Kyros' palace was fine and spacious in its old simple way; solid, of black and white stone. The white columns stood out a landmark. Next morning early, Alexander set out to revisit the hero's tomb.
It was a short ride, through the royal park. A few friends came too (many had gone on with Hephaistion) but he kept me by him. The park had run wild, but was lovely in the gold of autumn; the game, so long unhunted, hardly heeded our passing. The tomb stood in a grove of shade-trees. Alexander had had water channeled there last time he came, and the grass was green.
Kyros' little house stood on a stepped plinth, a simple colonnade around it. Persian words were engraved over the door, which I could not read. Alexander said "I asked about that last time. It says, MAN, I AM KYROS SON OF KAMBYSES, WHO FOUNDED THE EMPIRE OF PERSIA AND RULED OVER ASIA. DO NOT GRUDGE ME MY MEMORIAL." His voice shook a moment. "Well, let's go in."
He beckoned the guardian Magi of the precinct. When first they came to prostrate themselves, I had thought they looked unhappy; the place was ill-kept and overgrown. He motioned them to unlock the door. It was narrow, very old, and made of some dark wood clasped with bronze. One Magus brought on his shoulder the great wooden key. It moved the bolt quite easily. He opened the door, and withdrew into the distance.
"Come, Bagoas," said Alexander smiling. "You first; he was your King." He took my hand; we edged into the shadows. The only light was from the door; I stood by him, my eyes dulled from the sun outside, smelling ancient spices and mold. Suddenly he snatched away his hand and strode forward. "Who has done this?" Moving to follow him, I struck my foot on something. It was the thigh-bone of a man.
I could see now. There stood the dais, stripped bare. The gold coffin lay lidless on the floor, hacked with axes to break off pieces that would go through the doorway. Scattered beside it were the bones of Kyros the Great.
The entry darkened and lightened, as Peukestas, a biggish man, tried to get in and withdrew before he stuck. Alexander clambered fiercely into the sunshine. He was white with rage; the peak of his hair had risen. His eyes had looked less deadly when he struck down Kleitos. "Call the wardens," he said.
They were fetched from their house nearby, while anyone who could squeeze inside the tomb described the desecration to those without. Alexander stood with clenched hands. The wardens were flung at his feet, and groveled.
I interpreted, being the only other Persian there. Though of the priestly race, they seemed ignorant men, and terror made them foolish. They knew nothing, they had never entered the tomb, they had seen no one approach it, the thieves must have come by night (when their axes would have made a noise to wake the dead). They knew nothing, nothing at all.
"Take them to the prison," Alexander said. "I will have the truth."
He took me, to interpret their confessions. But neither fire nor pincers could change their story; nor could the rack; Alexander had it stopped before they were disjointed. "What do you think?" he said to me. "Are they lying or not?"
"I think, Alexander, they have just been negligent, and are afraid to tell you. Perhaps they got drunk, or left the precinct. Maybe someone planned it."
"Yes, perhaps. If so they have had their punishment. Let them go."
They hobbled off, glad to get away so lightly. Any Persian king would have had them impaled.
Alexander sent for the architect, Aristoboulos, who'd been with him at his first visit and inventoried Kyros' grave-goods. He was to repair the coffin, and rehouse the poor bones in proper state. So Kyros lies in gold again, and owns precious swords, though not those he fought with, and rich necklaces, though not the ones he wore. Alexander gave him a golden crown; then ordered the door walled up with a single slab, so that he should not be disturbed again. He was in there alone, before the masons started, saying farewell to his teacher.
A harsh welcome back to Persis. But harsher followed. Now he learned what had been done by men he'd left in trust, who had hoped he would never call them to account
Some had been faithful; but some had set up like tyrants in the lands left to their charge; had plundered the rich, taxed the peasants to skin and bone, worked off old grudges on men who'd broken no law; enrolled themselves private armies. One Median lord had proclaimed himself Great King. One satrap had dragged from a lesser lord his maiden daughter, raped her, and passed her on to a slave.
I have heard it said that Alexander treated these people harshly. Tell that to someone who never saw what I did, when I was ten, and the soldiers came to my home.
True, he grew hard, as proof after proof came in. True, after some time of this he punished beginnings. He said he'd learned the look of a budding tyrant, and what came after; and would depose them for showing the early signs. Whoever complained, it was not the peasants, nor the small lords of my father's kind. That he would not let even his own race oppress our people was a wonder everywhere. He had been gone so long, they'd forgotten what he was like.
While he was away, one of the dearest friends of his childhood, a certain Harpalos, whom he'd left as treasurer at Babylon, had lived on the gold like a prince of India, set up his courtesans like queens, and fled with a load of money at the news of Alexander's return. This hurt him far more than the revolt of former enemies. "We all trusted him; Hephaistion too, who never trusted Philotas. In exile he could always make us laugh. Of course, I had nothing then for him to steal. Perhaps he didn't know himself what he really was."
All in all, he had enough to make him angry, before the new satrap of Persis obeyed his summons.
He was new because he had seized the satrapy. The Persian Alexander gave it to had died half a year before; of sickness it was said, though maybe of something he ate. Now envoys came with gifts, and a long letter, declaring the usurper had sent messages to Alexander, but getting no answer, had been looking after the province meanwhile, knowing of no one more fit to do it.
I was in his upper room with him when he read this letter, and threw it down. "Fit to do murder, robbery and worse. He has ruled this province like a wolf in winter; I've heard it everywhere. Any man who crossed him, put to death without trial. He's looted even the royal sepulchers." His brows came together; he was remembering Kyros. Perhaps indeed the Magi had kept silent because of someone they feared more than the King. "Well, I've witnesses enough already. Let him come; I shall like to see this Orxines ... Bagoas, what's the matter?"
"Nothing, Al’skander. I don't know. I don't know where I've heard that name." It had been like some echo from a nightmare forgotten on waking.
"Was he cruel to you when you were with Darius? Let me know, if you remember anything."
"No," I said. "No one was cruel there." Of my life before, I'd only told him that I had been bought by a jeweler who ill-used me. The rest, he would only have pitied; but I'd wished to bury it, to forget forever. Now I asked myself if this Orxines could have been some hated client; but his rank was too high; and the horror was even deeper. Perhaps I just dreamed it, I thought; I had bad dreams when I was a slave.
That night, Alexander said to me, "Did they build this bed for elephants? Stay and keep me company." It was years since he'd slept in a Persian royal bedchamber. We fell asleep quite soon. Dreams flung me into a terror long forgotten. My own scream woke me. It was the dead of night. Alexander was holding me to him. "See, you're with me, all's well. Whatever did you dream of?"
I clung to him wildly, like the child I had just been. "My father. My father without his nose." Suddenly I sat straight up in bed. "The name! I remember the name!"
"What name?" He looked up; he was always very serious about dreams.
"The name he told me, when they dragged him away to kill him. 'Orxines,' that was what he said. 'Remember the name. Orxines.' "
"Lie down, and be quiet a little. You know, I told you today Orxines was a villain. I expect that gave you the dream."
"No. I remember how he said it. His voice was different, because his nose was gone." I shivered. He covered me up and warmed me.
Presently he said, "It's not such a common name, but there may be others. Would you know this man again?"
"There was one lord from Persepolis. If that was he, I'll know him."
"Listen. Be near when I give him audience. I’ll say to you, 'Bagoas, have you written that letter?' If it's not the man, say no, and go out. If it is, say yes, and stay; and I promise you, he shall know you before he dies. We owe it to your father's spirit."
"That was his last wish, that I'd avenge him."
"You loved him. In that, at least, you were fortunate . . . Come, sleep. He knows you have heard him now, he will not trouble you."
Next day the satrap came in state, as if confirmed in the rank already. He advanced to the throne, where Alexander sat in his Persian robes, and made the prostration gracefully. He had always had polished manners. His beard was grey now, and he'd grown a paunch. He made a tasteful speech about his seizure of the satrapy, all for the sake of good order and the King.
Alexander listened calmly, then beckoned me. "Bagoas, did you write that letter I spoke of?"
I answered, "Yes, lord King. You may be sure of it."
So I was there to hear him charged with his many murders. Strange that I only remembered him as my father's friend whom everyone trusted. He seemed the same man still, so amazed to hear such things about himself that I almost doubted them, till Alexander took him by surprise with something proven. Then his face grew horrible; I would not have known him.
He was tried soon after. The kin of his victims testified; many in rags, their fathers having been killed for their estates. Then came the guardians of the royal tombs of Persepolis, those who had not resisted; the rest were dead. Darius the Great had given him the most loot, but he'd done well with Xerxes, and had robbed my own dead master of his modest grave-goods; he seemed surprised at Alexander's minding that. Of stripping Kyros' bones he could not be convicted, since there were no witnesses; but it made no difference.
Alexander said at the end, "You chose yourself to be shepherd of your people. If you had been a good one, you would have left here with honor. You have been a beast of prey, and you shall die like one. Take him away... Bagoas, speak to him if you wish."
As they were leading him off, I touched his arm. Even then, he had contempt to spare for a eunuch. I said, "Do you remember Artembares son of Araxis, your friend and host, whom you betrayed when King Arses died? I am his son."
I'd doubted it would mean much to him, after all the rest. But he had enough pride of birth to feel it. He flung off my hand; if he could, he would have stamped me underfoot. "Do I owe all this to you, then? I should have thought to buy your favor. Well, old times come round again. A eunuch rules."
Alexander said, "A eunuch shall hang you, since he is the better man. Bagoas, I leave it in your charge. See it done tomorrow."
I had nothing, really, to do; the captain whose usual work it was saw to it all, and only turned to me for the order to hoist him up. He kicked and writhed, on the high gallows against the wide sky of Pasargadai. I was ashamed to find it distasteful and take so little pleasure in it; it was disloyal to my father, and ungrateful to Alexander. I prayed in my heart, "Dear Father, forgive me that I am not a warrior, and have embraced my destiny. Accept this man through whom you died, and who robbed you of your son's sons. Give me your blessing." He must have given it; for he never again returned to me in dreams.
Ptolemy has only put in his book that Orxines was hanged "by certain persons, under Alexander's orders." I expect he thinks it showed some loss of dignity, to have brought me forward. Never mind. He does not know of the night, while I was still a boy, when my lord drew the story out of me. He was very true to his promises, as Ptolemy himself has written.
He gave the satrapy to Peukestas, who had saved his life in the Mallian city. After Orxines, no one blamed him for not appointing a Persian; but he did the nearest thing. Peukestas had come to love the land; he understood us, and liked our way of living, even our clothes, which he was well made to wear; he had often practiced his Persian on me. He ruled the province well, as much loved as Orxines had been hated.
We rode on to Persepolis. Alexander would have been there all this while, if there'd been a palace for him. Far off from the Royal Road we saw on the broad terrace the blackened ruins. He pitched his tent in open country outside; and I slipped away, to see what was left of the splendors Boubakes had wept for.
Already sand was drifted deep on the royal stairway, where the cavalcade of the lords had ridden. The sculpted warriors on the frieze marched up towards the roofless throne room, where only the sun held court between columns carved like flowers. Charred beams littered the harem; in its walled garden, a few tangled roses grew in a bed of cinders. I went back, and said nothing of where I'd been. A long time had gone by, since that feast of young men with torches.
At night he said, "Well, Bagoas, but for me we'd be better lodged tonight."
"Don't mourn for it now, Al'skander. You will build something better, and hold the feast as Kyros did."
He smiled. But he was brooding about Kyros' tomb; he was a great one for omens. Now these bones of grandeur, black and ragged against an angry sunset, revived his grief.
"Remember," I said to him, "how once you told me the blaze was godlike, an upward waterfall? How the tables were set with flame?" And I was going to add, "No fire without ash, Al'skander." But a shadow brushed me, and I closed my mouth on it.
We marched on towards Susa, where we were to meet Hephaistion's army. It grew cold in the passes, but the air was sweet and the great spaces stirred my heart. Alexander was happy too; he had some new plan, which he was not telling me yet. I felt him spark with it, and awaited his good time.
