God of War: The Epic Story of Alexander the Great

the engineers spent the summer building triaconters – thirty-oared ships – to sail down the Indus, which we were told was navigable all the way to the great sea.

I remember that it was about this time that we met Kalanos and his disciple Apollonaris – that wasn’t his name, then. They were members of a sect that went naked but for their beards – serious ascetics, men dedicated to meditation and prayer and fasting. Hephaestion had the notion that they would make the king feel better, and brought their leader, Dandamis, to the king.

He was a great mind, and he and the king debated for hours – through interpreters—the nature of men’s souls, the size of the world, the purpose of creation. As Hephaestion had guessed, Dandamis filled a need in the king.

But the next morning, he was gone.

The king rode in person to fetch him from his camp. I wasn’t there, but I heard the story from Nearchus, and also from my son, who was there. The king found Dandamis sitting naked by a cold firepit. He sat on his horse for a while, looking down at the dirty, naked man, and then said, ‘Brother, come and follow me across the world, and we will learn together.’

Dandamis didn’t speak for a while, and the king repeated himself with great patience, according to my son.

But after the sun had moved in the heavens, the king’s horse began to fret, and the king sat up. ‘Come, philosopher,’ he said. ‘Follow the son of Zeus.’

And Dandamis laughed. ‘If you are the son of the greatest god, so am I!’ he said, and Barsulas says there was real mockery in his voice.

‘Are you a fool?’ Alexander asked. ‘You are naked, and I can clothe you – you have no fire, and I can feed you.’

Dandamis then looked at Alexander with pity. ‘You have nothing I want,’ he said. ‘Once, you might have made a passable philosopher, but now you value no opinion save your own. You wander because you cannot bear to be still – you conquer because you cannot bear to rule. Please go.’

Well, well.

But Kalanos and his disciple came with us – the young Chela, who became Apollonaris the Philosopher, here at court.

I hadn’t received a letter from Thais in a year, and I had no command and no real role. Craterus now worked the logistika directly. The king scarcely spoke to any of us, and never to me, and although I attended him daily, he never even turned his head towards me.

Of course, it might have been worse.

Coenus died of poisoning. Coenus, who had been with us his whole life. He died vomiting black bile. I held his head.

After that, Laertes and Ochrid found me a slave boy to taste all my food. About a week later, he died, vomiting black bile.

We found another.

Macedon, eh?

We had two thousand ships, crewed by our Aegyptians, our Carians, our Greeks – anyone who had ever even heard of a ship. Nearchus had the command, and we started downriver in autumn. Craterus had a third of the army, on the right bank of the river, and Hephaestion had almost half the army on the left bank, including all of our elephants. Alexander was very keen to get the elephants home – two hundred of them. Coenus had openly speculated that we weren’t going home via Sogdiana specifically because the king feared losing animals in the high passes. He may have been right.

We sailed along the banks of the Indus for a week. It was idyllic. Indians gathered on the banks and waved, or sang. Some knelt and prayed to Alexander as he passed, as a living god.

But where the Hydaspes and the Akesinos joined, there was a set of rapids, a narrow gorge and a whirlpool.

That is where I began to suspect that Alexander meant to kill us all. He ordered us to pass the rapids by rowing. In three days, we would have been able to unload, carry our ships across the portage and reload. We were the finest, most organised army on the face of earth, and we knew how to do such things.

He ordered us to row, and men died.

Ships were spun around, and collided with the rocks and capsized. Ships ran afoul of each other and capsized. Ships were simply sucked into the whirlpool.

We lost only seven ships, as Alexander mentioned with a laugh and a toss of his head that night, at dinner. He had the look of a smart boy who had pulled off a difficult prank.

Fifteen hundred men drowned.

South of the rapids, the river became broad and flat. We heard that the Malloi, a barbarian people, intended to resist. Alexander brightened up.

I was sitting on my bed, drinking too much, to be honest, when Theodore, Polystratus’s friend, came and banged my tent pole with his spear. ‘Message for Lord Ptolemy!’ he called.

I got up, threw a chlamys over my shoulders and went out into the brilliant sun. Even in evening, India is pounded by the sun.

Ochrid was just giving him a cup of wine.

Theodore drew himself up to attention when I came out. ‘I have a message from the king,’ he said.

I took it.

It was a wax tablet, and on it, in the king’s own writing, it said – ‘Ptolemy – too long have I missed your face over the rim of my wine bowl. Join me tonight, and stop sulking in your tent.’

Apis! He thought I was sulking?

I reported in a clean chiton, and the king beamed at me. ‘Did I offend you?’ he asked me, clasping both my hands.

What, exactly, do you say?

‘I’ve been unwell,’ I said, with utter cowardice. But Perdiccas laughed, and Hephaestion gave me a look – of thanks?

‘Are you fit for a command?’ he asked.

It turned out that I was to have half the Hetaeroi – Black Cleitus’s former command. A dream command – with Cyrus and Polystratus as squadron commanders, and some attached Indian cavalry.

We were to be the army rearguard.

With his usual brilliance, Alexander had worked out a plan of march that would allow us to travel at intervals – spread over a thousand stades – to minimise supply difficulties, and yet allow us to recombine in any direction. Alexander was using his Aegema to flush opposition, and Hephaestion and I were the anvils against which he would crush any who opposed us.

If you leave aside the morality of it, it was a well-thought-out plan, and just executing such a complex operation was heady stuff. And damn it, it was a pleasure to be in command again.

We swept south, into the Malloi.

They didn’t deserve what happened, but then, no one did.

We found their army just south and east of the river, and it broke before Alexander was on the field. I wasn’t there – I’ve heard of this from others. Hephaestion says that he watched it – a whole army shredding and fleeing rather than face Alexander. And why did they try to stand in the first place?

Men are fools.

Idealism was no doubt involved.

We got orders by messenger to close up to the main body, and we pressed on into the darkness, so that night we caught up with Hephaestion’s forces at a sort of muddy ditch that the Prodromoi claimed was a river. I watered my latest war horse in it – my horses were dying like flies on a cold day, and I was out of Niseans and Saka horses, riding only the local bony Indian nags. But I had one fine horse left – a beautiful Arab mare, the only mare I’ve ever ridden in combat. She was a genius among horses – like my Poseidon – and I called her Amphitrite. My adoptive son loved her, and blessed her every morning.

At any rate, I ignored my grooms and took Amphitrite down to the ‘river’ to water her. If we hadn’t been in a near desert, I wouldn’t have let her drink, and even as it was, I dismounted in the lukewarm water that smelled of