Fire From Heaven Read Online Free PDF Page A

upon the distance.
    Ptolemy fiddled with the horse’s cheekstrap, thinking unhappily, Well, what could I say? Someone else would have told him. The boy still in him rescued the defeated man. He halted the horse.
    ‘Now, if we were sworn blood-brothers, we could tell everyone that.’ He added, cunningly, ‘But you know what we have to do?’
    ‘Of course I know!’ He gathered the reins in his left hand, and held out the right, clenched fist turned upward, a blue vein showing at the wrist. ‘Come on; here, do it now.’
    Ptolemy drew from his red belt the new sharp dagger, seeing the boy focused by pride and resolution to a single gleam. ‘Now wait, Alexander. It’s a solemn thing we’re doing. Your enemies will be mine and mine yours, until we die. We will never take up arms against each othe?r, even if our own kin are at war. If I die in a strange land you will give me my rites, and so I will do for you. It means all that.’
    ‘I promise. You can do it here.’
    ‘We don’t need so much blood.’ He avoided the offered vein, lightly nicking the white skin. The boy looked down smiling. Having pricked his own wrist, Ptolemy pressed the cuts together. ‘It’s done,’ he said. And well done, he thought; some good daimon prompted me. Now they can’t come to me saying, ‘He is only the Queen’s bastard and you’re the king’s, so claim your rights.’
    ‘Come on, brother,’ said the boy. ‘Get up, he’s got his wind now. We can really go.’
    Ê
    The royal stables were built in a broad square of stuccoed brick, with stone pilasters. They were half empty; the King was holding manoeuvres, as he did whenever a new thought about tactics came to him.
    Alexander, on his way to watch, had stopped to see a mare which had just foaled. As he had hoped, no one was about to say she was dangerous at such a time. He slipped in with her, coaxed her, and stroked the foal while her warm nostrils stirred his hair. Presently she nudged him, to say that was enough, and he let them be.
    In the trodden yard, with its smells of horse-piss and straw, leather and wax and liniment, three strange horses had just come in. They were being rubbed-down by foreign grooms in trousers. Their head-stalls, which a stable slave was cleaning, were oddly bedizened; glittering with gold plates, topped with red plumes, and with winged bulls worked on the bit-pieces. They were fine tall horses, powerfully built, not over-ridden; a spare string was being led through.
    The household officer on duty remarked to the horse-master that the barbarians would have a good wait ahead of them, before the King came back.
    ‘Brison’s phalanx,’ said the boy, ‘are all ways still with their sarissas. It takes a long time to learn.’ He was able, so far, to lift up one end of these giant spears. ‘Where are those horses from?’
    ‘All the way from Persia. Envoys from the Great King, to fetch back Artabazos and Menapis.’
    These satraps, after an ill-judged revolt, had fled to Macedon for refuge. King Philip had found them useful; the boy had found them interesting. ‘But they’re guest-friends,’ he said. ‘Father won’t let the Great King have them back to kill them. Tell the men not to wait.’
    ‘No, it’s a pardon, I understand. They can go home free. In any case, envoys are entertained whatever message they carry. It’s the proper thing.’
    ‘Father won’t be back before noon. I think later, because of the Foot Companions. They can’t do close-and-open order yet. Shall I fetch Menapis and Artabazos?’
    ‘No, no, the envoys must have an audience first. Let these barbarians see we know how to do things. Attos, stable all those horses by themselves, it’s always the foreigners bring sickness in.’
    The boy had a good look at the horses and their harness, then stood in thought. Presently he washed his feet at the conduit, looked at his chiton, went in and put on a clean one. He had listened often when people questioned the satraps about