charm lay more with her quickness of mind. That, and her unaccountable confidence, for she was nothing more than a minor chief’s daughter, on display at the demand of the conqueror the Persian Empire, yet she showed no fear at all. In this she reminded me of someone whom I could not remember at that moment.
In trying to recall whom, I was distracted by the conversation that followed, and can only remember a few lines.
“King Alexander wishes to speak with you,” Oxyartes said.
“So I supposed. Well, King Alexander, speak!” she replied, in a heavily-accented Greek identical to her father’s.
“Rohjane!”
“I would speak,” said Alexander, “except that I am struck dumb.”
“What a pair we are, then. You are struck dumb, and I am commanded to be.”
Alexander looked at her with those eyes, which were not easy to withstand. Rohjane returned his stare, until he smiled, and she finally blushed, looking away. And with that, the bargain was sealed.
The next day they were married. According to Sogdian custom, Rohjane was not required to be present, but only her father. Alexander was presented with a loaf of bread, which he cut in half with a ritual sword passed down from the time of Oxyartes’s earliest forebears. Half the bread went to the father, and half to the husband, and when they ate the union was made.
The most remarkable thing about the wedding was not the ritual, but the differing expressions on the faces of the bride’s and groom’s parties. The Sogdians, of course, were unanimously delighted. The Macedonians, including Hephaestion, Craterus, Ptolemy, Perdiccas and Parmenion, could not have made their discomfort more obvious. To them, the marriage was nothing less than a disaster. Naturally, as her conqueror, Alexander had every right to take the girl into his bed in any fashion he wished. He was free to spawn a whole nest of bastards by her. But it was unthinkable that he would actually marry a girl of such minor status. No doubt they were also troubled by the possible implications of a ‘Queen Rohjane;’ the powers behind the throne were crowded enough without adding a new, unpredictable player to the game. These suspicions no doubt had something to do with her cool reception among the Macedonians, as Aeschines has described. Is it any wonder, then, that I sought to increase the Athenians’ influence over the court by befriending her? To my mind, I would have been negligent not to have taken the opportunity.
Of Alexander’s thinking on this matter I can say nothing for sure. He never discussed it with me, and met my eyes only once during the ceremony. There was a petulant defiance in them, as if his decision to marry was supposed to make a point. How god-like he was in his impetuosity, in his contempt for consequences, he seemed to be telling me. How much like Zeus, who never let the inferiority of his mortal conquests frustrate his pleasure.
It was then, just after the wedding, after Rohjane was led out in her semi-barbarous wedding gown of kidskin and fox fur, and presented her cheek for her husband to kiss, that I remembered the person of whom she most reminded me.
It was Olympias.
Speaking of his minor conquests, there is another I must mention though my time is short. I feel compelled to describe it because it will never appear in the public histories, or if it does, only as an unconfirmed story that the reader may believe or not according to his prejudices. I tell you now it did happen, in just the way I will describe it.
Just north of the Oxus River, the Macedonians came upon a small village. As the army approached, a deputation came out to greet it wearing Greek dress, and speaking in an Ionian Greek dialect. In Alexander’s presence they declared that they were Milesians of the clan Branchidae. At this Callisthenes struck his head in wonder. For these, he declared, had to be the very descendants of the priestly clan of the Branchidae who had once tended the sacred precincts of Apollo at Didyma. He was about to say more-but bid the King first to order the Milesians out of earshot.
When they were far enough away, he explained, “During the Ionian revolt against the Great King 150 years ago, the priests surrendered the sanctuary to the Persians. To spare them the fate they deserved from their countrymen, Darius the Great removed the Branchidae from Ionia and allowed them to resettle in Sogdia, far out of reach of retribution. Or so we all thought…”
Alexander, not wishing to alarm his guests, called them back and told them that he would camp near their town for the night. The next day, he said, he would return to them with an announcement.
As the betrayal of the Branchidae was foremost a crime against the people of the city of Miletus, Alexander decided to put the question of punishment to them. That evening, the King called a meeting of all the Milesians in his army. These numbered less than a hundred, but came from all divisions of his force, from cavalry officers to hypaspists to archers to quartermasters and engineers. In truth, it was quite a sight to see all these men, in their widely varying uniforms but common manner of speaking, wrestle with this dilemma. One man, a phalangite, argued for the punishment of the adult males.
“There is only one fate befitting traitors,” he declared, “whether they be father, son, or grandson. What good would any sacred oath, such as the one the Branchidae once took, if they could light out to foreign lands, and avoid all responsibility for their acts? It would be unfortunate for the women and children to lose their fathers, but their ancestors took this risk when they Medized. Any other course would invite Apollo’s displeasure.”
Some cheered this statement. Another man, an engineer, rose to disagree.
“One fate for traitors, of course! But these are not the traitors. They are not even the grandsons of the traitors. They are innocents one hundred and fifty years removed from the sins of another generation. The sons of many cities that Medized are with us today, including a fair number of Thebans! Shall we punish our own comrades too…?”
“What you make to seem absurd is but the work of Fate,” replied the phalangite. “These Branchidae will suffer no more than Croesus himself, when he paid the debt made five generations before by his ancestor, the bodyguard Gyges, when he overthrew the royal house of the Heraclidae for the sake of a faithless woman…”
And the debate went on like this for some time, with a vigor that would have done credit to deliberations in our own Assembly. When the King asked for a voice vote there was no clear majority for mercy or the sword. When the men were asked to raise their hands, the company was split down the middle.
“Damnable indecision!” cried Alexander. “You are all dismissed, then-your King will take the burden on himself.”
What he would do was not clear, as he had shown no bias toward either side in the debate. I did note a crease of agony on his face when the engineer alluded to the descendants of Persian collaborators in the army: Alexander’s predecessor a century and a half earlier-also named Alexander-had sent Xerxes tokens of water and earth, emblems of Macedon’s submission. Perhaps what followed had more to do with expiating this sin than any crime the Branchidae had committed.
The next morning the King went into the village with two guards. Upon arrival his small escort was surrounded by children bearing them garlands to wear. Decorated with blooms of anemone, asphodel, and gorse, the Macedonians were led by little hands to the village elder chosen by the rest of the Branchidae to represent them. When Alexander arrived the old man was on his knees weeding his flowerbeds. His host gave a little cry of surprise when he looked up to see the Lord of Asia at his garden gate.
“Welcome! You were expected, but I see the children found you first. So sorry I didn’t see you come…the hyacinths are such jealous mistresses! My name is Achilles.”
Alexander could not answer at first. He was noticeably rattled by the presence of the children, and the fact that his host had the same name as one of the ancestors he so publicly revered. When he opened his mouth and nothing came out, Achilles gestured back toward his garden.
“Many of these flowers came with us from our old home. The hyacinth is sacred to Apollo. We try to keep the old ways here, but as you must imagine it is difficult in such a strange land!”
“Yes, one would think,” the King answered.
The old man gave the king a short tour of his handiwork. The Macedonians were aloof, stone-faced, until the sweet perfume of the flowers began to work on them. The guards told me that the fragrance reminded them very much of the hills and meadows of their home near Lyncestis, northwest of Pella. Alexander, too, seemed affected by memories of home as he followed the houseproud Achilles. The weight seemed to lift from his shoulders; he began to ask gardening questions.
“You know, in my years I think I’ve done every kind of work there is to do in this village. But nothing gives me
