Alexander the Great and his Courtesans

Alexander the Great
& his Courtesans
“Where are we going, Mother?”
Taking Alexander’s hand, Olympias smiled like a frolicsome girl. “To your bedchamber.”
“Why?”
“I’ve got some surprise for you.”
When both approached the doorway, the chambermaids opened the heavy wooden doors. As soon as he stepped in, Alexander found the flames of the numerous candles flooding bright light all over as if under the brilliant daylight. Then, he stopped suddenly in a shock, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. Alexander strained his eyes. “Good heavens! I just can’t believe this!”
To his astonishment, a dozen captivating women—all stark-naked—lined up along the back wall.
“Mother, what the heck is this all about?”
Most of the curvaceous women stood like a princess, well-aware of their nudity and yet self-confident about their beauty. Though some appeared timid, they revealed their physical charm naively.
“What do you think?” Olympias smiled amusingly.
“This is just … oh, incredible!” Alexander flicked a sweeping glance at each naked woman, then turned to his mother. “They are all new faces of the Amazon squad, aren’t they? Are they taking a bath in my room or running around as they do during day?”
“They aren’t Amazons. Take a close look, Alex. They are not suntanned like Dorgina’s girls. Can’t you see?”
Unlike the athletic, robust, well-suntanned women Alexander had seen in the field, these women appeared quite feminine. Their skin looked smooth, immaculate, and soft like well-groomed creamy-white velvet.
“What are these girls?”
“They are all from Athens.”
“For what?”
“To see you.”
“To see me? Mother, I’ve never asked you to bring up those women.”
“No, you haven’t, but I’ve chosen these charming women by myself and brought them up here all the way from Athens.”
“Why?”
“The king needs some attendants and companions.”
“I’ve already got enough maids and servants.”
“These girls are different from your maids. They are all educated, trained, and well-mannered.”
“So, they are courtesans.”
“Yes, courtesans of the top-class. Alex, which one do you want to spend the night with?”
“Mother, I don’t think I need any tonight.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got something else to do.”
“C’mon, Alex. Look at those pretty girls. Aren’t they so attractive?”
“Yes, they are.”
“Then, choose one—or maybe two.”
“Mother, I don’t need their company.”
“What’s the matter with you? I’ve brought those girls all the way from Athens—just for you!”
“You’ve just overdone it again!”
“Alex, I know, you’re working on some strategies for the Asian expedition, but you must take a rest from time to time. You just slow down, and take it easy.”
“Yes, yes, yes, … but not tonight.”
“Ah ha, you are a little bit shy, because you’ve seen too many beautiful girls. Let me choose one for you. I know what kind of girl you like.”
Ignorant of his needs completely, Olympias chose one, and drove out the rest of the girls into the antechamber. Just before closing the door, she flicked a knowing gaze at his son, then left the couple alone in his chamber.

When Olympias as well as Alexander's advisers attempted to persuade him to marry and sire a son before his departure for the Orient, the young king flatly refused to consider the request, and remarked curtly that he had no time to celebrate a marriage and await the birth of children.
The child's birth, of course, would not have required Alexander's presence, and his response vexed all of them. In the past Macedonia had seen many civil wars owing to lack of a legitimate heir. His decision to embark for Asia without a royal heir worried his generals—let alone his mother. His apparent lack of interest in women naturally raised questions concerning Alexander's attitude toward women and the nature of his sexuality.
Alexander held women in higher regard than did most of his contemporaries, including the intellectuals of the Greek-speaking world. His tutor Aristotle proclaimed the subordinate role of women in Hellenic culture as ordained by nature: a man's virtue revealed itself through leading; a woman's, through following. The philosopher pointed out with some pride, however, that the Greek, unlike the barbarian, did not treat a woman as if she were a slave. On the contrary, he boasted, Greek men showed a genuine appreciation for a woman's beauty, compliance, and capacity for work.
Though recognizing the Macedonian king's feminine appreciation, many scholars have assumed that Alexander and his lifelong friend Hephaestion were lovers, at least during their younger years. Alexander liked to compare them to Achilles and Patroclus in the Iliad. Since his contemporaries generally assumed that this celebrated Homeric relationship turned out homosexual, Alexander's fancy about Achilles and Patroclus might indicate a similar bond between himself and Hephaestion.
When he became king, everybody expected Alexander to produce an heir to the throne. Any deficiency in this respect became a serious concern to all. Theophrastus, a disciple of Aristotle, had accompanied the philosopher to Macedonia and served as his assistant at Mieza. This disciple came to know that both Olympias and her husband, Philip, expressed concern over their son's indifference to women. His parents therefore arranged a sexual encounter between Alexander and a seductive Thessalian courtesan named Callixeina. Theophrastus wrote in his journal that “Olympias often begged Alexander to have intercourse with Callixeina”—apparently to no avail.
Now back to our story:
The chamber appeared ridiculously bright for just two of them. The woman stood like a statue. Alexander studied her for a short while. Aware of his inquisitive gaze, she stooped over self-consciously. Yet occasionally, she looked at him under her long lashes. Both eyes met.
“What’s your name?”
“Campsaspe, Your Majesty.”
“Campsaspe? Ummm … kind of rare name, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sire.”
“Campsaspe, why don’t you put on something?”
“I don’t have any.”
“No clothes? Where did you take off your clothes, then?”
“In the antechamber, sire.”
“Well, why don’t you step out and get dressed?”
“Yes, I will, sire.” Naked all alone with the king for some time, Campsaspe got relieved. As she trotted over to the door, her shapely buttocks swung as if to invite his caress.
“Oh, Campsaspe.”
“Yes … Your Majesty.” She turned around with her blue eyes wide open.
“Like I said earlier, I don’t need any company tonight. Once you get dressed, you may go back to your room, okay?”
“But …”
“This is my order, understand?”
“Yes, sire.”
With a sigh of relief, Alexander took the last glimpse of her pinkish nipples before she closed the doors.
Shrugging off his shoulders, Alexander stepped over to his bed and sprawled down on his back. Picking up a map from the night table, he unfolded it and held it up over his face.
His thought flew over the river of Thrace in the map. In his imagination, forty thousand men started marching over the bridge. A hundred ships sailed toward the Dardanelles, carrying all the supplies required for the troops.
“In twenty days, we should be able to reach Sestos,” Alexander said to himself. “At Elaious, I’ll pay sacrifice at the tomb of Protesilaus.”
Protesilaus—a Greek hero—set foot on Asian soil in the days of Homer’s Trojan war. Like Protesilaus, Alexander planned to step first on Asia’s shore. He also planned to steer the royal trireme himself. Halfway across, he would slaughter a bull in honor of the sea god Poseidon and then pour libations from a golden cup to the nymphs of the sea. Dressed in full armor, he would move up to the bows, ready to leap onto Asia’s coast.
Suddenly, Alexander sprang up. Stunned, he almost screamed the hell out of his lung. “Campsaspe, how come you’re back?”
“I … I’m very sorry, but Her Majesty told me to return.”
“My mother was still around?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. She told me, I must stay with you tonight. Or else I’ll be …”
Alexander grimaced. Wearing a chiton, Campsaspe looked like a prisoner who stood right in front of an executioner. She even shivered miserably. Alexander could easily imagine how his mother talked her into returning to his bedchamber. Olympias might have threatened her with a capital punishment. Her face had turned pale like a living corpse.
“Just take it easy, Campsaspe. My mother probably told you something awful. I’m pretty sure she didn’t really mean it. Anyway, you can stay with me.”
Relieved, she started sobbing.
“Oh, don’t cry. Maybe, you’ve heard about a terrible story about her killing a young concubine and her baby girl. As long as you stay with me, you’re going to be all right.”
So, Alexander asked her to go to his bed as he sat down at the table to study his map.

The highest excellence of the fourth century B.C. lay not in literature but in philosophy and art. In art, as in politics, the individual liberated himself from the temple, the state, the tradition, and the school.
As patriotic devotion yielded to private loyalties, both painting and sculpture became increasingly secular. Though continuing to adorn public buildings with the representation of gods or noble human types, the painters and sculptors started working on portrayal of living individuals.
Cnidus, Halicarnassus, and Ephesus could patronize art on a national scale because they had not suffered from war. Syracuse also supported art since it had recovered fairly quickly with rich natural resources.
“Apelles of Cos,” said Ptolemy, who had recently returned from the exile, “seemingly surpasses all the other painters.”
“Oh?” Alexander showed interest in his talk.
“Single-handedly, he’s contributed more to painting than all the others together.”
“Is he that good?”
“I think so.”
“Have you see some of his paintings?”
“Yes, I have. Actually, I saw his famous Aphrodite.”
“How does it look?”
“Superb. I wish I could describe its beauty. It’s really worth taking a look at it.”
Learning that his greatest rival, Protogenes, lived in poverty, Apelles sailed for Rhodes to visit him. Protogenes, uninformed, went out of his studio when Apelles came. An old female servant asked Apelles for his name. Apelles replied only by taking a brush and tracing on a panel, with one stroke—an outline of exceeding fineness. Then Apelles left.
When Protogenes came back, the old woman said in an apologetic tone, “Sir, I had a guest while you were away.”
“What’s his name?”
“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t get his name. He only drew a line over there and left.”
“Let me see it.” Protogenes stepped over and saw the outline and noted its delicacy at once. “I know who he was.”
“Do you?”
“Oh, yes. Only Apelles could have drawn that line.”
Then Protogenes drew a still finer line within that of Apelles.
“The next time the stranger shows up, just show this.”
“Are you going out again, sir?”
“Yes, I’m fairly tied up with a dealer. I just can’t afford to wait for him.”
Apelles came back an hour later, marveled at the Protogenes’s skill. He then drew, between the two lines, a third with a touch of grace and excellence.
“Is Master Protogenes back soon?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“Well, I’ll have to sail back to Corinth, then.”
“I’m very sorry.”
Protogenes returned soon afterward, and missed Apelles by only a couple of minutes.
“Sir, the gentleman added another line.”
“Oh, did he?”
Protogenes dashed to the panel and saw it. With a groan, he had to admit that Apelles surpassed him. He rushed to the harbor and welcomed Apelles.
“Apelles used Phryne as a model,” said Ptolemy. “Have you seen Phryne by any chance?”
“No, I’ve never met her.”
“The painting really captured her beauty. To me, the painting appeared more attractive.”
“If he’s that good, I want to send for him. Ptolemy, can you arrange it?”
“Certainly.”

In the spring of 345 B.C., a close Greek friend of Philip’s bought a fine stallion from a Thessalian horse-dealer, and gave it to Philip as a present. Since Philip remained tied up with the campaign against Pleuratos, king of the Illyrians, he left it to the care of a horse-tamer. It shied and reared. Even the well-experienced tamer couldn’t mount it.
At eleven, Alexander showed a keen interest in the wild creature since he had just learned how to ride. Though the tamer told him to stay away from the wild horse, Alexander watched it carefully at the stable. When the tamer brought it out, Alexander also observed it at a distance. Soon he noticed that the wild creature went frantic whenever frightened of his own shadow.
When Philip returned from the battlefield, the tamer told him that the stallion remained too wild to be trained.
“Dad, I can ride it.”
The father gazed at the bookish child. “Son, you’re too small for that critter.”
“No, I’m old enough to ride any horse.”
“But this one is too wild for you.”
“What if I tame it.”
“I’ll give it to you. But I warn you, son. You’ve never mounted a horse like this. If this damned thing goes wild, it’ll throw you off. Worse comes to worst, you’re going to be lamed—even worse, you’re going to be kicked to death. Do you know that?”
“Yes, Dad, I know.” Alexander brazenly challenged his father to let him attempt what the adults couldn’t do.
“Son, it’s dangerous.”
“I know, but I can ride it.”
Philip clearly expressed some annoyance at what he took to be youthful arrogance and made Alexander wager the extraordinary price of the horse against his own boast.
Alexander took the bet. When the boy approached, the bull-like animal stood on its hind legs. Every adult around almost screamed their guts out. Feared—yet determined—Alexander took the rein bravely, then led the horse into the sun to avoid the shadow, soothing the wild animal by stroking its neck reassuringly. He then lightly leaped on to its back, still encouraging its steps, until the wild creature gradually accepted its rider.
Relieved yet amazed, everybody clapped his hands. King Philip even wept for joy and told Alexander, “Son, you must find a kingdom big enough for your ambitions. Macedonia is too small for you.”
Alexander gave it a name—Bucephalus or Ox-head.

When Apelles showed up, Alexander asked him to paint Bucephalus.
“It’s a kind of unique name for a woman, isn’t it?” Smiling gratuitously, the famous painter gazed at the young king.
“It’s not a woman.”
His smile faded away. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Please excuse my presumption. Where is a young man, then?”
“It’s not a young man, either.”
Puzzled, Apelles stared into the solemn-looking king. “Ah … then a child?”
When the king shook his head firmly, his imagination stopped right there.
In the Greek world, homosexuality became so prevalent that everybody took it for granted. A poet addressed his poem to a girlfriend or a boyfriend. So popular were relationships between men and youths, in which the older man played the roles of teacher, protector, friend, and lover with varying emphasis according to each individual case. The Greek men, however, became equally fond of female company. So their world genuinely turned into a bisexual society.
Utterly puzzled, Apelles stared into his client’s eyes. “Your Majesty, who do you want me to paint?”
“My horse.”
“Horse?”
“That’s right. Don’t you like to paint a horse?”
Apelles had a hard time in maintaining his straight face. “Oh, yes, Your Majesty. I can paint anything. I was thinking of …”
“What?”
“Ah … thinking of painting a female figure.”
“Maybe next time.”
So Apelles started painting Bucephalus. After spending many hours, he showed his work to the young king.
“Ummm … looks fine, but I don’t like his face.”
“What’s wrong with its face?”
“I think it’s too long.”
“Yes, but a horse has a long face.”
“I know, but this is too much longer.”
So Apelles reluctantly shortened a little bit. After a couple hours, he presented the corrected panel.
“Your Majesty, I completed it now.”
“That’s good. Let me see it … Ah oh!”
“What is it?”
“His nose. It now looks a bit stubby.”
Grimaced, Apelles took a sigh. “Your Majesty, I don’t like to object your comment, but to me, it looks perfectly all right.”
“Well, to be fair, I want my horse to decide, then.”
Alexander showed the panel to his horse, which took a look at it, then whinnied in high spirits.
“See? Your Majesty’s horse seems to know more about painting than you do.”
“I’ll need a second opinion. Hold on a second.”
After a short while Alexander brought Campsaspe back with him and show it.
“Oh, marvelous! I like that.” With her eyes sparkling, Campsaspe watched both the panel and the horse alternately.
Though flattered by her praise, Apelles appeared rather impressed by her beauty. Suddenly, inspiration flashed across his mind. “Your Majesty, could I paint this lady?”
Alexander gave it a thought, looking at the painter and the courtesan alternately. Then some idea entered into his mind. Alexander grinned. “Sure, Apelles. Do your best to make a masterpiece.”
So, Apelles painted Campsaspe in the nude. As he studied her exquisite figure, Apelles almost fell in love with her. By the time Apelles completed his painting, he had soaked up deeply in love with Campsaspe. Yet so great and lovely was the painting that Alexander gave Campsaspe to the painter as a reward, even without consulting her wishes.
Alexander hung up the portrait in his royal chamber. When Ptolemy came, he showed it to him proudly.
“What do you think?”
“It’s gorgeous! But how come you gave Campsaspe to the painter?”
“Reward.”
“I know, but by painting a portrait of a woman or writing a poem about her, one could possess her. By the time Apelles finished her portrait, she is his. There is no reason why the person herself should be his reward.”
“Yes, I know, but I possess his work now. So, I gave Campsaspe in return.”
Suddenly, the heavy wooden doors opened, and Olympias strode in with her brows knitted.
“Alex, I don’t think you should give any person away as a gift,” said Olympias.
“Why not?”
“Because a person isn’t an object in the first place.”
“Yes, she was—at least during Apelles was painting her. She was conceived of as an object. In that portrait, she becomes objectified. So, it’s quite natural I treat her that way, isn’t it?”
“I thought you were pretty much in love with her. Don’t you miss Campsaspe?”
“No, I don’t. I have that portrait, instead.”
“The damned thing can’t replace Campsaspe.”
“Yes, it can. Mother, have you ever heard of the legend of Pygmalion?”
“No, what is that?”
“He was king of Cyprus, and also pretty good at sculpting. One day he carved an ivory statue of a maiden. The statue appeared so lifelike, he fell in love with her. Impressed, Aphrodite gave a life to the statue, which became a woman called Galatea.”
“That’s just a myth, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but the portrait can be more lifelike than the person, who has many flaws than the perfect picture that is attained only by art.”
“But the portrait can’t have flesh, can it?”
“Yes, it can. One admirer of ‘Aphrodite Anadyomene’ actually fell in love with the goddess. He indeed made love with her. In the morning, another admirer found stains on the portrait.”
“That’s disgusting. Alex, are you making love with this portrait?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Are you out of mind?”
“No, I’m not. On the contrary, I’m quite serious. I’d love to make love with this Campsaspe with eyes.”
“I didn’t know you’re such a pervert.” With a grimace, Olympias turned away, stomping out of the chamber as both men gawked at her wildly swaying hips.
“Alex, tell me how come you gave Campsaspe?”
“I told you.”
“Yes, you did, but that’s not the true reason, isn’t it? You tricked her into believing it. But I’m not taken in by your story.”
“Well … this is between you and me.” Alexander smiled at Ptolemy wanly. “Campsaspe is a nice person. I really mean it, but she’s too active in bed. Once it starts, I can hardly control her. If I stay with her, I’ll be completely exhausted before I hit the road to Asia. I don't like to be a second Enkidu”
Around 2,000 B.C., Gilgamesh, the Assyrian ruler, had a recurring problem. Enkidu, a wild warlord, lived in the desert with his warlike bandits who, led by the barbarian leader, had harassed Assyria for quite some time. Gilgamesh desperately wanted to subdue the wild hero Enkidu. One day, therefore, he sent a captivating courtesan to reduce his enemy’s strength.
Naturally, this charming woman captivated the heart of the wild beast at once. The ‘Epic of Gilgamesh’ described how Enkidu lost his power.

If you're interested in the epic, please read my article: “The Oldest Erotic Literature, or How Woman Lost Her Equality.

After dinner, when Alexander leafed through the book about Gilgamesh, he heard somebody knocking at the door. He had instructed the guards not to bother him at this late hour. Annoyed, he stood up and strode over to the door. When he opened the doors, however, Alexander saw an attractive lady who stood like an Aphrodite clad only in a sheer veil. Though he wanted to shout at the intruder a little while ago, Alexander now lost his words, studying her from head to toe as if to come across with the lady of pleasure from the Epic of Gilgamesh.
Taking a deep sigh, Alexander stared into her captivating blue eyes. “So, my mother sent you here, didn’t she?”
The lady nodded, smiling wanly.
“Listen, I don’t want to be another Enkidu.”
Puzzled, the lady gazed at the young king.
“Anyway, come on in.” Alexander let her in and led her to his desk. “Just read this.”
The lady sat down in a chair and read it while his eyes traced her shapely body line.
“You must be one of those twelve women. What’s your name?”
“Thais.”
“Listen, Thais. I don’t mean to be rude, but you have to return to your room.”
“Sorry, Your Majesty, … but your mother told me to stay with you for the rest of the night. Otherwise, I’ll be …” Stooping over, Thais started trembling.
Frowned, Alexander watched the lady with a mixed feeling of sympathy and hopelessness. “Just take it easy. You can stay.” Then he soothed her, tapping on her shoulder. “But I won’t sleep with you. Tomorrow morning, make sure, you tell my mother—you slept with me, all right?”
Relieved, Thais nodded.
“You see, I’m troubled by Mother. She’s preoccupied by the idea of having me sleep with you and your friends. But I’m not a stallion. As soon as Campsaspe is gone, you’re now here with me. It looks like my mother's pimping is never-ending.”
“Your Majesty, I’ve got some ideas to solve your problem.”
“Oh?”
“Why don’t you show this epic to your mother?”
“Well, that’s a good idea, but I don’t think it will change her mind.”
“Then why don’t you assign each one of us to your friends?”
“Probably, she’ll bring in another dozen from Athens.”
“Then, there’s the last resort.” Thais smiled like a self-conscious adolescent.
“What is it?”
“I think, I can give birth to your heir.”
Alexander smiled amusingly. “You’re smart. I like that, but no thanks. Campsaspe tried hard, and I’m exhausted.”
Alexander asked her to go to bed, then sat down to study his map. Though he didn’t know whether or not Gilgamesh actually existed sixteen hundred years ago, he learned that the Empire of Assyria had once stretched out from Mesopotamia to Egypt some three hundred years ago. The ambitious ruler at the time might have been a distant descendant of Gilgamesh.
Once he conquered Asia Minor, Alexander also wanted to advance into Mesopotamia, and to see what Assyria looked like. Thinking of possible battles in a vast unknown land, he traced unfamiliar places on his map—Antioch, Aleppo, Tyre, Damascus, Thapsacus, Carrhae, Arbela, Kirkuk, Opis …
“It’s Babylon, isn’t it?”
Alexander turned around. Standing behind him, Thais watched the map over his shoulder.
“Yes, that’s right. Have you been there?”
“No, but I once had a friend from Babylon.”

Every woman in Babylon, at least once in her life, had to sit down openly in the Temple of Aphrodite and to offer herself to some stranger.
The wealthy women, who detested to expose themselves in public, came in covered chariots to the gates of the temple, and waited there for a stranger with a bevy of servants attending at a distance. Most of the women, however, entered into the temple, sitting down crowned with garlands. Once a woman had settled down, she must not return home, till some stranger threw a piece of silver into her lap, and had sex with her at some distance from the temple. The law forbade any woman to refuse the first offer. Those women who excelled in beauty wouldn’t have to wait for long.
“What if,” asked Alexander, “the woman is ugly or deformed?”
“Then, she’ll have to wait for several weeks—sometimes three or four years before she fulfills her duty.”
“No kidding!”
“That was the law.”
“How did it all happen that way?”
In primitive communities, religious checks and sanctions governed every aspect of life. This also applied to sex life, which—if uncontrolled—could cause so much social disruption. So the ruler placed the sex life of his subjects under strict regulations designed to set up a workable balance between what people wanted to do as individuals and what they had to do as members of the community. Accordingly, the ruler had to take into consideration two most important aspects in the life of the community—fertility and defloration.
“For four days before they plant the seed to the earth,” said Thais, “the husbands in Arbela remained separated from their wives.”
“Why?”
“Because those husbands want to indulge their passions to the fullest extent on the night right before planting.”
“To assure their good harvest?”
“Yes, a village chief nearby even appoints a couple to perform their lovemaking at the very moment when the the village deposit the first seeds in the ground.”
“Interesting!”
“When the bloom will soon be on the wheat, the husband and his wife visit their fields by night and make love.”
“To promote the growth?”
Thais nodded with a hint of amusement.
Those fertility rites became communal functions in which the individuals acted for the common cause. Defloration, on the contrary, became an event in individual life. So crucial and irreversible was the act of deflowering a virgin that the responsibility had become more than the bridegroom could bear. Therefore, the elders came up with an idea to spread the burden. Among some of the remote villagers in Assyria, it became customary for the virgin bride to lie down on a platform while the men of the tribe formed a line, singing and dancing, each in turn copulating with her and hence accepting a share of the burden.
In some villages, a priest or village chief retained the right to sleep with every newly-wed bride in his domain. Divinely appointed, he took the full weight of the responsibility on his shoulders and accordingly spared his subjects entirely. Taurus, one of the ancient Assyrian kings, pierced the maidenhead of every virgin in his kingdom.
“Then a sage came up with an even better idea,” said Thais, “Why risk your fellow tribesmen? Why endanger your king? A stranger could do the job. He is not subject to your gods. Even when something goes wrong, he may escape unscathed from the ordeal. In any case, his fate is no concern of yours. So the villagers welcome a stranger to the virgin’s bed.”
“That’s how the women in Babylon sit down at the temple for a stranger?” asked Alexander.
“Yes.”
“Are they all virgins?”
“Yes, originally, but now it seems to have turned into a kind of religious rite—like a pilgrimage. Women sit for a stranger at least once in her life.”
“What if a woman sits for many strangers?”
“The money goes to the temple as an offering—unless she cheats.”
“So, the next step would be the professional sitters, I suppose,” said Alexander.
“Yes, sire, some girls serve those strangers on behalf of the remainder, just as the priests performed their functions as representatives of the community as a whole. Towns or villages recruit girls on a permanent basis. Those girls become the brides of the deity, renouncing earthly husbands. And now virginity has become purely symbolic.”
“So that’s how temple prostitutes came into being, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Quite interesting. Well, Thais, it’s getting late. Let’s go to bed.”
Led by Alexander, Thais, clad only in a sheer veil, stepped over to the royal bed. Both stood face to face across the four-post bed. Smiling like a newly-wed bride, Thais took off her veil, and lied down between the sheets. After a hesitation, Alexander stripped himself, and slid down beside her. Both stared at the ceiling. An awkward silence soon filled the chamber.
“Your Majesty …” Thais turned to the young king.
“What?” Alexander looked into her imploring eyes.
“I wonder if you want me to stay like this from now on.”
“Well … I’d love to have your company, but I’d rather stay alone.”
“Am I talking too much?”
“No, you aren’t. Don’t get me wrong, Thais. I like you. The thing is, I don’t want any distraction. I must concentrate on the plan of my expedition to Asia.”
“What am I supposed to do, then? I was instructed to sleep with you.”
“Listen, Thais. Don’t worry about my mother. I’ll introduce you to Ptolemy. He is a nice chap.”
“What is he?”
“Ptolemy is a close friend of mine. And he is a history buff. I think, you two are getting along pretty well.”
With a sigh, Thais looked up at the ceiling. Though tempted to get closer to her, Alexander turned away from Thais and closed his eyes. His inner voice told him, “Stay away from her, Alex. You shouldn't act like Enkidu.”