During some festivities in which they were all inebriated, singing and dancing competitions were held.
A drunken Alexander watched proudly as Bagoas won both.
He liked to think he saw jealousy on the face of Hephaestion.
Then Bagoas' lithe body danced all the way to Alexander's side, at which point the men clapped and whistled and catcalled.
"Kiss him," they called, laughing.
Bagoas looked at him with such loving and hopeful eyes that Alexander's heart soared in his chest.
One of his greatest accomplishments, he felt, was restoring happiness to Bagoas' life. He took the boy's face tenderly in his hands and lavished his lips with kisses.
When the boy responded eagerly, Alexander wrapped his arms around him and continued administering the tender kisses, his heart swelling with affection and joy. He wanted to kiss and hold him until he could right all the wrongs the boy had been dealt, or at least make Bagoas forget them.
"Make sure you put this in your memoirs, Ptolemy," Craterus sniggered, eyeing Hephaestion.
Hephaestion looked on, his expression inscrutable.
Alexander had taken to wearing the white Persian robe, diadem, and sash. He dressed his companions in purple-bordered cloaks and his horses in Persian harnesses. Hephaestion was in charge of his business with the so-called barbarians, while Craterus held fast to the native Greek and Macedonian ways and criticized Alexander for adopting the oriental lifestyle. Alexander did not disconsider Craterus, for he often said that "Hephaestion is a friend of Alexander, but Craterus was a friend of the king."
When Alexander kissed Bagoas, however, Cleitus looked on in disgust.
"A toast to Bagoas," he proposed scornfully, "and to the thirty thousand beautiful Persian boys we're training to fight in this great army. And to the memory of Philip, had he lived to see his Macedonians transformed into such a pretty army." His sarcasm was heavy.
When the barbarians started groveling and kneeling before Alexander, he had enough.
"If I ever kneel down like that to any man, Crateros, kill me," Cleitus spat later on in the evening.
Hephaestion suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
"Have another drink, Cleitus," he implored the already drunken man.
Cleitus scoffed.
"Shouldn't you be bowing to the king?"
Hephaesion flushed, falling silent.
Alexander intervened then, trying to diffuse the situation. But Cleitus shot back that he refused to be a sycophant, like Hephaestion. Alexander felt anger rise like a volcano inside him. This man who attacked him now attacked Hephaestion.
"How can you, so young, compare yourself to Heracles," Cleitus demanded of the king.
"Why not?" Alexander retorted. "I've achieved more in my years. Traveled as far. Probably farther."
"Heracles did it by himself! Did you conquer Asia by yourself, Alexander? I mean, who planned the Asian invasion when you were still being spanked on your bottom by my sister? Was it not your father? Or is his blood no longer good enough?"
Alexander stiffened.
"You insult me, Cleitus. You mock my family, be careful."
"Never would your father take barbarians as friends or ask us to fight with them as equals in war. Are we not good enough any longer? I remember a time when we could talk as men, straight to the eye, none of this scraping and groveling. I remember a time when we hunted, when we wrestled on the gymnasium floor. And now you kiss them? Take a barbarian, childless wife, and dare call her Queen?"
"Go quickly, Cleitus, before you ruin your life..."
"Doesn't your great pride fear the gods any longer? This army's your blood, boy! Without it you're nothing!"
Alexander snapped.
"You no longer serve the purpose of this march! Get him from my sight!"
"What was I serving but to save your puppy life at Gaugamela? What if I left you to die in the dust?"
Alexander would have run him through then and there had Hephaestion not rushed forward to hold him back.
"Alexander..." Hephaestion tried. "Alexander!"
"Arrest him for treason!" Stricken by terror, he surveyed the men. How many of them agreed with Cleitus? "Who's with him? I call father Zeus to witness! I call you to trial before him! And we'll see how deep this conspiracy cuts!"
Hephaestion, realizing with a sinking heart that Alexander could not be controlled, appealed to the men.
"In the name of the gods, get him out of here!"
They rushed forward to do so.
Cleitus scoffed.
"Now look at you! Great Alexander! Hiding behind his guards! Are you too great to remember whose life was saved by me? I am more man than you'll ever be!"
Cleitus was dragged out of the room.
"He's gone," Hephaestion soothed the king. "He's gone, Alexander, gone!" The king, however, would not be consoled. "Alexander!"
Cleitus broke free and burst through the doors, confronting Alexander once more.
"What a tyrant you are! Evil tyrant you've become, Alexander. You speak about plots against you? What about poor Parmenion? He served you well! Look how you repaid him! Have you no shame?"
"You ungrateful wretch! No one, not my finest enemy has spoken like you to me!"
Hephaestion was growing frantic.
"Please, Alexander... No!"
Alexander had stabbed Cleitus with his spear.
***
For three days, Alexander grieved over his murder of Cleitus. He would see and speak to no one, apart from Hephaestion and Bagoas, who attended him.
"Let me pass," Roxana snapped at the guards. "I am the Queen!"
Hephaestion heard commotion in the outer tent and emerged to intercept her.
"I want to see him! I've waited three days!"
"He says none. Not even you."
"He needs me," Roxana insisted indignantly.
Hephaestion would not budge.
"No," Hephaestion seethed with undisguised contempt. "He doesn't."
Roxana scoffed, crowding him. The challenge in her eyes was blatant.
"And he needs you?"
Hephaestion's jaw clenched. If Roxana were the king's only bedmate, she would've born him a child by now. But, as it was, she remained childless, and she knew why. Hephaestion exulted dearly over this.
"Hephaestion, you make a mistake," Cassander called.
Turning, Hephaestion left them and re-entered Alexander's tent.
"The army grows restless, questioning," he told the king. "Alexander, they need your reassurance."
Alexander whimpered as Bagoas wiped his tearstained face.
"Like an old lover they forgive, but they will never forget," he lamented.
"He was an ageing drunk!" Hephaestion tried to console Alexander, and perhaps himself.
"He was my friend."
Alexander mourned aloud for the sister of Cleitus, his childhood nurse Lanike. How could he ever face her again?
Hephaestion resolved to be strong, refusing to let even his lip quiver.
"You know better that any great deeds are donned by men who took, and never regretted," he breathed resolutely. "You're Alexander! Pity and grief will only destroy you."
He stroked the side of Alexander's face.
"Have I become so arrogant that I am blind?" Alexander looked at him despairingly.
Hephaestion's heart seized.
"Sometimes," he replied at length, "to expect the best from everyone is arrogance."
"Then Cleitus spoke true," Alexander wailed. "I have become a tyrant!"
Just as Achilles was tender toward Patroclus but callous and arrogant toward others, Alexander knew that Hephaestion benefited from his special brand of affection. And yet, even Hephaestion admitted that he was arrogant.
"No!" Hephaestion denied it. "But perhaps a stranger. We've come too far. They don't understand you anymore."
"They speak of Phillip now as if I were a passing cloud, soon to be forgotten. I've failed. Utterly."
"You're mortal. And they know it. And they forgive you because you make them proud of themselves."
***
When they finally reached Susa, Alexander was thirty-two years of age. He remembered how the city had burned the last time he was here. They would camp here temporarily, before returning to Persia.
Hephaestion was decorated by the king for his bravery. He had long been the de facto second-in-command, both politically and militarily. But Alexander now made it official by naming him Chiliarch. Despite some believing that "Hephaestion's status was due to his status in Alexander's bed," his brilliance was uncontested.
Alexander then attempted to reconcile the Persians and Macednians within his troops. To this end, he arranged a mass marriage between his senior officers to Persian women. For himself, he chose Darius' daughter, Stateira who was also known as Barsine, as well Parysatis, her cousin. Both had been captured after Darius' defeat at Issus nine years prior, and had been treated well.
To Hephaestion he gave as wife Stateira's sister, Drypetis.
"I hope you know that no one will ever hold my heart like you do," Hephaestion told Alexander bitterly.
Alexander smiled and stroked his face affectionately.
"Imagine if we could have children of our own, Hephaestion. Imagine if that were possible."
"Oh, what children they would be," Hephaestion conceded.
"But see, this way, our offspring may unite our lines." Alexander revealed his plan. "The crown of Macedon and Persia would then be worn by a descendant of us both." Alexander touched his forehead to Hephaestion's. "I want to be uncle to your children, if I cannot be their father."
At the ceremony, Alexander and Stateira sat centre-stage, and Hephaestion and Drypetis sat to their right.
The king had brought Hephaestion into the royal family.
Hephaestion understood that this was be the closest substitute they could have to marriage.
But Alexander did not consummate his marriage that night, and neither did Hephaestion. Instead, Alexander had Hephaestion join him in his tent, and gave strict orders to the guards stationed outside his tent that no one else was to enter.
"I love you," he breathed, drawing Hephaestion close. "No other." Their mouths slanted eagerly together. The kiss was fervent, Alexander's blood hot with passion.
How could such a battle-hardened warrior be so supple and pliant, Alexander wondered. Hephaestion's body was muscled and scarred but at the same time smooth and soft beneath Alexander's roaming hands.
When he had slowly, sensually, stripped Hephaestion of his clothes, Alexander drew him onto his lap and wrapped his arms around his back. He wanted to see his face, to kiss him. He alternated between folding Hephaestion in his arms and stroking his thighs.
Diogenes' words came back to him when those thighs pinned him to the bed.
"...for you are held fast by Hephaistion's thighs."
Wetting his fingers with oil, Alexander began to lovingly prepare Hephaestion, kissing him all the while.
Not wanting to hurt him, he let Hephaestion lower himself at his own pace.
Hephaestion's mouth fell open, his bronze skin slick with sweat and his fingers digging fiercely into Alexander's shoulder.
He let out a groan of sheer longing when the worst pain was over.
Alexander looked up at him with starry eyes.
"You are the first and the last," he whispered, for he knew no one intimately before Hephaestion and would know no one after him. Hephaestion was his childhood love.
He buried his face in Hephaestion's breast and kissed the hot, salty skin.
Hephaestion pushed him onto his back, his hair falling around Alexander's face.
Their pace grew frantic. Alexander rolled them over, drawing Hephaestion's legs up to his sides.
"I love you."
He pronounced each syllable carefully. I, king Alexander, great conquerer. Love, wholeheartedly, unabashedly, more than anything, including life itself. You, Hephaestion, most faithful and trusted companion since the flower youth.
"And I love you," returned Hephaestion with impassioned reverence.
Hephaestion's face nearly drew Alexander to tears it was so beautifully contorted with pleasure.
When he had kissed every part of Hephaestion he could reach, Alexander eased himself gently from Hephaestion's body and turned him onto his belly.
He continued his expedition, kissing all over Hephaestion's back.
His skin was smooth and soft, his hair long; he certainly looked the part of a gorgeous bride.
Alexander nestled his lips in the crook of Hephaestion's shoulder.
"You are the most beautiful of all men and women in the world," Alexander breathed against his neck.
Hephaestion chuckled breathily.
"This I suppose you would know." Hephaestion shuddered beneath him, goosebumps appearing on his skin.
Alexander took him in hand, slow and languid. He did not wish to rush. When the pleasure became insurmountable, Alexander fell over Hephaestion's body and stuttered his name, spilling his love inside him. Hephaestion could not suppress the scream that tore from his lips when he followed his king, pressing his teeth into Alexander's forearm.
They lay, panting and entwining, while the sweat cooled on their bodies. It was a long time before either moved. Their fingers unfurled, and Alexander released his iron grip on Hephaestion's hand.
He kissed over his body, worshipping.
When he came to Hephaestion's hips, he pulled those strong legs around his neck and swooped down to take him in his mouth.
Alexander knew that Hephaestion cried loudly in the throes of passion. But he was not prepared for what he saw when he drew back the flaps of the tent.
The sight of not only Ptolemy staring back at him, but what appeared to be the entire army, froze Alexander in his step. Hephaestion came up behind him, and was also rooted to the spot.
He flinched when Ptolemy stepped forward and raised his spear, but the general's words surprised him.
"To Alexander and Hephaestion," he yelled.
"To Alexander and Hephaestion," the men roared, like a battle cry.
Like a ripple over water, first the men in the front began to kneel and then gradually the rest of the men did the same. The multitude was like a sea, stretched before the two men.
Hephaestion buried his face against Alexander's breast while the king held him.
His heart clogging his throat, Alexander looked on in amazement as the men offered themselves up not only to him, but to Alexander's lover.