Conquest of Persia Read online

  Alexandros looked at him askance. “Alexandria, of course. But we’ve got to do something else first.

  Chapter 6 – Oasis of Ammon

  The ‘something else’ turned out to be a side trip to the Oasis of Ammon. “How can I found a new city without divine sanction?” Alexandros asked rhetorically. “And, as it happens, there’s a famous oracle nearby. Plus, I have a few other questions that have been nagging at me. The oracle of Ammon will give me a chance to get some answers from a reputable deity. So, off we go.”

  ‘Nearby’ turned out to be more than three hundred miles away, through some of the most inhospitable terrain on the face of the Earth. We left the very next day, a small band of Alexandros’s intimates, traveling light. Our group of sixteen included – in addition to Alexandros – Hephaistion, Perdikkas, Philotas, Seleukos, Kleitos, nine ordinary horsemen from Hephaistion’s squadron, and me. Pointedly, Alexandros failed to invite Aristandros to join our expedition, thus quite possibly sparing his life.

  We rode west, along the Mediterranean, on a desert road, passing no settlements. The only creatures we saw were seagulls, lizards, and scorpions. On the third day, we reached the village of Paraitonion, marking the border between Egypt and Kyrenaike. Surprisingly, while enjoying the hospitality of the local elders, we were told that another Greek-speaking group was already in the village. It turned out to be a delegation from Kyrene, the principal Greek colony on the western coast of Kyrenaike. The envoys were on their way to pay obeisance to the new ruler of Egypt. Alexandros graciously invited them to join us for our modest banquet. They in turn conveyed their city’s offer of friendship and submission to Alexandros and handed over a treasure-trove of gifts. Although Alexandros was quite pleased with the expensive offerings, he asked the ambassadors to continue their journey into Egypt and deliver their presents to Parmenion, his second-in-command, because we were on our way to the Ammonion. The Kyrenians, doing their best to conceal their surprise, and perhaps their consternation, wished us a safe journey and retired.

  We set off into the heart of the desert very early the next day, having recruited two native Berbers as our guides and having traded in our horses for dromedaries. The Oasis of Ammon was somewhere to our southwest. Our guides assured us we would reach it in a few days. We were still traveling light.

  We discovered, almost immediately, that riding a camel is different from riding a horse. On the positive side, camels kneel down to facilitate mounting. On the negative side, it’s hard to stay aboard once they decide to stand up because they elevate their rear ends first, pitching the rider forward, and then, when the rider has finally recovered his balance, they extend their front legs, pitching him back. Of course, being thrown off the camel’s back might be the luckiest outcome, considering the tortures that await anyone lucky enough to remain mounted.

  First of all, because of the hump, there’s no level place to sit. Second, the dromedary’s hide is extremely bristly and abrasive. Any bare skin that comes in contact with the animal’s tough hide gets scraped off in a matter of minutes. Third, camels have a weird, irregular, swaying, jerky gait. Trying to keep from falling off takes a constant, exhausting effort. Fourth, camels are headstrong creatures. Any rider who thinks he has some influence, much less control, over the motion of his beastly conveyance is soon disabused of any such delusion. Camels go where their fancy takes them, at their own pace and in their own good time. We were all walking next to our camels within an hour or two of our departure from Paraitonion. But at least they carried our supplies and provided a tiny bit of shade. They did nothing, however, to keep our feet from getting cooked in our boots.

  We’d gotten started well before dawn. In the desert, one travels by night or when the sun is close to the horizon. During the middle of the day, we hid in the shadow of a fortuitous sand dune, if we could find one that was large enough, had a precipitous drop-off, and happened to be oriented correctly to the sun. Otherwise, we erected makeshift lean-tos and did our best not to get roasted on the searing sand. The scorpions, other biting insects, and even occasional snakes were a constant threat.

  On our fourth day in the desert, we ran out of water. There were supposed to be water holes on our route but they had either dried up or our guides had failed to find them. We were assured that the Ammonion was close and therefore our lack of water was not necessarily fatal. After two further days without water, it felt as if we were walking on the bottom of a boiling, viscous ocean. Our eyesight was failing because of the glare of the sun; the dunes and small hills around us shimmered, swayed, and receded even as we tried to approach them; if the camels hadn’t continued their determined, slow walk, we would’ve lain down and died. And then, without any warning, the heavens opened up and it rained. We ran around in the downpour, whooping and laughing, trying to catch the life-giving water in our mouths, helmets, hats, water skins, saddlebags, cooking pots, inverted tents, and any other vessels we managed to improvise on short notice. It rained less than half an hour but that was more than enough to keep us alive for days to come.

  Our two guides were amazed. “Never in our lives have we seen rain like this, here in the desert.”

  “That’s because you’ve never crossed the desert with me before,” Alexandros told them.

  I wasn’t sure whether he was joking but laughed all the same because I knew we’d live another day. I tried to convince everybody we should offer some of our water to our camels but the guides told us it’d be a complete waste. “Camels can live a long time without drinking,” they assured us. “But when they do drink, they can drink as much water in one go as a man can drink in a year. If we gave them all the water we now have, it wouldn’t make the slightest difference to them.” I was sure they were wrong but they were Berbers, they’d lived in the desert their entire lives, they knew camels, and my survival depended on them. I chose to hold my tongue, although I found it impossible to suppress my doubts. We’ve got as much chance as a spider trying to hang on to his web in a simoom, I thought.

  The next two days were uneventful. We trudged ahead, except when it became too hot; we did our best to ignore the fact that the Oasis of Ammon seemed much farther than our guides had led us to believe; we tried not to calculate how much water we had left; we worked hard to keep various patches of sunburnt skin from getting worse; we tried to squint through the shimmering air for any sign of the elusive oasis; and every once in a while we glimpsed castles in the air, ice-cold waterfalls, and naked maidens frolicking in sun-dappled, verdant meadows. It was these hallucinations that were the worst.

  Just before sundown on our eighth day in the desert, we saw a towering mountain in the distance. We all ignored it. As mirages go, it wasn’t much to look at. Even when the mountain started to move toward us, it didn’t make much of an impression. It was only when the hot wind started to tear the hats off our heads and our camels sank to the ground and refused to get up that we realized there really was a mountain straight ahead of us and it was approaching at a frightening speed.

  Within a matter of minutes, we were swallowed by the sandstorm. Day turned to night, as if by the flick of a light switch. It was impossible to breathe, as we lay on the sand, sheltering behind our camels, holding on for dear life. Our mouths, nostrils, eyes, ears, and skin pores filled with sand. We were getting buried alive.

  I’m not sure how long the storm lasted. When I finally dug my way out of the newly-formed sand dune on top of me and forced my eyes open, I found myself beneath a celestial dome of breath-taking beauty. The Milky Way was a brightly illuminated swirl of magic dust high in the sky, flanked on either side by thousands of brilliant diamonds, arranged in a dazzling showcase of transcendent, unearthly jewelry. I guess this is what it looks like after you’re dead, I thought. Then I heard Perdikkas swearing and I knew I was probably still alive.

  Even our Berber guides were shaken. Among other things, the sandstorm had buried the landmarks they were using to stay on course. It was news to me that they had relied on any signpos
ts heretofore but they were certainly down to random meandering after the storm. Trying to use celestial navigation at night was useless because they were not sure of the exact direction to Ammonion and even a deviation of a couple of degrees would’ve caused us to miss the oasis by miles over a distance of several days’ march. But we trudged ahead.

  The first of our camels to die succumbed to dehydration the next day. Apparently, and contrary to popular belief, camels can only survive for five to ten days without any water, unless the weather is cool and they have access to succulent vegetation in lieu of drinking water, neither of which conditions obtained during our march to the Ammonion.

  By the twelfth day, every one of our camels was dead. We ate some of their flesh, both for moisture and nutrition, but in the hot air the meat putrefied almost immediately, so we couldn’t take it with us. On day fourteen, we were once again without any water. All our food ran out as well but nobody noticed. We’d started the march into the desert as young men in exceedingly good physical condition but by this point we’d turned into stumbling zombies, with sunken eyes, chalk-white lips, running sores all over our bodies, and no hope of survival. Most of us would’ve stopped walking, had it not been for Alexandros’s relentless belief that the gods would come to our rescue. As for me personally, the emotion that kept me moving was anger. I couldn’t believe that, having successfully negotiated the long journey to the terminus of my escape hatch, I was condemned to die on a pointless, but suicidal, excursion into hell.

  I happened to be lying next to Alexandros when we settled down for our midday siesta on day fifteen. We were sheltering in the shade of a canvas sheet stretched between two poles but for some reason I imagined I was reclining in the maw of a giant furnace. It had gotten to the point where the heat didn’t even bother me. I noticed I’d stopped sweating and now found it difficult to speak. Alexandros, by contrast, couldn’t stop talking. His speech was slurred and he was obviously delirious but his mouth never stopped. He was working out the exact phraseology of the questions he was planning to ask the god via the oracle. Curiously, he wanted to discover whether all the murderers of his father had been punished. He also needed to know the identity of the deities to whom he should be making sacrifices in order to assure victory over Dareios. Finally, he had to find out whether the site he had chosen for Alexandria was a propitious one.

  “Do you realize the god whom the Egyptians call Ammon is actually the same as the god we call Zeus?” he suddenly asked.

  I decided to play along. Evidently, my brain was still functional, even if nothing else was. “How could the same god preside at Mount Olympos and simultaneously be the king of all the Egyptian gods?” In my delirium, I was actually interested to hear how Alexandros would resolve this theological dilemma.

  Alexandros was surprised. “What do you mean? It happens all the time, even among humans. After all, I’m here, presiding over the pan-Hellenic army and yet, at the same time, I’m also the king of Macedonia. You, my friend, have a very parochial view of gods and a very limited understanding of their powers. It’s child’s play for the king of all kings to be in charge of two places at once. The Egyptians rightly call Ammon the Ruler of the World. Doesn’t the world include Greece? The Greeks call Zeus King of Gods, who in turn are in charge of the entire universe. Doesn’t that include Egypt? In fact, if you think about it, Ammon and Zeus have to be the same god.”

  The logic of his argument seemed unassailable, at least in my weakened mental state. “I see your point,” I tried to say but my mouth was too dry to work properly.

  “What’s even better, this new understanding I’ve reached helps to clear up a point that’s been bothering me for a very long time.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m sure you’ve heard rumors that my parentage is in doubt, haven’t you?”

  “Never, sire,” I lied. In fact, everyone at court had heard the story that Olympias had been impregnated by Zeus himself, rather than her husband Philippos, the god having taken on the guise of a snake for the occasion. Needless to say, I didn’t put much stock in the story, even if Olympias did like to cavort with her snakes.

  “Well, in that case you’re the only one. Even my mother hinted about it to me, although of course she could never say anything about it openly without jeopardizing my standing as the heir apparent to Philippos.”

  “Frankly, I think such rumors are ridiculous. I knew your father pretty well and there was never any doubt in his mind that he was your father.”

  “You know, the cuckold is always the last to know.”

  “Do you have a candidate for your paternity?”

  “I do but that’s one of the questions I want to ask the oracle.”

  I was drifting off to sleep or possibly losing consciousness. Either way, I stopped listening. I was startled back to attention by a shout from Alexandros. “Look!” He pointed to the sky.

  I assumed he was hallucinating once again but I looked anyway, having little else to do. I saw two fuzzy, dark specks. I blinked to help my eyes focus. The two specks resolved into two crows, except these crows looked different from any I’d seen before. Instead of being all black, which would have been the appropriate attire for our funeral attendants, these two crows wore white aprons over their black feathers. There was a stripe of white extending from behind their necks, across their shoulders, and covering their breasts and bellies. They circled our camp and then resumed their leisurely flight in the direction of the sun.

  “We have to follow the birds,” one of our guides yelled. “They must be headed toward the oasis. Crows can’t survive for long in the middle of the desert.”

  “They’re Ammon’s messengers,” Alexandros agreed. “He sent them to guide us to his shrine.” There was neither surprise nor doubt in his voice.

  The crows quickly disappeared from sight but their sighting energized our entire group and we resumed our march in the direction of the point on the horizon where they had disappeared from sight. We reached the oasis by nightfall.

  *******

  Upon arrival, we were greeted by a scrum of shouting children, quickly followed by a small group of priests in flowing robes. They headed straight for Alexandros. I’ve sold these people short, I thought. Somehow they’ve divined who this bedraggled beggar must be.

  “Welcome, Son of Ammon, Lord of the Two Lands,” the leader of the priests greeted Alexandros, translating the traditional pharaonic titles into passable Greek.

  Alexandros beamed. “That’s one question answered already,” he called out for everyone to hear. Then, speaking more quietly, he turned to the chief priest. “I have a few more questions I need to pose to your oracle.”

  “All in due course, your divine highness. You look like you could use some water, food, and perhaps a bath first.”

  The oasis was much larger than I’d expected. It extended for miles in every direction and it was indeed a paradise on Earth. Exuberant, luxuriant vegetation, including olive trees, date palms, and flowering bushes, filled all available space not covered by ponds full of water or occupied by clean, white adobe huts. Energetic sounds of happy children chasing chickens, goats, and a few cows, filled the air. And presiding above it all was the magnificent shrine of Ammon, within whose walls the god himself answered questions, mediated by the priests, of course.

  We ate fresh fruit dripping with juice, various cheeses and breads, poached eggs and vegetables, and drank cool, delicious water. We bathed in the warm ponds and we slept. Most of us would’ve been happy to remain at this oasis for the rest of our lives, particularly if the alternative was another trek across the trackless desert.

  Alexandros, on the other hand, was a man in a hurry. By the time the rest of us finished enjoying our feast, he’d already eaten, bathed, changed into a sparkling white outfit provided by the priests, and was off to consult the oracle. No one, other than the priests, was allowed to accompany him into the shrine. When he emerged, two hours later, a remarkable transformation had taken
place. He was once again young and bright and vigorous. All traces of our recent ordeal had been wiped away. He was loud and happy and somehow taller than when he’d gone inside. But it was the radiance of his mien and the blaze in his eyes that struck me the most. Here is a man who’s seen a vision.

  He was smiling, clapping shoulders, squeezing arms, as we gathered around him. “Listen up, men! I have my answers and they’re all good. So, we’re leaving early tomorrow. Take anything of value you still possess and give it to the priests. We’re donating it all to my father. I’ll reimburse you when we get back. And get some rest. We want to leave shortly after midnight, so we can make good progress before the sun gets too hot. The priests will give us some camels and some better guides.”

  Hephaistion articulated the question on all of our minds. “What did you learn, Aniketos?”

  “Son of Ammon,” Alexandros muttered. “Call me Son of Ammon. I’ll tell you on our way back.”

  Perdikkas, practical and blunt as ever, brought us back to earth. “Which way will we go?”

  “Same as we came.”

  There was a collective groan. “Gotta give the desert another shot to kill us, I guess,” Kleitos observed.

  Alexandros turned on him, as if waking from a dream. “The desert will do us no harm. You’ll be marching under my protection and I am the son of the Ruler of the World, which includes all the deserts on Earth.”

  The desert has already fried his brains, I thought but held my tongue.

  Philotas didn’t exercise as much discretion. “Oh great. It was bad enough when we had to obey the orders of a young hothead but now we’re going to be commanded by a demigod.”

  I think he’d meant it as a joke but apparently, in the process of acquiring his divinity, Alexandros had lost his sense of humor. “You can stay up tonight and get the camels ready,” he told Philotas. “The rest of you’d better get some sleep.”