Chapter Text
"Helios the Sun rides his chariot, he shines upon men and deathless gods, and piercingly he gazes with his eyes from his golden helmet. Bright rays beam dazzlingly from him, and his bright locks streaming from the temples of his head gracefully enclose his far-seen face: a rich, fine-spun garment glows upon his body and flutters in the wind and stallions carry him. Then, when he has stayed his golden-yoked chariot and horses, he rests there upon the highest point of heaven, until he marvelously drives them down again through heaven to Okeanos.”
Homeric Hymn 31 to Helios (Greek epic C7th - 4th B.C.)
The expansive, endless corridors of the palace of Persepolis called upon the darkness. Columns upon columns decorated with flourishing capitals depicting the Persian gods through animal representations and endless repetition of lines and curves hid in shadow, waiting for the god of fire and light to come. The one without face.
What a strange manner to depict the gods, nothing to tie them to anything visible, anything real.
Only fire and light.
Hephaestion was suddenly aware of the noise coming through the long dark corridors he was traversing. He was late to the feast, apparently. The taking of the city had been a feat in itself but it had been less violent than expected. The immensity of the Persian treasure had been the real treat of the conquest. It meant a new start and an old debt paid. The Greek city-states could now rejoice in their revenge, and the Macedonians could find triumph in the mountains of gold. The wealth was accounted for and still unaccountable, far more than any person could dream of.
Persepolis: city of the greatest empire, city of the King of Kings. And now, the city of a new King.
Hephaestion could barely contain his elation as his footsteps, echoing between columns and getting lost in endless stairs, mixed with the noise of the feast not too far away. This was the dream of generations before him and will be the myth of generations to come. They had triumphed. Who knew how long this story would be told. Who knew the songs it might inspire.
His footsteps began to lose resonance as he kept walking. The noise coming from the feast was deafening. He was sure no one really knew how many men had been invited and how many had sneaked into it without rebuke.
This was the night to celebrate what Alexander had once whispered to him, confiding his dream for the first time.
Back then, they had been in a place unlike Persepolis, far removed from anything they had so far conquered. Wild greenery and calm mountain brooks surrounded their tutorship by Aristotle in Mieza. Back in those days, he would usually wander with Alexander in the wild woods, especially in the late afternoons. They would find their way into the wilderness almost unconsciously after their lessons on biology, ethics, and politics. Hephaestion could still remember how the setting sun would color everything in a fiery light, including Alexander’s reddish-golden hair, making it look almost like fire; alive and hypnotic.
They would lie down upon the grass, the only sound would be the singing of the rock thrushes, flying past in search of shelter for the night. Alexander would often stare at him unblinking, waiting for him to say a word to move him into doing anything beyond mere introspection. Hephaestion would always play along and remain silent, often really struck speechless by the fire in his grey eyes, trying to catch his need for movement in passivity. He would simply lie by his side, knowing full well that Alexander would begin to pour out his inmost thoughts to him as the sun descended.
He could still remember the words he had whispered in one of those strangely intimate afternoons. Words that would mark a loyalty and a love he would gladly follow to his death.
“ I swear by Zeus, father of all Gods, that one day I will look upon Persia through the Palace of a Hundred Columns of Persepolis. The Great Staircase will become my Victory and will remain my Victory, touched by the first rays of the sun day upon day. And I swear you will be next to me, or Victory will taste like ashes in my mouth. ”
Hephaestion couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore. The noise had swallowed even the darkness. The long-ago whispered words echoed upon every single column, all hundred of them. An oath, sealed by the sacred woods of Mieza between two young boys was fulfilled before him, beyond double doors.
The night before the battle upon the Persian Gate, Alexander had promised him that upon his Victory they would enter Persepolis and gain the only thing they never had while growing up.
As Hephaestion pushed back the double gates, he could very well believe in a new world. Alexander had kept his word to himself and to him. He had taken Persepolis and now they had the only thing they lacked before.
“Freedom! Freedom from fear! Freedom from Persia and from the yoke of shame!”
Ptolemy dodged the yelling drunkard, trying to avoid walking under the showering wine from his upturned kylix, his drinking cup. He was trying to find his way through the crowds of highly intoxicated soldiers, avoiding as best he could stepping upon the lucky few who had gotten an early hold on the hetairas and common prostitutes that had been following them ever since they crossed to Asia. Surely, another toast was coming from somewhere. More words proclaiming freedom, conquest and lust. The long hall was thronged with what appeared to be the whole army, or at least the ones that could find a way into the Royal celebration.
Ptolemy sighed exasperated, as he found himself before another group of tangled individuals. He could glimpse between the crowds a glittering couch not too far away. Alexander must be upon it, judging by the amount of heads hovering around it.
“Stand by too long and they might stand back, my friend,” a joyful voice yelled into Ptolemy’s ear. He would recognize Perdiccas’ voice anywhere, especially this high-pitched thanks to the wine.
“I have no time for your dirty jokes, Perdiccas. I have to get to the King,” he yelled back, aware that not even a hand’s width separated them.
“Oh, he won’t even notice you now, kalós Ptolemy. Hephaestion finally came back from whatever he was doing in relation with the Persian treasure. Surely these… how do you call these bastards?” he said as he pointed at the mass of skin-upon-skin before them, trying to recover his balance after the movement of his arm.
“I would call them ‘orgiastic bastards’ if you ask me,” Ptolemy said matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes at Perdiccas.
“That, that, exactly… that was the word I was looking for,” Perdiccas half yelled, half whispered back at Ptolemy. “Surely these orgiastic bastards will pay more attention to you, or us … maybe we should join them!”
“That would be an interesting twist,” Ptolemy raised his eyebrows as Perdiccas snorted and repeated to himself ‘twist, twist’ while moving his hips in a circular motion, “but I have to get to Alexander, remember?”
A group of five, hardly-clad girls walked past and started encouraging the orgiastic mass to increase the noise by dropping a big casket of wine upon them, changing the lustful conglomerate to a thing resembling a battlefield of living corpses.
“What you need, my friend,” started Perdiccas as he approached the five girls, “is to forget it all. The sweat, the long march, the blood and entrails,” he took one of the laughing girls by the waist and spun her around, pushing her towards Ptolemy. “You only need wine and a girl… or maybe two.”
Ptolemy managed to catch the girl before she fell upon the orgy. She smelled of wine and flowers, she still had some between her tresses, probably from a flower crown she had made for the feast.
She wasn’t nearly as drunk as Perdiccas, yet not nearly as sober as he.
Ptolemy looked beyond the orgy, past the heads of countless soldiers and women of all ages. The girl was already kissing his neck and the glimmer of the couch he had glimpsed before was gone, lost between the chaos of the feast and the battle for sex.
He looked back at the girl and thought that maybe, after all, battles were made for the loot. And all the gods knew that Alexander had kept them away from loot long enough.
It was time they claimed their conquest. It was time for fire.
“King of Kings! You have brought the new light to this land!”
Alexander had to blink several times to try and locate the warm female voice that suddenly filled the entire hall. It was coming from somewhere before him, but he could not point to a specific individual among the throng of people. He was aware of his intoxication and the pleasure coursing through his veins at the endless words of praise repeated by everyone around him, men and women.
Hephaestion was lying next to him on the kline , the Greek couch he had ordered be brought expressly from his Tent for the Victory Banquet. He would not celebrate his conquest from a Persian couch. As a slightly intoxicated Hephaestion extended one of his legs past his back, pressing it discreetly into his lower back, he was grateful to have chosen the kline . It had been too long since he had enjoyed being close to Hephaestion in a public manner. And nothing could be more public than this.
There was something comforting about having Hephaestion physically close to him. His mind could run wild with thoughts filled with paranoia, like a crazed stallion on an open field. He had been taught to doubt before he had been taught to walk. Everything always felt so fragile and weak, like a thin layer of ice upon a moving river. He had entered the city as the new conqueror of Persia, but the heart of the empire was spread across a vaster land than all Greece ten times over.
He had reason to be paranoid. Too many people, too much space. Too much power bestowed upon the gold-covered wooden ceiling, upon the highly decorated walls and draperies, columns and mirror-like floors. He knew the human mind too well to feel at ease between his soldiers. No Macedonian King ever died a natural death. Why should a Macedonian Conqueror of Persia be treated otherwise?
He felt a familiar calming touch upon his outer thigh. He turned his head, dizzy with the noise around him and the thousand stimuli fired at him from all directions. Hephaestion was eyeing him intently, reading his racing thoughts from his posture. His hand stayed on his thigh a little longer than what was proper for a public setting, but Alexander blamed that on the undiluted wine. Hephaestion was looking at him with the penetrating gaze he was unaware of having, a gaze that could melt the thickest ice and burn the wettest wood. There was something soft in his look, something Alexander remembered from long ago. He was trying to calm him, but he was as unaware of his stunning beauty as he was of his penetrating gaze. There was no way a reclining Hephaestion was going to calm him.
Alexander smiled at him conspiratorially, for once wanting everyone else to disappear. He let his hand brush Hephaestion’s in a nonchalant manner, playful yet aware of the crowd around them.
“She is the Athenian hetaira , isn’t she?” Seleucus yelled drunkenly from the couch nearest to Alexander.
Hephaestion nodded towards the woman in question, breaking contact with Alexander’s playful eyes and letting his hand drop from his thigh. They were too drunk to play this game in public.
The King looked towards the beautiful woman, standing right in the center of his viewpoint. Clearly, she had intended to be in full view of the Royal Couch and the adjacent High Command couches.
“She is and her name is Thais. She is quite gifted in the recitation of poetry and storytelling… amongst other things,” the voice of Ptolemy proclaimed from somewhere behind, something in it betraying feeling.
“You just had two girls; don’t start crying on me, Ptolemy or I’ll get you a boy,” Perdiccas yelled from below the Royal Couch. Alexander coughed, trying to suppress a laugh to keep Ptolemy’s dignity as intact as possible.
“Quiet, all of you. I think she means to say something,” Alexander said in a low voice so his closest companions could hear him but not the ones beyond them. Thais had raised her cup and was apparently waiting for silence. Was she the one that had called upon the ‘King of Kings’ before?
The feast barely noticed her, but Alexander surely noticed her intent gaze. She was looking straight at him, barely moving. He knew the look; he had seen it in Olympias, his mother, in Sisygambis, his Persian mother, and even in Barsine, his Persian lover, long left behind. She wanted to speak and she was asking for full attention, something she could only ask of Alexander. Women around him always knew he really listened . It was something he had learned and grown to perfect, even if it sometimes cost him most men’s sneers.
Thais knew she could be truly listened to , something she had probably known once or twice in the life she led as a hetaira . In the middle of the Victory Banquet, she was about to break the rules of class and gender and the words could only spill from her mouth, only stopping for the King.
Alexander stared back at her determined eyes for some minutes, waiting for her to waver beneath his look. Friends and foes alike wavered in seconds under his penetrating grey eyes, yet she stood still as a statue, waiting for a change in the chaos around her.
Once again, Alexander thought that women were far braver than most men. She deserved to be listened to.
He stood up, followed immediately by a slightly tipsy Hephaestion. The guards standing in the sheltered shadows next to his Royal Couch stomped their sarissas on the ground on cue, saluting the King.
Every soldier in the hall immediately and without exception, young and old alike, sat up on their couches in an attempt to appear sober and at attention.
Silence took hold of the banquet in a matter of seconds, eerily making the hall sing with the wind coming from the open doors around it. Alexander stood still, only now thinking that he could have asked her to approach the Couch instead of standing. Now everyone was aware of this encounter, and everyone expected to know the exchange between them. She better recite some poetry or raise a toast, anything else could be interpreted wrongly by the intoxicated mass of soldiers around her.
Thais slowly lowered her cup, and without breaking eye contact with the King, she began to speak, first in a low voice, slowly gaining volume and momentum.
“These long venerated halls are at your feet, Invincible Alexander. The men and women gathered in these halls and in these lands surrounding the city of cities are your people, your conquest and your right. Its riches and pleasures are at your disposal to use as you deem appropriate. The barbaric threat of the Persian Empire has been subdued by you, King of the Arts and Knowledge. You, who fought at the head of your men in the name of every Macedonian and Greek and made sure that this Empire fell to the fire of your Immensity, only to let a new Empire, your Empire, rise from the ashes.”
She paused, letting the words sink into the crowd. Not a sound interrupted the silence. She had full control of every man in the hall. Alexander heard Hephaestion draw a shaky breath next to him. He knew how dangerous this could become.
“And rise from the ashes it will. For they came to Greece not too long ago, burning and looting and destroying everything that we held dear, and they thought themselves invincible. They took our people and enslaved them; they took our soldiers and made them fight against their own. They took our culture and spat on it.”
Indignant shouts could be heard throughout the hall, breaking of cups from one corner and low battle cries from the other.
“They never thought a man as young as King Alexander could even scratch their high walls. The bastard boy, they called you. Did you know that, my King?”
Alexander felt Hephaestion take a step toward him, unconsciously trying to shield him against her words. He could make her stop with a hand, but he wasn’t certain he wanted her to stop. Something inside him was coming alive with her words. Something he knew but could not name.
“They laughed and sacrificed to their gods not for victory but only to rid themselves of the Macedonian child army. They scorned you, Darius and his whole court, turning their backs on you as you fought in every battle, bled with your soldiers. But they thought you were merely a soldier boy with dreams of a Kingdom. They took pride in their stone halls, waiting for the tribes submitted to their yoke to bring them the gold they needed to launch battle upon battle just to keep you as an untrained pet.”
By the corner of his eye, Alexander saw Hephaestion look around the hall, trying to gauge the crowd’s mood. The soldiers, intoxicated with wine and pleasure had begun to rise from their stupor and some of them, the ones closer to the walls, had even stood up and were shouting words that were lost in the immensity of the place. He could feel Hephaestion’s intent gaze at the back of his skull now.
“And they decorated their halls with gold and draperies you would never take from them. They ruled their Empire from the top of their ziggurats, overlooking your long march and your so-called victories. To them, in their halls of stone, you were merely an ant in the sand, looking for the path that would lead you anywhere.”
Alexander stood motionless, aware of an expansive feeling in his gut. He was aware of the heat around him, coming from a thousand men. Each and every one of them were listening, and they tasted the same fire he could taste in Thais’ words.
He heard Perdiccas shout from behind “Barbarians Kings, let’s give them fire!”, only to be cut short by Thais and her powerful voice.
“And they lit their fires to their god, Ahura Mazda, sure in their thrones that not even the son of Zeus-Ammon, proclaimed in Egypt as the Pharaoh, would come and take from them their Empire. But how wrong they were to light the fires. How wrong they were not to think that a stronger fire could come with the name of Alexander!”
The cheers and shouts of the soldiers and hetairas could now be hardly held back from flooding the hall. Drowsy men looked around, suddenly sober and aware of the excitement buzzing everywhere. Before anyone could do anything to stop him, Perdiccas snatched a torch from the nearest wall and almost ran towards Alexander with it.
“Give fire for fire and never let them forget!”
Slowly, very calmly and without uttering a word, Alexander took the torch from Perdiccas’ hand. Everything seemed slower, like he was underwater and every movement was a fight against an invisible barrier. He remembered the long days spent reading about the Persian destruction of Athens with Lysimachus, his tutor before Aristotle. He saw the rolls before him transform into his image of Athens, the one he had entered right after defeating the Sacred Band in Chaeronea. An immense city, an ancient city… a city that had burned.
He looked at the flame in his hand, aware of the weight of all gazes upon him. The fire looked almost peaceful in its eternal dance. He saw Thais nod by the corner of his eye and he heard men chanting his name from across the hall.
He looked up and locked gazes with the Athenian hetaira before him. She nodded once, dark eyes shining with the light of the torch. From somewhere behind him, he heard Hephaestion whisper his name, pleadingly.
It had to be done. There was no other way.
“Let’s burn Persepolis,” he said softly but loudly enough for everyone in the sudden silent hall to hear his words.
Hephaestion took two long strides forward, grabbing hold of Alexander, who quickly shook him off. Dionysus had spoken through Thais and the fire and chaos had taken hold and it would only spread until it could grow no more. He could do nothing to stop it. He was its conduit.
Every voice in the hall roared the battle cry and raised the few torches available above their heads. Lust for loot and destruction was back, and it had taken hold of the crowd.
Thais raised her hand, getting silence almost immediately. Alexander tucked that information into the back of his mind. In the future, he would make sure no one, apart from him, could get that much control over his men. This was a one time only.
“The Persians prayed for light and fire…” she said slowly, almost in a trance. Her eyes were looking at the King and yet they were too far away, “and light and fire they will get!”
Alexander took a stronger hold of the torch and closed his eyes. The Fates had spoken. Persepolis would burn.