"The stones of the twenty satrapies of Persia are but pebbles! In the land of the Indus the gold is heavy and the gems dazzling! Oka, Great Alexander, the only man destined to be Master of Asia, the only king worthy of ascending to the throne in the heart of the sun, the only hero who will make a vast crown of glory from the treasures of the earth, I shall give you whatever gold you need to raise the greatest army in the world! In exchange for this humble service, you shall carve a route for us, we who transport the colors and savors of life, a route from here right to the sun!"
I found Oibares pleasing: his poetry, his fiery admiration for unknown lands, his passion for life, lent a certain grandeur to his mercenary calculations. I liked his intelligent mind, which had spotted an ally in me. I particularly appreciated the finesse with which he manipulated, offering and submitting before receiving or asking. He had just suggested a deal that would join his interests to my ambitions. Carried forward by Persian soldiers and supported by merchants, I could conquer the entire world.
I lay down my pipe and took off my rings, mounted with the most beautiful stones from the lands I had conquered; then I threw them in the air like trifles. They rolled over toward the Persian pebbles.
"Glaciers are melting, seas are drying out, dragons are turning into diamonds, and one day they will be dust. Worldly riches come and go. Alexander wants celestial riches, the ocean of gold pieces that belongs to whoever reaches the summit! In that place where Alexander is heading the earth trembles, citadels burn down, city walls are breached, roads appear. Alexander builds and destroys fortunes. Those who follow him ride with him toward all that is vast and magnificent."
Oibares looked me in the eye and then burst out laughing. Contaminated by this rush of exuberance, I laughed with him and concluded our unprecedented alliance between East and West, between the power of gold and the strength of the lance.
The merchants busied themselves putting together an army for me. To secure absolute loyalty toward me from Darius's former soldiers, they opened up the succession of heavy bronze doors leading to the fortified chamber suspended between the sky and the earth, where the princess, the hidden pearl, the daughter and granddaughter of Great Kings, was waiting for her liberator.
Her perfume reached me before she appeared; and the rustle of her tunic already filled the room in which I sat. Preceded by two eunuchs and followed by two governesses, she approached with all the confidence and majesty of an imperial daughter. She was tall and slender, with white skin. Her brown hair had been coiled around hot irons and now fell in floating curls about her heavily jeweled headdress. She gave a slight bow and knelt before me. With lowered eyes she waited for me to hold out my hand to her, thereby sealing the union between Persians and Macedonians.
Olympias would have been furious to see me wed a barbarian. Behind the princess Hephaestion, Cassander, and Perdiccas stood like statues, frozen in icy pride, their faces betraying vehement indignation. City dignitaries nervously fluttered their peacock-feather fans, determined to see the end of the Achemenides dynasty. There was palpable impatience in these Babylonians already dreaming of a newborn leader, a legitimate master of both East and West, their future emperor, he who would make Babylon the center of the world.
Mazee, the new regent, gave me a wink, a signal urging me to reach out my hand as a symbol of my acceptance. But this girl of royal blood was a disappointment to me! Kneeling humbly at my feet, she proved to be an insignificant creature, without music or color, a vessel, a simple recipient for the male seed, ready to conceive and give birth. I felt no emotion. The infantile excitement of seeing my dream realized had just come crashing down. She was not the young woman in red waiting for me at the top of a rock. My precious pearl was not here.
Instead of holding out my hand to her, I stiffened and announced:
"Princess, I grant you my protection. You, your mother, and your sisters may keep your titles and privileges from the previous reign. You need be afraid of nothing from now on. May you be venerated like members of my own family!"
Cassander was moved to cough, Hephaestion smiled, Perdic-cas wiped his brow. The Babylonians, disconcerted, withdrew, and the princess followed their lead, returning to her gilded prison. I spent a feverish night, tossing and turning in the vast imperial bed, wondering whether I was condemned to be a king without a queen, a conqueror without an heir. Was this the sacrifice expected of a man spoiled by the gods?
The following morning Oibares asked to speak with me. Unable to insist I take a particular wife, he made me a second and final proposition: to convert me to their religion so that the supreme god, the source of all light and creator of the world, Ahura Mazda, might invest me as the only king over many and the only master of many. A brief presentation of the religion founded by Zarathustra was all I needed. Ahura Mazda, the all-powerful winged god, reminded me of the Demiurge venerated by Aristotle. Without losing any more time, I arranged the ceremony for the following day and dismissed Oibares, still reeling from the speed of my decision.
The incantations grew louder as I stepped into the dark interior of a massive temple, its long aisle lined with fires. The ceremony had to be interrupted for an awkward incident: the magi wanted to shave the middle of my head and make me wear a turban-a barbarian practice that I refused. The procession was suspended, and the debate lasted three days, dividing all of Persia. The future of the empire was saved when one magus found a passage in an ancient text citing a king who had been converted without having his head shaved. Reciting prayers all the while, the priests threw me into a pool and purified me. They dressed me in a scarlet tunic and allowed me to wear a wreath of golden laurels, the crown conferred on me by the Macedonians and Greeks.
The magi consecrated me and gave me the name Akassam, the warrior of fire. They revealed to me a very ancient prediction that foretold the arrival of a warrior from the West. Dressed in red and gold, he would bear the fire of the winged gods all the way to the Far East. Every soldier who followed him and took part in that sacred war would be handsomely rewarded after death. They would live happily in celestial houses, surrounded by women and children.
That evening, in my dreams, I was back on the battlefield. Arrows whistled by; lances flew. I felt the hunger and thirst of combat. The soft cushions, indolent eunuchs, and intoxicating flattery were beginning to soften my mind and relax my muscles. Thirty days had been for Alexander what three years would be for an ordinary man. My time was counted. My life belonged to forced gallops, to the wind, and to unknown lands.
A woman was waiting for me, in a distant land, at the very top of a steep, rugged rock.