Kelsey’s Secret

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short story

KELSEY’S SECRET

I have no recollection of the accident, not even one of those fragmented pieces of memory that surges suddenly out of a half-sleep with glimpses of tumbling sky or shiny asphalt.

My three children were at home with their baby sitter and I was on my way to the city to see a play. I was going to meet my husband at his office. All that I can remember clearly. Then, mysteriously, darkness falls over my mind and the next thing I know I’m staring at an open window.

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Faramir’s Daughter ~ Chapter 7

We arrived at the gates of the southern lands, and the king had sent an escort for us. There was still another week of travel, across a desert, so the escort was welcome. They had brought their traditional tents and food, and music. At night, when we camped, the torches were lit and the musicians played. The first night I didn’t pay much attention. I was numbed by the fact that we’d reached the last part of the voyage and my fate was rushing up towards me like a hurricane. I fell asleep in one of the new tents, on the softest mattress I’d ever laid upon, and my dreams were colored by the strange music.

The next day, I felt better. The king had sent horses, and one of them was a gift to me. Nothing pleased me as much as a good horse, and this one was equal to the very best my mother’s tribe bred. Smaller and narrower than the mountain horses, it was the most beautiful creature I’d ever seen. At first, I’d taken it for a white deer as it pranced up to me, led by a groom. It had huge eyes, its muzzle was so small it could drink from my bowl, and its ears were curved in, giving it an inquisitive look. Its neck was arched like a swan, and its tail was held high as a streaming flag.

“What is her name?” I asked the groom.

“She is yours, so you must give her a name,” he replied in his language. A translator stood by my side at all times now, so I could communicate.

“What is your word for gift?” I asked.

“Ladi.”

“And for precious?”

“Keem.”

“I’ll call her Keemladi,” I said, stroking her velvety nose.

The people around me looked pleased. I had chosen a good name. That day I rode my new horse. My father ride beside me. I hadn’t spent time alone with him in ages. I was still angry with him though – for taking my mother’s side, for not trusting me. He knew though, and his first words to me were an apology. My heart was not hard enough to resist my father’s regret. I cried and hugged him, and told him I was sorry. For what, I didn’t know, but it made him smile.

Faramir’s Daughter ~ Chapter 6

The Wedding.

My father and mother accompanied me to the Southern Lands. Neither had ever been there. Also with us were the King and his Queen. Only then did I realize the importance of my marriage. The King and Queen had one son. He was five years old, and already whispers had it that he was betrothed to the King Under the Mountain’s daughter.

Royal marriages were made to strengthen bonds between people so that wars never happened again, explained my father. The King and Queen had no daughter, but I, as the daughter of the highest noble of the kingdom, would represent her. In fact, they would give me away at my wedding, not my own parents.

I knew the King and Queen well enough. He was often away, but when he came home, he loved nothing more than the peace and quiet of his own garden. His wife, an elf princess, was the most lovely woman I knew. She was kind, empathetic, loved by all. During our voyage south, as we sailed on barges down the river towards the great desert, she tried to comfort me the best she could. Her sympathy for my fate was evident, but she never once told me she felt sorry for me.

“You are doing a great deed for your home and family,” she told me. “Forever have men from the South fought men from the North. Your brother married a princess who left her home and family. You will marry a warrior prince and bring honor to us all. I am sure you can. Otherwise, we would not have chosen you.”

I was young. I was heartbroken. I wished I had not been chosen. I was also wise, and kept my thoughts to myself. I think I hid my sobs at night. In the morning, I was careful to bathe my swollen eyes with cucumber water before breakfast. I still had some pride.

Faramir’s Daughter ~ Chapter Five

There was nothing wrong with love from my point of view. And he was smitten as well. Both of us trembled at each others touch. A single glance, and my heart pounded madly. We lost ourselves in chaste kisses. Beneath the table, our feet found each other and entwined. If there was a dark corner, we would find it and embrace. I was delirious with joy, my parents would be so happy, I thought, to welcome Halthro into our family. We would live at the mountain hall – we would raise horses and children.

I was fifteen. I had never considered myself beautiful, but Halthro made me feel beautiful. And for me, Halthro was the most handsome of men. As he rode off on his stallion to bring in the herds, my heart was full to bursting when he turned to wave at me.

My brother’s wife had just borne her fourth child, a daughter at last. The pregnancy and birth had been difficult. My brother was tired and not as attentive as he should have been. I was allowed to run wild that summer – but suddenly Janne was there – my mother had decided that Fraya could use some help, and so sent her maid to tend to her.

Janne knew me well. Just one glance, and she took me by the chin. “Who is it, child?” she asked, keeping her voice light.

She fooled me. I thought she was on my side. “Halthro,” I said, a deep blush staining my cheeks. “He’s wonderful, don’t you think?”

The next day, I was packed up and sent home. My bewilderment was complete. I had no idea why. No one told me anything beyond, “You’re going home, today.”

It wasn’t until I was on my horse, heading home, that it hit me. I wouldn’t see Halthro when he came back with the herds. I stopped, turned my horse, and a guard caught my reins.

“No.” He said nothing else, but his grip was firm and I dared not protest.

When I arrived home, my mother cloistered me in my room. I stayed there for a month. Again, I was so naive I didn’t realize why. When my menses came, my mother called me to her room and then I learned everything. How I was never to return to the Mountain Hall. How I’d never see Halthro again. How I was leaving at first frost to the Southern Lands. I was to start organizing my household now. She would help me. Everything had to be ready. Linens, clothes, jewelry, candles…I heard it all through a sort of fog. My head ached and ached. I thought perhaps I’d die. My heart had been broken. I don’t know what broke it more – leaving Halthro or finding out my parents didn’t trust me. I was a virgin. All they had to do was ask me, not lock me up like a criminal. The hurt I felt ran deep, and I started to hate my parents. Perhaps it was a good thing. Part of me was anxious to get away from them. It made getting ready to leave almost easy.

I had four months to prepare. I was sixteen. I felt ancient.

Faramir’s Daughter ~ Chapter Four

Faramir’s Daughter

The next four years passed quickly. Boromir and Lorell had three charming girls, and Sam and Fraya had three boisterous boys. I was an aunt, and I spent a great deal of time with Lorell and her daughters. Lorell was a pure product of the city’s old ways. Her parents were nobles, and Lorell had been raised as a noblewoman. In some ways, she didn’t approve of me. There was always an invisible wall between us. I liked Lorell, I loved my neices, but I thought Lorell’s life was limited and boring. She thought I hadn’t been raised correctly and was always trying to teach me to behave.

In the city, I was member of an old and rigid society. There were rules for everything. For visits, for the ceremonies, for socializing. I was expected to stitch needlepoint, to grow an herb garden, and to make the proper prayers to the proper gods at the proper time of year. I could visit my brother and Lorell, but I had to be accompanied by a servant when I left our house. Usually it was my mother’s maid who went with me – Janne. She was an older woman who was always careful to whom I spoke and who spoke to me. In our society, boys were not allowed to approach girls on the streets and chat with them. We were expected to meet at a properly chaperoned house – perhaps at a party or a dance. And we stayed within our social rank. I was a Lady, my mother had been a princess, so I was not expected to befriend commoners.

My father thought it was all nonsense. After the war, there was such a lack of people that it made no sense to divide society into  small groups. My mother agreed. So on the whole, I was freer than most of my friends. But old traditions die hard, and my friends lived sheltered from anyone outside their station in life. I often felt I was astride two worlds – my father’s world, which he both loved and despaired of – and my mother’s world, where everyone was equal and women were freer.

I was always happy to visit Fraya and Sam – I loved the mountain hall so much. And so I begged and pleaded to spend summers there. When I was fifteen, I spent my last summer in the mountain hall. It was the best and worst time of my life. I was young, full of romantic dreams, and I fell headlong in love with one of the horse master’s sons.

Halthro was seventeen, he was tall and blond, and his eyes were as green as the clover in the meadows. I was swept away in a rush of emotions. We met in the stables, behind the king’s graves, by the river, in the valley, on the hillside…whenever we could. We slipped notes to each other, poems and love songs, promising the sun, the stars – the moon.

 

Faramir’s Daughter ~ Chapter Three

Faramir’s Daughter

Chapter Three

My brothers married all the same year. It was a joyful time at our house. Boromir was marrying a daughter of the city, and would return to live here! Sam married a girl from my mother’s clan. Lucky Sam! He would live in the mountain hall and his children would be raised on sweet mare’s milk and wildflower honey. Frodo’s wedding was last. He would marry here, then take his bride to the northern kingdom where he’d made his life. His bride came from the southern lands. She was a princess, and she arrived early in the summer with all her retinue.

I was twelve now, and old enough to believe in romance. Everything about that year was romantic. Boromir, with his dark-haired, solemn wife was now living close by, so that I saw him nearly every day. His wife, Lorell, spoiled me and seemed happy to have me visit. Sam was there too, with his red-haired Fraya. Fraya bought me a pony and a jar of honey, and she and Sam laughed and smiled so much that everyone looked at them, sighed, and said, “what a lovely couple!”

Frodo’s princess bride came in a curtained palanquin. We didn’t see her until the day of the marriage, and even then, throughout the ceremony, she wore a red veil that covered her from head to foot, even her face. Her arms, when she reached to take the ceremonial golden chain, were brown as cinnamon, and slender. Her hands were decorated with henna. When the vows were finally spoken, she slid her veil off, and stood before my brother, naked.

I hadn’t been expecting that, and gave a little gasp. Everyone else must have known, because there wasn’t a sound from the crowd. My brother bent, picked up her veil, and draped it over her shoulders, covering her nakedness. Then he lifted her hand and kissed it, sealing their marriage.

The princess stared over his shoulder. Her eyes were fixed on something only she could see. I couldn’t tell if she was happy or sad. Then she turned her head and looked straight at me.

I thought she was beautiful. Her skin was like caramel, her hair black as jet and wildly curly. Her lips were full and yet firm, like the rest of her body. Slender and strong. But her eyes were her best feature. Long, heavy-lidded and as dark as night. She had curly lashes, and her brows arched high on her pure forehead. She looked at me for what seemed a long while, and then the corners of her mouth lifted ever so slightly in a tiny smile.

That week there were parties and festivities – torches burned in the streets until dawn, and there was singing – strange tunes sung to strange instruments – as the Southern people bid farewell to their princess.

She and my brother went north to live in the city by the sea. I never saw her again. I wish I had. I wish I had had time to speak to her when she was with me, but I was shy, I was young, and anyway, we didn’t speak the same language. Then, the next week, everyone was gone. The princess and Frodo to the north, her people, the singers, the instruments, the fire jugglers and performers gone back to the Southern lands.

Faramir’s Daughter ~ Chapter Two

Faramir’s Daughter

Chapter Two

I didn’t know when I was to be sent away, but I’d always expected it. When I was two, my brothers, all three of them, were sent away to be pages. That is my first memory. We rode down to the river together as a family, and waved goodbye to a ship that bore my brothers away. I can clearly recall the sound of seagulls and the smell of fish and tar, the sound of wood creaking and water splashing against the hull of the ship. I can see my three brothers, lined up on the deck, wind in their hair, waving. We waved back. My mother cried. She was a warrior princess, but she’d tied her heart to her sons.

My father held me on his lap and said, “you’ll have to help your mother now.” Those are the first words I can remember him saying to me.

I was two, and my brothers were eight, nine and nine. Boromir, the youngest, was going to Rohan, to be a page for my uncle. Frodo and Sam, the twins, were going to a city in the far north, near the sea, to be pages for a mighty king. Boromir was named after my father’s brother, a great warrior. Frodo and Sam had been named for two Hobbit heroes who had won the war, carrying a magic ring to the dead lands of Mordor. The dead lands were still dead, but they were no longer wicked. There were no more wizards, no more goblins or trolls, and no more necromancer kings. The volcano in the middle of Mordor had ceased to smoke and belch fire and lava, and there were signs of life. Small bushes, tough grass, fern and vine had started to cover the sharp, volcanic rock. In a hundred years, there would be a forest there. The ents watched over the land, and our people guarded its border.

When I was old enough to ride, I’d accompany my father on his trips to the gates of Mordor. Behind them, we could see bare cliffs, the dust devils whirling along their tops.

My father said, “It used to be a different land. Mostly scrub, unfit for farming but good for raising sheep and goats. The farmers left when the wizard built his tower, and things went from bad to worse. We, in the city, saw what was happening, and we did nothing. We believed it was none of our business.” My father stopped, and we let our horses graze on a patch of grass. After a while, he said, “and on the other side of Mordor are the great Southern Plains.”

He looked at me sadly as he said this, but I didn’t realize that he was trying to tell me something.

To be continued….(Chapters posted every 2 days or so)

Faramir’s Daughter ~ Chapter One

Faramir’s Daughter

Chapter One

Childhood

I was born during a time of peace. The great war was ten years gone and all that was left, that I could see, was a row of huts made out of the skulls of the mastodonts lined up facing the riverside. The tusks had been given to kings and princes as prizes of war, and the rest of their bones had been ground up and used as fertilizer. Now fishermen used the skulls as shelter from the rain and children played hidey-seek within them.

My father was steward of the city. He took care of it when the king was off on some long voyage or another, which was often. His job was to rebuild the ruins, and he put his heart and soul into it. Under his care and guidance, the city slowly erased the scars of war. My brothers and I grew up amid eternal reconstruction with the sounds of drills, hammers, pickaxes, and chisels on stone echoing day and night.

My mother was a warrior princess. She hated the walls, the confinement, the closed-in feel of the city. She loved my father though, and for him she stayed – like a bird in a cage, sitting at the highest window, staring at the sky. She was happiest when she was outside the city walls, galloping her horse across the plain with her shadow streaking behind her.

My three older brothers were copies of my mother with sunlight for hair and the blue sky dancing in their eyes. They laughed easily, caught the eye and held it. They were named after fallen heroes, but their names never weighed them down. By the time I was born, they were pages at faraway courts and so I saw them only rarely. When they came home, my mother sang and laughed all day long.

I was my father’s daughter. I had his shy smile. I was all angles, tall, and my mother told me my eyes and hair reminded her of the peat water back home; that reddish brown water that could suddenly turn to gold if the sun hit it right.

Here is how the world was when I was born:

The war was ten years over.

The orcs had nearly all been killed, and the ones that were left were nomads now, traveling with their weredogs, living in small camps and staying out of the way of men and elves.

Most all the elves had left for their far shores from whence they had come, and they had closed the door between our worlds so that we could never find them. The few who stayed behind were shadows of their former selves. They would come visit the queen and I would see them in the court gardens, standing still for hours as if listening for faraway music.

The dwarves had regained their kingdom beneath the mountain range and they surrounded it with leagues and leagues of wild forest, ruled by the ents. They formed guilds and traded with humans. We saw them regularly, for they were excellent builders.

The ents took over the task of repairing the forest. I met a few, but they were slow and dull to my childish self. I liked them though. They had my father’s immense respect.

The small people, the ones called Hobbits, kept to themselves. My brothers met them often, but I only saw one once, when he came to visit with the queen.

The riders of the plains, where my mother’s people came from, had been decimated and whole villages stood empty with just the wind whistling through. Now, nearly all the tribe fit at the mountain hall, the one guarding the tombs. They farmed rocky fields, raised long-haired cattle and sleek horses, and sang songs about the fallen. The mountain hall was my favorite place – when we visited, my mother was transformed into a whirlwind of laughter. We stayed with my aunt, uncle and cousins. We rode, fished, and played hide and seek among the rocky crags. We ran barefoot, wove flowers in our hair, and gorged on sweet cakes, mare’s milk, creamy cheeses and honey. I could understand why my mother loved it so and why she was loathe to leave.

Sometimes we saw wizards. They had been forbidden to stay in any one place longer than a few years at a time, so they’d come to a city when they were needed and leave when their jobs were done. Their wizard towers had been torn down after the war, and no wizard could build one again. It suited them better, said my father. He mistrusted wizards, but was grateful for their help in raising the cities walls back up to their former glorious heights.

The Southern lands and cities had been spared, but a whole generation of men had been killed in the war. Children grew up without their fathers, women without their husbands – but it was like that all over the world – a world with few men, a world with women growing old alone. A world where sons and daughters grew up hating the enemy; a blind, numb anger that colored everything. The enemy was the winner, the loser, an orc, a soldier, a wizard, an elf or a troll. I was lucky, I grew up with both parents. I didn’t have to blame the enemy. But I was expected to marry one.

Chapter Two

Ancient wine & Dionysus

In my books, the characters often drink ‘spiced wine’.  In book I, The Road to Alexander, Ashley sips a cup of wine and notes it has a faintly spicy taste. Sometimes she says she has a cup of honeyed wine.

We cannot time travel, as Ashley did, to ancient Greece. But we can time travel – by reading history, myths, visiting a museum, or doing something slightly differently – such as drinking wine like the ancients did. Wine – one of the most ancient of human inventions. In the pantheon of Greek gods, the god of wine, Dionysus, is the most mysterious, whose origins are obscure. The most common origin given for Dionysus was that he was the son of Zeus and Semele. Zeus seduced the princess of Thebes, but then jealous Hera tricked Semele into demanding that Zeus reveal his true form to her. As a mortal, Semele could not look upon a god’s true form without dying. Zeus managed to rescue the unborn Dionysus by sewing him into his thigh. A few months later, Dionysus was born from Zeus’s thigh. In other stories, Dionysus’s mother is Persephone, and that Hera sent Titans to kill the infant Dionysus. Regardless of the mother’s identity, the myths remained consistent that Zeus sewed Dionysus into his thigh. Thus, Dionysus was known to have been twice-born and was sometimes called “dimetor” (of two mothers).

In ancient Greece, wine was often drunk watered down and savory flavors added such as garlic or assafoetida (to our modern noses, a foul-smelling onion type root), as well as raisins, honey, or other spices. Pine pitch was sometimes used when the wine had gone sour, and a pine cone is part of the wine-god’s sceptor.

Dionysus (or Dionysos) was the Greek deity of winemaking and wine, of ecstasy and madness.  His symbol is a thyrsus – a stalk of giant fennel (narthēx) segmented like bamboo, sometimes with ivy leaves inserted in the hollow end and topped with a pine cone. According to legend, it dripped honey – and so we can imagine that fennel, pine, and honey were traditional additions to cups of wine.

Here is an ancient recipe for wine –  Enjoy!

Recipe for Mulsum

Also known as Conditum paradoxum, from Apicius’s De re coquinaria

Ingredients
1 bottle dry white wine
¾ cup (6 ounces) clear honey
½ teaspoon ground black pepper
2 bay leaves
Pinch saffron threads

Directions
1. Pour 2/3 cup of the wine and the honey into a 2-quart saucepot and bring it to a boil.
2. Remove the saucepot from the heat and add seasonings to the hot wine; set it aside for 5 minutes.
3. After 5 minutes, add the rest of the wine.
4. Serve mulsum warm or transfer the mixture to a glass jar, cover, and refrigerate. As a modern variant, this drink can also be enjoyed cold over ice.

In the Medoc, we have friends at the Winery Tour Haut Caussan who make wine. This year, they made a limited edition of a form of rosé called claret. It’s darker than traditional rosé wine, because the color comes from the grape skins, and the skins also protect the wine because they have a higher amount of tanin. Sulphur addition dampens fruit aromatics and bleaches colour, which is why white wines and rosés have a higher amount of sulfates. There is nothing really wrong with sulfates – our own bodies produce them naturally – but some people say they can cause headaches and so prefer red wine. The claret is a rosé that has not been bleached by sulfates, and as such, is a clear ruby color. But besides the delicious taste, it was the design on the bottle that caught my eye!

Cheers!

Storms Over Babylon

Winery Tour Haut Caussan

 

7 things you (probably) didn’t know about Alexander the Great

Alexander the Great! His name still echoes in the corridors of time. Deified and vilified, his legend exists in nearly every language on earth and in the four major religions. We know he was born in Pella in 356 BC and succeeded his father Philip II to the throne at the age of twenty.  Ten years later, he’d created one of the largest empires of the ancient world. He was undefeated in battle and is widely considered one of history’s most successful military commanders, and he died just before his 33rd birthday. But do we really know him?

Alexander the Great

1- Alexander played polo. Legend has it that when Alexander the Great was about to invade Persia in 334 BC, Persian King Darius III sent him a polo mallet and ball. Either he was inviting the Macedonian to a game or suggesting that he stick to games and avoid war. Whatever the intention, Alexander is said to have replied, “I am the stick and the ball is the Earth,” before going on to conquer Persia. But since polo had been around for at least a thousand years and Alexander was no stranger to Persia, he most likely saw polo games, and perhaps he even played the “sport of kings”.

By Arifi (d.1449) – The Freer Gallery of Art and Arthur M. Sackler Gallery of the Smithsonian Institution, Public Domain.

2-  He may have been in a glass diving bell, his fleet was hit by a tidal wave, and he struck oil. Almost immediately after his death in 323 BC legends began to accumulate about his exploits and life which, over the centuries, became increasingly fantastic as well as allegorical. Collectively this tradition is called the Alexander Romance and some stories feature such episodes as Alexander ascending through the air to Paradise, journeying to the bottom of the sea in a glass bubble, and journeying through the Land of Darkness in search of the Fountain of Youth.

It’s possible that he saw, or was in, a glass diving bell. There are several accounts of him going to the “bottom of the sea” in a glass bell. Aristotle describes sponge divers using a diving bell in his Problematum as early as 360 B.C., so it is concievable that Alexander, who was curious to learn about everything, tried it himself.

As for the tidal wave, according to some accounts, the Macedonian fleet (of Alexander the Great) was anchored for some time in the Indus river delta. The fleet was damaged by a tsunami generated by an earthquake off the Makran Coast in 325 BC.

He could have found an oil well. In another story, supposedly taken from a letter to his mother, he speaks about a fountain of olive oil that sprang from the ground although there were no olive trees nearby! He also mentions trees that sing. Most likely the oil was mineral oil, but the singing tree was from too much wine…

Underwater diving of Alexander the Great, painted by Flemish illuminator Jehan de Grise, 14th century.

3. We know what he looked like: the Azara herm is a Roman copy of a bust of Alexander the Great that was almost certainly made by the Greek sculptor Lysippus. Thanks to its original antique inscription, this figure can be definitely identified as Alexander the Great, son of Philip II of Macedon.  It’s in the Louvre in Paris. Now, since this is a Roman copy, it was made a few centuries after Alexander’s death, and because it was a copy, it’s most likely not as precise as the original. According to Plutarch (more about him later…) Alexander made Lysippus his “official” portrait artist. Now exhibited in the Louvre, this bust was unearthed in 1779 during an excavation at Tivoli organized by Joseph Nicolas Azara, the Spanish ambassador to France. Azara gave the sculpture to Napolean Bonaparte. For a time, this was the only known portrait of Alexander the Great. It is most likely the surviving portrait that looks the most like him.

Portrait of Alexander the Great. Pentelic marble, Attic copy of the 1st-2nd century AD after a Greek original

4- Plutarch’s writings about Alexander are mostly fiction. Plutarch wrote a whole book about Alexander, but he had some major faults. He lived 400 years after Alexander, and by that time, even contemporary writings were scarce. He was Greek – and the Greeks would always see Alexander as an upstart barbarian.  He starts off his book by saying he’s not writing “history”, but rather “a life story”, because, as he goes on to explain, it’s better to get to know a guy from his jokes than from the endless battles he’s fought and won. He pretends to glorify Alexander beyond reason, saying things like, “On his father’s side, he was descended from Hercules.” However, since Alexander had claimed the title of “son of Zeus-Amun”, this was definitely taking him down a peg. He  he has some fascinating tidbits of information, such as the battle of Gaugamela was fought during an eclipse, and that Alexander spent the night before in his tent with his diviner Aristander, performing certain mysterious ceremonies and sacrificing to the god, Fear.

5. Alexander’s favorite weapon was the phalanx. The phalanx was developed by Alexander’s father, Philip, and was a formidable fighting machine. No other army had such thing. It was uniquly Macedonian. According to Arrian’s Anabasis, “Alexander drew up his army in such a way that the depth of the phalanx was 120 men ; and […] he ordered them to preserve silence, in order to receive the word of command quickly.” The spears were 5 meters long (18 feet!) and made of sharpened wood or metal-tipped wood. Interestingly,  Polyaenus (in Stratagemata) says that Alexander spitefully armed his men who had previously fled the battlefield with the so-called hemithorakion – a half armor system that only covered the front part of the body. This punitive experiment made sure that the soldiers wouldn’t turn their backs on the enemy.  But, the soldiers in a phalanx would not require much armor, since coordinated, fast movement was what made the phalanx so effective. So Polyaenus was probably exagerating somewhat. In fact, the soldiers were lightly armored with only helmets (kranos), light shields (pelte), greaves (knemides) and a long pike (sarissa). I think the shields were more like leather plastrons, and I have a feeling most of the men fought naked (despite the drawing below of the men wearing cheerleading skirts).

6 – The funeral pyre for his friend, Hephaestion, was astounding.  When Hephaestion died, Alexander went into a frenzy of mourning. He wrote to the Oracle of Siwa and asked if Hephaestion should be honored as a god or a hero. The Oracle replied that he should be honored as a hero, and so Alexander went all out for a mausoleum/funeral pyre that would knock the socks off everyone. He settled on a simple monument. According to Diodorus, it was: “seven stories high […] The first story had 240 ships painted gold with red flags flowing in between. In the second one the columns resembled flaming torches surround by golden wreaths, serpents and eagles. Above mounted a hunting scene, towered by a battle of centaurs and mythological creatures. The fifth story was a golden jungle of lions, bulls and elephants, shining like planets in the dawning light. The next tier presented the arms of Macedon and Persian, while the seventh level bore sculptures of sirens with a hollow interior where women would chant in lament. On top of it all rose the sarcophagus of Hephaestion.”  It was so huge that Aleander had to break down one of the walls of Babylon to get it into the city. Then he set it on fire, and it must have made life absolutely miserable for everyone as it smoked and smoldered. He plundered the treasories of all his cities to pay for the monstrosity, and it has been estimated to have cost the modern equivalent of two billion dollars! It was most likely the most expensive funeral in history.

7 – He’s associated with a prophecy about the end of the world. The Caspian Gates was the narrow region at the southeast corner of the Caspian Sea, through which Alexander actually marched in the pursuit of Bessus, although he did not stop to fortify it. Somehow, the Caspian Gates, Alexander the Great, the Caucasus Mountains, and the tale of Gog and Magog became mixed up in a fanciful romance of Alexander dating from the 6th century AD.

The tale of Gog and Magog is Biblical in origins with elements in Jewish, Christian and Islamic traditions. They will supposedly appear at the end of time to destroy humanity. Revelation 20:7-8: “… And when the thousand years are finished, Satan shall be loosed from his prison, and shall go out to seduce the nations which are in the four corners of the earth, Gog and Magog, and shall draw them to battle, whose number is as the sand of the sea…”

According to the legend, Alexander the Great, while conquering the world, came to the Caucasus Mountains where Prometheus the Titan had been chained long before. Here, the Macedonians discovered the evil hordes of Gog and Magog laying waste to the peaceable tribes around them. The country of these wicked raiders lay beyond two great mountains named Ubera Aquilonias, the Breasts of the North. Alexander forged gates of iron and brass to seal the narrow way. These Caspian Gates were further strengthened with a magic metal called asiceton, which was proof against fire and steel; steel shattered upon asiceton, and whatever fires which touched it were instantaneously quenched. And further, Alexander built a mighty wall spanning the entire Caucasus range, closing off the civilized south from the forces of darkness. This wall became known as the Alexander wall. But at the end of time, the gates will open and the wall will break down, and Gog and Magog will burst forth to destroy the world.

Alexander building the Caspian Wall (from a Persian manuscript)

Some further reading:

A Passion for Polo. The American museum of Natural History. https://www.amnh.org/exhibitions/horse/how-we-shaped-horses-how-horses-shaped-us/wealth-and-status/a-passion-for-polo/

Alexander the Great – Imact of the 325 BC Tsunami in the North Arabian Sea upon his fleet, George Pararas-Carayannis.  Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved.

http://drgeorgepc.com/Tsunami325BCIndiaAlexander.html

The Anabasis of Alexander or, The History of the Wars and Conquests of Alexander the Great, Arrian of Nicomedia, Translator: E. J. Chinnock. Project Gutenberg [EBook #46976]

https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46976

Library of History, Book XVII, (Funeral for Hephaestion: Sections 114 – 115) Diodorus Siculus,  Vol. VIII
of the Loeb Classical Library edition, 1963

http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Diodorus_Siculus/17F*.html

Some Passages in Polyaenus Stratagems concerning Alexander, N. G. L. Hammond. (N.b.: Polyaenus or Polyenus was a 2nd-century Macedonian author, known best for his Stratagems in War, which has been preserved.)

http://grbs.library.duke.edu/article/viewFile/2911/5831

A Discourse Composed by Mar Jacob upon Alexander, the Believing King, and upon the Gate which he made against Gog and Magog,” E. A. W. Budge (translator), ed. (1889). “, in The History of Alexander the Great Being, the Syriac Version of the Pseudo-Callisthenes (in Syriac).