Time’s Eye

For all these reasons the best path seemed clear. As the consensus emerged Ruddy was thrilled. “Babylon! By God—where will this adventure not take us?”

The meeting quickly got down to detailed questions of timetables and logistics. The light beyond the tent grew dimmer, circulating servants brought more wine and the assembly slowly grew more raucous.

When they could get away from the Macedonians, Josh, Abdikadir, Ruddy and Bisesa gathered.

Bisesa said, “We’ll have to leave something for Sable and Kolya, in case they ever make it here.” They discussed markers such as big stone arrows on the ground, cairns with messages, even leaving radios for the stranded cosmonauts.

“And are you happy,” said Abdikadir, “that we are throwing in our lot with Alexander and his crew?”

“Yes,” said Ruddy immediately. “Aristotle taught these fellows openness of mind and heart, and a curiosity about the world. Alexander’s journey was as much an exploration as an expedition of conquest—”

“Captain Cook with a fifty-thousand-man army,” Abdikadir mused.

“And surely,” Ruddy said, “it was this very openness that enabled them to accept the customs of unfamiliar peoples—and so to weld an empire that, if not for the untimely death of Alexander, might have endured for centuries, and advanced civilization by a thousand years.”

“But here ,” Josh said, “Alexander isn’t dead …”

Bisesa was aware that Alexander was watching them. He leaned back and murmured something to the eunuch, and she wondered if he had heard what they said.

Ruddy finished, “I can think of no finer legacy than to have established a ‘British Empire’ in Asia and Europe two thousand years or more before its time!”

“But Alexander’s empire,” Josh said, “had nothing to do with democracy or Greek values. He committed atrocities—he burned Persepolis, for instance. He paid for each section of his endless campaign with the loot from the last. And he spent lives like matches—perhaps three quarters of a million, by some estimates.”

“He was a man of his time,” said Ruddy, stern and cynical as if he were twice his age. “What can you expect? In his world, order derived only from empire. Within the empire’s borders you had culture, order, a chance at civilization. Outside there were only barbarians and chaos. There was no other way to run things! And his achievement endured, even if his empire did not. He spread the Greek language from Alexandria to Syria like jam over toast. When the Romans pushed east they found, not barbarians, but Greek-speakers. If not for that Greek legacy, Christianity would have had a hard time spreading out of Judea.”

“Perhaps,” Abdikadir said, grinning. “But, Kipling—I’m not a Christian!”

Captain Grove joined them. “I suspect our business is done,” he said quietly. “I’m jolly pleased we came to such a quick agreement, and it’s remarkable how much we hold in common. I suppose nothing fundamental has changed in two thousand years when it comes to carting an army around the place … But look here: I think the gathering is starting to degenerate a bit. I’ve heard about Alexander and his debaucheries,” he said with a rueful grin, “and much as I’d rather give it a miss I fear it would be politic of me to stick around, and do a little getting-to-know-you with these chaps. Don’t worry; I can handle my wine! My lads will stay on too—but if you want to slip away …”

Bisesa accepted the excuse. Ruddy and Josh agreed to leave too, though Ruddy looked back with envy at the shimmering interior of the royal tent, where a curvaceous young woman dressed only in a floor-length veil was starting to dance.

***

Outside the tent Bisesa found Philip, Alexander’s Greek doctor, waiting for her. Bisesa hastily summoned de Morgan. The factor was half-drunk already, but able to translate.

Philip said, “The King knows you spoke of his death.”

“Ah. I’m sorry.”

“And he wants you to tell him how he will die.”

Bisesa hesitated. “We have a legend. A tale of what happened to him …”

“He will die soon,” Philip breathed.

“Yes. He would have.”

“Where?”

She hesitated again. “Babylon.”

“Then he will die young, like Achilles, his hero. That’s just like Alexander!” Philip glanced back at the King’s tent, where, judging from the noise, the debauch was gathering steam. He looked troubled, but resigned. “Well, it’s no surprise. He drinks as he fights, enough for ten men. And he was nearly killed by an arrow in his lung. I fear he will not allow himself time to recover, but—”

“He won’t listen to his doctor.”

Philip smiled. “Some things never change.”

Bisesa made a quick decision. She dug into her survival pack, under her jumpsuit, and pulled out a plastic sheet of malaria tablets. She showed Philip how to pop the pills out of their bubbles. “Have your King take these,” she said. “Nobody knows for sure how it happened. The truth was obscured, by rumor, conflict and false history. But some believe it will be of the sickness these tablets will prevent.”

Philip frowned. “Why do you give me these?”