“He is greatly admired,” I said.
“But not yet nineteen years old,” the queen countered.
“The men trust him. At Chaeroneia—”
“Answer me truthfully. If the army voted this night, would they elect a nineteen-year-old over Parmenio? Or even Antipatros? Remember that their families are as old and noble as Philip’s. They were all horse thieves together only a generation ago.”
“I believe they would vote Alexandros king,” I said truthfully. “Probably with Parmenio as regent for a year or so.”
“You see?” she said to Alexandros. “You would get the title but not the authority. They will keep you from true power.”
“But why this question?” I asked. “Has something happened to the king?”
“He’s going to marry Attalos’ niece, Kleopatra, the one he calls Eurydice.”
“Marry?”
“The king may have more than one wife,” Alexandros explained.
“He already has had several political marriages,” said Olympias. “His marriage to me was to cement his alliance with the Molossians, originally.”
“He fell in love with you,” I said.
“He lusted after me, just as he’s lusted after every wench with hair between her legs. And quite a few boys, too.”
“I don’t see it as a problem, Mother—as far as I’m concerned. I know it’s a slap in your face, of course.”
“Do you think I care about that?”
I thought she cared very much. But I kept my mouth shut.
“I think he hurts you,” said Alexandros.
“And he humiliates you,” she said, clutching at his shoulder. “He expects me to be so enraged at him that I will leave and return to my father in Epeiros. If I refuse to do that, he will divorce me. This little baggage he’s marrying wants to be his only legitimate wife; that’s Attalos’ plan.”
Understanding seemed to dawn on Alexandros’ face. “Which means that if he has a son by her—”
“You will have a rival for the throne. Attalos will push for his niece’s son because that will bring the throne to his house, his family.”
“But not for many years,” I pointed out.
She shot me a venomous glance. “He could have a new son a year from now. And my son will be pushed aside. He’ll claim that he never fathered you, Alexandros. I know he will!”
“You told me that he didn’t,” Alexandros said, his voice hollow.
“I told you that you were fathered by Zeus,” she said imperiously. “But Philip has always claimed you as his own.”
“Until now.”
“The clever dog will use your own godly heritage against you. He will call me an adulteress and you a bastard. Wait and see.”
Again I broke in, “But all this is supposition. Philip hasn’t even announced his intention to marry again.”
“He will.”
“Even if he does, even if he marries, it could be years before he produces a son. Alexandros will be a fully grown man, perfectly able to be voted king when Philip dies.”
“Or he may not produce a son at all,” Alexandros said.
“Yes,” said Olympias. “He may not live long enough to sire a new heir.”
CHAPTER 18
Olympias dismissed her son, but kept me with her. Like the slave that I was I followed her to her bed chamber where we made love until dawn amid her slithering, hissing snakes.
She did not need the special drugs that her vipers had injected into me other times. I was a cooperative slave that night, a willing lover. My body was unmarked by their fangs, although Olympias had sunk her own fingernails into my flesh more than once.
“You plan to assassinate Philip,” I said to her as we lay together.
“Is that a question?” she asked lazily.
“No. An observation.”
“And you will warn him of it, won’t you?”
“I am loyal to Philip,” I said.
“Not to me?”
“You can force me to do whatever you wish. That does not engender loyalty.”
She laughed in the predawn darkness. “Come now, Orion, can you truthfully say that you don’t enjoy what we do together?”
“My body certainly enjoys it.”
“But your mind…?”
I hesitated, not wanting to stir her anger. But I heard my voice tell her, “I know what a trained bear must feel when he’s made to dance.”
She laughed again, genuinely amused. “A trained bear! Yes! That’s what I want you to be: my trained bear.”
I cursed myself for giving her a new source of amusement.
“Time for another performance, my great big bear,” she said. “Must I find a whip to encourage you?”
I did not need a whip.
By the time the first pink flush of dawn was lighting the sky beyond her window, she returned to our earlier conversation.
“You will tell Philip that I plan to assassinate him, won’t you?”
“If you don’t prevent me, yes, I will.”
“It’s nothing that he doesn’t know already.”
I got out of the bed and went to the wash basin on the table across the room.
“Go ahead and tell him, Orion. Let him know what awaits him. There’s nothing he can do to avoid it. Assassination is his fate. The gods have decreed it.”
“The gods!” I spun around and faced her, still lying languidly in her bed. “There are no gods and you know it.”
She laughed at me. “Careful, Orion. Men have been executed most painfully for blaspheming.”
“For telling the truth,” I muttered.
“Go,” she said, her voice suddenly imperious. “Go to Philip and tell him the fate that awaits him. Tell him that it is ordained by the gods. There is nothing he can do to avoid it.”
I left her chamber, Olympias’ words and haughty laughter echoing in my mind. She said that Philip’s assassination was ordained by the gods. As I strode along the empty corridors of Philip’s palace in the dawn’s gentle light, I clenched my fists and vowed to do everything I could to stop her.
“Nothing is preordained,” I muttered to myself. “Time itself can be bent and changed, not only by the so-called gods but by their creatures, as well. We create the future by our own actions.”
And I swore that I would protect Philip with every ounce of strength in me.
I went back to my usual palace duties. By day we of the royal guard exercised the horses, trained our squires, oversaw the slaves who maintained our weapons and armor, shopped in Pella’s growing market place for clothes and trinkets. And we gossiped, chattering among ourselves about Ptolemaios’ madness over Thais, about the queen’s scheming, about whether or not Philip truly intended to invade the Persian Empire.
Pausanias kept us busy and kept us sharp. He took his duties as captain of the royal guard very seriously, despite the sniggering jokes that the men made about him behind his back. I began to understand that the sly laughter had something to do with Attalos. Whenever anyone mentioned Attalos’ name, or spoke about the prospects of the king marrying Attalos’ niece, Pausanias’ normally dour face darkened like a thundercloud.
I had to tiptoe around the subject, since it was so obvious that Pausanias was sensitive to the point of homicide about it, but at last I got Ptolemaios to explain it to me.
“A lovers’ quarrel, from years ago. It got very nasty.” Ptolemaios’ usual smiling good nature turned grim at the memory of it. “You wouldn’t think it to see him now, but when Pausanias was a youth he was quite beautiful. So much so that he became one of the king’s lovers.”
“Philip?” I blinked with surprise. “And Pausanias?”
Ptolemaios nodded grimly. “But the king never keeps any lover for long. Soon he turned his eye to another lad who had been Attalos’ lover.”
I blinked again. This was starting to sound as complex as harem intrigues.
“Pausanias became very angry at losing the king’s favor. He insulted the boy horribly, called him a womanly coward. A short time later the boy proved his manhood by saving Philip’s life in battle. That was when Philip lost his eye.”
“So the boy—”
“The boy died protecting Philip. Attalos was infuriated, but he kept his anger hidden. Attalos bided his time, that’s his way. Months later he invited Pausanias to dinner, got him falling-down drunk, and then turned him over to his stable boys. They rammed him pretty well, from what I hear. Some say Attalos fucked him too.”
“By the gods!”
“It could have started a blood feud between the two families; they’re both high-born. So the king stepped in. Philip would not permit a blood feud; he absolutely forbade it. He smoothed things over by giving Pausanias the honor of becoming captain of the royal guard. But he didn’t punish Attalos or even rebuke him.”
Pausanias had grudgingly accepted the king’s judgment in the matter. Philip had avoided a blood feud between two noble families that would have been costly and dangerous to his kingdom. But the affair still festered in Pausanias’ mind; he still hated Attalos, that was painfully clear.