Free Empire of Ashes: A Novel of Alexander the Great by Nicholas Nicastro

his own exile. Does this feel like the same city you left, Aeschines? Be honest! I understand that the hegemony of Alexander is not remembered as a time of glory here, but of hunger, of shortage. Yet how quickly some are willing to overlook the misery caused by his wars! Early in your statement, you said something about Alexander’s good looks making slaves of men. I agree with you that slaves were made in Athens—I’m just not sure it was his beauty that did the trick.
    I will pass over in silence the bulk of my opponent’s calumnies, except to say that, his sensibilities notwithstanding, my mother was indeed a freedwoman, and my father’s love for her was not a farce. Of wild parties and whipping boys, he lets me off easily, as he presents not the slightest shred of evidence. Not that he has ever let that small problem get in the way of a rousing argument! Such lies are therefore nothing to me—the wise man, as they say, is content to let asses bray. I trust members of the jury have been around this barnyard enough to know where to step.
    As I see it, all that matters are the charges. Aeschines and his sponsors accuse me of impiety, because they have gotten wind of some alleged acts of mine in the east that suggest that I treated Alexander like a man, not a god. They also charge me with violating my oath to the Assembly, because I pledged to help Alexander, and he ended up…well…closer to the gods than when he began. Imagine that, a soldier dying on campaign!
    More laughter—and more nervous shuffling by Polycleitus and the Macedonians. Aeschines, for his part, was drawing his cloak around himself like a tortoise taking to his shell.
    In any case, Aeschines says that I must either confess to malice, or to incompetence. But he forgets a third alternative—failure in good faith. Yes, I did fail to flatter Alexander’s pretensions to divinity! And yes, I did fail to save him from the consequences of his own contradictions! If these be actionable crimes, then I accept my guilt without further contest. But I would also point out that if simple failure were grounds for prosecution of our magistrates, then courts like this would never adjourn!
    Now the jury was expecting Machon to be funny, erupting before he could finish his punchlines. Polycleitus made a flicking gesture at the clerk, who banged the floor with his staff until order was restored.
    “The defendant is directed to refrain from mocking these proceedings. This is not a burlesque!”
    My apologies. I also ask the jury to forgive me, for I get ahead of myself. My point is only that my conduct was appropriate to the circumstances of the campaign, and that I did serve the King in the best way I could. Athens need not fear for her particular honor, for in those times there was dishonor enough to go around for all. But to show this I must tell you what really happened on campaign with Alexander. Some of you will be surprised at what you will hear of this; most likely you have never heard the truth, and never will again, for my history is not as felicitous as that of poor Callisthenes, or of the other second-rate scribblers who have sprouted from the gore and ash Alexander spread from here to India. Aeschines complains that I have not published anything of my time in Asia. Far be it for me to disappoint him!
    My story begins at Chaeronea. Like many of you, I travelled to the battle with all the joy of a groom about see his bride unwrapped. To have all the tension of those years, all the uncertainty in our confrontation with Macedon, suddenly cast aside, filled all of us with a love for our city that was all-sustaining. Patriotism, we believed, would be our food on the march—and for dessert, victory! Recall the sight: twenty thousand Athenians in the rusty armor of their grandfathers. Hayseeds and city boys streaming into the crossroads, greeting each other like reunited kin. The old men mustered for the last time, with steely gaze and hands trembling on the