Child of a Dream Read online

  ‘Your father has won the sacred war and has been nominated head of the council of the sanctuary of Delphi, seat of the oracle of Apollo.’

  ‘Is it true that the oracle tells everyone what they must do?’

  ‘Not quite,’ replied Leonidas, taking Alexander by the hand and leading him into the open air. ‘You see, when people are about to do something important, they ask a god for advice: “Should I do it or not? And if I do it, what will happen?” for example. Then there is a priestess called the Pythia and the god replies through her, as if he were using her voice. Do you understand? But the words are always obscure, difficult to interpret, and that is why priests exist – to explain the words to the people.’

  Alexander turned back to look at the god Apollo standing erect on his pedestal, rigid and immobile, his lips pulled into that strange smile, and he understood why the gods need men in order to be able to speak.

  On another occasion, when the royal family had travelled to Aegae, the old capital, in order to offer sacrifices at the tombs of previous kings, Leonidas took Alexander to a tower of the palace from which they had a view of the summit of Mount Olympus covered with storm clouds, being struck by bolts of lightning.

  ‘You see,’ he tried to explain, ‘the gods are not the statues you admire in the temples: they live up there in an invisible house. They are immortal up there, they sit and dine on nectar and ambrosia. And those lightning bolts are thrown by Zeus himself. He can hit anyone and anything in any part of the world.’

  Alexander, his mouth gaping, looked long and hard at the awesome mountain top.

  The following day an officer of the palace guard found him outside the city, walking briskly along a path that led towards the mountain.

  ‘Where are you going, Prince Alexander?’ the officer asked as he dismounted.

  ‘There,’ replied the child, pointing to Mount Olympus.

  The officer picked him up and took him back to Leonidas, who was sick with fright and fretting about the terrible punishment the Queen would inflict on him if anything ever happened to her son, his pupil.

  Throughout that year Philip had to contend with serious illness – a result of the hardships he had endured during his military campaigns and the unsettled life he led when he was not in battle.

  Alexander was pleased because it meant he saw more of his father and was able to spend more time with him. Nicomachus was responsible for overseeing the King’s treatment and from his clinic in Stagira he had two assistants sent who would help gather the herbs and roots for his medicines from the surrounding woods and mountains.

  The King was put on a strict diet, almost completely without wine, to the point where he became unapproachable and indeed when he was in a bad mood only Nicomachus dared come near him.

  One of the two assistants was a fifteen-year-old boy and his name too was Philip.

  ‘Get him out of here,’ the King ordered. ‘Another Philip here gives me no pleasure whatsoever. I know what we’ll do! I’ll appoint him as my son’s physician, under your supervision, of course.’

  Nicomachus agreed, being well used by now to the whims of his King.

  ‘What is your son Aristotle doing?’ Philip asked Nicomachus one day as he was drinking a decoction of dandelion, grimacing as it slithered down his throat.

  ‘He’s living in Athens and studying with Plato,’ replied the physician. ‘In fact, I am told he is the best of Plato’s students.’

  ‘Interesting. And what is the topic of his research?’

  ‘My son is like me. He is attracted by the observation of natural phenomena rather than by the world of pure speculation.’

  ‘And is he interested in politics?’

  ‘Yes, of course, but here too he demonstrates a particular inclination towards the various manifestations of political organization rather than political science true and proper. He collects constitutions and makes comparative studies of them.’

  ‘And what does he think of monarchial rule?’

  ‘I don’t think he has any opinion on the matter. For him the monarchy is simply a form of government typical of certain communities rather than others. You see, Sire, I think that my son is interested in knowing the world for what it is rather than establishing a series of principles that the world should conform to.’

  Philip forced down the last sip of the decoction under the vigilant gaze of his physician, which seemed to command, ‘Every last drop.’ Then he wiped his mouth with the edge of his royal cloak and said, ‘Keep me informed about that boy, Nicomachus, because I’m interested in him.’

  ‘I will. I’m interested in him too – he’s my son.’

  During this period Alexander spent as much time as possible with Nicomachus because he was an affable man and full of surprises, while Leonidas was somewhat cantankerous and terribly strict.

  One day he entered the physician’s surgery and saw Nicomachus examining his father’s back and measuring his pulse at his neck.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he asked.

  ‘I am checking the speed of your father’s heartbeat.’

  ‘And what is it that moves the heart?’

  ‘Vital energy.’

  ‘And where is this vital energy?’

  Nicomachus looked in the boy’s eyes and read there an insatiable hunger for knowledge, a wonderful intensity of feeling. He brushed the boy’s cheek with his finger while Philip – intent and fascinated by the scene – watched on.

  ‘Ah! No one knows the answer to that one,’ said Nicomachus.

  4

  PHILIP WAS SOON back on his feet and engaged in the business of government with his energies fully restored, disappointing those who had even gone so far as to suggest that he had died.

  Alexander was not pleased because this meant he no longer saw his father so often, but it meant he became interested in getting to know other youngsters – some his age, others a little older – the children of Macedonian nobles who frequented the court and lived in the palace in accordance with the King’s specific wishes. For Philip this was a way of keeping the kingdom united, of binding together the most powerful families, with all the tribal and factional chiefs under one roof – the King’s.

  Some of these youngsters also attended Leonidas’ lessons – Perdiccas, Lysimachus, Seleucus, Leonnatus and Philotas, General Parmenion’s son. Others, who were older, such as Ptolemy and Craterus, already bore the title ‘Page’ and were directly dependent on the King for their education and their training.

  Seleucus at this stage in his life was quite small and thin, but Leonidas liked him because he was good at his schoolwork. He was particularly well versed in history and mathematics and for his age was surprisingly wise and well balanced. He could do complicated sums in increasingly shorter times and he enjoyed competing with his companions, often besting them.

  His dark, deep eyes lent him a penetrating look and his unkempt hair was a sign of a strong and independent, though never rebellious character. During lessons he was often keen to get himself noticed for his remarks, but he never tried to ingratiate himself with his teacher and neither did he do anything to charm or flatter his superiors.

  Lysimachus and Leonnatus were the most undisciplined because they came from the interior and had grown up free out in the woods and the prairies, taking the horses out to graze and spending much of their time outdoors. Living cooped up within four walls was like life in prison for them.

  Lysimachus, who was a little older, was quicker in adapting to this new life while Leonnatus, who was only seven, looked like a little wolf because of his rough appearance, his red hair and the freckles over his nose and around his eyes. When punished he reacted by kicking and biting, and Leonidas tried taming him by making him go hungry and locking him up while the others were playing; he even made ample use of his willow cane. But Leonnatus had his own form of revenge in that every time he saw the teacher appear at the end of a corridor he would shout out a rhyme at the top of his voice:

  Ek korì korì
koróne!

  Ek korì korì koróne!

  ‘Here he is, here’s the old crow!’ and all the others would join in, including Alexander, until poor Leonidas went red with rage and lost his temper, chasing them and brandishing his cane above his head.

  When he fought with his companions, Leonnatus simply had no concept of the idea of losing and he even came to blows with those bigger than him, the result being that he was always covered in bruises and scratches, almost always unpresentable on official occasions or at court ceremonies. This was quite the opposite of Perdiccas, who of the group was the most conscientious, always present both in class and on the games and training fields. He was only a year older than Alexander and, together with Philotas, they often played the same games.

  ‘When I grow up I’m going to be a general like your father,’ Perdiccas used to say to Philotas, who of all his friends was the one who was most like him.

  Ptolemy, almost fourteen, was quite stocky and well developed for his age. The first spots were appearing on his face together with a few wiry hairs, and he had funny features dominated by a large nose and hair that was always ruffled. His companions poked fun at him, saying that he’d started growing nose-first, and this upset him no end. He would lift up his tunic to show off other protuberances that were growing no less rapidly than his nose.

  Apart from these moments of excess in his high spirits, Ptolemy was a good boy, very fond of reading and writing. One day he let Alexander come to his room and showed him his books. He had at least twenty of them.

  ‘So many!’ exclaimed the Prince as he went to touch them.

  ‘Stop right there!’ said Ptolemy as he blocked him. ‘They’re delicate objects: papyrus is fragile and it disintegrates easily; one has to know the right way to unroll and roll them. They have to be kept in a well-ventilated and dry place with a mousetrap nearby because mice love papyrus and if they get hold of the scrolls – that’s the end of that. They can polish off two books of the Iliad or a tragedy by Sophocles in one night. Wait just a moment and I’ll get one for you.’ He took out a scroll marked with a small red card.

  ‘There. You see? This is a comedy by Aristophanes. It’s called Lisistrata and it’s my favourite. It tells of an occasion when the women of Athens and Sparta were truly fed up with all the wars that kept their menfolk away from home and they were all desperate for . . .’ he stopped when he saw Alexander’s face, his mouth gaping. ‘Well, let’s skip that, you’re too young for these things. I’ll tell you all about it some other time, all right?’

  ‘What’s a comedy?’ asked Alexander.

  ‘Haven’t you ever been to the theatre?’ asked Ptolemy, shocked.

  ‘Children aren’t allowed. But I know that it’s like listening to a story, only there are real men with masks on their faces and they pretend to be Hercules or Theseus. Some of them even pretend to be women.’

  ‘More or less,’ replied Ptolemy. ‘Tell me, what are your teacher’s lessons about?’

  ‘I can add and subtract, I know the geometrical figures and I can distinguish the Great Bear from the Little Bear in the heavens as well as more than twenty other constellations. And then I can read and write and I’ve read Aesop’s fables.’

  ‘Mmmm . . .’ observed Ptolemy, carefully putting the scroll back in its place. ‘Kids’ stuff.’

  ‘And then I know the entire list of my ancestors, both on my father’s and on my mother’s side. I am a descendant of Hercules and of Achilles; did you know that?’

  ‘And who were Hercules and Achilles?’

  ‘Hercules was the strongest hero in the world and he carried out twelve labours. Shall I tell you about them? The Nemean lion, the Hind of Cery . . . Ceryne . . .’ The boy couldn’t quite get his tongue round it.

  ‘I see, I see. You’re very good. But if you like I can read you some of the beautiful things I have here in my study . . . what do you think? And now, why don’t you run along and play? Did you know there’s a boy who’s just arrived here in Pella and who’s just your age?’

  Alexander’s face lit up. ‘Where is he?’

  ‘I saw him in the courtyard kicking a ball around. He’s a strong-looking specimen.’

  Alexander ran down as fast as he could and sat under the portico to watch the new guest without daring to speak to him.

  All of a sudden the boy kicked a little harder and sent the ball rolling to Alexander’s feet. The newcomer ran after it and the two youngsters found themselves face to face.

  ‘Do you want to play with me? It’s better when two play. I’ll kick it and you catch it.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Alexander.

  ‘Hephaestion, and yours?’

  ‘Alexander.’

  ‘Right. Come on then, up against that wall. I kick first and if you catch the ball you get a point, then it’s your turn to kick. If you don’t catch it I get a point and I get to kick again. Understand?’

  Alexander nodded in agreement and they started playing; soon the courtyard was filled with their shouting. They only stopped when they were dead tired and dripping with sweat.

  ‘Do you live here?’ Hephaestion asked as he sat on the ground.

  Alexander sat down beside him. ‘Of course. This is my palace.’

  ‘Don’t tell tales. You’re too little to have a palace this big.’

  ‘The palace is mine because it belongs to my father – King Philip.’

  ‘By Zeus!’ exclaimed Hephaestion, waving his right hand in a gesture of amazement.

  ‘Do you want to be friends?’

  ‘Of course, but to become friends we have to exchange some token of friendship.’

  ‘What’s a token of friendship?’

  ‘I give you something and you give me another thing in exchange.’

  Hephaestion rooted in his pocket and pulled out a small white object.

  ‘Gosh! A tooth!’

  ‘Yes,’ whistled Hephaestion through the gap where one of his front teeth had been. ‘It fell out a few nights ago and I almost swallowed it. Here – it’s yours.’

  Alexander took it and immediately felt at a loss because he had nothing to give in exchange. He fumbled in his pockets while Hephaestion stood there in front of him holding his hand out in expectation.

  Alexander, finding himself completely lacking in a gift of equal significance, gave a deep sigh, gulped, and then put his fingers into his mouth and took hold of a tooth that had been wobbling for some days but which was still quite solid.

  He began to rock it backwards and forwards, pushing and pulling hard and holding back tears of pain until it finally came out. He spat out a gob of blood, washed the tooth in the drinking-water fountain and handed it to Hephaestion.

  ‘There you are,’ he mumbled. ‘Now we’re friends.’

  ‘Until death?’ asked Hephaestion, pocketing his token.

  ‘Until death,’ replied Alexander.

  *

  Summer was already coming to an end when Olympias told her son that there was to be a visit from his uncle, Alexander of Epirus.

  He knew he had an uncle – his mother’s younger brother – and he knew that they shared the same name. But even though Alexander had seen his uncle on previous occasions, he had no real recollection of him because he had been so young.

  Prince Alexander saw his namesake arrive on horseback one evening, accompanied by his escort and his tutors.

  He was a handsome boy of twelve with dark hair and deep blue eyes; he carried all the trappings of his dignified rank: a ribbon of gold around his hair, a purple cloak and in his right hand an ivory sceptre, because he too was a king, albeit a young one and of a country that was all mountains.

  ‘Look!’ exclaimed Alexander, turning to Hephaestion who was sitting next to him with his legs dangling over the balcony. ‘That’s my uncle, Alexander. He has the same name as me and he’s a king too, did you know that?’

  ‘King of what?’ asked his friend, swinging his legs.

  ‘King of the Molossian
s.’

  He was still speaking when Artemisia grabbed him from behind. ‘Come here! You have to get ready now to meet your uncle.’

  Alexander kicked his legs because he didn’t want to leave Hephaestion, but Artemisia carried him bodily to his mother’s bath chamber where she undressed him, washed his face, made him put on a tunic and a Macedonian cloak trimmed in gold, put a ribbon of silver around his head and then stood him up on a chair to admire him. ‘Come on, little King. Your mother’s waiting for you.’

  She led him to the royal antechamber where Queen Olympias was waiting, already dressed and perfumed and with her hair arranged. She was stunning: her black eyes contrasted with her flame-coloured hair and the long blue stole embroidered with golden palmettes along the edges covered a chiton tunic in the Athenian style, slightly low-cut and held up on her shoulders with a thin cord, the same colour as the stole.

  Her cleavage, which the chiton left partly visible, was beautifully embellished with a large drop of amber, as big as a pigeon’s egg, set in a capsule of gold in the shape of an acorn – a wedding present from Philip.

  She took Alexander by the hand and went to sit on the throne alongside her husband who was ready to receive his young brother-in-law.

  The boy entered at the bottom of the hall and bowed first to the King, as protocol required, and then to the Queen, his sister.

  Philip was full of pride as a result of his military successes, and rich because of the gold mines he had occupied on Mount Pangaeos. Indeed, he was fully aware of being the most powerful lord of all the Hellenic peninsula or perhaps even the most powerful in the world after the Persian emperor. For these reasons he increasingly behaved in such a way as to inspire awe in his visitors, both in the finery of his clothes and the splendour of the ornaments he wore.

  Following the ritual greetings, the young King of Epirus was led to his apartments so that he could make himself ready for the banquet.