The Greeks' avenger was beginning to have doubts: whether to be scourge or heir of Xerxes, how, if at all, to rule, as king of Asia, these were his besetting problems, and tor the moment, he left them, like the statue, lying where they were. Darius was still in retreat near Hamadan, and another pitched battle seemed very likely; he could not have guessed that within six months Darius would be dead and the problem would return, too acute to be turned down.

Though looting Persepolis, he had tempered the sack with his usual concern for security and the proper accumulation of treasure. Troops had been sent east to the nearby Mountain of Mercy and so to Pasargadae, where Cyrus the Great had built a small palace some twenty years earlier than Persepolis; its Persian governor surrendered, and a treasure of 6,000 talents was reported to Alexander who was already considering its centralization. Ten thousand baggage animals and 5,000 camels had been ordered from Susa to help remove all treasure from Persia's home land, for Persepolis was not to continue as a storehouse for the empire. While this baggage-train was awaited the main army could relax. Not so Alexander, who set out into the hills round Persepolis with a picked force of infantry and a thousand horsemen.

His intention was to subdue the rest of the province of Persia, rough, populous and seldom visited by its king. The early spring snow was not congenial to such a mountainous campaign, but wherever the ice seemed too thick for the army Alexander dismounted and began to break it with a mattock, an example which his men felt bound to follow. Again his determination was decisive, for the Persian hill-shepherds had never expected a winter attack and they came to terms as soon as they heard they would be fairly treated; neighbouring nomads, who had been left independent by the Persian kings, were surprised in their caves and received in a surrender which meant little to their way of life. After thirty days of hard exertion, enough had been seen of the tribesmen, and Alexander returned to Persepolis, where he continued to distribute most generous presents 'to his friends and other helpers according to their deserts'. There were banquets, games and sacrifices to the gods, and yet it was all a lull before a second storm.

While the treasure was moved from the palace, arrangements were made as if Persepolis were still a place of importance. Its Persian governor was restored to his rank and one of Alexander's men was appointed to a garrison of 3,000 Macedonians. The province of Persia was more of an embarrassment, as it had naturally never been taxed or subjected while it ruled the empire. Alexander's tact was once more applied to a troublesome victim: as satrap, he named a Persian aristocrat, son of one of the Seven Families, whose father had been killed at the Granicus battle; it was a judicious choice in an area where feeling was bitter. Then, one late spring evening, something happened which seemed to make a mockery of the appointments which had gone before: the palaces of Persepolis went up in flames, and the fire was agreed to have begun with Alexander's approval.

No event in his expedition has caused more dispute and speculation, 260 and only when Persepolis came to be excavated, was the scale of the blaze at last appreciated. In the Hundred-columned Hall of Xerxes, wood ash covered the floor to a depth of as much as three feet, and on analysis it was found to be cedar, the material of the beams in the building's roof. Rafters, then, had come crashing down from a height of sixty feet into a blaze which mudbrick walls and timber pillars could only help to feed; the result was uncontrollable and the Treasury and much of the Audience Room was burnt at the same time. As an act of destruction it ranked with any Thebes or Gaza of Alexander's career. So much for the facts; their explanation is another matter.

According to Alexander's officers, the palace fire was a calculated act of vengeance, and it is to Ptolemy's history that the fullest motive should probably be traced:

Alexander set fire to the Persian palaces, though Parmenion advised him to save them, especially because it was not proper for him to destroy what were now his own possessions: the peoples of Asia would not come over to him if he behaved like that, as if he had decided not to hold sway over Asia, but to pass through it merely as a victor. But Alexander replied that he wished to take revenge on the Persians for invading Greece, for razing Athens and burning her temples.

The burning, therefore, was the culmination of the Greeks' revenge.

After the heavy plundering and the removal of the bullion, it might indeed seem logical to have fired a palace which served no useful purpose. Alexander would have delayed until the precious metals had been hauled on to his pack-animals, and then paid a final gesture to the Greek allies whom he was to dismiss within a month. But Parmenion the unfortunate adviser is a figure in the histories whom repetition has worn thin, especially as the true Alexander would soon behave as the permanent king of Asia, whereas Parmenion would be put to death, partly perhaps because he mistrusted the very conduct which at Persepolis he was alleged to have advised. Moreover, if the burning had been so carefully planned, the prior garrisoning of Persepolis seems an inconsistent order. 'It was agreed', wrote Plutarch, wrongly, 'that Alexander quickly repented and ordered the fire to be put out.' There was, therefore, a rival version in which the burning had been a mistake; it too deserves to be considered.

Unlike Ptolemy its author was not a personal friend of Alexander, but within twenty years of the event, he had published a book which often exaggerated, sometimes erred, and was built partly from stories told him by men from Alexander's army, partly from others' writings and partly, perhaps, from the evidence of his own eyes. On the night of

the burning, he wrote, the King and his Companions had held a banquet; women were present, the wine flowed freely and musicians added to the revelry.

Soothed with the sound,

the King grew vain;

Fought all his battles o'er again

And thrice he routed all his foes

and thrice he slew the slain.

The Master saw the madness rise ...

Among the women sat the lovely Thais, a courtesan from Athens who had followed the army across Asia; when the banquet was far gone, she made a speech, praising Alexander and teasing him, daring him to join her in a revel. It was for the women, she argued, to punish Persia for the sake of Greece, punish her harder than the soldiery, and thus set fire to the hall of Xerxes, sacker of her native Athens. Shouts of applause greeted her words, as the Companions bayed for vengeance on the ruin of Greek temples; Alexander leapt to his feet, a garland on his head, a torch in his hand, and called for a rout to be formed in honour of the god Dionysus.

The jolly god in triumph comes:

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums ...

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure,

Rich the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure,

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

As lady pipers and flautists encouraged the singing, the guests seized torches and the giddy procession followed Thais up the terrace. At the head of the staircase, first Alexander, then'Thais flung torches on to the floor of the Hundred-columned Hall; those behind them followed suit, and as the flames rose, pillars caught fire and began to smoulder. Sparks flew across the platform; the common troopers came running from camp, fearing an accident; they arrived to see the beams draw flame and the palace roofs come crashing on to the ground. Persepolis had its own water-supply and a system of drains, but there was no hope of bringing such a blaze under control; Alexander had done more damage than he intended, and sobriety was followed by repentance.