"Yes," he said, "They wanted us to come over. They offered double pay."
"Some of us Persians keep faith too, though by now you must be doubting it. Tell me, what are the Baktrians up to? Why are they striking camp?"
"They won't go far." He was eating me with his eyes, quite frankly, yet without offense. "I doubt they'll even go out of sight. From what they told Patron, on the face of it they're withdrawing from the King's presence on account of having offended him. Of course, it's really to show their strength. We'll be thin on the ground without them. That's what they want us to see. Well, I've not served as long in Asia as Patron and his Phokians; but I know what good Persians feel about the King. It's not our way in Athens; but our way's come to grief too, that's why I left. So I serve where I sign on, and where I serve I keep my bargain. A man must have something to put his pride in."
"You may well do that. All of us know it."
He looked at me wistfully with his bright-blue eyes, like a child asking for something it knows quite well it won't get. "Well, our camp will still be here at nightfall. What do you say to slipping out for a drink with me? I could tell you about Greece, since you speak the language so well."
I nearly laughed, and said I needed no telling. But I liked him; so I just said smiling, "You know I serve the King. And just now he needs his friends."
"Well, no harm in trying. My name's Doriskos. I found out yours."
"Goodbye, Doriskos. I daresay we'll meet again." I had no such expectation, but wanted to show goodwill. I gave him my hand, which I thought he'd never let go of, and returned to the King's tent.
He was shut up alone. Boubakes said he would see no one, or even eat. Nabarzanes had taken all his cavalry, and had made camp alongside Bessos. Thus far Boubakes got, and broke down in tears. It was dreadful to see him stuff his sash-end into his mouth, not to hide it from a young nobody like me (that was all I was, now) but lest the King should hear.
"The Greeks are loyal," I said. Once he would have scolded me for going anywhere near them. Now he just asked what were two thousand men, against more than thirty thousand Baktrians, and Nabarzanes' horsemen?
"There are the loyal Persians too. Who's commanding them now?"
He wiped his eyes on the other end of his sash and said, "Artabazos."
"What? I don't believe it"
It was true. The ancient was doing a general's round of the Persian camp, seeing the lords and captains, heartening them before their men. Such fidelity must have moved a stone. It was strange to think that when already old by most men's reckoning, he had been a rebel. But that was against Ochos, who I daresay gave him little choice between that and death.
Returning from his task, he came to the King, and got him to take food, which they ate together. We were told to withdraw, but overheard their talk. Since it was now unthinkable to lead the troops to battle, they would be marched tomorrow through the Kaspian Gates, starting at dawn.
While we were eating supper in our tent, I said what I could no longer contain in silence. "Why didn't the King go round the camp himself? He could be Artabazos' grandson; he's only fifty. He should make them want to fight for him."
They turned on me outraged, all together. Was I out of my mind? The King to bare his countenance to common soldiers, like a mere captain? Where would his royalty be, what reverence would they have for him? Far better he should bear adversity, as now, with the dignity of his sacred rank.
"But," I said, "Kyros the Great was a general in the field. I know, I come from his tribe. His men must have seen him every day."
"Those were ruder times," said Boubakes. "They cannot return."
"So we hope," I said. I put on my coat again.
By now it was full dark, but for the watch-fires, the torches spiked here and there into the ground, and the chinks of some lamplit tent. Passing a dead torch, I smeared some of its soot across my face, made my way to the nearest watch-fire, where I had heard a Baktrian accent, and squatted down with the crowd.
"You can tell God's curse is on him," the Baktrian captain was saying. "It's sent him mad. Marching us through the Gates, to be trapped like rats between the mountains and the Hyrkanian Sea. When Baktria could hold out forever." He went on about its countless strongpoints, each one impregnable except to the birds of heaven. "All we need, to finish the Macedonians there, is a king who knows the country. And how to fight."
"Baktria," said a Persian, "I know nothing of. But don't talk of God's curses, if you turn against the King. That's god-cursed, if anything ever was."
There were murmurs of agreement. I wiped my nose on my fingers in a vulgar way, looked stupid, and slid off out of the firelight.
Hearing talk in a tent ahead of me, I was about to slip round it, away from the bright torch outside, when a man came out, so briskly that we collided. He took me by the shoulder, not roughly, and turned me round to the light.
"My poor Bagoas. We seem always to meet like this. Your face is quite black. Has he taken to beating you every night?"
His teeth grinned white in the torchlight. I knew he was as dangerous as a hunting leopard, yet could not fear him, nor even hate him as I knew I ought.
"No, my lord Nabarzanes." By rights I should have bent my knee; I decided not to. "But if he did, the King is the King."
"Well, so. It would have disappointed me, if your loyalty had not matched your beauty. Do wipe that dirt off your face. I shan't harm you, my dear boy."
I found myself rubbing it with my sleeve, as if I owed him obedience. He means, I thought, that it is too late.
"That is better." He took off with one finger a smudge I had passed over. Then he laid his hands on my shoulders. His face was no longer mocking. "Your father died for the King, I've heard. But Arses was the trueborn heir, and fit to lead us. Yes, in Arses we would have had a warrior. Why do you think Alexander has not overtaken us? He could have done it long ago. I will tell you the reason; it is contempt. Your father died for our Persian honor. Remember that."
"I don't forget it, my lord. And I know where my honor lies."
"Yes, you are right." He pressed my shoulders and let them go. "Go back to him. You might lend him some of your manhood."
It was like the pat of a leopard, claws pricking through the soft paw. As he left, I found that, without thinking, I had bent my knee.
At the royal tent, I met Artabazos leaving. I made reverence and would have passed, but he put out his blue-veined hand. "You have come from the camp, my boy. What did you find?" I told him it was full of Baktrians, trying to subvert the loyal Persians. He clicked his tongue tetchily. "I shall have to see these men."
"Sir!" I said, careless of the impertinence, "you must sleep. You have had no rest all day and half the night."
"What I must do, my son, is see Bessos and Nabarzanes. At my age, we don't sleep as you young folk do." He did not even take a staff to lean on.
He was right. As soon as I'd told Boubakes the news, I lay down, and fell asleep like the dead.
The horns aroused me, with the call "Prepare to march." I opened my eyes, and found all the others gone. Something was happening. I scrambled my clothes on, and went out. The King, dressed for the march, was standing before his tent, his chariot already waiting. At his feet knelt Bessos and Nabarzanes. Old Artabazos stood by.
The King was saying how their disloyalty had grieved him. Both hung their heads, and beat their breasts. Bessos' voice, one could have sworn, had tears in it. His only wish, he cried, had been to ward off from the King a curse called down by others, as he would have lifted his shield in battle; he would have taken the curse on himself, and borne the wounds. Nabarzanes, touching the King's robe, said that they had withdrawn in awe of his displeasure; it would be their life's joy to be received in his grace again.
I looked with respect and wonder at Artabazos, whose work was thus rewarded; a soul beloved of Mithra, one to go straight to Paradise, whom the River of Ordeal would never scald. All was well again. Loyalty had returned. Light had conquered the dark Lie. I was still quite young.
The King, weeping, reached out his hands to them. They prostrated themselves and kissed the ground before him, declaring themselves the happiest of men and the most devoted. The King mounted his chariot. Artabazos' sons tried to get their father into a wagon, where he could rest. He scolded them soundly, and called for his horse. They withdrew abashed. The eldest was over seventy.
I went off towards the horse-lines. The soldiers, who had been milling and mixing and disputing through the night, were being shoved into marching order. The Persians were shaping best; but then, they were fewer. Fewer than last night, by far. So were the Baktrians; even with their numbers, it showed.
That came of the long night's trafficking. The Persians, knowing themselves outnumbered, had made off by hundreds; but they had put some Baktrians, too, in dread of vengeful Mithra. Between fear of him and Bessos, they had chosen the long walk home.
Riding back towards the Household wagons, I saw the Greeks lined up in column of march. They were all still there. Also, all armed.
On long marches when no action threatened, they had always piled their armor, helmets and weapons in their carts, keeping only their swords; wearing their short tunics (made from all kinds of stuff, they had been so long from home) and the wide straw hats Greeks travel in, their skins being tender to sun. Now they had on corselets or cuirasses, helmets, even greaves if they owned them, and their round shields hung at their backs.
Just then one fell out, and waved to me. It was Doriskos. What does he take me for, I thought; I will show him if he can make a fool of me in public. I was just going to kick my horse to a canter, when I saw his face. It did not look like dalliance. I rode up.
He grabbed my boot, and motioned me to lean over. No dalliance in that either. "Can you get word to the King?"
"I doubt it. He's on the road, I'm late. What is it?"
"Tell him not to be fooled. He's not seen the end of it."
"Oh," I said cheerfully, "that's over, they've sued for pardon."
"We know that. That's the thing; that's why Patron made us arm."
My belly closed on itself. I said, "What does it mean?"
"No one kept camp last night. It's common talk. They hoped to bring in the Persians; if they had, they'd have acted today. But the Persians said it was god-cursed; that's why so many made off. It'll be later now, when we're through the Gates; then they'll do it."
I remembered my life, and despised my faith in men. "Do what?"
"Take the King, and trade him to Alexander."
I had thought that I knew treachery. I had been an unborn child.
"Steady up, don't look so green." He reached up to keep me in the saddle. "Listen now; they're snakes, but they're not fools. The King's the King, but he's not the world's best general, let's admit. This one stroke would get him out of their way, and let them buy peace with Alexander. Then they'd go to Baktria, and make it ready for war."
"Don't hold me on, people are looking." I had quickly come to myself. "Alexander would never trust them, men who had done that."
"They say he's overtrusting, when faith's been pledged to him. On the other hand, God help you if you break it. I saw what he left of Thebes . . . No matter; just tell the King."
"But I haven't the rank to go up to him in public." This would have been true even when I was in favor. "It must be your general; no one less."
"Patron? The King hardly knows his face." He spoke not without bitterness.
"I know. But he must." None too soon, I had started thinking. "The King can speak Greek. Some of us do in the Household. But Bessos always asks for the interpreter; so does Nabarzanes. If they're listening, Patron can still warn the King."
"That's worth knowing. I'll tell him that. We're a handful to the Baktrians; but if the King trusts us, we might still get him away."
I soon overtook the Household; it had not gone a quarter-mile. The Sun Chariot had been lost at Gaugamela; but two Magi with the altar still walked, in front. Behind that, all order was falling apart, all precedence shattered. Men of both kinds were edging each other to get near the King. Boubakes was riding just behind his chariot, a thing unheard of. At his side, on a great Nisaian charger as heavy-boned as a bull, rode Bessos himself.
I fell in by Boubakes. He looked at me with dull sleepless eyes, as if to say, "After all, what matter?" We were too near the King to talk.
The shaded litter was left behind at Arbela; those days were gone. He would be tired, after all day in a chariot. Something I felt for him still, beyond mere duty. I remembered him playful, kindly, amused, and in the follies of pleasure. He knew himself despised. Perhaps he had known it when he struck me.
The King was the King; he could not have believed this sacred state could be altered, except by death. Disaster after disaster, failure on failure, shame on shame; friend after friend turned traitor; his troops, to whom he should have been as a god, creeping off like thieves every night; Alexander approaching, the dreaded enemy; and, still unknown, the real peril at his elbow. And to trust in, whom? We few, who for the use of kings had been made into less than men; and two thousand soldiers serving for hire, still loyal not for love of him, but to keep their pride.
As we marched, the road rising through bare uplands, I suppose there was no one in the Household who was not thinking, And what will become of me? We were only human. Boubakes thought, perhaps, of want, or a dreary life in some low-rank harem. But I had only one skill, I had only known one employment.
