My poor child. You’re like Achilles; cursed by your greatness. You must never confuse your feelings with your duties, Alexander. A king must make public gestures for the common people. You will be nineteen this summer, and the girls already say you don’t like them, you like Hephastion more. I understand, it’s natural for a young man. But if you go to Asia without leaving a successor you risk all.
Yes. And you would be forty. Old, and wise. Like Parmenion. And Philip’s young son would be twenty. Like you, now. But raised by him. His blood. He will never give you the throne now, Alexander, never.
Three months you have been in Babylon, and leave me at the mercy of your enemies, of which you have many. Antipater: accustomed now to the power that you have given him. I must watch him grow stronger. I am certain that he communicates secretly with Parmenion, who is dangerous. But beware most of all of those closest to you. They are like snakes, and can be turned. Cassander is Antipater’s son. Even Cleitus, your father’s favorite. And Ptolmey. Your friend, yes, but beware of men who think too much. They blind themselves. Only Hephastion do I leave out. But all of them you make rich, while your mother and yourself you leave in generous poverty. Why won’t you ever believe me? It is only a dark mind like mine that can know these secrets of the heart. For they are dark, Alexander. So dark. But in you, the son of Zeus, lies the light of the world. Your companions will be shadows in the underworld when you are a name living forever in history as the most glorious, shining light of youth. Forever young, forever inspiring. Never will there be an Alexander like you, Alexander the Great.
You are everything Phillip was not. He was coarse, you are refined. He was a general, you are a king. He could not rule himself. And you shall rule the world.
Pregnant, so soon? The little whore. He will marry her in the spring, during Dionysus’ festival. And when her first son is born, her sweet Uncle Attalus will convince Phillip to name the boy his successor. And you will be sent on some impossible mission against some barbarous northern tribe, to be mutilated in one more meaningless battle. And I, no longer Queen, will be put to death with your sister and the remaining members of our family.
The only way is to strike. Announce your marriage to a Macedonian, now! Beget a child of pure blood. He would be one of them, not mine. And he would have no choice but to make you king. Eurydice was perfect! If your father, that pig, had not ravaged her first…
You’re right. Forgive me. A mother loves too much.
They are like people. You can love them for years. Feed them, nurture them, but still, they can turn on you.
The world is yours. Take it!
In my womb I carried my avenger!
My little Achilles.
Making himself a thirteenth god! He’s drunk so much wine, my poor Phillip, he’s lost his mind.
Why won’t you ever believe me? Philip did not want you! You had a condition of the breathing and he wanted to leave you in the mountains for the birds to peck out your eyes!
I was never a barbarian as Phillip said. We are of Achilles’ royal blood.
So many wanted it. Greeks, Persians, men, women, I would be shocked if there were not a god or two he had profaned.
If you hesitate, she will strike.
Women are the only ones who know Dionysus.
