The detachment met no one else all the way to the Araks. The bridges were being constructed with utmost speed because everyone knew Alexander would be there as soon as he was finished with the Persian detachment at the ridge.
The delay turned out to be longer than Philotas and Kenos had expected. The bridges were ready, but Alexander and his army still hadn’t arrived. It turned out that the battle along the mountain path had turned into a massacre. Chased by their ruthless enemy, the Persians fell down sheer drops, crashing into rocky mountain rivers. Some of them jumped off willingly, preferring a free death to slavery or a torturous death from swords and spears.
Alexander did not expect such persistence from the Persians, and he became enraged, but calmed down when he saw everything was ready for the crossing. The bridges were lit by torches and the head detachment waited for his orders on the opposite bank. He ordered the getaerosi, Thessalians and Agrians to cross over to the other side immediately.
Alexander himself rode up the steep bank of the Araks on his faithful Bucefal, whom he hadn’t used in the mountain battle, having opted instead for a lighter horse accustomed to steep mountain paths. From there he observed the crossing and lineup of his troops. Suddenly Alexander noticed a caped rider of small stature atop a long-tailed, long-maned horse. The figure sat without moving, also watching the soldiers as they crossed the river.
Curious as usual, Alexander rode up to the rider and demanded, “Who are you?”
The rider pulled back the cape, revealing a woman with black braids wrapped around her head, though her features were barely visible in the dusk. Alexander peered into her face with astonishment, trying to guess, what woman could end up here, five thousand stadiums away from Babylon and three thousand stadiums from Susa.
“Do you not recognize me, Majesty?”
“Thais!” Alexander exclaimed. “How? I ordered all women to stay in Babylon!”
“All women, but not me. I am your guest, Majesty. Have you forgotten that you thrice invited me: in Athens, in Egypt and in Tyre?”
Alexander remained silent. Understanding him, the Athenian added, “Do not think badly of me. I have no wish to use our meeting at the Euphrates and I am not running after you to beg for some favor.”
“Then why did you go on such difficult and dangerous journey?”
“Forgive me, Majesty. I wanted at least one Helenian woman to enter the heart of Persia along with the victorious warriors, instead of being delivered by a cart along with trophies, provisions and slaves. I have a splendid horse, and you know I am a good rider. Accept me. I am only here with one goal.”
Not seeing Alexander’s face, Thais sensed a change in his mood. She imagined that the king was smiling.
“Very well, guest,” he said in a different tone. “Come. It is time.”
Bucefal and Boanergos descended from the ridge. Thais rode next to Alexander till dawn. The king sent Bucefal into a broad trot, ignoring the fatigue of his soldiers. They were not surprised, since many of them thought the divine army leader was not subject to human weakness.
The mountains grew lower once they’d traveled away from the river, and sloped into a wide valley in the southeast. Legendary Parsa spread under the hooves of the Macedonian cavalry. Leophoros, as Helenians called the comfortable road designed for heavy carts, led to the coveted Persepolis. This was the largest gazaphilakia, or treasury of Persia, the sacred place of both coronations and royal visits of the Akhimenide dynasty.
At dawn, when they were only a few hours away from Persepolis, the Macedonians saw a huge crowd on the road. When they drew nearer, they realized middle-aged people, carrying green branches as a sign of peace and submission, were walking toward them. They were Helenians who had been captured or tricked into working at the capital of Persia. Skillful craftsmen and artists, they were all cruelly and purposefully disfigured. Some were missing feet, some hands, yet others their noses or ears. These people have been purposefully crippled so that they could still perform their work, but could not escape and go home in such pitiful or terrible state.
Alexander’s eyes filled with tears of outrage. The cripples fell to their knees before his horse, begging for his help. Alexander dismounted and called over a few noseless leaders of the crowd. He promised to help them return home.
The leaders discussed this among themselves and came back to the patiently waiting Alexander, begging him not to send them to their homeland, where they would be subject to mockery and pity. Instead, they asked that he let them settle together in a place of their choice.
Alexander approved their decision and ordered them to walk toward Parmenius’ provisions train, then further to Susa, where each one of them would be given three thousand drachmas, five new garments, two pairs of buffalo, fifty sheep and fifty measures of wheat. The cripples moved on with joyous shouts, glorifying the king. Then Alexander rushed toward the most hated city in Asia, as he called Persepolis.
Ptolemy, clearly moved, rode up to Alexander and Thais. She rode slightly behind, shocked by what she had just seen.
“How could they destroy the beautiful Athens? Its temples, galleries, fountains? What for?” Thais asked.
Alexander glanced at Ptolemy. “What would my best observer of countries and states say?”
“It is very simple, great king.”
The hetaera noticed the unusually formal address.
“It is very simple,” Ptolemy repeated. “Beauty serves as support for the spirit of the people. When we break it, shatter it and tear it to pieces, we break traditions that cause people to fight and give their lives for their homeland. Love of your people, your past, military valor and civilian courage cannot grow in a polluted, decimated place. When people forget their glorious past, they turn into a crowd of vagrants, wishing only to fill their bellies and drink wine.”
“Excellent, my friend,” Alexander exclaimed, then turned to Thais. “Do you not agree?”
“Ptolemy is right, as usual, but not in everything. Xerxes went through the entire Attica with destructions and fires, and burned down Acropolis. The next year, his envoy Mardonius came to Athens and burned down whatever was left after Xerxes. Ptolemy is right. Mardonius burned and destroyed primarily temples, galleries and collections of sculptures and paintings. But my compatriots did not restore anything. They left the shattered walls, blackened columns, broken statues, and even the charcoals left from the fires. They all remained until the Persians were pushed out of Hellas. The black wounds marking our beautiful land strengthened the Greeks’ hatred and rage during the battles against Asian conquerors. They crushed them in the battle of Plataea, thirty long years later. Then came Pericles, Aspasia, Phidias, and Parthenon was created.”
“Are you saying that not only the most beautiful things, but also the sight of their destruction strengthens the people’s spirit?” Alexander asked.
“Precisely so, Majesty,” Thais replied. “But only if the people, who created the beauty of their land and sublimated it, realize what they have lost.”
Alexander grew silent.
As if sensing the approaching end to their journey, the horses perked up and ran swiftly down the road, ascending into thick forest. The thickness of the ancient oak trees indicated that this forest had been sacred since the ancient times, protecting the Persepolis valley from north winds. The forest was followed by plowed fields, carefully irrigated by mountain creeks. Peaceful farmers, most likely slaves of the royal land owners, plowed the fields, aided by mighty black bulls, apathetic and slow, with horns curved to the inside. Macedonians were already familiar with these animals, as well as with their unusually fatty milk and tasty meat.