لخّصلي

King Philip's recurring dream of a lion emerging from Queen Olympias fueled concerns about their unborn child. Seer Chaeron interpreted this as an omen of a son who would usurp Philip's throne, while Aristander saw it as a prophecy of a powerful, glorious son. Philip, initially wavering in his affection for the wild Olympias, ultimately trusted Aristander's interpretation. Six months later, Olympias gave birth to a son, Alexander, amidst Philip's military victories and a horse race win at the Olympics. Young Alexander, already exhibiting keen intelligence and leadership qualities, befriended soldiers and nobles alike, demonstrating precocious understanding of power dynamics and military strategy. His close companions included Cleitus, Ptolemy, and Hephaestion, foreshadowing his future as a great leader.

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King Philip tossed in his bed. He usually slept well,
but lately his nights had been disturbed by a recurring vision. The same fearful image came and went, but he could never remember the dream once he was awake. If only the gods would send the message more clearly, so that the seers could interpret it and Philip could sleep peacefully again. The king groaned and stretched, turning onto his stomach. A jagged scar ran across his torso, red and puckered against his smooth olive skin.
Queen Olympias slept more soundly. The tangled red strands of her hair lay scattered on the pillows. Her dreams were always vivid. She did not need seers to interpret them; indeed, the queen kept her visions to herself. People whispered that she cast spells and that she placed deadly curses on her enemies. It was well known that she was a high priestess of the god, Dionysus, and led the celebrations in his name; rituals shrouded in mysteries known only to initiated women. Now several months pregnant, Olympias dreamed of the child in her womb. She saw snakes and fire and light, the brilliant white light of the gods.
Philip drifted back to sleep. His mind's eye filled with comforting images: great battles, the cheers of his comrades, delicious victory feasts, and the soothing music of the lyre. Yet, just as he began to snore contentedly, at peace with these familiar and easily forgettable dreams, the disturbing image returned. What was this? He saw a dark night sky illuminated by streaks of

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lightning and heard the roar of thunder. Then there was another kind of roar an animal sound, low, deep, and ferocious. He looked at the stars in the dream sky, and saw a formation resembling a woman. On her stomach there was another design, but he couldn't make it out. He tried to look closer. The roaring grew louder. He looked still closer. Suddenly the image was clear. The woman was his wife, Olympias, and something sprang forth from her, jumping and snarling, all teeth and claws. Just before Philip woke, ice-cold with sweat, he saw the eyes of a lion.

"Clearly, this woman is a danger to you," Chaeron the seer intoned solemnly, a heavy frown of disapproval on his face. "She is a wild Epirote, not even of full Macedonian blood. Although her ancestry is illustrious, her people are backward. They are almost barbarians!"
Chaeron snorted and continued, "King Philip, the gods are unhappy with this union. Do not look to Olympias for an heir. The gods have shown you in your dream that she will only produce a ravenous beast, a man who will try to chase you from the throne so that he himself may rule."
Philip listened to Chaeron carefully. The man was a prejudiced old fool who used his status as seer for political influence, but he did have a gift. The trick was to know when he was bluffing for his own advantage and when he was actually onto something. Philip had loved Olympias when he first met her. He

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had been a guest of his ally, King Alexander of Epirus, when Olympias, the host's sister, had danced for them in honor of Dionysus. Around and around, she had whirled, her red hair streaming like flames from her head, her beautiful, fair skin flushed with exertion.
Like many Macedonians, King Philip had several wives. He had only married the others out of political necessity, to prevent rebellions and bloodshed within his conquered territories. While the union with Olympias cemented his control over the land of Epirus, it was not necessary Philip already dominated Epirus' leaders when he met Olympias. Instead, she was the first woman he married for love. In the past year, however, Philip's affection had waned. Olympias was a wild woman, secretive and quick to make enemies. She kept large venomous snakes as pets and spent her time preparing for superstitious ancient rituals. She often looked at Philip strangely. Whenever they spoke of the child in her womb, she smiled darkly, as if she knew something he didn't. The king could not get close to her. Her true love was reserved for the god Dionysus.
'Perhaps Chaeron is right this time,' Philip thought. 'Perhaps I should cast off this woman and look to another for a son.' Philip stroked his bushy black beard, and turned to Aristander.
"What do you think, Aristander? Is Chaeron correct? What do you think my vision means?"

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Aristander spoke slowly. He was younger than Chaeron,
but he sensed that he had the trust of the king.
"I think that Chaeron reads his own meaning into events. He does not speak for the gods he speaks for himself."
As Chaeron glowered murderously at him, Aristander continued thoughtfully, "I agree with Chaeron that the vision concerns your future child, and that it will be a son. You, my king, are descended from Heracles. The Queen traces her lineage back to Achilles. Why be surprised if the two of you produce a powerful son? The gods have sent you a message: your boy will be as stout and courageous as a lion. His name will be written on the stars, so that people will remember him for all eternity. Do not fear such an omen, for it promises great glory for you and for all of Macedonia." Philip, listening to these words, smiled.
"Thank you, Aristander. You have not failed me yet, and I trust in your words. A toast then to my son, the lion!"
Six months passed. It was now July of the year 356 BCE. Philip had little time to think of Olympias and the expected birth of their child. He was busy supervising his lands. When he had come to power, Macedonia was nothing more than a chaotic alliance of feuding noble clans. The country was full of rich farmland and hardy men and women, but no ruler was able to tap its vast resources because of the endless networks of blood feuds and treachery. Power-hungry men killed their rivals, sons killed

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fathers, and friends betrayed one another for personal gain; such was the history of Macedonia. Philip had learned at an early age that with power came danger; and that to rule, one had to be both just and ruthless. Philip had the qualities of a true leader, and he consolidated his kingship with unmatched charm, intelligence, and courage. The feuding nobles abandoned their petty squabbles to follow Philip, and those that refused were quickly eliminated.
Once in control of his own people, Philip sought to reinforce Macedonia's borders. He reorganized the army into a force of deadly efficiency. It was Philip who introduced the dreaded Macedonian phalanx; a grid of infantrymen who advanced against the enemy in a nearly unstoppable formation. Philip armed the men of his phalanx with sarissas; spears nearly sixteen feet long. The world had never seen such powerfully armed and trained infantry. Next, Philip expanded the ranks of the 'King's Companions.' The Companions, skilled cavalrymen of noble birth, bore down on the enemy on the backs of quick and wiry Macedonian horses. The once great city-states of Greece, now weakened because of their constant internal wars, began to look suspiciously at this rising power in the North, as Philip continued to conquer the warlike tribes surrounding the borders of Macedonia.
Shortly after his conversation with Aristander and Chaeron, Philip left the Macedonian city of Pella to campaign against the city of Potidea. As he besieged Potidea's walls with his soldiers (he was always fighting as bravely as anyone in the thick of the

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battles), Philip worried about his general Parmenio. Parmenio had taken a major section of the army on a campaign against the Illyrians, a fearsome tribe of barbarians who, if successful against Parmenio, could threaten the heart of Macedonia itself.
One night, Philip was sitting in his tent, working on his battle plans, when one of his royal bodyguards entered.
"King Philip," the soldier said, "there are messengers here to see you."
"More than one?" Philip asked, surprised. He had been expecting only one, who would tell him the results of the horse races at the Olympic Games in Greece.
"Yes, sir. There are three. One from Parmenio in Illyria, one from the Games in Greece, and one from Olympias in Pella." "Three messengers at once, eh?" Philip remarked. "That is a sign of either very good or very bad fortune. Bring them in." The first messenger reported a great victory by Parmenio over the Illyrians. Philip was pleased; he had not expected the wily Parmenio to succeed so quickly.
The second message was just as pleasing to Philip: his racehorse had won at the Olympic Games. "That will show them,' Philip thought. The Greeks were reluctant to give any respect to Macedonia. Some even said that the Macedonians were not of the Greek race at all, and that they were little better than uncivilized barbarians. A horse-racing victory at the Olympic Games was very prestigious indeed; perhaps, the Greek citizens would now start to

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admit the significance of Philip's deeds and the greatness of his kingship.
The third message was a more personal one. Olympias had given birth to a healthy child: a son. He was born in the month under the sign of Leo, the sign of the lion, of the heart, and of fire. Philip had decided that if the child were a boy, as the seers had predicted, he would be named Alexander.
Later that night, as Philip drank to his good fortune, he spotted the wise Aristander.
"Well, my friend," Philip said, "you were right about one thing it was a boy."
"I believe I was right about more than that, my king," Aristander boldly replied. "A son whose birth is accompanied by the news of such great successes will be invincible!"
*
Little Alexander had the run of Pella. At five years of age, he was already tagging along behind his father's soldiers as they did their rounds. His ears were keen, and although he did not always understand what the men were talking about, he still picked up an extraordinary amount of information. Sometimes he would tell his mother what he had learned.
"Menes says that Attalus is a good general, but that he is only out for himself, Mother."
Olympias smiled with wonder at this precocious child. As she smoothed his tangled blond mane of hair, she replied, "I am

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always amazed, Alexander, how loose the soldiers are with their tongues around you. They say things that could get them into trouble. Maybe they think you are too young to understand, or maybe it is something in you that makes them want to talk. I imagine that they even respect your opinion!"
Alexander looked his indulgent mother straight in the eyes and said, "Don't laugh at me. Of course, the soldiers respect my opinion. Why else would they talk to me?"
"Alexander, Alexander. You mustn't get so riled up. People will always listen to you and respect you. It is your fortune. They will follow you wherever you go."
"I believe this is so, Mother, but I am not as sure as you.
How do you know?"
"It is in your blood."
"You mean Achilles," Alexander said excitedly, "and Heracles! Their blood is in me. And of course my father. King Philip's blood is valuable to have as well."
Olympias frowned.
"Do not rank Philip's blood with that of the immortals. Achilles and Heracles were both demigods. Achilles' mother was a goddess, and Heracles was the son of Zeus. And although both had mortal blood as well, they became gods through their deeds. So shall you."

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"But, Mother," Alexander said, "I am confused. You are mortal. And King Philip is mortal. So how can I be the son of a god?"
"You will understand in time, my little Achilles," Olympias said, smiling darkly.
"I want to understand now!"
"No, you must wait, Alexander. But remember this: I am your mother, and I will always be there for you. King Philip, on the other hand, may someday try to cast me aside for another wife and you for another heir."
Alexander kissed his mother, then rose to leave. He was confused. Why couldn't his parents just get along? What was his mother hinting at? Which god's blood was in him that he didn't know about?
As time passed, Alexander continued to run wild. He would climb the fortifications of Pella and jump from extraordinary heights. His nurse, Lanica, was driven to exasperation by this boy. He would never sit still when she tried to comb his hair; he would never go to bed on time; and he was never where he was supposed to be. Sometimes, it took the nurse's younger brother, Cleitus, himself an unruly teenager, to get Alexander to listen to her.
Cleitus was large and built like a bull. His eyes and hair were as dark as the night and, combined with his fearsome moods, they earned him the nickname 'Cleitus the Black.'
By age

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seventeen, Cleitus was already an accomplished soldier. He had been on spring and winter campaigns, and distinguished himself in both. Some of the other soldiers joked that it was hard to tell Cleitus from the barbarian tribesmen during battle because he was such a wild fighter. Yet Cleitus always showed affection toward Alexander. He was gentle with him, and would politely say, "Alexander, I know you are having fun talking with us soldiers, but my sister will be in a frenzy looking for you. You are her responsibility. Do me a favor and don't make things too tough for Lanica."
The young prince always respected the words of Cleitus, because Cleitus did not talk down to him. It seemed that many of the other soldiers treated Alexander in this way. They carried on talking in their coarse manner, even when he was present. Ptolemy, a nobleman who was a few years younger than Cleitus, also took a special interest in the boy. Ptolemy loved history, and would spend hours telling Alexander stories about legendary battles and great kings. Alexander would listen carefully, not so much in awe as in admiration. He would rate the different heroes as if they were runners in a race.
"I agree, Ptolemy," Alexander would say, "that Cyrus was one of the greatest kings ever, but he wasn't perfect. If I were Cyrus, I would have ..."
Ptolemy would reply, "I don't know whether you speak blasphemy or prophecy, Alexander, but when you are older you

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will have an opportunity to outdo even the greatest of these men. I will follow you then, even if your goals seem impossible."
"You will be my greatest general, Ptolemy, because you are intelligent and loyal," the prince would declare affectionately.
When Alexander was not spending time with the young soldiers, or in the stable learning about horses, he was with friends his own age. He would play naval games with Nearchus, a Cretan nobleman's son. Perdiccas and Philotas were good competitors; they were almost as fast and agile as Alexander, but not quite.
Alexander wasn't friends only with nobles, however. He spent time with anyone who earned his respect. One of his more unlikely friends was Langarus, an Agrianian tribesman from Thrace. Langarus was held in Macedonia by Philip's order as a kind of guest hostage. Philip had conquered the Agriani and, as was his custom, had taken the son of the tribe's leader to ensure loyalty. Most of the boys in Pella mocked Langarus-they said he was a barbarian, and that his tribe was uncivilized and wore blue war paint. Yet, Alexander admired Langarus' noble bearing. He soon befriended the outcast boy, telling him, "You should feel welcome here. You are my friend. Tell me about your people."
To the boys who jeered at Alexander for spending time with a barbarian, Alexander responded, "He is smarter than you, and stronger. If he is a barbarian, then what does that make you?"
Alexander's closest friend was a tall, handsome boy named Hephaestion. Hephaestion was the only one who could match