TERRACE OVERLOOKING the GARDENS
MAIN HADIŠ
2 NIGHTS LATER
“Give me 4 and 2!” Rošanak tosses the dice in her hands and rolls them.
“4 and 2!” Rošanak declares excitedly, sitting crossed-legged on a Persian carpet on the main hadiš terrace, playing takh’teh nard with Itâna. She leans over the board and says wickedly, “Fortune always favors the Royal Women!”
Itâna gives her a sharp look. And rolls his eyes to the back of his head. And grunts, “Girls!”
He had finally given up his anger and had decided to rejoin his kinsmen and clan and companions. After all, his sister was now married to a king… even a barbarian king kinsman was better than nothing.
And Dârparna, his best friend in all the heavens, was telling everyone that the Lord of Asia himself was consulting him on all matters of great importance to the Lands.
Aššat Šarri Farânak and a few close kindred and Mâr’at Bani Âriyânnâz are sprawled comfortably on couches talking and laughing.
A woman plays soulfully on her Persian santoor.
“That is the man I told you about!” Itâna says quietly and deliberately, pointing with his eyes.
“Who?” Rošanak says distractedly, eyes searching on the wooden board, considering her next clever move.
“The old lover of your King-Husband!”
Rošanak sits up and looks at Itâna and then slowly follows the gaze of his eyes. A familiar face approaches and stands in front of the terrace steps, looking up at them.
“Roxana.” He slightly bows his head.
“Maybe the King thinks you need instructions in bed!?” Itâna says wickedly, leaning toward her and whispering in Bakhtrian.
Rošanak looks back at Itâna. Her eyes narrow and darken.
“Itâna! Go to Hell!”
“And forfeit the game to you? Ha! Not on your life, Little Sister! You are losing and you know it! I can already feel that silver šiklu of yours obediently jumping into my winning hand!” He rubs his hands together eagerly.
Hephćstion takes another firm step forward and waits patiently to be acknowledged.
“My Lord.” Rošanak turns her attention to him briefly and utters quietly.
“Alexander sent me. He is still busy with the new recruits from the HighLands. He asked that you wait up for him.”
“Yes. Thank you, My Lord,” Rošanak says without looking at him.
Hephćstion looks at her and lingers for a long moment and then sits down on the stone steps calmly.
He knew Alexander.
The message from Alexander was not an order from a King to a Queen… a Conqueror to a Captive… more like a plea from a Lover to a Beloved.
Queen or not, she was just a girl and Alexander would soon tire of her. Olympias would see to it, she would tell Alexander to leave the barbarian campaign wife behind in another month. Nothing less than an Olympian goddess would do and not even then.
But still… the girl had unknowingly taken what was once his.
And he was curious too… Was Patroklos not curious about Briseis?
Peritas, stretched out on the cool surface of the stone-covered terrace, senses Hephćstion’s scent, raises his head and wags his tail in old familiarity to him and goes back down to sleep.
Hephćstion looks curiously at Peritas who looks like he has claimed the palace whole as if he was born to it.
His father had always told him: “Dogs can see into the hearts of men… and probably women.” Although he himself was not entirely sure women had hearts.
Peritas never left the feet of the new woman of Alexander… lazy old hound!
“Hephćstion.”
“My Lord?”
“My name is Hephćstion!”
“Yes, My Lord,” she says with a quick tone of voice, dismissing him distractedly.
“No. Not My Lord. Hephćstion!” He insists politely.
Itâna rolls the dice. “5 and 1. I have you now!”
Hephćstion narrows his eyes at Rošanak trying to catch her gaze and then taps Itâna on the arm.
Itâna looks at him insulted and his temper rises. His blood quickly rushes to his ears and turns them bright red.
Rošanak glances at Itâna’s red face.
“Game!” Rošanak suddenly forfeits the game to cool Itâna’s temper and puts a silver šiklu on the ledge of the takh’teh nard board.
Itâna looks back at Rošanak and frowns with marked annoyance.
“Itâna!” Aššat Šarri Farânak calls him, beckoning him to her.
Itâna looks back at Hephćstion and then back at Rošanak, takes the silver šiklu and reluctantly joins his mother.
“Go home, Itâna, before your father sends for you again.”
Itâna shakes his head in protest. “But he is neither a kinsman nor a eunuch. He will bring shame to us all!”
“Itâna!”
“Very well. Just fair warning, Dear Mother! Do not blame me if he takes your daughter and has his way with her right here under your roof in front of you!”
“Itâna!”
Itâna shrugs his shoulders and grabs a couple of figs from a plate on the table and heads out, mumbling under his breath and shaking his head. “Men know such things!”
Hephćstion looks amused.
Rošanak looks back at him intently. “You dismissed my wealthy opponent, My Lord. I was planning to empty his treasury!”
“How old is the boy?” Hephćstion asks nicely, smiling.
“Itâna? Fourteen. But he tries to act older since his first blood brother died, My Lord.”
“Hephćstion!” Hephćstion tries again, undaunted.
Rošanak eyes him intently for another moment and then relents.
“He-fes-tea-oon.”
Hephćstion laughs outright.
Her Attik was not as good as Alexander had been bragging about.
Rošanak blushes and reddens, slightly embarrassed. “Hellene names are hard. They do not roll off the tongue like the Persian names!”
Hephćstion eyes her and then looks back at the gaming board.
Row-Sha-Nakk… Persian names were not that easy either!
“It looks similar to an Egyptian board game,” he says out loud, thinking to himself.
Rošanak looks at him scornfully, insulted.
“Takh’teh Nard? A board game? Egyptian?” she mocks him politely.
Hephćstion hears her dismissive words and looks at her for a moment and then reconsiders the game board intently, not giving up easily.
“How is the game played?”
Rošanak eyes him for a long moment.
Was Itâna right?
Everyone knew about the old customs of the Hellenes and the love of their men for each other. Hellenes always made much of how they had taught Persians their old ways…
It was not forbidden to them as it was among the Persians… it was why Oštana had felt more at ease among the Makedonians than among his own kinsmen and clan…
She had seen Oštana, loaded with wine, quietly leaving with a young handsome Hellene mercenary from the Royal Army on the night of her wedding from the corner of her eye. Weddings always made the unwedded lonelier than ever!
And everyone knew that even the Younger Kuruš had a lover in his younger days, even though it was forbidden… and only Royal Women bore heirs to the Persian Crown and the Throne…
But why had Alexander not sent a royal boy to deliver his message?
“Each game is one gold archer!” She breaks the silence and dares him.
Hephćstion’s eyes widen and then he laughs quietly, shaking his head.
A gold darik was a month’s pay for a common foot warrior!
The life in the palace was so far removed from the lives of the multitudes.
That was why Alexander had taken refuge in her… she was his sanctuary to mend and heal… he always knew what he needed to survive the brutality of war.
“A gold darik a game? A princely sum for a lowly board game!”
Rošanak raises her eyebrow and considers him for another long moment.
A golden archer was reasonable.
Dukšiš Purušâtu, her great grandmother, had played a hand with her Royal Son, the Second Artakhšaçâ, for a court eunuch. And when she had won the battle, she had demanded and the Second Artakhšaçâ had faithfully handed her the same eunuch who had cut off the head of his Royal Brother and her beloved Royal Son, the Younger Kuruš. She had buried the eunuch alive… he was eaten alive by flesh eating maggots. The damned and doomed eunuch had the blood of a Royal Son of the House on his bloody hands… it was not something a Royal Woman could ever forgive or forget!
Rošanak smiles and baits him. “Then perhaps you should visit the quarters of your Royal Army for loftier games that will not sack your treasury!”
Hephćstion smiles and relents and takes the bait willingly.
She had played with the boy for a silver coin… still, a gold darik was a fair price for a glimpse of what Alexander saw in her.
There had been so many women Alexander could have taken to bed or even married… Why her?
Everyone knew Alexander put his trust in the thrust of a sharp sword, not on a marriage alliance… he was not like his father to seal his hard conquests with soft brides!
“A gold darik it is.”
Rošanak smiles with her eyes, shakes the dice and rolls, and points, “Takh’teh Nard is a war game of strategy. Each queen―” she pauses, “or king, pursues and attacks the warriors of the hainâ, the enemy army, mercilessly, and kills and forces them off the battlefield and moves her own warriors around the field into safety away from the path of her enemy army according to the roll of the dice and then removes them all before her enemy rescues his warriors.”
Rošanak leans forward and counts and moves one of her wooden warriors.
“3 and 1. Like this. And to the conqueror go the spoils of war!”
Hephćstion eyes her and smiles.
That was a game he knew how to play… well…
“Very well.” Hephćstion nods and Rošanak resets the board and rolls the dice.
Rošanak moves her wooden warriors around the board.
Hephćstion rolls the dice.
Rošanak laughs and points. “Ah! 5 and 4! Not good!”
Hephćstion counts and moves his wooden warriors around the board.
Rošanak rolls the dice. “6 and 6! Good!” Rošanak smiles and continues softly, “Are you related to Alexander by blood?”
Hephćstion looks up, caught off guard. The dice fly out of his hand distractedly.
“Ah! No. I am half-Makedonian. My family originally hails from Athenai. We moved to Pella after my noble father and his father fell out of favor in Athenai. He was in favor of an alliance with the Great King and against the Spartans. My mother was a highborn Makedonian HighLander.”
He pauses and then continues, “Alexander is a LowLander, from a long line of warrior kings, half-Makedonian, half-Molossian. I have been with him from the beginning. He is destined to be the greatest conqueror roaming the known world, always in search of his next big conquest.”
He pauses again.
Alexander would go to the ends of the earth to do his father one better.
Wounded, Philip had fallen from his dying horse fighting the mutinous Hellenes, and it was Alexander who had rushed over and protected his father from a certain death with his own shield and sword… but Philip had never acknowledged or honored Alexander publicly for that… unwilling to admit that he was indebted to his own son for his life… and that had turned Alexander bitter toward his father.
The venomous words of Olympias had done the rest.
And then he adds, “I have known Alexander since childhood. I am a year older than he. We have been together since he was fourteen years old. We both were tutored by Aristoteles. He is the most brilliant commander on the fields of battle, and… a good friend!”
Rošanak eyes him discreetly.
Dauštar?
A good friend?
She then points to the dice and smiles and taunts him. “Ah! 2 and 1! Fortune is not favoring you tonight!” She rolls the dice. “6 and 6 again! Not even your gods can come down from their heavenly mountain to help you win now!”
Hephćstion rolls the dice. “1 and 1! I surrender!” He raises his hand in the air, showing his palm, signaling defeat.
Rošanak smiles, grabs a fig hungrily and takes a bite, and considers him discreetly.
He was taller than Alexander, as tall as Utâna, and more slender… more Persian in manners… with hair the color of harvested wheat in autumn… eyes the color of the deep sea…
Hammered metal bones underneath muscled flesh and smooth skin… but wrapped in grace and gentleness… like a superbly sharpened Persian sword resting peacefully inside a splendidly jeweled scabbard, fully aware of his deadly powers, without a desire to flaunt it… calm like the cool skin of a deadly sea… ebbing and flowing silently underneath…
It would be hard to tell him apart from Utâna from a long distance… maybe even from a closer distance…
Hephćstion picks up a fig and takes a bite and looks at Rošanak intently.
“Who were you to marry, before Alexander?”
Utâna! “Many years of bloody wars. Not many kings and princes left.” Rošanak says carefully, “I would have become a temple virgin instead.”
He eyes her with disbelief, “Hmm…” then shakes the dice in his hand. “Another game?”
Rošanak shakes her head side-to-side. “No!”
Hephćstion rolls the dice and baits her. “4 and 4. Then I shall go back to my lonely quarters and open my wrists, for being rejected by a beautiful woman.”
Rošanak touches her wrist unconsciously.
Uvâmaršiya… taking his own life?
Had Alexander betrayed her secret and told him about her?
“You will be banished eternally to the dark underworld, the Land of the Endless Darkness! Better to wait and die honorably on the battlefields at the hands of the Persians, your mortal enemies!” she whispers.
Hephćstion laughs unguardedly. “You are heartless!”
Rošanak smiles and nods and straightens and eats another fig. “I am a Royal Woman!” She takes a deep breath. “After the death of my lover, I thought about running away to the shores of the Hyrkania Sea to marry a fisherman.”
Hephćstion’s eyes widen, startled.
She had a lover before Alexander?
Did Alexander know?
“Huh! A fisherman?”
“Yes! I would feast all day long on precious golden khav’jar seeds harvested from ancient huso’husos, captured by my sweet fisherman-husband.”
Then Rošanak straightens again. “But, my mother told me marrying your King Alexander was a noble sacrifice to bring peace to the Lands. With privilege comes duty, my birth mother always says.”
Hephćstion narrows his eyes and carefully considers her.
Hmmm… duty… sacrifice… marrying Alexander?
What about love?
Aristoteles was right. “True love was only among men!” Women were imperfect… useful only for bearing sons and no more!
Nimâ and Dârâ, the sons of Rošanak’s blood sister, enter the terrace noisily and run and throw themselves at Rošanak from both sides in an all-out attack, tickling her madly.
“Rošanie!”
“Rošanie!”
Rošanak grabs them both, laughing and kissing them.
Hephćstion recognizes the small boys. He sits back and watches.
Rošanak rolls on the carpet, laughing and defending herself from the attack of the boys. “Dârâ! Nimâ! Sons of my sister! They are in the care of my mother, as their mother, my sweet sister, died a few years ago of a broken heart when her beloved husband was killed at the Battle of Issos.”
Hephćstion eyes Rošanak.
The boys leave Rošanak and run to their grandmother, Aššat Šarri Farânak.
“Mammanie!” Dârâ screeches with laughter.
“Mammanie!” Nimâ pulls on Aššat Šarri Farânak’s gown for her attention.
Aššat Šarri Farânak picks up one of the boys and gets to her feet.
Everyone stands up.
“Rošanak, it is time to retire for the night!” Aššat Šarri Farânak says graciously, glancing at Hephćstion and walking inside.
This was not the Persian royal court. A wedded woman should not entertain a handsome man who was neither her wedded husband nor a kinsman.
Rošanak hears her mother’s unspoken words from the tone of her voice and gets to her feet. Peritas stretches out lazily, raises himself up, moves next to Rošanak and rubs against her, affectionately wagging his tail.
“Ah! Bedtime for the Boys!” She bends down and scratches Peritas’ ears.
Hephćstion stands up and bows his head slightly to Aššat Šarri Farânak. “Shall I tell Alexander that you will wait up for him?”
“Tell Alexander to come and get me when he gets back. He knows where to find me.”
Hephćstion slightly bows his head. “I will give him your message.”
“Hephćstion, you owe me three golden dariks! Come back anytime you wish to lose more of your Persian booty to me.”
Hephćstion acknowledges with a smile. “Good night, Roxana.” He turns and starts walking down the steps.
Torches flicker on the terrace.
“Hephćstion?” Flawlessly.
Hephćstion stops and turns around. “Yes, Roxana?”
Rošanak steps down. She looks at him straight in the eyes.
Was he a friend to her or her enemy?
He was the one she had first noticed among the men of the enemies when she had left the Fortress of Sughud following Uxšiyârta and her blood mother.
“May I beg a favor of you?”
Hephćstion looks into her eyes.
Words spoken carefully, scented with sweet intoxicating jasmine…
Beg… a favor?
From a Persian Royal Woman? From the wife of Alexander?
The Royal Women of Darius had asked for nothing when they had been captured, just that they would be allowed to bury Darius with honors due a Great King.
Had he already been weighed and measured… that quickly?
“A favor?”
“The sacred Festival of No’rouz is coming― the beginning of the Persian New Year.”
“Yes?”
“Yes…” Rošanak looks uncertain. “Alexander gave me a golden crown, a gift.”
“Yes?”
“Probably from Persepolis or Susa Treasuries.”
“Yes?”
“He wants me to wear it for No’rouz.”
“Ah.” Hephćstion straightens and nods.
The golden crown she had offered to her goddess that night…
She had gotten close to Alexander and now Alexander was testing her loyalty to him… as he did with all those close to him. Alexander always loved passionately but demanded absolute loyalty in return. Now he had set his deadly trap for his first wife and was waiting to see what she would do.
“Yes?” he asks.
“I offered it to the Divine Anaitis, the Mother Goddess!” she confesses.
Hephćstion taunts her. “You offered a wedding gift from the King to a goddess, a golden crown?”
“Yes.”
“I see.”
Silence.
“Would the King himself not freely give to a goddess of his own faith?”
Silence.
“What shall I tell Alexander?”
Hephćstion looks deep into Rošanak’s eyes and considers her for a long moment.
There was no fear in her eyes… just clouds. She was not afraid… just loath to displease Alexander…
A gap had opened all too quickly in the line of his enemy… all he had to do was to ride straight through it and destroy her.
But Alexander needed a rightful son and an heir and he had not taken to any other woman after Stateira and the girl was so young.
He did not want the blood of a young girl on his hands. His father would disclaim him for a lot less. Alexander would tire of her soon enough.
The peace had been keeping because of her and like the rest of the Royal Army, he was tired of marching and fighting and killing.
“The truth.” Hephćstion takes a deep breath and softens. “Tell him the truth. Alexander will understand.”
Rošanak looks deep into Hephćstion’s eyes… watery waves ebbed and flowed on the shores of their calm, deep sea.
If Itâna had spoken the truth, she could see why he was what he was to Alexander… he was truthful.
Alexander was far from the land of his ancestors with no blood kinsman to watch over him and kings had no friends.
Hephćstion was like the beclouded moon… like Nânna… the ancient Moon-God of the Bâb-ilim… measured and deliberate… aware of his immense quiet powers… secure in his own place and position… watching faithfully over the man who was his king.
Not like Alexander, pulsating with raw power like Enlil, the Bâb-ilani god… driven to dazzle… demanding to be worshiped…
No… Nothing like Alexander…
“Who restored the blessed Temple of Divine Goddess Anaitis?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
“Alexander ordered it.”
“And the new inscription on the statue of the goddess?”
“That too.”
Hephćstion bows his head slightly and turns around and leaves quietly, as Rošanak and Peritas watch him disappear from sight in the dark of the night.
Peritas wags his tail with familiarity after his first master, then drops on the cool terrace floor and falls back into deep sleep.
...
