‘Casides is a Spartan!’ Philotas said.

‘I doubt it, and if he really is, he’s from the bad side of Sparta.’ I made them laugh, always a good sign. ‘Anyway, they’re all yours again. Isokles will be here in an hour. I have the cavalry at the back. Where do I camp?’

Parmenio looked at Philotas, who frowned.

I couldn’t help but notice that Philotas was wearing a fortune in clothes – a silk chiton that must have cost the value of a good farm, Boeotian boots in red and gold with ivory eyelets, a scarlet felt hat. He had a brutish face with a pair of burning blue eyes that showed how smart he really was, and he always stood with his hands on his hips.

‘Why do you have your grooms in with your Hetaeroi?’ he asked. His tone was ignorant. He was looking for a fight.

So much for my homecoming.

‘The king gave me permission when he gave me my commission for Caria,’ I said.

Parmenio gave me an odd glance.

‘You provided me with some good information, last winter,’ he said. ‘I appreciate it.’

I nodded. In fact, Thaïs sent her best tidbits to both Alexander and to Parmenio, and I was, for once, privy to all of it, which was fun.

‘Your troop should be camped in my area,’ Philotas continued, as if his father had not spoken. ‘But I have no more space. Go and camp to the east.’

His tone was so disobliging that I couldn’t ignore it.

‘Philotas, I’ll camp where I please, if you take that tone with me,’ I said.

Philotas spat. ‘You need to learn to obey your superiors, lad.’

This from a man only ten years my senior.

I held his eyes and shrugged. ‘Never seen the need so far,’ I drawled. ‘Except the king. He has the right to give me orders.’

‘Fuck the king.’ Philotas spat again. ‘Being his butt-boy doesn’t make you immune to discipline.’

I looked to Parmenio for help. Parmenio slapped his son – pretty hard – on the arm.

‘What are you thinking, boy?’ he said. ‘If you treat your officers like this, you’ll have no friends.’

‘I don’t need friends,’ Philotas said. ‘Only obedient slaves.’ He ended the comment with a smile to me.

I started to tremble. I wanted to punch him, but I knew where that would end. So I shook my head. ‘You have neither, with me,’ I said. And turned on my heel.

My next stop was Alexander’s tent. He had a whole compound, now, I saw – five red silk tents all together, and the starburst of Macedon on every one in gold.

There was a low but solidly built palisade all the way around his enclosure, and there were four hypaspitoi on duty in full kit. I saluted, but they barred my way. I didn’t know three of them, but the fourth I did.

‘Bubares! I don’t know the password, I’ve been on detachment.’ I waited for the black man to recognise me. ‘I’m somatophylakes, and I’ve had a bit of a morning.’

He saluted. He met my eyes, and he was trying to tell me something. ‘You’ll have to wait for an equerry. It’s orders, and I don’t want to be beaten.’ He said this so quietly I wasn’t sure, at first, that he had spoken.

After ten minutes, a young man in a spotless white military chiton and boots appeared. He had a stick under his arm. He looked at me.

‘Yes?’ he asked.

‘Ptolemy, son of Lagus,’ I said with exaggerated courtesy. I knew him – he’d been a page until last year, and his name was Simonides.

‘You may not come before the king unless you are clean,’ he said. ‘Indeed, I’m surprised you would even—’

That’s as far as he got before I put him in the sand with a throw. Then I kicked him in the arse for good measure. Then in the balls. Then I raised his chiton, showing his bare arse to the camp.

Bubores laughed. When the young man had run for help, Bubores let the laughter take over. ‘I’ve wanted someone to do that for a long time, boss,’ he said.

‘I’ll come and have wine with you,’ I said. ‘How’s Astibus?’

Bubores positively glowed. ‘Alive, and well enough. Got himself a Persian girl at Granicus – he’s besotted.’ He bowed past me at Thaïs, who had watched the whole exchange impassively from mule-back.

‘My lady,’ Bubores said.

She laughed. ‘Most men can’t even tell who I am,’ she responded.

Bubores tossed his head a little impatiently. ‘I can hunt a fly on the ocean,’ he said.

Alectus appeared in armour, with twenty men and a rather rumpled royal officer. When he saw me, he laughed and we embraced.

He escorted me around the compound, and I saw more slaves than I thought existed in the palace at Pella, and more courtiers than soldiers, and a tent full of scribes busy writing, with Callisthenes, Aristotle’s useless nephew, leading them. Then I found the king, and walked in.

He was being massaged. Hephaestion was arming. He smiled when he saw me.

‘Look who’s back,’ Hephaestion said.

Alexander raised his head and smiled. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘Ptolemy. Well done. A little too well done. I dangled you to draw Memnon, but instead of drawing him, you singed his nose and then he died.’ Alexander smiled, and put his head back down. ‘Why did you go to Parmenio first, Ptolemy?’

‘I had his troops, and I needed to have a place for them to camp,’ I said.

‘You see?’ Alexander said. ‘Always an excellent explanation.’

I didn’t like that. ‘If I wanted to dissimulate, I’d tell you that it is difficult to gain access to the king. I was refused entry at the gate.’

Alexander raised his head again. ‘Then how is it you are here?’ he asked.

‘I cut the comb of a rooster who needed it,’ I said. ‘The hypaspitoi all know me.’

Alexander lay getting his back pounded for a long minute.

‘I will let this pass this time,’ he began.

I laughed. ‘No, my lord, Iwill let this pass this time. I am somatophylakes, and I have the right of access to you at all times of the day and night, and even you cannot restrict me.’

Alexander sat up. ‘Leave me,’ he said to the masseur. When the slave was gone, he frowned at me. ‘This is not Macedon,’ he said.

‘I can tell, because your tent is full of Greek prostitutes masquerading as politicians,’ I said. ‘But this is the army of Macedon, and we have laws. Parmenio wants to let you run free, lord, so you will let power go to your head and become an oriental, so he can depose you. Or so Thaïs and I think his thought tends.’ I shrugged. ‘I won’t let you drift, and neither will Hephaestion. You are not the Great King of Persia. You are the King of Macedon.’

‘I am your king, and I may decide who comes and goes from my enclosure!’ he said. He was angry, and red spots were forming on his cheeks.

I nodded. ‘Yes – with the exception of your closest friends and bodyguards.’ I shook my head. ‘This is foolishness, lord – I am, of course, your willing servant and officer, and you may strip me of my rank in a moment. But even you must obey the law.’

‘A few months of independent command have only increased your arrogance,’ Alexander shot back. ‘You are insufferable.’

‘He’s in a bad mood,’ Hephaestion said.

‘Fuck off!’ Alexander said.

‘Why?’ I asked Hephaestion, as if the king weren’t right there.

‘He’s going to face the prophecy this morning, and the whole camp is coming to see him do it,’ Hephaestion said. ‘He swore he could solve it, and everyone expects he can, and now he’s touchy—’

‘Get out of my sight, you ingrate,’ Alexander barked, and he was on the verge of tears.

‘Darius has sixty thousand men moving on the Euphrates, and he means business,’ Hephaestion said. ‘Although you must know that, since we had it from Thaïs. We don’t have that many men, and Darius has a whole second army forming in Ionia to hit Greece if we lose. Our supply lines to Macedon are largely cut by Pharnabazus and his fleet, and there’s nothing we can do about it. Athens is teetering on the brink of open rebellion, which will be the end of our fleet. But Golden Boy here had to mistreat their ambassadors yesterday, just to show them who’s in charge.’