But Alexandros took the city’s homage as his personal due.
The city’s leaders were obsequious, hailing Alexandros before the crowd at the Agora as if he had won the victory for their side. In private they seemed unable to believe their good fortune.
“Philip will not send troops to occupy the city?”
“No,” said Alexandros.
“He does not demand reparations or ransom for the prisoners he took?”
“No.”
“All he wants is for us to confirm his control of the seaports along the Hellespont and Bosporus?”
“That, and a guarantee that you will no longer make war against us.” Sullenly.
The Athenian leaders could hardly suppress their delight.
“After all, he controls the ports already.”
“It was Demosthenes and his faction that wanted to war against Philip. I never believed in it.”
“Nor I.”
“Nor I!”
“Where is Demosthenes?” Alexandros asked. “I have something of his to return to him.”
CHAPTER 17
I accompanied Alexandros to Demosthenes’ house, carrying his heavy blue shield with me, a combination bodyguard and porter. The other Companions had wanted to come and gloat, but Alexandros—in a very sober, serious mood—told them to stay behind.
Ptolemaios, who had brought his mistress Thais with him to see her native Athens once again, laughingly said to the others, “Let the Little King go see the golden-throated coward. We have better things to do!” And he shaped the curves of a woman in the air with his hands.
The other Companions agreed, laughing. Except for Hephaistion, who came to Alexandros and pleaded to come along with him.
“No, I want to see Demosthenes alone, eye to eye. If you or any of the others were there it would seem as if we’re flaunting our victory over him.”
“Well, aren’t we?” Hephaistion asked. “Shouldn’t we?”
Alexandros said merely, “That isn’t what I want to do. I must see him alone.”
“But you’re taking Orion with you.”
Without even glancing my way, Alexandros replied, “Orion is a servant, a bodyguard. He doesn’t count.”
Perhaps I should have been annoyed or even angered at that. I could not work up any resentment; he was right. I was a servant, a bodyguard, a hired soldier. In thrall to his witch mother, as well. And a slave of the Creators who let their creatures worship themselves as gods. What right had I to be angry at the truth?
I arranged an honor guard of six uniformed men to accompany us through the streets, three striding ahead of us, three behind. I did not entirely trust the Athenians’ seeming acceptance of us. It would take only one dagger in the dark to slay the son of their conqueror.
As we walked through Athens’ streets in the gathering shadows of evening, he said to me, “You realize that by sending me here, my father is robbing me of the victory celebration home in Pella.”
“You got a hero’s welcome here,” I said.
“Smiling faces, Orion. But they smile out of fear. They are trying to deceive us.”
“Perhaps so.”
“Right now my father must be parading our troops through the streets of Pella. And then there will be the thanksgiving rites at the old capital in Aigai. And I won’t be there for either one.”
“They’ll have celebrations when you return,” I said.
He shook his head. “It won’t be the same. He is getting all the glory for himself, making certain that all I get is leftovers.”
“What you are doing here is very important.”
Alexandros glanced around at the houses and shops crowding the street. It was late in the day, almost sundown. No one else was stirring, as far as we could see. The Athenians had emptied the street once they knew that Alexandros would be using it. Up ahead I could see the massive bulk of the Acropolis with its marble temples and the tip of Athena’s spear catching the last glint of the setting sun.
“Important? This? I’m a messenger boy, that’s all.”
I said, “Ensuring the peace is king’s work. Victory on the battlefield means nothing if the enemy isn’t satisfied with the terms of the peace.”
He did not reply.
“Your task is to make the Athenians realize that they have more to gain from peace than war. Your father sent you because Demosthenes has painted him as such a monster that it would be impossible for the Athenians to deal with him.”
“Demosthenes,” he whispered, as if he had just remembered where we were going, and why.
“You are not only Philip’s representative,” I reminded him, “you are his heir. The peace you arrange here should last into your own reign.”
This time he looked at me squarely. “My father is still a vigorous man. I may not ascend to the throne for many years.”
“You are young. You can wait.”
“I am not good at waiting, Orion. When you have chosen glory instead of long life, waiting is hard.”
“You sound like Achilles,” I said.
“I want to be like Achilles: strong and glorious and famed forever.”
“He was short and ugly and he slit his own throat,” I blurted.
Alexandros jolted to a stop so suddenly that the guards behind us had to whistle to the guards up front to let them know they should stop too.
“How dare you defame the greatest hero of the Iliad?”
“I was there,” I said. It was almost as if someone else were speaking. I heard my own words, and in a far corner of my mind I was astounded to be speaking them.
“At Troy?”
“At Troy. I was befriended by Odysseus and made a member of his house.”
“That was a thousand years ago!”
“It was in an earlier life.”
He grinned nervously. “You’ve been talking to that Hindi, haven’t you? He believes in reincarnation.”
“I have lived many lives. One of them was at Troy. I saw Achilles kill Hector. I saw Achilles take his own life when an arrow wound crippled him.”
Alexandros shook his head like a man trying to rid himself of a bad dream. “Orion, I think you have taken too many blows on your head.”
I knew he believed what I had told him but did not want to admit it, even to himself. So I said merely, “Perhaps so. Perhaps it was all a dream.”
“Certainly it was.”
We fell silent as we marched on to the house of Demosthenes. It was not as grand as Aeschines’ house, where once again we were staying, but it was a large and handsome house with a whole detachment of uniformed city constables standing guard before it. Like Aeschines, Demosthenes was a lawyer. It must have been a profession that paid very well, I thought, judging from their homes.
Demosthenes knew we were coming, of course. His servants bowed us in through the front gate. He received us in the central courtyard, where gnarled fig trees provided shade by day. Now, with night’s shadows creeping across the city, the courtyard was lit by lanterns hung from the trees’ twisting limbs.
He stood as Alexandros and I approached, his eyes going wide at the sight of his shield. Our six-man guard stood out by the house’s front gate, with the constables’ detachment, within shouting range.
“I believe this is yours,” said Alexandros, gesturing me to lay it on the ground at Demosthenes’ feet. The man seemed to have aged ten years in the few days since Chaeroneia. His face was lined, a pallid gray, and his beard was ragged.
He stared down at the shield. It was unscratched. He had never come close enough to the fighting to have it marred.
“Wh-what do you w-w-want of me?” He could not look directly at Alexandros.
“Only to tell you that you have nothing to fear from Philip, King of the Macedonians. Despite all that you have said, despite your personal insults, he has instructed me to tell you that he bears you no ill will and he will not harm you in any way.”
Demosthenes looked up then, his eyes more puzzled than surprised.
“But let me add this, Demosthenes,” said Alexandros. “I, Alexandros, will one day be king of the Macedonians. And on that day you can begin to number the hours left to your miserable, lying, traitorous heart.”
“T-traitorous? Whom have I b-betrayed?”
“The thousands of your fellow Athenians who died at Chaeroneia while you flung your shield and weapons away and ran to save your filthy neck. The brave Sacred Band of the Thebans, who fought to the last man because you, bought by Persian gold, talked them into making war against us. The people of your own city who trusted you to lead them to victory and now bless Philip’s name for his magnanimity.”
Demosthenes was trembling, but he managed to choke out, “So y-you intend to k-k-kill me once you g-gain the throne.”
“You can run to the Great King, your secret master, but it will do you no good. Hide at the ends of the earth and I will find you,” Alexandros snarled.