped the air, but it felt as if someone had driven a dagger into my chest. Then that was nothing to the agony in my thigh. I pressed my hands to the wound.
‘Let me look.’
As my hands were pulled away from the wound, for a moment there was nothing to see except a thin, white line. Then the line gapped into a hideous red tear.
‘Give me the wine.’
A searing pain as the cut was washed. I bit back a cry.
‘Nasty, but, when clean and dry, we can stitch it,’ Philip said. ‘If it does not go bad, you will live. Something to show with pride.’
‘From now he can recline with the men at dinner,’ Antipater said. ‘Killed his man, killed his boar, not fitting he remains a Page, but too young for the army.’
‘You are right,’ Philip’s one eye gazed down into my face. ‘We owe you our thanks. In recognition, I declare you a foster-brother of my son, Alexander. You will be educated with him at Mieza.’
CHAPTER SIX
Summer 342 BC to Spring 340 BC
T
HE THREE YOUTHS WERE naked, panting, covered in dust. They were arranged like a sculpture group; The Ball-players. By the way they were standing the one in the middle was Alexander. He was half a head shorter than the other two. Philotas, on the right, I already knew from Aegae. The one on the left, his hand resting casually, but proprietorially, on Alexander’s shoulder had to be the prince’s lover Hephaestion.
‘Alexander, son of Aeropus.’ I introduced myself formally. ‘King Philip has sent me to be educated with you.’
Hephaestion regarded me with disdain. ‘Another uplander, as if we did not already have to put up with that oaf Craterus, and the cripple from Elimeia, Harpalus.’
I had known Harpalus from childhood. He was a member of the royal family of Elimeia. It was not his fault that he had been born with a hunched back and a withered leg.
Hephaestion was not finished. ‘The closest the house of Lyncestis has ever come to culture was slipping hunting dogs on Euripides.’
‘It was fate.’ I spoke reasonably, keeping my rising anger out of my voice. ‘There was bad blood – Euripides had demanded a gold cup from the King that was owed to my ancestor for courage in battle – but the hand of a god caused the death.’
Hephaestion snorted. ‘You rework the story. The King said, “You have a right to ask, but Euripides has a right to receive the cup even though he did not ask.” With Lyncestian manners, your kinsman threw his drink at the King.’
Hephaestion would have said more, but Alexander silenced him with a gesture. ‘And the King forgave him with the words “He did not throw the drink on me, but the man he thought me to be.”’
Alexander smiled. ‘Raking up old tragedies is no welcome to our brotherhood.’ His face and chest were flushed from exercise. His eyes were the colour of hyacinths, one oddly darker than the other. Alexander stood very erect, his head slightly tipped to one side. That was where my kinsman Leonnatus had copied the stance.
‘You are welcome as my foster-brother.’ Alexander dragged his dirt-matted hair back from his forehead. ‘Two Alexanders will cause confusion. Would it be acceptable if we call you Lyncestes?’
I smiled at Alexander, then looked at Hephaestion. ‘It would be an honour.’
‘Will you join the game,’ Philotas said. He was one of the oldest of the foster-brothers, perhaps eighteen, or even nineteen.
It was not yet a month since the boar had gored my leg. The wound was barely healed and still tender. But my pride would not let me use that as an excuse.
‘With pleasure.’ Old Eumaeus had accompanied me to Mieza. I stripped, and handed him my clothes.
When I too was naked, the scar showed pink against the tanned flesh.
‘Far from being rewarded,’ Hephaestion said, ‘Pages have been flogged for getting between the King and his quarry.’
