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.”