Hephaestion's Journal

NOTE: This is part of a novel I am attempting to write where the main character is a resurrected Ancient Egyptian – he meets many historical characters throughout his existence and some are also 'resurrected' including Alexander and Hephaestion. The Egyptian, in the novel, is working in a present day museum and they are sent Hephaestion's journal which is falling apart and difficult to read so he asks the man himself to come and translate it – hence modern idioms; the man's been about for two thousand years and language changes. The Isaac Brooke Museum and Dalchester are my own invention.

I have tried to be as historically accurate as possible but have taken a few 'liberties'; such as Cassander being at Ecbatana – in all probability he never showed up until a few months before Alexander's own death in Babylon but I needed him to get there earlier and he obliged!
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'I, Hephaestion Amyntoros, Chiliarch of the divine Alexandros, write this…great…king………I have such a sense of foreboding, a shadow across my mind that grows………in what time I have…all that was……They will not give my love justice. He will become the myth……so I write to make sense of my life and his. Perhaps I will allow this writing to survive, perhaps not – let the gods decide.

(From this point on it is Hephaestion's own translation of his memoirs, which are held, at present, by the Isaac Brooke Museum in Dalchester, England. He has updated the language for ease of understanding.)

We arrived at Ecbatana mid morning. It was not my first visit to this summer palace of the Persian Kings but this time it struck me with a chill that seeped into my bones and very heart. Even during September the temperature here was still warm, certainly no reason for the cold creeping up my spine. Putting it down to exhaustion I ignored it as we rode in through the gates, handed the horses over to the grooms and made our way to our rooms. I saw Alexander comfortably settled with Bagoas in attendance, his breath coming in short, sharp exhalations – the old wound was giving him trouble again which was why Ptolemy and I had suggested this rest at Ecbatana – for the troops welfare of course, not his, else we would still be travelling. The King of Kings, of Macedon, Persia and India can be a real obstinate son of a bitch when he puts his mind to it.

My rooms were down one end of the same corridor as his, Ptolemy's at the opposite end so we had him covered in all directions. It allowed us to take turns at sitting on him if he decided to go to far – well, farther than either of his wives rooms at any rate. He was far too restless, always on the move even during a council session. I found it more and more exhausting as the years went by. Why is that?

Am I getting old? I have seen a little over thirty-four summers, not so old. My father is nearly seventy and as sprightly as a lad of eighteen. This tiredness has been on me since the desert march. I had hopes that a long pause at Ecbatana would instil some energy into me but now I doubt this. Why I see my doom here I cannot say but I believe the Fates will end my life's journey in this out of the way city, far away from my beloved homeland. Some would tell me to get a grip on my morbid fears and enjoy my recent promotion to Chiliarch and as Alexander's new brother; he wants me to have children with Drypetis so that they can then marry his own children with Stateira and found a new dynasty of our conjoined blood. He lives his dreams, his myth making. I am the peg hammered into reality to which he has tied himself so he can go on dreaming, knowing that I will pull him back down to reality if he goes too far.

But what if that peg is removed? What will happen to him if I die?

That thought alone makes me sweat with fear, not of my dying but of leaving him, here, alone with no one to protect him. Or am I, too, delusional? Do I also believe in 'our myth', that of the new Achilles and Patroclus, reborn as Alexander and Hephaestion, ready to conquer the world and die in glory? We made this a part of us when we honoured the tombs of the heroes at Troy when the army first landed in Asia, a public avowal of our love. We were both very serious about it, meant it all, believed it too. We were both very young.

The myth is true in one respect – this Patroclus will not live to a ripe old age. My only concern is that the 'new' Achilles will. He might do – he's planning a new campaign into Arabia for next year; he has a new wife and an old one to comfort him and give him the longed for heir, not to mention the eunuch. What need does he have for a tired, worn out boyhood friend such as me? And yet…

We are still lovers, after over twenty years, in all senses of that word, against all the odds; some would say the norms too. I have survived by his side despite hatred and enmity from colleagues, his mother, his other lovers and certainly one of his wives, not to mention the damn eunuch. Why is that? Our relationship has not been smooth – we argue, we fall out; we have even come to physical blows at times. He has said cruel and painful things to me and I have returned the compliment in full measure. Each time my enemies have watched with joy, hope shining in their eyes that, finally, the 'favourite' will be, at worst, packed off into exile, at best put to death. And then we make up and shatter all their hopes. It is worth arguing with him just to see that! At times I swear he feels the same; I see the small smile curling his lips at their evident disappointment and we share a glance that says it all.

Perhaps it's that side of our combined nature the others loath so much, our separateness from them. For we do understand one another completely; words are not necessary between us, even when we disagree – we have silent arguments, eyes locked on each other, saying it all. I need no one but Alexander. Oh, I have friends amongst the Companions – or did till I was made Chiliarch – Ptolemy, Perdiccas and Nearchus. But we are more allies than bosom friends; the wolf pack following the alpha male and each fighting to obtain a higher place in the pack hierarchy. Now he has made me so undeniably the beta male, the rest are keeping their distance, waiting for a chance to pull me down.

Fools! Cannot they see? After all these years I am still by his side. Cannot they see I will never fall? Except to death. Yes, Thanatos may very will prove their greatest ally against me.

"Phaestion?" came a voice like no other to me, one I can hear whisper across a crowded room or a bloody battlefield.

"I thought you were resting – my King." I reply in only a half admonitory tone.

"Don't coddle me, man." He eases down in the chair opposite me, the pain evident in every movement. "I've been thinking…"

"Oh dear."

"Stop that!"

"Stop what?"

"Making assumptions that I have something impossible in mind."

I couldn't help but laugh at that.

"Xander – you have conquered most of the known world, almost reached the Outer Ocean – stop growling – and now plans to invade the other half of the world. Why on earth would I ever think you could come up with anything that is impossible for you to accomplish?"

Dark grey eyes stare into mine unblinking and silence falls between us.

"Well?" I prompt him after the silence has gone on forever.

"Sorry – I was trying to figure out what you just said and whether it made sense."

"Very funny. You're tired. Go to bed, Alexander."

"I thought you'd never ask." He replied, eyes twinkling.

"You said you had been thinking about something?" divert his attention that usually worked in moments like these.

"The men – I think they would like some games, don't you? Proper ones this time. Full competitions and good prizes. We'll bring in all the best performers from every part of the empire. What do you think?"

It was an idea that would certainly work. So typical of the man to think of this for the army. He still blamed himself for the debacle in the Gedrosian desert and this was a way to ease his conscience a little. Besides, we would all enjoy seeing some good acting and competitive games were the next best thing to keep soldiers from beating the crap out of each other or the locals when they were in camp and getting bored.

"Excellent idea. I will set the arrangements in motion tomorrow. Eumenes can send to Athens as he has so many good friends there. The men need the change – so do you."

"Get me back to my Greek roots you mean?"

"No, I do not."

"Many will see it that way."

"Then let them. We both know it's not the case. You are Great King of an empire of many cultures and creeds; you cannot be seen to favour one over the other – except for me, of course."

The Great King laughed at that bit of undisguised vanity on my part. Did not make it any less the truth.

"Ah, but you are unique, my Phai. There is not another one like you – thank the gods!"

"You've just lost your invitation to stay the night, sire."

"I don't need an invite – I'm the King of all I survey," here he swept a hand about grandly, then dropped it into his lap, looking exhausted. His skin had a greyish tinge to it I did not like and his eyes were decidedly glassy.

"True, my love. Why don't you lie down on the bed whilst I get some wine?"

He nodded and followed my advice, laying down on the large bed with a sigh. I took my time getting the wine and when I walked over to him he was fast asleep, as I had hoped. Carefully I lay down beside him pulling him into my arms and covering us with the embroidered quilt. Hopefully we would both sleep without dreams for one night.

I was awoken the next morning after a pleasantly dreamless sleep to a knocking on my door. Alexander was still sound asleep so I carefully got out of bed and raced to the door to stop whoever it was out there from making anymore noise. Pulling it open I nearly received a broken nose from Ptolemy's fist aiming for a door no longer shut.

"Oh…" he said. "Bagoas is going crazy. Alexander is not…"

"In his room – he's here, fast asleep. And I would like him to stay that way for a while longer."

Ptolemy gave me a beatific grin as if I was the reincarnation of Hypnos, god of slumber, himself. "Well done!"

"Go call of the search party, please." He nodded and walked down the corridor at a swift rate. I saw him stopped by the eunuch, who gave me such a dirty look that my morning was cheered up no end. I put up with him for Alexander's sake but that did not mean I liked him any better.

Hunting out one of my pages I ordered hot water for a bath and breakfast with the strict order that if anyone made more noise than absolutely necessary they would be flogged – if they woke the king, I would have them crucified. They knew me well enough to know I meant what I said and moved about their tasks as quietly as I wished.

Having washed and dressed myself the sun was nearing mid-morning so I woke the king up.

"Breakfast?" I asked him. "Or do you prefer the bath first? The hot water is ready."

He sat up and then noticed the light from the window, reckoning the time. "You let me sleep too late."

"You needed it – so did I. Oh, yes, Bagoas' is having a fit so I left him to Ptolemy to sort out. Didn't you say where you were going before coming here last night?"

"No – why should I? It's my palace after all. Where's this bath?"

It took another hour before I finally saw him off to his own room looking rested and much better than he had the previous night. I could now get on with my own work.

Tracking down Eumenes I gave him the instructions for setting up the games and entrance competitions in as cheery a voice as I could manage watching his scowl deepen by the minute. Since I had been made Chiliarch he answered to me directly instead of Alexander and he hated it. He had enjoyed the sense of power and direct access it had given him. I returned his feelings in full measure but had to acknowledge the man was excellent at his job, a born linguist and able to make words an art form. I on the other hand can be as diplomatic as you want face to face but get bored with the need for excessive and convoluted phrases so necessary in diplomatic correspondence; I could say in five words of speech what it took Eumenes a whole scroll to put in the appropriate language.

I put it down to upbringing. Eumenes was born and raised in Athens, coming to King Philip's service late. My family moved from Athens when I was barely walking and so I was educated as a Macedonian; you called a spade a spade or got your head kicked in.

Having sorted out the King's wishes to my immediate satisfaction I spent another three hours going over the supplies inventory with my other staff and arranging for more to be sent from various depots I had set up about the empire. This went smoothly enough as the bulk of the Macedonian veterans had already left with Craterus in the early summer to go home. Alexander took the opportunity this presented to him to remove the final diehards and entrenched 'traditionalists' of the Greek way of doing things to where they wanted to be, namely Macedon. It gave him the chance to promote like-minded officers to his staff and give higher honours to such as Ptolemy and Perdiccas who had shown their loyalty and acceptance of his new idea of integration. Whether we actually agreed with him on this was something none of us ever mentioned – that was a secret that could never be let known.

Did I agree with treating Persians the same as Macedonians? I have given hours of thought to that question and believe the answer to be – yes, within reason. They certainly knew the country and are, logically, the best people to use to run it. Macedonians can be pig-headed to a fault and would never understand fully the language, laws or customs of the people of our new empire, thereby causing offence and giving reason for revolt. Witness the outrage at the treatment meted out to Bessus, the murderer of Darius. Alexander dealt with him under the laws of Persia, as was fitting for the King of Kings, as he had become. He was no mere mercenary, not here for the plunder alone and then leave. Alexander had always meant to stay and that was the crux of his misunderstanding with the likes of Parmenion and Cleitus – all they saw was what Philip had planned to do; give the Great King a bloody nose, take as much loot as they could then go home to Macedon and live happily ever after bullying the rest of Greece. They got the shock of their lives when their young king made it clear he intended no such thing.

Did they blame him? No, not at first. That honour fell to me. First they tried using me to dissuade him. When that didn't work, they decided to blame me for it all. After it became clear that it was Alexander, and he alone, who dreamt of total conquest, they plotted to kill him – assassinating the king is an old Macedonian blood sport.

We have been here over seven days and the troops are now beginning to relax – which means they are drunk most of the time. It is only a matter of time before the fights begin so I have increased the duty roster's and doubled the guard points, arranged for additional scouting parties for supplies (using the upcoming games and increase in numbers as an excuse) and re-organised the training sessions for the pages – all so the amount of time is reduced where they can get into trouble. I sometimes feel being Chiliarch means I am no more than the head of a school with particularly rowdy pupils and the only way to control them is to keep them active or so tired all they want to do is sleep.

"Everyone seems very busy all of a sudden." Alexander mentioned to me tonight as we sat together at a banquet held for the Governor of the province.

"Good."

"You arranged it I hear?"

"Yes."

"A lot of the Generals are not so happy."

"Would they prefer their men to be on charges for rape or murder then? Because that is what would happen if I had let them go on drinking none stop."

He smiled at me before taking a long drink from his own wine before answering. "That is what I told them too."

"Then why ask?"

"You're in a pleasant mood tonight. Have you been arguing with Eumenes again?"

Rolling your eyes at your King is probably disrespectful but I did it anyway.

"No! Well, no more than usual. We have a nice, safe, mutual hatred going on between us – it's controlled, sire."

"Then what's up your ass, Chiliarch?" It was amazing how 'Macedonian' my King could suddenly become.

"Besides you?" I retorted, trying to deflect this conversation. He ignored it and glared at me; I had seen that very look once in the equally grey eyes of a mountain lion I was hunting – or was it the other way round? There was little difference.

I looked across the dining hall to the reason for my 'temper' and found him staring back at me. Cassander, son of Antipater, soon to be ex-regent of Macedon. Alexander had decided to give the old man a rest from his arduous duties (or his mother, Olympias, I'm not sure which) and re-called him to Asia as soon as Craterus reached home to replace him. The eldest son's arrival here at Ecbatana, yesterday, was unforeseen and had nearly given me a fit. I have not been off guard since. If anyone will make an attempt against my Alexander, it is him.

The day he arrived I had woken up feeling tense and irritable. I put that down to the late night and having to watch the eunuch doing his dance routine and watching my lover's eyes glaze over with lust and not trying to hide it. This occurrence was nothing new but for some reason that night it made me mad that he showed no control before others. So I went off to bed in a temper and woke up in one. After snarling and snapping at every one of my pages and servants they finally got me fed, dressed and out of their collective hair only for me to look down from a balcony I was passing and stare straight into Cassender's eyes looking back at me as he dismounted in the courtyard below.

"Shit!" I swore as loud as I could, not caring who heard me, and stormed on my way to see Alexander.

The guards on the King's door took one look at my face as I bore down on them that they had already opened it before I reached them. Bagoas was supervising the readiness of the king's bath and looked at me with surprise as I snapped fingers at him and the servants and bellowed 'OUT!' Normally I was civility itself – cold but still pleasant – but this was not a normal day.

Alexander sat up when I yelled, looking disgustingly fresh considering the amount he had had to drink the night before. (I once sneaked a look at Aristobulus's journal he keeps and his vision of the king sitting over his wine just to talk and rarely drink it had me chuckling for days every time I saw him, to the man's consternation.)

"Do you know who's just ridden in?" I screeched, pacing up and down in a fury.

"No." he replied calmly without adding 'how could I, you idiot, I'm still in bed.' His restraint is amazing at times.

"Cassander! Why is he here? Did you send for him and not tell me?"

"Phaistion – sit down – NOW!"

I dropped on the bed next to him, as it was the nearest piece of furniture to where I was pacing.

"Calm down. I never sent for him – why would I?"

"Did Craterus send word of his coming? Why he's still stuck in Cilicea is beyond me. It does not take that long to get to the Hellespont."

"I told him to take it in easy stages, to rest the men…"

I glared at him. "There is such a thing as taking it too easy."

"Why are you so suspicious all of a sudden? I thought that was my role." His lips quirked into a self-mocking smile.

It was a good question. Since the Pages Plot and Callisthenes execution, not to mention two mutiny's, he had been painfully aware that not everyone loved him as they had used to do when a young prince and new king. To say he was becoming paranoid is excessive but he trusted less, even those he knew well (look how he was deceived in Harpolas) and was quicker to think the worse than he had been. Usually it was I who calmed his fears over people's actions that he thought suspicious. Now our roles were to be reversed it seemed.

I had known Cassander since I joined the Prince's school at Meiza along with the sons of many of Philip's Companions – it was an honour that they all fought for. To put their sons with the Prince from such an early age ensured that they would be amongst the group from which he would choose his own generals and advisers once king, as Philip had with Parmenion and Antipater.

My father was slightly different than most Macedonian nobles. He and my mother were Athenians and had left there when I could barely walk. We had settled at Pella and he had fought in Philip's army earning distinction, a generalship and wealth. Though all this put the family within the elite class we were still considered outsiders by the likes of Philotas, Cassander and Craterus – or should I say, more truthfully, I was so considered.

Though Philip had made my father a Companion he was never as close to the king as Parmenion or Antipater, two Macedonians of impeccable lineage. I was different; and it was this difference that made Cassander and I hate each other almost from first sight. To be fair he was not alone in this. Philotas, though at least ten years older than Alexander was sent to 'school', (along with Ptolemy who was of the same age) and he strongly believed he had a 'right' to be the Prince's best friend. For this he was in rivalry with Cassander and Perdiccas, a boy in my own age group but who was Orestian royalty, cousin to Alexander and Craterus – pure Macedonian.

Why was it so important to be first with the Prince? Power. To have the king's ear was to be in control to a degree; it gave you access to wealth and honours and the respect (oft times grudgingly given) of your peers – or that was the theory! In practise, as I found, it earned you little but enmity and jealousy. This could, of course, be of use to the king – Philip was a master at playing one noble against the other; in this way he kept their loyalty, undivided attention and their best work as they tried to prove they were better than the others. But sometimes it could back fire disastrously for the king and he ended up with plots against him or even being assassinated – as Philip was.

That Alexander seemed to choose a foreigner, an outsider, an almost nobody to place in this powerful position was anathema to Philotas and Cassander. They only saw what they wanted, not what was there.

At thirteen I was thrown into the cut and thrust of a court – which was what Meiza was in fact. Yes, we were being educated with tutors, Aristotle among them; but the main purpose behind the school was to educate the next generation to be the king and his advisers. One thing you needed to learn very quickly was how to survive and keep whatever place you managed to gain by merit, cunning or violence. It was not a place for someone of a delicate conscience or constitution! Fortunately, I had neither.

I am sure we had all been grilled by our respective fathers in the same mantra.

Make friends with the Prince

Do not at any cost antagonise him

Keep an eye on all the other students

Watch your back

Survive

It was not the first time I had met the Prince. My father was always at the palace and oft times I was taken along to see and be seen – occasionally I was allowed to play with his august smallness but if people thought he was arrogant when king it was nothing to how he behaved when five years old! The play always ended with us in a fight and as I was bigger and decidedly belligerent I won every time. Well, at least on the two occasions on which it happened – after that my father kept me away from the Prince. Neither of us objected.

Then he 'tamed' Bucephalus at the horse fair. I was grudging in my admiration for this feat mainly due to jealousy – the horse was magnificent. What I also saw at that time was how much alike the two were. Alexander had filled out since I had last seen him and was even more confident if that were possible. He knew who he was and what he was – so did the horse; neither was of the common mould and knew it. It made them both bull headed and difficult to manage when they got the bit between their teeth. You either gave them their head and let them go; ignored them or fought them to a standstill. I learnt to do all three exceptionally well.

Did I want to go to Meiza? Yes and no. To be taught by the best and especially Aristotle was not something to avoid. However, the idea of making myself friend to the Prince was not high on my possible accomplishments – we didn't like each other. My father merely rolled his eyes and told me to grow up.

I arrived at Meiza with Leonnatus and Nearchus, two boys I knew well as we had all grown up in Pella and, like me Nearchus was a 'foreigner' – in his case Cretan. It made us feel more confident that we had people around who we knew in this new stage of our lives. None of us were that familiar with the Prince as he spent most of his time with older friends, such as Philotas and Ptolemy, rather than boys of his own age – he seemed to find anyone his age a personal insult that he was not unique in this area. There were also rumours going about Pella that he spent far too much time with the soldiers as well but my father had laughed that off when I repeated it to him, saying if I had Alexander's mother I would go anywhere to get away from her. At that time I didn't understand what he meant.

We entered the grounds and headed for the sprawling hunting palace; made up of a great hall and sleeping dormitories, with servants quarters behind, it had been set aside by the King, the gardens stocked with every flower and shrub the slaves could find to make our surroundings conducive to learning. I thought it was beautiful but said nothing to my companions in case they laughed. But Nearchus breathed in the heavy perfume about us "Beautiful!" he said and gave us both a huge grin.

"What are you smiling at Athenian?"

The voice was rough, sarcastic and challenging. I looked at the boy. About my own height, with the same dark hair but with amber eyes instead of my blue ones, Cassander was before us in a standing lounge, if I can so describe it. Hatred was oozing out of his pores as I slid off my horse, handing the reins to a groom, and faced off with him.

"I am here because King Philip asked me to be. That should be obvious to anyone, even an idiot."

His nostrils flared at that but the simper was not gone from his lips, as he looked Nearchus up and down like so much bad meat. "And a Cretan! Truly, the King wants the school to be multi-national."

I cocked my head and smiled at him in a sneer. "Do you actually know what that means, Cassander, son of Antipater? Or are you merely repeating something you heard like a good little schoolboy?"

"Hephaestion, don't!" Leonnatus warned, trying to pull me away by my arm. I turned for a second to shake him off and suddenly found the wind knocked out of me as Cassander head butted me in the stomach and I hit the ground hard.

I was surprised only for a fraction of a second and then we really started to fight, pummelling, kicking and biting in every move our wrestling tutors had taught us and a few they hadn't. The noise naturally attracted others and we were soon surrounded by quite a crowd of spectators – none trying to break up the fight but egging us both on. That's Macedon for you.

Cassander had gotten in a nasty punch, which was making my nosebleed so much the blood was getting into my mouth. Seeing that he leaned back and smiled in triumph, which was when I grabbed his balls and yanked upwards as hard as I could. That took the smile off his face. He howled in agony and I gave them one last vicious twist for good measure – then he passed out.

I was short of breath, bleeding everywhere and my ears were ringing where he had punched me in the side of the head. My chiton was ripped and covered in blood and my head hurt where he had pulled out a chunk of my hair by the roots. But I felt I was walking on air. All around me the boys were cheering – I had won in a 'fair' fight and showed I was as good a scrapper as any of them – they respected that. I had also fulfilled one of my father's instructions:

"Make sure they know what you're made of, son. Then they will be wary of you – that will keep you safe."

I could safely feel I had succeeded in that.

What surprised me the most though was when I turned to go into the palace and clean up. Inside the door I was stopped by the Prince himself who took my arm and led me through to a washroom. I was astonished by this and not a little wary. He seemed to sense my unease and explained.

"I don't like Cassander. I can't show that openly or he'll complain to his father and then he'll complain to the King and then I'll get a letter as long as my arm explaining how I have failed in 'kingmanship'. But it doesn't stop me from saying so to you in private that I was VERY impressed with how you handled yourself – and the amount of pain you inflicted on him!"

His honesty was disarming and I had to laugh – he joined in. That was when I realised I might find this idea of school pleasanter than I first thought. If I could get on the right side of the Prince simply by beating up Cassander at every opportunity Antipater's son would be in continuous pain.

Of course nothing in life is ever that simple.

TBC - if anyone wants it to of course