Title: For the Love of Fire
Author: Qaddafi the Ripper
Summary: The burning of Persepolis
The towers of Persepolis reached towards the sun, glittering madly. The palace was a wonder to see, leaving a first-time viewer speechless with wonder. The Macedonians, who had just started to think that they'd seen everything in the world and nothing more could render them voiceless with awe, were struck dumb.
Thais had never seen such a magnificent sight either, but refused to be intimidated. She stood straight and tall and looked at the palace as if it were a pigsty. This edifice, this wonder of the world, was a purely Persian thing, and she refused to call anything Persian wonderful. Persians were tyrants and barbarians, responsible for the downfall of her native Athens. "What's wrong?" Ptolemy asked, seeing her expression.
She shook her head. "Nothing really. It just offends me that these barbarians have a palace like this, while nothing in all of Greece can hope to compare." It did more than offend, it struck against what should be the natural order of things. Persians should never be better than Greeks at anything. Hadn't this conquest proved that beyond any doubt?
"The Persians live very differently than we do," he said philosophically. "Besides, we've conquered the city, so it's ours now."
He frequently saw things differently than she did, saw things in ways that she didn't agree with. She never told him when she disagreed, or at least not usually; she was a woman of enough improprieties already and she could sometimes allow him his fleeting fancies. There were other times, though, when he had good ideas. Thais narrowed her eyes. "Yes, I suppose it is."
Ptolemy saw she had that look on her face again, but didn't say anything. He'd long since learned to keep out of the way when Thais made up her mind about something. He wondered just what it could be this time.
* * * * *
"Burn it down!" Thais cried. The Macedonian men leaned closer, hanging on her every word. The wine flowed loosely tonight, and inclined them to listen to her, something they might not otherwise have done. Even the other women seated among the men for the banquet listened intently to her. "The Persians believe that they are better than we Greeks are. Are they?"
"No!" many of the men cried out loudly. She saw Ptolemy glance around and cringe. He'd tried to stop her from standing up and saying her spiel. No man could stop her now. Ptolemy sat back, resigned to merely watch his mistress from the sidelines. He was general enough to know a losing battle when he saw one, and an enemy he couldn't defeat.
"The real barbarians in this world are the Persians," she continued hotly. "Remember how they slaughtered our injured before Issos?" She paused as the men grumbled and scowled. Cups were refilled, the strong scent of wine permeating the air. "Remember the workmen we found here in Persepolis?" The murmuring became louder. "And Persian executions! These men are so barbaric that they visit horrors on their own people for trifles!" The grumbling had turned to shouting. Thais stood, arms spread, as the angry words flowed around her. This was her moment; she could push them to do whatever she willed.
General Parmenion climbed to his feet, steady as a rock. He'd had little to drink that night. Festivities like this held less and less appeal for him; he wondered if it was just because he was getting old. When he'd been younger, he would be the first one to pass out drunk. "Now just a moment," he growled, speaking slowly, aware that he alone in this room might have been fully sober. "Persepolis is ours now. We beat those barbarians and took it. Why should we destroy our loot?"
"If it is ours, then we can do with it whatever we want!" Thais retorted, unnaturally defiant and vocal. "I say we should make the Persians suffer some of what we Greeks suffered! And it is the women of Greece who should deliver that punishment!" Parmenion moved again to speak, but the men shouted him down, in their drunken haze preferring to hear more from Thais.
"Is it not we women who send our beloved fathers, husbands, sons, and brothers off to die by Persian hands? Is it not we women who try to tend the wounds our men suffer at Persian hands? Is it not we women who have no way to fight against tyranny, but merely stand aside and let our men do it for us? We too deserve retribution! Let us take it now!"
The men rose from their couches cheering, their women hanging onto them, eyes glittering with agreement. Parmenion spoke again, but his words, so strong on the battlefield, were lost in the roar. He scowled and wondered if he should take some meaning from this. Why did the men refuse to listen to him?
He had begun to wonder, as all men gaining in years did, if he should quit the battlefield. It was meant for younger men, younger generals. His Philotas, after all the tutoring he'd given the lad, could surely do as good a job as he had done. And, after all, what good was a general whose men didn't listen to him? His gaze traveled to where Alexander sat, every bit as caught up in that woman's spell as the other men. He'd assured Parmenion that he still had a place in the army, in his kingdom. But this new world Alexander was forging was so different from the one he'd known before. Could he keep up with these changes, old as he was? More importantly, did he want to?
And around him the insanity continued.
"And I know just how we can hurt the Persians most," Thais informed them in delight. The men fell silent, waiting for her to tell them. Even the king looked eager to hear her words. In this hall, the quiet seemed far noisier and more unnatural than the shouting from moments ago. "This palace," she gestured at it expansively. "The Persians are proud of it beyond all reason." Not hard to see why, given the grandness of it. She thought, in all the world, there was probably nowhere more magnificent than the palace at Persepolis. And then there was no greater blasphemy in this world, that the Persians should create this greatest of beauties and not the Greeks. "We should burn it down." She spoke in barely more than a whisper, but in the silence the men all heard her. "Our revenge shall be to destroy that which they love most of all."
The silence continued as the men sat and stared at each other and this grand palace, considering. They were willing to do it, she could tell that from their faces. All it would take was one voice of authority that agreed with her. Parmenion might have spoken, but he stared off into space, contemplating his own increasing age and what came with. Around him, unnoticed, the men began murmuring again in drunken expectation.
Alexander, drunk and carried away as anyone else, had been watching Thais closely and his eyes had burned with memory when she listed Persian travesties. "Yes," he hissed. "Let's burn it down!" He lurched to his feet. "Grab torches, men!" he called.
In a fit of mad revelry, the Macedonians fled from the palace, grabbing torches as they went. When everyone was outside, Alexander stepped forward and threw his torch first. It landed near the wall of the palace and slowly the fire began to spread. He stepped aside and gestured for Thais. She paused, surprised. But Ptolemy handed her his torch, so she stepped forward and threw hers down besides the king's with a cry of triumph. The assembled men cried out in mad accord and surged forward, armed with their own fire, launching yet another attack against their Persian enemies. The women from the feast joined in too, for the first time ever inflicting Persian casualties.
Such a gigantic palace didn't burn quickly. More and more brands were tossed down, and still less than half of the palace was on fire. The men, never willing to suffer defeat, grabbed more torches, spreading the fire as quickly as they could. One enterprising soul poured oil when the fire near him looked to be dying.
Thais smiled with pleasure as hot flames danced through the sky, roaring defiance of everything Persian. She withdrew slowly, not wanting to be singed, but unwilling to leave and not view this magnificent spectacle. The whole palace now burned and the giant bonfire made the night almost as bright as day. Some Persians had ventured as close as they dared and had thrown themselves on the ground, crying in despair. She laughed at them; now they too knew horror.
Eventually, Parmenion, who had been standing to one side in a state of shock, made his way over to Alexander's side. "Stop this!" he yelled loudly. "You're drunk and this is insane!"
Alexander turned to look at him and for the first time seemed to come aware of the destructive fire around him. He stared at his general, the mass of flames screaming to the heavens before him, the weeping Persians off to one side, and Thais, with her pleased smile. When his eyes returned to Parmenion, he was completely sober.
He called loudly for the fire to be extinguished. A few ferocious scowls and the men obeyed, though they might have been content to let the whole city burn. Thais frowned; surely nothing much could be salvaged from the palace after such a fire, but she still would have liked to see it burn more. As buckets of water were brought, the nearby Persians were bowing in Alexander's general direction, weeping now in gratitude. She sighed and supposed they had learned their lesson.
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