And for whatever reason, Hephaestion never bothered to read Isocrates.
I’m taking my time telling this, because while it was the culmination of my career as a courtier, and in some ways the logical development of my career, it was also the moment at which the knucklebones were cast. For good or ill.
So – I had changed into plain clothes, arranged my armour on its stand, buffed a few flecks of dust off the bronze – I was waiting for Alexander to lose interest so I could go home. That doesn’t mean I wanted him to lose interest – I was a courtier as well as a friend – merely that in the normal run of things, my time would expire and he’d go back to Hephaestion or go to sit with Antipater or go and read letters from his father – listen to court cases, dine with ambassadors, what have you. I’d been back for three days and on duty the whole time, and while I loved having his attention – his entirely favourable attention – I was really looking forward to putting my mouth over Nike’s and feeling her breath in my chest.
Alexander was arguing both sides of the notion of starting the Hellenic conquest of Asia in Aegypt when he looked up. He was a little shorter than I, with tousled, leonine blond hair and darting eyes. My blond hair was darker, with some brown in it, but curly enough – I was taller, and had the big nose. Hah! Still do.
He grinned. ‘I’m hungry. Let’s go and steal some food in the kitchen.’
I didn’t even think. ‘Come to my house,’ I said. ‘I’m sure there’s food. Better than stealing from the companions’ cook!’ I shrugged. ‘It’s not one of Aristotle’s foolish exercises.’
Alexander’s eyes flicked away and then back. ‘You have a house?’ he asked.
‘Aristotle’s house,’ I said. ‘I bought it. My pater – well, I’m a rich man now.’
Alexander laughed. ‘Wait for me,’ he said.
A minute later, he appeared in a companion’s dun-coloured cloak. ‘Let’s go. I hope you didn’t buy Aristotle’s cook?’
‘I didn’t. But to be honest, I haven’t been home since I bought the place. It’ll be chaos. I invited Cleitus to come and live with me – but he’s on watch tonight. And Philip and Nearchus, I think . . .’ I remember yawning. Alexander walked along next to me – for a few minutes, we were two young men at large in Pella. And woe betide the bodyguard who was supposed to be on duty.
We walked the three streets in no time. We didn’t talk about anything that I remember, until he said, ‘Well, it’s lit up. That’s something. Your slaves knew you were coming.’
In fact, there were two slaves in the door yard – Nichomachus and another I didn’t know. Nichomachus saw me, saw Alexander and darted inside. The new boy just kept cutting apples.
‘I think we’re in luck,’ I said. The smell coming into the courtyard was excellent – lamb, fresh bread, something with herbs in it.
Alexander paused. ‘You are married,’ he said.
‘I have a housekeeper,’ I admitted. ‘I like her a lot.’
He gave a wry smile. ‘This I need to see.’
And he followed me into what proved to be my own house.
Philip and Nearchus and Cleomenes were standing by their couches – Nike was nowhere to be seen. There was furniture I’d never seen before, two Athenian vases of flowers at either end of the andron, and the empty niche in the entryway had statues of Aphrodite and Poseidon, flowers, a small spilled offering of wine. A brazier was burning to take the edge off the air, and it had something wonderful in it – myrrh.
‘My lord.’ Philip, as the eldest, bowed to welcome us. ‘We have had the fish course.’
‘Never eaten so well in my life!’ said Cleomenes, who was too young to be restrained, and always hungry.
Philip gave him a wry smile – the equivalent of tousling his hair and telling him to shut up.
Alexander sank on to the couch nearest the door and Myndas appeared and started taking his sandals. Myndas had never, in a year of serving me, helped me with my sandals.
But he did, when he was done with the prince.
Dinner sailed in and out like a well-ordered fleet – servants I’d never hired or paid for carrying dishes I’d eaten only at court or at home. In fact, it was plain enough – four removes, meat and bread and some eggs, but plenty of it, and everything with some little touch of culinary genius – saffron on the eggs, pepper on the lamb with sweet raisins.
Alexander ate sparingly like the ascetic he was, but he relished the bread, and when the sweets came in – nuts in honey – he ate himself to sticky excess. And he drank, too. It was all local wines – Macedon has no need to import wine, really, and our heavy reds are as good as any in the world. Off in the next room, someone was keeping the wine watered three or four to one, but Nearchus was bright red and the prince was loud.
He put his feet on the floor suddenly, and barked his laugh. ‘I want to see her!’ he said.
We all fell silent.
Alexander had a wine bowl. ‘To the mistress of this house, whosoever she might be. I haven’t eaten like this in my life.’
I said something about being at his service.
‘Then let’s see her!’ Alexander said.
I rose to my feet.
‘In my court we have many factions,’ Alexander said, his eyes a little wild. ‘Attalus believes all men are pigs. Parmenio wants us to make war for ever so he can keep his place – Antipater craves peace so he can keep his. Hephaestion would make love to the world.’ He grinned. ‘But you, my friend, are the only advocate of women. You likewomen. And now you’ve brought one home, and you are ashamed to show her to me?’ He beamed around. ‘Do you gentlemen know that he put a girl in my bed? Eh?’ he asked.
‘I’ll fetch her, by your leave, my prince.’ I headed for the door.
‘Don’t you find . . . Ptolemy, I’m asking you. Don’t you find that she makes you weaker? After you put that lady in my bed – I thought of nothing else for ten days. I could accomplish nothing. I was worth nothing. Are you a better man than I?’
Knock me over with a feather – he’d never shown a sign of being besotted. Of course, we’d ridden to rescue his father – for nothing, as it turned out.
I shrugged and went to the kitchen.
Nike wasn’t there. There was a cook, a big African I’d never seen before, with a gold earring and a faintly military air. Clearly a freeman – the earring was worth ten days’ wages. ‘Lady Nike?’
‘Changing clothes,’ he said, with one hand on a bronze pan and the other on some eggs. ‘Don’t bother me right now, lord.’
By the time I went back into the hallway, she was there, wearing a fine blue wool chiton in the old Ionian manner, pinned with some very plain bronze pins which I determined on the spot to replace with gold. I snatched a kiss, with spectacular success. Isn’t there something almost miraculous to kissing someone who wants to kiss you? Then she pulled free.
‘Don’t muss my hair,’ she said, and ignoring my attempts to stop her and give her advice, she walked into the andron.
Alexander was drinking again. Nearchus looked . . . frightened. Cleomenes was laughing and Philip was laughing with him. But they all straightened up when Nike came in. She was that kind of girl.
She made a low curtsy to Alexander – just the sort of curtsy she’d have made at one of the shrines.
He looked her over with an air that made me angry – as if she were unfit for human consumption.
‘The food is excellent,’ he said.
‘Thank you, lord,’ she answered.
‘You are a freewoman, I think,’ he said.
She nodded.
‘You can cook and weave, then? How about . . .’ He drawled the question – he meant to offend. ‘How about reading?’
‘I’ve read Isocrates,’ she said.
I’ve seen Alexander surprised a half-dozen times, I think. Maybe more. Not often, though. But when Nike said ‘Isocrates’ his eyes opened wider and his brows shot up. Even his mane of hair seemed to move.
‘Really?’ he asked. ‘And what did you gather from his works?’