SHE HAD RETURNED once to the Tophet, the place where she had given her child back to Tanith. She had stood on the edge, listening to the wind moan through the well. It sounded like despair.
She had been a priestess then for just three months but seclusion and devotion had not healed even the smallest part of her grief. The best parts of every day were those few moments on waking before she remembered; and those last few moments at night when she could welcome the oblivion of sleep.
There was a constant pain that sat just below her breastbone; it was as if she had eaten something foul. It ached in her all day, and she could not rid herself of it. Whenever she thought of Hasdrubal or her baby’s smell, it grew worse.
So she had gone to the Tophet thinking to escape from the pain by tossing herself in the well; she had hovered there on the edge of the pit until her legs cramped, but she could not make herself jump.
She thinks about what Gajendra had said to her: No matter what happens, you don’t give up. Was there still something in her that held out hope, even now?
Why should he say such a thing?
Life made no sense. They were all playthings of cruel gods who brought death out of a blue sky to the unsuspecting. She could see no reason for any of it. Even Tanith laughed at her.
Don’t ever give up.
But why not?
If she had jumped she would not now be a slave in the army of a man who had destroyed her home and everything she had ever known.
But if she had, she would not have met someone like Gajendra, who would try and change her mind and show her that there might yet be a brighter dawn.
Catharo is limping but he no longer needs the crutch they gave him. He looks at her accusingly, as her father used to. She cannot meet his eyes. It’s as if he knows about her betrayal.
He is pale. He has spilled so much blood for her of late, endured so much, he must be all but empty of gore. Her father once told her that Catharo was indestructible; this morning, less so. She wants to tell him to lie down, to rest. As if he would listen to her.
Why is he so loyal? It is unfathomable. They are not even kinsmen. Her father told her Catharo is from some Balearic island, though others say he popped out of the earth from Hades. None of it accounts for this steadfastness to her father.
‘You look pale,’ he says. ‘What has happened to you?’
She shakes her head and shrugs.
‘From now on you will not leave my sight. You are still under my protection.’
‘How many more wounds will you take for me, Catharo?’
‘As many as it takes to keep you safe.’
‘But why?’
He does not answer, just glares at her, as if she is the cause of all his troubles. And that is not such a strange thing to think, because she is.
She closes her eyes and imagines her father alive. Once she could not stand the sight of him; now all she wants is to see him one more time.
Shields, spears and javelins have been stacked outside the tents, men kneel in the dirt playing dice by the flicker of oil lamps. The flap to Alexander’s tent has been left open; there’s a guard but even he’s lounging. There’s a Persian carpet, a wooden chest with silver handles. His armour has been hung on a centre pole. It gleams in the glow of a lamp that swings from a ridgepole.
Alexander is sitting at a camp table; he is writing orders using a stylus on a wax tablet. As Gajendra enters he does not look up. It is so hot the wax is stripping off the board with every stroke and the words are difficult to read. How intense he is; how still. Does he even know I am here? He raises a finger to indicate Gajendra is to wait; yes, he knows.
Look at how he lives; now that he has to face Macedonian troops, he has decided to become a Macedonian again. He wears just a tooled leather breastplate over his tunic; there is a royal blue blanket laid on the ground for his bed. He is the complete military man again, just a single guard on the door and a rolled blanket for a pillow. If they should ban war tomorrow he would be lost.
Finally, he turns.
‘You wished to see me, my lord?’
He stands up, stretches his back, so that Gajendra might admire his squat, blond physique. ‘Do you know they say we’re lovers?’
This is unexpected. ‘Who says it?’
‘Gossip. It is brought to me occasionally. Apparently because we spend so much time together. And because I am Greek, I suppose. But I have more important things to do than fuck. Don’t people know this?’
The frightened little boy of last night is gone. He looks cocky again, a god once more. It is only the night that erodes his confidence; by day he is king of everything.
‘Are the elephants ready? Tomorrow we go against Antipater.’
‘We’re ready.’
‘I promise you will be in the thick of things tomorrow. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be in the flaming heart of the battle. Test yourself.’
‘Yes.’
‘We must have our victory. That Gugga general, Hanno, escaped Carthage when we sacked it and fled to Panormus in the north. Do you know the city’s Council tried to treat with me before the walls fell? He was to be part of their bargain. Why would I want to kill a brave man? Now they are in exile they have rehired him, and paid for another army. This is who is coming down to meet us. We will have to account for Antipater quickly before he gets here.’
‘Surely Antipater will stall the battle until they are close.’
‘You may understand battle, elephant boy, but you don’t know the first thing about politics. Antipater will want to win this without the Guggas. This is not about land, it is about the crown of Macedon and who is fit to wear it.’ He stands in front of Gajendra, straightens him up, adjusts his tunic, as if he is sending him off to make a good impression in the provinces. ‘They tell me Carthage was your first battle.’
‘I was at Jhellum. But I was only a waterboy then. I was behind the lines with the baggage train.’
‘And killing? Close up, as you and I are now? Your first was when Hanno’s raiders attacked your elephants, am I right?’
Gajendra nods.
‘Do you dream about him? The man you killed?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘It seems unnatural at first. But it is in every man, this… lust. Any man will become a killer if you put a sword in his hand, you just show him how, give him a little skill and confidence. And the more we do it, the more battles we survive, the more we kill, the easier it becomes and the better soldiers we are.’ He pats his arm. ‘Such a need in you, isn’t there? Such a desperate longing. Where does it come from? I wonder. How does it begin? Is a man born with ambition or does something happen to move him? What do you think?’
‘I think it’s in our nature.’
‘No, you don’t. You don’t think that at all.’
He is so close. His breath is foul. Gajendra winces but tries not to look away. ‘I am thinking of replacing you.’
‘Replacing me?’
‘With someone more able. Ptolemy tells me we cannot rely on your elephants in the thick of battle, that it will be as it was at Carthage, only this time we shall not be as fortunate. He thinks you should be replaced, perhaps with someone who wants it more than you. Someone who is ambitious – by his nature.’
Gajendra feels the panic rising. ‘No one wants this more than I do. I have trained for this, I have drilled my tuskers again and again! No one can lead those elephants like I can.’
Alexander shakes his head. ‘You are incidental to me. When I need a thing done, I want it done.’
‘Please. What do you want from me?’
‘I want to know who you are, elephant boy. How you came to be here. I need to know all my generals, from their souls out. Do you understand?’
Yes, he knows what he’s asking. He hesitates, but he knows he cannot afford to think about this too long. Alexander is not well known for his patience. ‘I don’t remember much of it.’
‘Another lie. Perhaps Ravi will be my new Elephantarch?’
‘I’ll tell you everything.’
‘You see? That’s better. Now you have clarity. I’m your only friend, elephant boy. We should have no secrets from each other, you and I. Now tell me, what is this old mahavat Ravi to you?’
‘He was kind to me.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. He found me half starved wandering around the Rajah’s camp and decided to save me. Perhaps he never had a son of his own.’
‘How did you come to be half dead?’
A fine, hot morning when they came. He was inside, listening to his mother and sisters pound the rice. What was he doing inside? Why wasn’t he in the field with his brothers? He remembers now. He was sick.
He heard the dacoits shouting, felt the drumming of the horses’ hooves through the ground.
‘Ah, now we’re getting somewhere. So, bandits attacked your village. What happened to your family? Don’t tell me the bandits killed them all? Look at me, elephant boy, not the floor. If you are going to tell me, you might as well tell me to my face. These bandits, they killed your whole family?’
Their faces were fading now; sometimes he would lie in bed in the morning, in that soft place between dreams and waking, and try to picture them. But it was like trying to catch smoke. His father’s face was almost gone now; he remembers betel-stained teeth and large bony hands. His mother’s face lingers; but of his sisters, nothing at all.
‘You’re remembering now, aren’t you?’
‘My mother was threshing rice.’
‘You were there? You saw everything?’
Gajendra winces. He can hear screams. He glances around, thinking they are real.
‘What did you do?’
‘I ran.’
‘You ran away?’
‘To my mother.’
‘How old were you?’
‘I was eight, perhaps nine.’
His two older brothers ran in from the fields, waving their arms, telling everyone to run. But there was no time to run. By the time they realized what was happening, it was too late.
‘What did they do?’
‘Of course not. You were just a little boy.’
One of the dacoits rode into the field and cut his brothers down, like he was harvesting rice. Two, three sweeps of his scimitar and they were gone. They must have screamed. Did they? He does not remember. His mother did, though.
‘You can still hear them dying, can’t you? You’re hearing them now. Do you hear them at night, too?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘What are they doing? The bandits.’
‘They have my mother and my sisters. They’re holding them down. They’re laughing.’
‘And what is my little elephant boy doing?’
‘I’m hitting them.’
‘Hitting them? That was very brave.’
It is a lie; the little boy just watches. One of the men is laughing when he grabs him by the hair and pushes him to his knees. He tells him that he will give him the chance to save his mother and sisters.
‘Did you try and save them?’
‘They made me beg.’
‘How did they do that?’
‘Their leader said he wouldn’t kill them if I would do something for them.’
‘What did he make you do?’
He crawls, he cries, he begs, hands outstretched. When they laugh he thinks they are warming to him so he does it more. For the first time in his life he has an audience and while his audience laughs, his mother and his sisters are still alive.
Then they form a circle and piss on him, still laughing.
Gajendra is trembling.
‘My mother was screaming.’
‘You could see her face?’
‘I could see her face.’
‘And the men were laughing. They had you on the ground?’
‘They pissed on me.’
‘While they were raping your mother and your sister?’
‘After.’
They have all taken a turn. Other dacoits are stealing the cows, everything they can find. The leader takes his turn to piss on him, too, and then he gives an order and they slit the throats of the women. They are going to kill him next.
‘Leave him,’ the chief says.
‘Why didn’t they kill you, elephant boy?’
‘I don’t know.’
Alexander strokes his cheek. Tenderly, he says, ‘That torments you every night, doesn’t it? Why didn’t they kill me? Because I was a coward or because I was brave? You wanted to die with the rest of them, didn’t you?’
He nods.
‘You dread it, don’t you, elephant boy? You dread being weak again. You dread being helpless. That’s why you want this so badly. Then your mother and your sister will stop screaming inside your head, is that what you think?’
‘Perhaps.’
Alexander sighs, and smiles. He kisses him gently on the lips. ‘You are going to be a fine general. So now you are my new Elephantarch. Win for me, Gajendra. Tomorrow make me victorious.’
*
Gajendra finds Catharo hunkered down in the straw chewing on a stale crust of bread and staring at the mountains. He looks up, wary, when he sees Gajendra.
‘You are going to get Mara away from here.’
He thinks there’s a trick. He chews and swallows. ‘What?’
‘You can do that, can’t you? It’s your job, right, to protect her?’
He doesn’t say anything, stares up at him with malevolent eyes.
‘You are going to take her back to her father.’
‘Her father’s dead.’
‘No, he’s not. He is just over those mountains bringing another army.’
Catharo suspects treachery. Gajendra recounts what he knows from Alexander. ‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because I do not want her to come to harm. Perdiccas wants you both out of here anyway, after the trouble with the soldiers. It’s nothing to me either way, so you might as well get away from here while you can.’
‘Panormus is a long way to walk.’
‘I’ll get you horses. A few coins thrown the way of one of the sergeants in the baggage train for some old nags they don’t need any more.’
Gajendra walks away, feeling better about himself. At least, a little better than he felt when he left Alexander’s tent.