I communicated my distress to Alestria: it was a long time since I had shared the same vision as the Macedonians. My own people thought of deserting the battlefields and returning to their native land even more than the Greeks and Persians. They had not fallen for the exotic fruit or spiced food, the fragrant orchids and soft tunics or the solid shoes that were so much more hygienic. They felt they had fought long enough and accumulated enough wealth. The lure of all the comforts they could now afford weakened their resolve: they no longer wanted to die, they did not want to suffer anymore.

Her hand stroked mine and replied: I shall suffer for you. I shall die for you. I shall follow you to the ends of the earth. Keep advancing toward the sun, do not stop.

How can I send the Macedonians away? I cried without words. They chose me when I was a young king with no glory. They bear the memories of terrible battles on their lacerated skin. They supported me in my rise to power, and fought for my title as King of Asia. Without them I would be simply Alexander, son of Philip.

Do not look to your past, she replied; turn to the future. You are Alexander, and you are also Alestria. Everything that is beautiful in my body and soul, everything that I have lived, the vastness of my native land, the blessings of my millennial ancestors… all these are yours. Enriched by Alestria, you are the most powerful man on earth. I am the happiest woman under the heavens. We shall set out alone, side by side, without armies or slaves, to meet the sun.

I squeezed her hand hard, feeling its rough skin and calluses, its strength and determination-a hand so like my own.

A band of guards suddenly appeared, cutting through the crowd to tell us a group of foreigners had arrived and wanted to present the queen with a gift in private. It was a huge gold-painted box, and I asked for it to be delivered to my tent. Inside it lay a man with delicate features, wearing a blue turban adorned with golden leaves. It was Darius, already dead, a gold-handled dagger in his left breast. His face was drained of blood but artfully made up; his eyes were half closed, and he seemed to be smiling.

One of the men veiled from head to foot presented Alestria with a clay tablet. She inhaled sharply, and I asked her to read the signs engraved on the tablet.

I did not call for Bagoas to confirm the identity of the body; it no longer mattered to me whether Darius was dead or alive. Let him be buried in secret with the honor and ceremony that befits his rank. His poem was intended for me: Alestria had chosen me, I no longer had a rival.

The campfires went out, and dawn broke.

Outside my nuptial tent soldiers busied themselves and horses champed impatiently. I leaped to my feet and eased on my battle dress.

Alestria, I entrust you with my encampment, which will now be called the Queen's City. I leave you the women and children, the laborers and vendors and the ten thousand guards. I am advancing into battle, and you will join me later.

Alestria, my queen, do not cry. We shall see each other in thirty days. Your god will protect me from the arrows of the enemies to my front, and my god will stop the lances thrown by conspirators to my rear. Wait for me, my little rain swallow, my red laurel. I shall return to shower your body with my seed. Our love will come to life, and that life will outlast all the seasons of eternity.

I lifted the door of the tent, and my eunuchs fell to their knees and prostrated themselves on both sides of the red carpet that led to Bucephalus. I jumped into the saddle and turned round one last time.

Alestria was standing outside the tent. She looked so small, weeping in the wind, and the sight of her pained me. She ran over to me, barefoot. To fight the urge to take her in my arms, I turned Bucephalus and kicked him straight into a gallop.

Our horses jostled, our lances clashed, barked orders rang in the air. The barbarian horns announced our departure for a still more difficult war. The morning sun devoured me, and my dazzled eyes saw that succession of armies and cities and peoples. I had freed myself from them to marry a queen without a kingdom. Now I had to tear myself from her to fight other armies and conquer other cities.

Such was my fate.

A hot spring ran through a meadow, and there, sheltered from men's eyes, women bathed, rubbing each other's backs, combing each other's hair, and lying on the banks dotted with flowers I had never seen before. A Persian woman told me they were called orchids: they waved their slender leaves at me and watched me with their petal-eyes. They fussed and hid behind each other, jostling and whispering together. Alestria sat on a flat stone, sadly gazing at her reflection while her serving women poured water over her with golden ladles, and cooled her limbs with fragrant mint leaves.

I knew she was still thinking of Alexander. When she looked at herself in the water, it was him she saw. My queen's sorrow made me suffer, and to distract her, I made a little boat drawn by butterflies. Sitting on its prow, she smiled at last and I, Ania, took up the oars and followed the flow of the source, singing:

Alestria turned a deaf ear as she gazed aimlessly and smiled stupidly at the clouds.

I led her over to an anthill.

"Look at the way they go forward, retreat, turn round, and set off again. Ants have no eyes; they respond only to their queen's thoughts. She hides in her underground palace, directing all of them, just as a soul coordinates the limbs of the body it inhabits. Without their queen ants have no sense of direction, they dare not go out for fear of not finding their way home. They wander through the underground tunnels, getting cold and hungry. If attacked they are incapable of defending themselves and die one after the other."

Alestria said nothing; she was not listening to me. Alexander had taken her ears with him so that he could whisper his incantations of love to her and keep his spell over her from afar.

I dragged Alestria by the hand and showed her some bees gathering pollen from flowers.

"I hate bees!" I cried. "They're thieves and assassins! Drawn by the flower's fragrance, they dance round it, singing it songs and swearing their undying devotion to it. The flower naively opens its petals and welcomes the bee into its heart. The bee kisses the flower until it finds the nectar, but once it has, it flies away. The flower, now pregnant to the bee, bears its fruit and dies of sorrow."