I am not the son of Philip, I am the son of a god. Apollo forged me in his divine brazier to make an indestructible warrior of me. Now that its wings have grown, the firebird is ready to fly. It will launch itself toward heights unknown to man, where there are dangers, challenges, and infinity.

Alexander rejected suggested negotiations. Alexander wanted to show the world how determined he was to reign. Alexander repudiated Aristotle, whose talk was of clemency. Rebellious cities would be reconquered with the lance.

Thebes, the ancient white city backed up against the sea, the city of trade and giant sailing ships, Thebes, the home of prophetesses and fallen gods, Thebes waited for us with its gates closed and its ramparts defended by mercenary archers who had run to its aid from neighboring towns. I feigned hesitation, sent messages to Pella, called for the most astute diplomats to begin talks. As I anticipated, in council these traitors could not wait to communicate the good news to the Thebans. I waited twenty-one days for their hope of peace to disarm their vigilance.

The order to attack was given in the middle of a moonless night. The cavalry advanced on horses whose hooves were wrapped in cloth. The infantrymen left their lances behind and marched in silence, saber in hand. It was only when we reached the walls of Thebes that I called for the drum to be sounded. Thebes woke too late. Behind me my soldiers formed great waves that spilled into the city. Swords flashed zigzags in the dark. Arrows whistled. War cries mingled with wailing from the injured. The smell of blood and the thrum of combat made me deaf and blind to danger. I kept on advancing, not noticing those who fell beside me and would never again see the light of day. The gates creaked open noisily and my cavalry streamed in. The Macedonians had orders to pursue any resistance, even into the Thebans' beds. The massacre lasted three days. Street after street, house after house, my soldiers killed, pillaged, and raped. Sword in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, I amused myself slicing and dismembering bodies. I dined while noblemen were grilled alive beneath the steps. Rather than soothing my rage, victory increased it tenfold.

I left Thebes dissatisfied and melancholy, riding at the head of my army, followed by the women and children taken as slaves. Thebes was in flames. Thebes was reduced to columns of black smoke.

Citizens of Greece, listen! There are none more wily than the Thebans. There are no ramparts more impregnable than theirs. There is no history more proud than theirs. Philip conquered them. Alexander destroyed them. Submit now, why wait! The Macedonian king is on his way! His lance brings with it lightning and his sword brings forth fire. When his mount Bucephalus whinnies, the swiftest steeds are paralyzed. Flee! Run! Crawl! Alexander is on his way, for peace or for annihilation!

Ferocity and intransigence are necessities. In order to be feared, a military commander must prove he is not afraid to have men mutilated and put to death. He must sacrifice his peace of mind for his authority. I no longer drank wine until it had been tasted by a slave. I woke in the night believing an assassin had crept into my tent. Philip came to me in my dreams, covered in blood and crawling along the ground, clutching at me with his icy hands. This was my punishment for plotting against my father.

I returned to Pella. With my white tunic, a gold laurel wreath on my forehead, and the royal scepter against my heart, I arrived through the principal gateway, cheered as Philip once was. Olympias took me in her arms. Her woman's perfume erased the ashen faces, the wounds seething with maggots, and the burned corpses. My mother's voice woke me from my nightmares. I noticed olive trees again, and orange blossom, sparkling water in the fountains and the gentle hum of a peaceful life: doves cooing, sparrows scrapping in the trees, bell-ringing carried on the wind, the clinking sounds of masons building a house, the laughter of Macedonians cleaning their linen down by the river.

My wounds scarred over, and I regained my strength. Pella became unbearable to me once again. Rumors circulated through doors and open windows in the palace: the world still thought of me as a bastard, as Olympias's daughter clinging to the tunic of a mother who had murdered her own husband. They said I was under her spell, they whispered that she poisoned anyone who questioned my legitimacy, and they laughed at this weak Alexander who let himself be manipulated by his debauched, scheming mother.

I set off for war again to escape the wagging tongues. Far from Pella I could make use of my mother's devotion. Orders were sent to her in secret: she had to eliminate anyone who contested my actions; she had to continue wreaking my revenge on Philip, silencing those who sang his praises, wiping away every trace of his legend, washing clean the marble floors and columns impregnated with his smell. She had to help me drive him out of my life and erase him from my memory.

Battle after battle, my soldiers grew richer and I accumulated experience as well as maps and books expounding the wonders of this world. The fury of a body streaming with blood and sweat alternated with the chill lucidity of solitary thought, constructing strategies. I was overcome with melancholy as soon as the exultant rage abated. Athens fell without a fight: that metropolis which once teemed with traders, sailors, politicians, and philosophers was now reduced to ruins. The agora was deserted, but the taverns prospered: the poorest boys and girls went there to prostitute themselves and sell their souls.

Sitting at the foot of the Acropolis, I was before the very gates of eternity, looking toward the horizon: the sea, silvery waves, and sailing boats. Socrates had been condemned to poisoning. Plato's republic was now a mere shadow on the walls of a cave. Athens and its ruined palaces, the great city of Thebes that I myself burned down, and Macedonia, a land rich in cereal crops but poor in the arts: these three formed a vast prison locking me in its unhealthy backstreets and decadent ways.

Disguised as a soldier, I loitered around the port of Athens looking for easy pleasures. Boys hovered round me, flashing me looks and tugging at my arm. The most beautiful succeeded in getting me to sit down and share their cheap wine. The sun was setting over the sea and the clouds turning scarlet. Growing steadily more drunk as my frustration grew, I could not find a single face that attracted me, a body that smelled good, a person who could bring me gratification to distract me from my gloom. I turned a street corner and caught the eye of a frightened little boy selling dates under a tree. Inexplicably, my body was inflamed by him. I grabbed him and, despite his pleading and crying, dragged him to the nearest inn and emptied myself into him.

The following morning I left Athens as soon as the sun was up, horrified by the memory of that drunken night, by the little boy's terrified expression-so like Alexander's as a child. I had committed Philip's crime. His soul was distilled in my blood. In death, he lived through me, making a mockery of my pointless rebellion.

I needed greater acts of cruelty, fiercer battles! I had to gallop and climb and throw myself at the highest battlements. Only arrows and the sparking clash of swords, only the cries of dying men and the flames of burning cities, could exorcise my anguish! With Greek cities pacified, the world had become too small to contain my suffering, which prospered more swiftly than my pleasure. I needed new cities, barbarian nations, and unknown lands to deflate my pain.