Son of the Moon Read online

  Besides my clothes, I owned a short woman’s spear given to me by Alexander’s first wife – my wife-in-law? – a very fine necklace with a moonstone pendant, a gold bracelet, a horse named Lenaia in honour of an orgiastic festival, and a rocking chair, lovingly fashioned for me by Brazza.

  Alexander, king of all Macedonia, Greece, Egypt, Persia, Bactria, and Sogdia, had a lamp, a table, a pen set, a golden cup, and a rug. The tent belonged to him too, of course, and he had two horses. One was the mighty Bucephalus, now almost twenty-three and turning grey around the muzzle. He had several weapons including a rather nice sword, an armoured breastplate with the head of the Gorgon Medusa enamelled on the front, and a pair of sandals. And he had a magic shield. He claimed it was Achilles’ magic shield and would not go into battle without it. I wasn’t reassured. His body was striped all over with scars. Sitting naked on the rug, with just a gold chain around his neck and his ankle bandaged, he looked as dangerous as one of the Siberian tigers I’d seen once before in a zoo. A scar divided his shoulder in two – from a lance that almost killed him. Another terribly gnarled scar disfigured the lower calf on his right leg; an arrow broke his fibula. His arms were striped with silver scars from sword cuts, and his ankle was in a splint; his latest wound. His nose had been broken two or three times. His forehead had a scar right down the middle; a glancing blow from a sword. His neck had a scar on the side – a rock from a catapult hit him, and he was in a coma for three days. His clavicle had a funny bump – broken during a polo match – and his thigh sported the marks of a wild boar’s tusks.

  Ptolemy and Craterus weren’t any less marked. Ptolemy had a twisted arm from a break that healed wrongly, and Craterus had half a calf muscle missing from one leg. They didn’t let those little hurts stop them, though. Ptolemy could hurl a javelin as far as anyone else, and he loved to participate in the ‘goatball’ games – games that left as many scars on the men as battles did.

  Usse knew this. When the games began, he would start boiling his surgical instruments and heating his cauterizing irons. Stitches were unheard of in that time. They seared the wounds closed. It smelled awful and sounded worse. The patient usually screamed himself unconscious. Alexander had done so on several occasions, waking up with his voice utterly shattered.

  The night was still. For once the elephants were peaceful. Taxiles had given Alexander twenty-three females and two males. The males had gone through the rutting season and had made nights miserable for everyone, except maybe the female elephants. An elephant trumpeting all night long is guaranteed to keep anyone awake.

  When the generals left, Axiom helped Alexander wash, and Brazza and I cleaned and packed. We would leave early the next morning. Usse came back from the infirmary and reheated his meat on the brazier. He was excited about going to India and discovering new medical procedures. I had already told him all about germs, but he wanted something he could actually see.

  For people who believed that sprites lived in trees and streams and that gods were everywhere – but not visible except on rare occasions – germs were accepted and understood. Usse wished he could actually see one, so we had grown mould, and although the spores are quite a bit bigger than germs, he got the general idea.

  I wanted to try and find penicillin, and why not? I knew it was a type of mould and it had developed in close contact with human beings. It reacted to our illnesses and infections, so it was somewhere nearby, floating around. I had taken to cultivating mouldy yeast and bread, and treating the small cuts and puncture wounds gone septic. So far, I hadn’t really had any success. One batch seemed to clear up a messy leg wound, but I lost the culture in a battle, and now I couldn’t grow it again. The mould had been a lovely greenish blue. Usse was as fascinated as I, but he was even more interested in new plant remedies. The Indian ambassadors had brought along several doctors, and Usse spent much time with the men in deep discussion. The newest idea was burnt tiger whiskers, and Usse was both excited and apprehensive about collecting tiger whiskers.

  We all slept in the tent. Curtains gave us privacy. Chiron slept in a hammock near me, so when he woke, which could be any time, I could see to him. Alexander slept deeply; the baby’s crying didn’t wake him. Everyone snored, and sometimes I dreamed that I was in a cave with bears growling or wild cats purring loudly.

  Chapter Two

  The dawn’s light, pink and watery, filtered through a hole in the top of the tent. Axiom and Brazza were already awake, feeding bits of wood to the brazier and getting breakfast ready. Outside, everyone started to stir. I could hear the soldiers starting to take down their tents. The sound of the tent poles clicking together as they were rolled up and fastened together was like quick castanets. I heard the fluttery snorts and soft whinnies of the horses as their grooms led them to the river’s edge. Then the elephants were led to water. The horses wouldn’t drink after the elephants did. I didn’t blame them. The elephants dug, rolled, and splashed in the mud, stirring up the water. They even gouged out the bank.

  Those were the morning noises. The smell of wood burning came next as the cooks lit the fires. Then came the soft thump of thousands of bare feet as the men jogged to the mess tent and lined up to get their rations for two or three days’ marching. The mess tent usually travelled at least a day ahead of us, setting up camp and getting ready to receive the rest of the army. The cavalry travelled with the cooks and there was a substantial herd of animals to be prodded along. I could hear the lowing of cows, the bleating of sheep and goats, the high cries of the children and women who accompanied the army – there were at least thirty families with children of all ages – and swearing. The soldiers always swore.

  I snuggled down into the soft covers and nuzzled against Alexander’s shoulder. He was awake, lying still. When I moved, his arms went around me, pulling me close. It was rare to find him in bed in the morning. Usually he got up before the dawn. However, his ankle kept him immobilized now.

  I kissed his neck and nibbled his ear, making him chuckle. My hair swept over his face, a white-blonde mane. He ran his hands over my body and nudged his hips towards me. I smiled and raised my eyebrows. His mouth went soft, his eyes darkened. I didn’t need to ask. I could feel his arousal. It pressed against my belly, hot, and urgent. I quivered. A kind of alchemy existed between us; a chemistry that operated on the most primitive level of sight, sound, scent, and touch. Just a look from him, a gentle touch, and my nipples would harden and tingle and a rush of heat would build between my legs; a heat that Alexander could quench with his lithe body. A play of hands, of lips, of kisses. Lovemaking that started from a look and grew steadily deeper. Legs, arms, and hair entwined. Caresses raised goose bumps all along our arms.

  He took possession of me, moving surely and strongly. His face was a study in concentration, his eyes half closed. Small whimpers escaped me. I couldn’t help it. My muscles turned to water and my head fell forward. He grasped my hips and pulled me harder to him, arching his back higher so that I was riding his belly like a horse. I clenched my knees around him and leaned onto his chest, my breasts brushing his ribs. I fastened my mouth on his shoulder to stifle my cries.

  With a groan, he rolled over, covering my body with his, driving into me with all his weight and force. I felt as if my whole being was concentrated in one tiny pinpoint of feeling that grew in my belly. It grew and grew, enveloping me, sweeping me away and carrying me on waves of pleasure. I felt Alexander spurting inside me and he cried out, once, harshly. We trembled and then lay still, our two bodies melded together.

  Our bodies were still, but our hearts were pounding. I waited until my breathing quieted and the tremors stopped, then I leaned over on my elbow and looked down on my husband. His eyes were closed, he was sound asleep. His long lashes rested on his cheekbones. His mouth was slightly bruised from hard kisses, and his face was in repose for a brief time. He always fell asleep after he made love – sound asleep, as quickly as a baby with a full stomach.

  I smiled tenderly, and his
eyelashes fluttered as he woke up. The sleep never lasted long. His eyes, one blue, one brown stared up at me. They were clear and guileless, only a trace of impish humour marred their innocence.

  ‘Sleep well?’ I asked him, my voice purring.

  ‘Mmm, you know it.’ He smiled, and then winced. The tip of his tongue explored his bottom lip. ‘Did you bite me?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t remember.’ I grinned. ‘With all your cuts and bruises, what’s one more?’

  ‘One too many,’ he sighed. ‘I’m getting too old for this.’

  ‘For what? Making love in the morning?’

  He looked amused. ‘No, for making love in the evening, the middle of the night, and then in the morning.’

  ‘Does that mean we’re not stopping for lunch?’ I asked demurely.

  He struggled to a sitting position. ‘Look at me! I can hardly move. You’re draining my strength, woman.’

  ‘Just call me Delilah,’ I said.

  ‘Who?’

  I thought for a moment. ‘Samson and Delilah? It doesn’t ring a bell?’

  ‘Oh, that! But that was centuries ago. At least, let’s see, seven centuries ago. Don’t tell me you still talk about him in your time as well?’ He shook his head. ‘A Hebrew judge. Amazing.’

  ‘Is that all that story is to you?’

  He frowned as he ran his fingers through his hair. ‘What else is there? Axiom! Is my razor ready?’

  ‘Yes, right here. Shall I shave you now?’

  ‘Please.’ Alexander swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling the curtains aside. His ankle made him draw his breath in with a hiss and he blanched.

  ‘Is it worse?’ I knelt on the floor and carefully examined it. It felt hot, and I frowned. ‘Where’s Usse?’

  ‘He left a few minutes ago,’ said Axiom, coming to the side of the bed with a bowl of hot water and a razor.

  ‘Funny, I didn’t hear him leave.’ Alexander cocked an eyebrow at me. ‘Did you?’

  ‘If you’re well enough to joke, it must not be serious,’ I said, standing up and brushing my hands on my thighs.

  ‘Is there any hot water left?’

  ‘Of course.’ Axiom bent over Alexander, deftly shaving his cheeks.

  Chiron was still sleeping so I had five minutes to myself. I quickly washed and dressed. Then he woke, letting everyone in the camp know he was hungry.

  I nursed Chiron while Axiom and Brazza took the tent down and packed. Since getting the elephants, the tent and our belongings stayed together. Our baggage was carried by a large male Indian elephant I’d named Harry Krishna, to the shocked amusement of the Indian ambassadors. He was an affectionate beast, and he liked it when I scratched his massive forehead. I enjoyed taking care of him, and I’d sometimes go with his driver down to the creek and assist in his bath. I always gave the elephant a titbit. He had a sweet tooth and especially liked almonds dipped in honey.

  I had finished changing Chiron and strapping him in his backpack when my pony was led to me. I thanked the groom and mounted. Harry the elephant was almost loaded, and I could see Bucephalus being bridled. Alexander hopped out of the tent and stood, leaning against my pony as we waited for his horse.

  The sun rose above the horizon. I could see it would be a bright, sunny day. A faint mist lifted off the river, and the trees around us started to rustle as the wind rose. Birds woke and their singing filled the air. I tipped my head back and breathed deeply. The air smelled fresh and clean, like the beginning of the world.

  I looked down at the top of Alexander’s head. His hair was neatly brushed and tied back with a leather thong. Axiom tried to tame it, but the curls that lifted off his temples and the back of his neck would tangle, and then wavy strands would escape, and at the end of the day his hair would be an unruly mane around his head, making him look like a hedonistic lion. Why wait? I reached down and ruffled his hair.

  He tilted his head back at me, his eyes alight. ‘This evening we will arrive in Nysa,’ he said.

  ‘How do you know? Aren’t we lost?’

  He snorted. ‘How can we be lost? The guides are gone, we spent a day orienting ourselves, but now all is well. The route is to the north-east. Ten hours’ march. If there are no great rivers we will …’ His voice broke and I was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

  ‘What is it?’ I leaned down.

  ‘I dare not hope any more. It has been too long. I have been disappointed too many times. If I do not find him here, I don’t know what I’ll do.’ His words were simple, his voice bleak.

  ‘We’ll find him.’

  ‘May the gods hear you,’ he replied, reaching his hand out towards Bucephalus, who, with his ears pricked and his step light, trotted towards his master.

  We rode steadily, stopping briefly for a rest at the height of the day when the sun made no more shadows. The air felt pleasantly cool. It was winter, but it wasn’t freezing cold in the afternoon. Sometimes at night, we would get frost and the world would glitter in the starlight, especially if there was no moon. However, lately it had been mild, and I folded my woollen cape across my lap.

  The sun touched the horizon. Behind us, the army spread out in a sinuous trail nearly ten kilometres long. The warmth of the afternoon left the air. I could smell smoke, somewhere someone had lit a fire. All those thoughts, like fragments of paper, flitted through my mind. We had climbed a narrow pass and arrived at the summit of a sharp, steep hill. Beyond the hill the evening mist had already obscured the valley behind it. A low, silver cloud slowly turned gold as the sun’s rays touched it. The liquid notes of a songbird floated in the air, blending with the faint chirping of the first crickets and night frogs.

  On either side of me, faraway snowy peaks tapped the vault of the sky. Behind me, the evening turned dark blue. The soldiers had lit torches and the orange lights flickered like a procession of fireflies. In front of me, the sun turned a deep blood red. As I topped the ridge I stopped and looked. Low clouds obscured the valley, but blue spirals of smoke told me it was inhabited.

  Alexander waited for me, his horse turned sideways. The sun tinted Bucephalus’s black mane and tail scarlet and gilded Alexander’s head in bright gold. His face was in shadow as he looked back at me, yet I could tell he was anxious. His hands shook on his reins. I reached forward and touched him gently.

  At that moment the sun’s rays dipped downwards and pierced the mist. A deep green valley was shown to us in the space of a moment. My breath caught in my throat. A village nestled on the banks of a silver creek. Fields and forest were set like jewels. A lake gleamed in the distance and small cooking fires scattered like glowing topazes all around the valley.

  Suddenly, a man stepped out from behind a tree. My horse shied, then quieted. Bucephalus didn’t even move, he simply pricked his ears a bit and blew softly through fluttery nostrils.

  ‘Welcome, Great Iskander, to the Valley of the Gods,’ said the man, bowing low. He wore white robes and carried a long staff. I blinked. It was like meeting a character from a fantasy book. The man’s pronunciation of Alexander’s name was slightly different too. It sounded almost like ‘Seekandher’.

  ‘Who are you?’ asked Alexander, his voice wary.

  ‘I am the guardian of the sacred valley. Enter and be welcome. Your army may camp by the lakeside. You will find pasture and fresh water there.’ He bowed again. ‘You and the Lady of the Moon may come with me.’

  ‘How amazing,’ I heard myself saying.

  Alexander demanded to see our child. The old man, walking in front of our horses, peered back over his shoulder and smiled. ‘The child waits for you. We have kept him safe.’

  ‘I thank you,’ said Alexander stiffly. He wasn’t sure, even now, that we’d finally caught up with Paul.

  Neither was I. My heart thumped painfully and tears kept threatening to spill. The man seemed to sense this because he said to me, without slowing his pace, ‘Worry not, daughter of Demeter. Your child awaits. You will soon behold him.’


  Chiron stirred on my back, but for once, didn’t cry. As he faced backwards, he had a fascinating view of the whole army coming over the narrow, high pass. In the deep blue evening their lit torches cast a warm glow upon the men and elephants. The sandy road beneath them gleamed faintly white, the trees looked dark and mysterious, and the men sang softly the song to ward off the owl spirit and to quiet the frogs.

  Why they were frightened of frogs and owls I’ll never understand, but the song was simple and lovely. It floated above them in the night air, like a canticle for sleep or dreams.

  Chapter Three

  When we arrived in the valley, a group of men waited to take Alexander and his army to the shores of the lake where a place had been readied for them. I got off my pony and stood in the gloom. My head spun. I could hardly let myself think of Paul. I gave my pony to the groom and looked uncertainly at the old man. He took my hand in his. His grip felt warm and firm. ‘Fear not, my lady,’ he said. ‘Your son is here. I will bring you to him now. It is not fair to make you wait any longer.’

  I followed him down a white sandy road between small, neat houses. People stood in the doorways bowing as I went by. The night breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, and little wind chimes made of bamboo and carved wood clicked softly in their branches. The whole forest whispered and tinkled with the sound.

  The people were tall and fair and wore white robes. Their hair was dark blond or reddish brown, braided and tied back with white ribbons. They said nothing as I passed, but I could hear a murmur, like a chant, as I went by.

  The last house in the village stood by itself in the midst of a large garden. Wind chimes jingled softly in the night breeze. A cuckoo called. The door opened and a woman beckoned me. I couldn’t stop shaking.

  Inside, lamps were lit. Yellow light danced around the walls. On the floor lay richly coloured rugs and soft cushions. A low table was set with a warm meal. Light glittered off the brass brazier and the copper bowls. However, there was nobody in the room.