The Conqueror and the Rose

Chapter XVIII - June, 323 BCE

Bang. Bang. Bang. Roxana jumped in surprise and quickly rose up from the couch. Who could be at the door at this hour? Hurriedly, she walked towards the door and flung it open. There in front of her was Lysimachus. His face was red and he was panting. Roxana looked him up and down and arched her eyebrow.

"What is it, General Lysimachus?" Roxana asked. Lysimachus did not reply.

"Well?" She prompted.


"It is the king," He said, "Do you know that he has been attending the banquet of Medius of Larisa?" Roxana nodded, wondering why he was speaking so hurriedly.


"Yes, I have joined him on the first day of the banquet, but today I have decided to rest for the sake of the child. I hope that he is enjoying himself to his heart's content," Roxana said.

"No, he - Alexander has - He has contracted a high fever from heavy drinking..." Here Lysimachus averted his eyes, as if he was not telling her everything that she needed to know. Panic began to settle in Roxana's stomach. She looked sharply at Lysimachus, who would not meet her gaze.

"And?" She asked.

"His drank may have been poisoned." Lysimachus looked up with profound anxiety. "Alexander is in fatal condition."

Roxana ran. In the months to come, she would say that she did not know how she got to Alexander's chamber, because she was running blindly, her eyes wide and blurred. She made her way past the courtyard and the bed of lilac that Alexander had been wont to wander in with Stateira. She passed by the palm trees that lined the path towards his residence and hurried up the stairs. She entered the residence and stormed past the corridors lined with candles and marked with statues before halting at his door. Her heart pounded in her chest as the wide panels creaked open. 

Roxana approached the body on the bed, propped up by big fluffy pillows and covered in a cream-coloured sheet. A thick, olive green awning hung from above. The air was warm and a sick stench pervaded the air. The generals, soldiers, physician, and maids who surrounded him made way for Roxana as she approached the bedside. She took in Alexander's bloodshot eyes, his yellowish skin, the veins prominent on his neck, and put her hands to her mouth.

"Come my queen, and hold my hand," Alexander said, his weary gaze settling on her. Roxana made her way towards him and obliged.

"What are you doing?" She said to the physician, "Are you not educated on medicine? Do something so that he may be healed."

"I-I have never encountered such symptoms, my queen, and I cannot identify the cause the illness." The physician cast his head down in shame. Roxana looked at him in bewilderment. It was here that the commander began to tremble. He began to mutter incoherent things, shook violently, and jerked his head from side to side. Foam began to form at his mouth, and his eyes glazed over so that they were unseeing. 

"Do something," she told the physician. He only looked at her with sober eyes. "Do something!" She shrieked, and, taking a vase from the nearby table she aimed it at the physician. Luckily the generals prevented her from throwing it.

"My queen, please keep your composure, for the sake of Alexander," said Cassander. 

As she watched Alexander go through his pain, Roxana realized with horror that she could do nothing except hold his hand as tightly as she could.

***

Nine days had passed since Alexander had fallen ill. Roxana carefully disengaged herself from Alexander's hand that clutched hers. He had fallen asleep after another seizure. Getting up on her sore legs, Roxana left the room.