Chapter Text
Pella, 319 BC
“I hate porridge!” declared the child. Roxana was on the brink of losing her patience. She had spent the past hour cajoling little Alexander over his breakfast.
“I know, sweetheart. It’s delicious when you mix it with yogurt and honey; it makes you big and strong!”
“General Kassandros.” announced a servant.
Roxana stood up from her chair to greet the unexpected guests.
“Joy to you, lady Roxana. And you, my King.”
“Joy to you, General Kassandros.” She had met Antipatros’ son only a few times. For some reason she always felt uneasy in his presence. Maybe it was the way he avoided eye contact, or his muffled words which she couldn't understand, or how she felt being watched behind her back.
“Kassandros! Tell Mother porridge is disgusting.” pleaded Alexander.
Kassandros stared at the child and felt nauseous.
Of all of Alexander’s companions from Mieza, he was the only one left behind when Alexander started his Asian campaign. Even the invalid Harpalos got to tag along. And how has that panned out? He thought resentfully. It could have only been Alexander’s spite that had kept him from the glories and riches. Furthermore, he had to live with his father’s constant gripes and scrutiny. That old fool - too loyal to see Alexander’s vices - had not seen it coming when Alexander summoned him to Babylon, all but stripping his power in Greece. Kassandros had to visit Babylon to petition with his old foe on his father's behalf.
He had no idea what to expect. The experience was unpalatable. He hated everything in Babylon - the flattering court, the gaudy decors, the prostrations without a shred of dignity, the ever despicable king who got wasted every night and that fucking funeral. Only a delirious tyrant would deplete the treasury for such vanity! Kassandros could barely hide his loathing, and Alexander knew it. So he received a very kingly strike on the chin one night.
Babylon had come to Macedon now, and he was to serve this half barbarian child.
“My King, I’m afraid my Lady is right. You need to eat to get strong. My lady - is there anything I can be of your service?”
Before Roxana could answer, the child bursted out.
“But I am strong already! Kassandros, I want you to teach me to ride horses!”
Kassandros replied coolly. “You are too young to ride yet, Alexander.”
“Am not! Grandmama gave me this horse and a sword! Look!” The child pointed at a wooden rocking horse in the corner. “They were Father's. I will be a great warrior like him!”
“Of course. But your father was a couple years older when he took up riding.”
“I will be better than him then. Besides, I am the king. You are to do what I ask, are you not?” He tilted his head to the left in defiance.
Kassandros went pale; sweat coming down his forehead on this cold winter morning. The child glared at him; that glare he would never forget.
“Very well, my King. I will make arrangements.” He bowed and stalked out.
***
“Kassandros was here?” Olympias stormed in a few moments later.
“Yes. He hasn't left for long.”
“What did he want?” Olympias steeled herself.
“Nothing particular. He wanted to know if we needed anything.” Roxana became suddenly aware she was being watched.
“Grandmama, Kassandros is to teach me to ride horses!” said Alexander gleefully.
“I see.” frowned Olympias, pacing around the room. “Roxana, Alekos will live with me. Pack up for him. I’ll send servants soon.” It was an order.
“What?” Roxana’s breath caught, “You’re taking him away from me?” Her lips quivered.
Sensing her panic, Olympias softened. “Roxana dear, this isn’t about you, or me. Alekos needs my protection.” She glanced at the boy, who was rocking happily on the wooden horse. “Why do you think Antipatros brought him here? Not to enjoy the Macedonian snow!”
Roxana had no answer. She had not given it much thought; it would have made no difference. Since Alexander’s death many battles had been fought; many had died; many had switched sides; marriage alliances had been made and broken. She had been in custodies of one stranger after another; none had bothered to explain to her. “It’s best for the kings.” she had been simply told. Surely they loved Alexander too much to harm us, she had thought, holding her child tight.
“Antipatros always hated me.” continued Olympias. “He was Philip’s man. He thought I’d poisoned Alexander’s heart against him. The truth is, Alexander asked me to keep an eye on him. I knew when he was plotting behind Alexander’s back; when he asked for more money than needed so he could pocket it himself; when he delayed to send reinforcement because he was an incompetent commander.
“So he hated me. When Alexander listened to me, he hated him too. Roxana, I know it, they killed him! They poisoned him, Kassandros and his brother Iollas!” her body shaking with fury.
Roxana stood stunned. “They could not have …” If they did, it was because Alexander had let them, thought Roxana ruefully.
“Of course they could!” cried Olympias. “He would not have been the first assassinated Macedonian king; or the last. I’ve lived in this court for almost forty years. Nothing is off limits. I have done the unthinkable myself, so Alexander could be king with a clean conscience. I don’t regret it one bit.” her eyes burning with fire.
“I have done the same for my son.” murmured Roxana, shocking herself. She had not thought of Stateira since it had happened.
Olympias looked deeply into Roxana’s eyes. “So you know. All these men - the vultures flying over their prey. They couldn’t wait to turn on each other. I will destroy them. I will avenge my son! I will not let them touch my grandson! Roxana, we are all he has. I will protect him until my last breath. I swear by Alexander’s name. You must trust me!” she clasped Roxana’s hands tightly.
Roxana stared at the older woman and saw her own reflection in the sky blue eyes. She nodded. “I will pack for him.”
“Thank you.” Olympias kissed her and started leaving.
“Mother!”
Olympias paused and raised an eyebrow.
“Alexander did leave words for you - he’d wished for you to raise his son. He said, you’d raised a great king. You would raise another.”
As if struck by a thunderbolt, Olympias crumbled into Roxana’s arms. She had not grieved publicly - they had stolen her son’s body and robbed her the proper lament. She had born all the sorrow stoically, not wishing to show anyone her vulnerability; only every second of her life was lived with the immense pain of a broken heart.
Tears from the past four years were finally pouring out, like a thunderstorm over the Aegean Sea.