A naked woman did hardly shock Captain
Pausanias, who, at twenty-eight, had gone through a dozen
bloody wars in the past and seen so many ugly, nauseating,
mutilated corpses in the battlefields. The flawless nakedness
of a wholesome body, therefore, delighted his eyes. Two naked
healthy women would appear more than refreshing—at least,
pleasing. Three would look like graceful statues in the garden
of a paradise. When he glimpsed at a company of more than
fifty stark-naked nubile women, however, Captain Pausanias
could hardly believe his eyes.
Dumbfounded, Pausanias watched the girls running around the
open ground like male Greek athletes. In their late teens and
early twenties, those women had full, high breasts that bobbed
up and down as each of the girls, at her full strength,
struggled to take the lead.
Alone in
the center stood a curvaceous blonde with firm, shapely
breasts and broad hips that reminded him of those muscular
buttocks of a Thessalian mere. Apparently, this blonde had
ordered those girls to run faster than anybody else.
Soon the woman running at top came to
a stop, followed by the rest. Their entire bodies glittered
with sweat under the scorching sun. Almost forgetting his
pounding heart, he simply gawked at this amazing scene.
“What do you think?”
Captain Pausanias turned to Olympias, wife of
King Philip II of Macedonia and mother of Alexander the Great.
“What do I think?” The captain rolled
his eyes. “Well, this is ... oh, unbelievable! What on earth
are they doing?”
“They were running.”
“Yes, I just saw that, but how come
those girls are all in the nude?”
“Don’t you think, those girls appear quite natural that way?”
“Yes, but …”
“Indecent?” Olympias smirked with a hint of amusement. In her
late thirties, she looked ten years younger for her age. But
her son, Alexander III, had already turned twenty. Captain
Pausanias studied her radiant countenance. Standing by the
gnarled-trunk of an olive tree in the grove, both felt each
other so close in the shade. A whiff of sweet scent of her
skin wafted around and tickled his nostrils. He had an urge to
smell it more deeply, but all of a sudden he felt dizzy.
Captain Pausanias looked up and took
a deep breath. The leaves flashed silvery grey to white as the
dry summer wind rustled the branches.
“Let’s go,” said Olympias.
“Where
to?”
“Of course, over there. We’re
joining the girls.”
“But ...”
“No but’s, just come with me.”
Splashing water to each other, the
girls enjoyed themselves in a stream two hundred yards ahead
of the couple.
Without waiting for
his answer, Olympias took his hand and stepped out of the
shade.
“I … I don’t think that’s a
good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m not supposed to be in the company
of those naked women.”
“Who told you
so?”
“Nobody, but it’s common sense,
I suppose.”
“As a captain of the
royal guards, you are supposed to take my order,” quipped
Olympias.
Between the mountains lay
fertile pockets. Although they made up less than a quarter of
all the lands of Macedonia, their soil appeared rich and
productive. Five miles to the east of Pella (the capital of
Macedonia), this secluded tract of land belonged to the royal
family. The murmuring stream snaked around in the plain—one of
the hottest regions along the Aegean Sea, giving a soothing
and refreshing treat to the sweaty girls.
Though the girls appeared self-conscious at first when
they saw Captain Pausanias, they soon behaved like a bunch of
playful girls, almost ignoring his curious gaze. Sixty-one
stark-naked women swam, chased each other, or splashed water
to one another, making merry.
The
curvaceous leader of the group approached Olympias, who
introduced her to Captain Pausanias.
“Dorgina trains those women.”
The
captain saw the frontal nude of a mature woman for the first
time under sparkling daylight. Her shapely, yet heavy, breasts
and honey-brown curly pubic hair between her muscular thighs
overwhelmed his inquisitive gaze. Swallowing hard, Pausanias
looked into her innocent-looking blue eyes. She didn’t even
show a slightest hint of shyness, simply behaving as if she
stood fully clothed. Her well-suntanned body glittered under
the scorching sun.
“Captain Pausanias
is my confidant. From now on, Dorgina, if I’m away, you can
contact him.”
“Nice meeting you,
Captain.”
“My … my pleasure, Miss
Dorgina.”
She turned around and waded
through the waters to join the jolly girls.
Then, to his surprise, Olympias took off her dress.
“Captain, join with me.”
“Well …”
| Stripping off her
clothes, Olympias stood stark-naked as if to take a
bath. His heart almost jerked up to his throat.
|
Pausanias could hardly look her in the face. Her large areolae
around the grape-like nipples caught his eyes. Watching a
naked wife of the king equaled a sacrilegious act to him. Yet
he couldn’t help it.
“Captain, you’ve
seen a naked woman before, haven’t you? Look at me.”
All of a sudden, like a whooshing
arrow, zoomed up an inverted triangle of fluffy black hair
between her sensual thighs. He could not help but shiver with
a touch of awe, stricken by a whiff of divinity.
“Never mind.” Flicking a pathetic gaze, Olympias
turned around and stepped into the stream. Her well-rounded
hips swayed coquettishly as she splashed into the middle of
the stream.
Macedonia consisted of
two regions—lowlands in the south and highlands in the north.
A great horseshoe of hills and mountains enclosed the fertile
plain along the Thermaic Gulf. The wild clans of the highlands
had ruled the vast areas of Macedonia. Since the early fifth
century B.C., however, the lowland dynasty of the Argeads,
with its capital first at Aegae and, later, down in the plain
at Pella, had controlled Macedonia as a whole.
The Macedonian Royal Palace in Pella boasted the
checkered pebble-mosaic floors, revealing some affluence and
taste, though Greeks considered Macedonians as barbarians.
In the south Mount Olympus—Greece’s
highest mountain—loomed in the haze. In the west the
thickly-wooded Vermion range formed a natural barrier, skirted
by orchards. Nearby the palace lay a vast agora—a public
square and marketplace. In the north loomed the acropolis,
from which navigable marshes extended to the Thermaic Gulf. To
the east, toward the Axius River, sprawled fertile tracts of
land, where grew ‘Mediterranean triad’—wheat for bread, grapes
for wine, and olives whose oil could turn into butter, soap,
and lamp fuel. Among those tracts nestled a secluded paradise
where the naked women who, under the instruction of Dorgina,
stretched out their healthy limbs like playful Aphrodites.
Olympias’s husband—King Philip II of
Macedonia—ascended the throne when his brother Perdiccas III
had died in the battle against the Illyrians in 359 B.C. Two
years later, he had taken Olympias, daughter of the Molossian
King Neoptolemus, as his wife, and she had borne him two
children: Alexander III in 356 B.C. and Cleopatra in the
following year.
Philip, as well as
his father Amyntas III, considered marriage as one of the
useful weapons of the inter-state diplomacy, and utilized
political polygamy to full extent to survive in the savage
struggle for power within the Balkan peninsula. In addition to
Olympias, therefore, Philip had other wives.
In 361 B.C., at twenty-one, Philip first married Phila,
daughter of Derdas—the king of Elimeia. The disunity within
Macedonia had remained a headache of King Amyntas III. Though
King Derdas and King Amyntas III had descended from the same
ancestor Amyntas I—the founder of the Argead Dynasty, Derdas
ruled in Upper Macedonia while Amyntas III took control of
Lower Macedonia. To achieve unity, Amyntas III let his son
marry the daughter of King Derdas. However, Phila had not
given any birth.
Audata-Eurydike, a
daughter of Bardylis, king of the Illyrians, became his wife
in 358 B.C.—a year earlier than the marriage to Olympias—as a
token of peace when Macedonia and Illyria made up after the
battle. Located along the Adriatic Sea to the east of
Macedonia, Illyria housed untamed herdsmen who sold cattle and
slaves for salt. With an olive-hewed complexion, Audata turned
out an obedient, taciturn woman who could hardly charm the
king more than other wives. Nonetheless, she gave birth to a
daughter called Kynna.
In 353 B.C.
Nicesipolis came from Pherae, one of the principal cities of
Thessaly. She grew up in a secluded quarter, surrounded by
apple orchards. Ruled by a succession of blood-thirsty
tyrants, Thessaly had reached the status of a great power. To
avoid useless conflicts, Philip married the daughter of the
tyrant. Though she gave birth to a daughter, Philip treated
Nicesipolis as a hostage rather than a spouse.
Philinna, another wife, came from Larissa in
Thessaly. In 352 B.C. the autocratic regime at Pherae
collapsed and stirred up a chaos. Warlord Aleuadae asked
Philip for support and offered her daughter Philinna as his
consort. Though Philip had already married the daughter of
Aleuadae’s opponent, he accepted the offer, sending a message
to the opponent that he would stay neutral. Nonetheless,
Philinna gave birth to a slow-witted son.
In 339 B.C. Philip married Meda, daughter of the
Thracian king Cothelas, for another political reason. Located
to the east of Macedonia, Thrace had traditionally acted as an
intermediary to deliver some Oriental culture from Asia Minor
to both Macedonia and Greece. In the past centuries two
countries in Asia Minor—Lydia and Phrygia—had become
prosperous and well-cultured. Sardia, the capital of Lydia,
became a clearinghouse for the traffic in goods and ideas—such
as coins and the alphabet—between Mesopotamia and the Greek
cities on the coast. Phrygia’s orgiastic flute music became so
popular that it crossed the Hellespont Straits into Thrace,
and served the rites of Dionysus—the god of wine. Thrace also
passed the cult of the Muses from Asia Minor to Greece.
Well-cultured, Meda became an intelligent companion for
Philip, but unfortunately couldn’t gain his love because she
turned out overbearing.
One evening Philip stepped into the bedchamber
of Olympias, who, sitting in a wicker chair, looked into a
bronze-mirror for her makeup. Though she took a notice of her
husband, Olympias started spreading sweet-scented oil over her
arms and breasts. Her gown slipped down her curvaceous body
and coiled around her feet. Watching her suntanned skin,
Philip frowned, yet appreciated the shapely body line of his
long-wedded wife, who looked younger for her age.
“You went naked in the field again?”
“Yes.”
“With those
girls?”
“Yes. Anything wrong with
that?”
“I told you, the loom is
women’s work. Running around in the field is not definitely
for those girls.”
“Why not?”
“Because those girls are not
warriors. You seem to turn those girls into Amazons.”
Standing up, Olympias applied the oil
onto her belly. Flicking a coy glance at her husband, she
massaged her flat belly in a circle around the navel. Her oily
hand then covered the fluffy patch between her voluptuous
thighs and caressed the fatty mound slowly—up and down—as if
to attract his attention.
Both eyes
met. When she smirked coquettishly, Philip cleared his throat
awkwardly. “I don’t like your idea.”
“Darling, I’m not making warriors out of those girls. I just
want them to become strong and healthy so that they could bear
strong, healthy children. Boys are going to become brave
warriors; girls, strong mothers. Just like in Sparta.”
“Sparta is in the decline.”
“Yes, but their idea is superb.”
“I’ve never told you to train those
girls.”
“They are my girls, not
yours.”
“Olympias, you’re a woman,
and you shouldn’t stick your nose into men’s world.”
“I’m not meddling into your turf. I’m
just helping this country grow much stronger. I’m just a
patriot.”
“Olympias, why don’t you
put on your gown?”
“Don’t you like to
see your wife in the nude?”
“We’re
talking now.”
“So am I.”
“Modesty—that’s what I want you to have.”
“Darling, there’s nothing wrong with
being naked. I feel quite natural and beautiful, this way. In
Sparta, they don’t feel ashamed of nakedness. On the contrary,
they get naked because they’re proud of their healthy bodies.
I want my girls to be proud of their wholesome bodies like
well-to-do Spartan girls.”
The girls
in Sparta, though left to be brought up at home, took part in
vigorous game under supervision of the state. They raced,
wrestled, threw the quoit, and cast the dart so that she could
become strong and healthy for perfect motherhood. She went
naked in public dances and processions, even in the presence
of young men, so that their curious gaze made the girl well
aware of proper care of her body, and she could correct her
defects, if any.
“There’s nothing
shameful in the nakedness of the young women,” said Olympias.
“If modesty is to feel ashamed about nakedness, that’s not
real modesty. No wantonness is attached to nakedness in
Sparta.”
While the girls danced in
the nude, they sang songs of praise for those who had been
brave in war, and heaped contumely upon those who had given
way. The Spartan girl received some education as well.
All in all, the position of woman
appeared better in Sparta than in any other state. The Spartan
women looked bold and strong, and talked to their husbands as
almost equals, and spoke openly even on the most important
subjects. They could inherit and bequeath property. Indeed,
nearly half the real wealth of Sparta belonged to their hands.
The Spartan women lived a life of luxury and liberty at home
while the men bore the brunt of frequent war, and dined on
simple fare in the public mess.
“Listen, Olympias. We are not in Sparta. I hate to tell you
this, but I’m sort of sick and tired of hearing your beloved
Spartan way of life. We have our own customs as well as our
own way to train boys and girls. Look at Alex. He’s brave and
strong.”
“Yes, he is—because he is my
boy.”
“And mine, too.”
Both gazed at each other like a duel.
“Anyway,” said Philip, “I’m not here to argue
with you. Let’s take it easy, shall we?”
Philip stepped over the bed and loosened his robe, then
lifted the bed cover. Philip jerked up, and stepped back.
“What the hell is this?”
| To his utter surprise,
King Philip found a large coiled snake hissing with a
red double-thong-like tongue flickering.
|
“It’s my god.”
“Your god? What god?”
Philip glared at his wife.
“God of
fecundity.” Olympias smirked with a hint of amusement.
“Are you joking or what?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Do you
want me to believe that?”
“Darling,
what do you think it is, then?”
“Obviously, it’s a lousy viper—nothing else.”
“I don’t see any snake in this room.”
“Olympias, don’t be silly. I’m here to make up
with you. You’ve been so jealousy lately. I’d actually like to
be with Meda tonight. On my second thoughts, I came here.”
“Thank you for your consideration.”
Olympias smiled lopsidedly.
“Look! If
this isn’t a joke, then it must be some kind of harassment.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“Then why the heck did you put this critter in your
bed?”
“He’s just returned.”
“Returned?”
“Yes, we made love once.”
“Are you
saying you had sex with this snake?”
“No, not with this snake, but my god.”
“Who’s your god?”
“He’s right
over there. Can’t you see him?”
Philip gawked at his wife. “Are you out of mind or what?”
“Darling, I’m quite serious. One
evening, twenty-one years ago, I saw a snake crawling into my
bedchamber. I hated snakes in my youth. So I was about to call
my servant to get rid of it. Then suddenly a thunderbolt hit
me hard from nowhere. When I came back to my senses, I found a
handsome prince in place of the snake. He said that he was God
of fecundity to make love with me. I asked him why with me?
Then he said, I was the only woman who could give birth to a
boy who would conquer the world once he grew up.”
“What a crappy joke! Do you want me to
believe that?”
“You believe it or
not, it was a fact. I made love with my God.”
“All right. I’ll prove if this goddamn critter
is your god or not.”
“How?”
Then suddenly Philip grabbed the
wicket chair and hit the snake hard with it until it became
separated into several pieces and the bed sheet got smeared
with its blood. Within a minute, her bed turned into a bloody
mess. Disgusted, Olympias grimaced as Philip breathed hard
like a cuckold who just killed his wife’s lover.
Year after year, Philip
had steadily built up his position. Athens appeared hamstrung
by violent in-fighting. He clearly saw that Macedonia’s
centralized, autocratic system of government could prove
immensely advantageous—especially against ill-coordinated,
quarrelsome, anarchic democracies—if exploited to the full by
a strong, ambitious ruler. Having disposed of all potential
rivals to the throne, Philip set about strengthening his
frontiers and acquiring fresh territory, by the mix of
military force and diplomatic double-talk.
By 349 B.C. he had worked out a complex expansionist
policy that put the Greek states on alert. He then set about
the reduction of the Chalcidic peninsula, flanked by the
Thermaic Gulf and the Strimonic Gulf. While the people in
Olynthus, the capital, remained suspicious, the Athenian
orator Demosthenes called imperiously for firm action before
it became too late. His fellow countrymen, however, failed to
agree on sending an expeditionary force to defend the Greek
states, though admiring his impassioned oratory.
In 348 B.C. Olynthus fell to Philip, who further
mopped up some thirty towns around the Chalcidic peninsula.
Two years later, Athens decided to negotiate a peace treaty
with the Macedonian king. Philip stalled the ambassadors,
played them off against each other, and finally gave them a
concordat, the so-called ‘Peace of Philocrates’—so named after
the leader of the Athenian delegation.
As early as 355 B.C. Isocrates, a veteran political
pundit, had urged the Athenians to give up all idea of a
maritime empire, and advised them to join a Pan-Hellenic
League against Persia under Philip’s leadership.
In the autumn of 344 B.C., however, Demosthenes
told his fellow Athenians that Philip would never rest until
he brought Athens to its knees. Hypereides, another orator,
sided with Demosthenes and together formed the party of war,
against which stood Aeschines, a philosopher, and Phocion, a
statesman and general. Persia bribed the war party while
Philip supported the peace party.
Regardlessly, both sides sincerely stood on their own cause.
The Athenians considered Phocion as the most honest statesman,
and had chosen him as
strategos autokrator or
commander-in-chief forty-five times—far surpassing the record
of Pericles. Phocion served ably as a general in many wars,
but spent most of his life in advocating peace. His associate
Aeschines had risen from bitter poverty to a comfortable
wealth. His youth as a teacher and an actor helped him to
become a fluent speaker. Having served with Phocion in several
engagements, he adopted Phocion’s policy of compromising with
Philip instead of making war. When Philip paid him for his
efforts and enthusiasm for peace, Phocion became a devoted
pacifist.
Nonetheless, Philip
advanced his armies, A so-called “Sacred War” over the control
of Delphi gave Philip the excuse to move his forces down into
central Greece. This news caused real panic at Athens and
Thebes, so much so that, despite their long-standing
hostility, they hastily patched up an anti-Macedonian
alliance.
On August 2, 338 B.C.,
Philip came through the Boeotian passes, and two days later
brought the Greeks to battle at Chaeronea. An army hastily
organized, the Athenians marched north to face the phalanxes
of Philip at Chaeronea. Sparta refused to help, but Thebes,
feeling Philip’s fingers at its throat, sent its Sacred Band
to fight beside the Athenians. Every one of its three hundred
Theban members died on that battlefield. The Athenians fought
almost as bravely, but they had waited too long.
Philip had formed a powerful heavy-infantry
phalanx—sixteen ranks deep rather than the normal eight—with
its members equipped with light-weight armor and the terrible
Macedonian pike (
sarissa), which appeared twelve to
thirteen feet in length. He had also built up a corps of elite
shock-troops—the Guards Brigade (
hypaspistae). Philip
had learned most of these innovations from the great
Epaminondas in Thebes, where he had spent several years of his
adolescence as a highly observant hostage. Special units
included light cavalry, javelin-throwers, slingers, and men
firing torsion catapults. First perfected in Thessaly, those
catapults displayed more strength, improved on the catapults
used by Dionysius I of Syracuse.
Overpowered and outmaneuvered, the Greeks broke loose and fled
before the sea of Macedonian lances attacked them like a
tsunami. Demosthenes also fled with them. Alexander, Philip’s
eighteen-year-old son, led the Macedonian cavalry with
reckless courage, and won the honors of a bitter day.
The Macedonian victory became total.
All organized resistance to Philip now collapsed. Chaeronea
spelt the end of city-state freedom. The strong-man solution
had taken over the polis-based democracy.
Unlike most first-class army commanders, however,
Philip turned out a seasoned and subtle politician. As his
many wives indicated, Philip boasted the victories he scored
through diplomacy than those he won on the field of battle.
Philip put to death some of the
anti-Macedonian leaders in Thebes, and set up his loyal men in
the oligarchic power. But he freed the two thousand Athenian
prisoners that he had taken, and sent Alexander and Antipater
to offer peace. The Athenians, who had expected harsher terms,
not only consented, but passed resolutions to welcome Philip
as the new Agamemnon—the supreme commander of the whole Greek
armies.
“It’s ironic, isn’t it?”
said Aristotle.
“Ironic?” Puzzled,
his friend Aeschines looked the philosopher in the eye.
“Yes, the defeat at Chaeronea brought
in a unity that Greece has failed to create for itself.”
“I see.”
One
day, Aeschines visited Aristotle at the Lyceum, a remarkable
college-cum-research center, where he taught his students.
Strolling in a colonnaded walkway, both men stopped, and
looked over the acropolis.
Aristotle
had ties with both Macedonia and Athens. As tutor, he had
taught the young Alexander. In Athens, he headed the Lyceum.
| In 343 B.C. Philip
invited Aristotle, who went up to Pella and taught
Alexander, a then wild lad of thirteen.
|
Three years later, Philip commissioned him to direct the
restoration of Stageirus—a small Greek settlement in
Thrace—destroyed in the war with Olynthus. Aristotle
accomplished the project to the satisfaction of the city,
which set up an annual holiday to commemorate its restoration.
The Peloponnesian War, a devastating
civil war, had proved Athens incapable of organizing the
Greeks. Sparta and Thebes had also failed to establish
hegemony. The wars of the armies and the classes had worn out
the city-states, and left them too weak for defense.
“Under the circumstances,” said
Aristotle, “we, the Greeks, should feel fortunate to find so
reasonable a conqueror.”
“Yes, I
agree with you.”
“King Philip
withdrew his armies and left us some freedom.”
Indeed, Philip watchfully protected the autonomy
of the federated states, lest any one of them, by absorbing
others, should grow strong enough to displace Macedonia.
“However,” said the philosopher with
a sigh, “he’s taken away from the Greeks one great liberty.”
“What is that?”
“The right of revolution.”
Aristotle greeted the news with mixed feelings. Yet in the
last resort the entire intellectual climate, which he and
Plato had helped to create, got along with this new autocratic
rule.
“I personally detest absolute
power,” said Aeschines, “but better than endless wars.”
“I don’t think, there’s anything
wrong with monarchy—let alone absolute power. Of course, as
long as it maintains peace.”
“I don’t
know what went wrong. Our democracy seemed to work in the past
two centuries, but now it appears dead.”
“Nothing’s perfect. The thing is, monarchy works better
at the moment.”
“It’s a pity, isn’t
it? From Solon to Pericles and the great Attic dramatists—all
enjoyed their glory in democratic times. I feel I live in vain
now.”
“Don’t be so pessimistic. It’s
not the end of the world.”
“All
intellectuals suddenly start working for absolutism. I just
can’t turn about like that. I don’t mean to argue with you,
but Macedonia’s warriors seem to me less cultured and inferior
in intelligence. Their uncouth drinking habits and murderous
intrigues all give me a chilly feeling. I can see an ominous
future.”
“Well, we are defeated, but
the things won’t be that bad.”
“Why
not?”
“You see, as long as someone at
the top remains competent, I believe, this system works fine.
King Philip could control those untamed warriors. He is that
type of person. So is Alexander.”
“Probably, King Philip could handle those uncultured men, but
his son—is Prince Alexander really that good?”
“Yes, he is. Alex is quick-witted. He has his
father’s ambition and capacity for organization.”
“But he must have some different traits.”
“Well, the king is a cautious,
patient, often devious man. He’s never struck without careful
planning. Alex is rather a headstrong man who likes to settle
problems by immediate action. Making decisions with great
speed, he takes extraordinary risks, but his sheer force and
drive seems to overcome those risks.”
“The prince must be hot-tempered, then.”
“No, not really. You see, he’s still young. I’d say, as
he grows old, Alex will become like his father. I don’t see
any big problem in his personality. Even his father gets
hot-mad once in a while.”
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