As Andreas wandered past the smouldering logs that used to be the framework for a massive command tent, he felt a quiet sort of dread in his heart. It shouldn’t have been a surprise to him; the discontent among the men had been simmering for weeks now. The Punjab campaign had been hard on all of them but for things to get to this point seemed impossible Clearly, there was something he didn’t understand about the circumstances.

That realisation hit hard. Having been in Alexander’s army since the first battles in Persia, quickly rising through the ranks of the Pezhetairoi, he had been under the impression that if there was one thing he understood, it was the camaraderie and loyalty amongst the men he had fought alongside. Indeed, that camaraderie had been an immense source of comfort to him when he lost his family.

He surveyed the scene around him, taking a moment to internalise the weight of the situation. The command tent had been a sight to behold; years of campaigning across Asia meant that the soldiers building the encampments had nearly perfected its design no matter what the location. It had fit in here right by the Hydaspes river just as well as it had in the steppes of Persia. A simple yet powerful wooden framework created the base structure for an simple, off-white fabric to serve as the walls. Each command tent was marked by a simple coloured flag at the entrance, indicating whether it was an output for the Hetairoi, Prodromoi, or the Pezhetairoi. And the interior – that had been a marvel in itself. The interior of each tent was moddled and arranged according to a standard Macedonian room. Basic stools, four tables arranged together (usually with battle plants laid on the table), and the occasional pithos ornamented with Macedonian paintings. Simple, yet reminiscent of home in a way that was essential to remind the men what they were fighting for. Andreas, after having become a general, had spent so many of his evenings in tents like this that to see one collapse was really all it took for him to see the gravity of the situation.

He walked in silence, quietly taking in the sights around him while attempting to ignore the pit that had formed in his stomach. Some fallen logs were still smouldering, providing enough light to illuminate the surroundings. In that moment, he remembered how it had felt to arrive too late at his house to save the wife when the fire had engulfed the building. After that, there had been no turning back when it came to his journey with Alexander. He had committed mind, body, and soul to the Macedonian cause.

The oppressive heat didn’t help in the least as Andreas attempted to quickly survey the rest of the damage. It seemed that this command tent had received the brunt of the men’s anger, with most other structures seemingly intact, yet deserted. The leader of this particular uprising – apparently a man named Damianos – had reportedly rallied up the men, stormed the command tent, and led the men away on horseback towards other encampments where similar forms of protest were taking place. According to the messenger, uprisings had broken out across multiple encampments around the same time, despite any apparent lack of coordination. Damianos had clearly made the most of the widespread anger, working it to his advantage.

Having seen the damage for himself, he now knew that the uprising was no joke. The remnants of the kind of anger that he had seen on display here made it clear that the soldiers meant business. And as much as he had been lying to himself about it, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that the soldiers had a point. Of course, while he would never admit that to himself, the incessantly intrusive thought wouldn’t leave his head.

As he mounted his hours, riding off into the night back towards Alexander’s encampment, the oppressive warm air sent him back in time – to the last battle with Porus.

There were too many deaths that day. No one had expected the elephants – in fact, very few soldiers even knew elephants existed.  It was a sunny afternoon when the Macedonian army met King Porus’s right on the banks of the Hydaspes river. Alexander’s men, experienced and confident, waded right into Porus’s and immediately gained the upper hand. It had looked to be an easy victory – at least, until, they heard the trumpeting sound that would haunt the men in their sleep. The elephants, massive creatures with tusks that could pierce entire carriages, waded into the battlefield. Right from that point on, it had been a massacre. Andreas remembered his retreat clearly, covered in the blood of his comrades as the sun beat down upon them.

How could Alexander possibly hope to compete with that? Of course the men were up in arms that he wanted to carry on the campaign, an implicit thought at the back of his mind. His loyalty to Alexander would never allow him to admit it.

As he reached the gates of the encampment, a young messenger on horseback galloped up to him.

“Damianos and his men are here. Alexander refuses to come out of his tent,” gasped out the man, his eyes wide. Andreas nodded, quickly compartmentalising all the conflict that had been raging in his mind. He had a duty to perform, right here, right now.

“SILENCE!” General Andreas’s voice roared over the hubbub of all the soldiers. The exclamation shocked them into silence, and no one spoke for a moment.

Andreas looked across at the sea of men swarming in front of Alexander’s tent from on top of his horse. He’d been tasked by Alexander himself to keep the men in check, at least until further plans were announced.

He whistled towards the sentries by the gate to indicate his arrival, who opened the gates in a hurry, clearly worried themselves. Andreas galloped in towards the source of the noise, taking only a moment to dwell upon the fact that this must have been how the previous encampment looked when all hell broke loose. The embers of the burning logs flashed in his mind for a moment, followed by his wife’s face. As he rode, he noticed a flash of fire out of the corner of his eyes and saw a Macedonian banner on fire. With a fresh determination, he rode towards Alexander’s tent, currently being mobbed by over a 100 soldiers, Without a moment of hesitation he headed directly towards the front, turning heads from the men amassed outside the tent.

His horse drew to a halt, as he peered across at all the men, each one carrying a million emotions in their eyes.. “Now,” he said coldly, trying to make eye contact with as many of them as he could. “I want an explanation. Right now.”

No one spoke for a moment, the tension in the air building. Finally, a young man carrying a spear stepped forward, drawing the attention of those around him. As if on cue, a warm breeze blew across the encampment – a reminder of the battle fought by the banks of the Hyphasis River, that had ended in bloodbath. 

“Damianos, isn’t it?” said Andreas. The young corporal nodded. Andreas sized him up quickly, trying to assess what kind of person would dare to be the spokesperson for the kind of violence the mutinying soldiers across the encampments had caused. Andreas briefly cast his eyes over at the multiple collapsed tents and burning banners. A short, stocky man carrying a quiet sort of determination about him, stood in front of the large crowd.

“Very well. Speak.”

Damianos appeared hesitant, and rightly so. Andreas was not unaware of the influence his word carried among the men, and knew this could quite likely determine the fate of the Macedonian army.

“We’ve received word from General Coenus that Alexander plans to march on past the Ganges towards the Nanda Empire,” began Damianos. “Given the kind of conditions our battles with Porus left us in, the army is in no condition to continue forward. We demand an immediate end to the Indian campaign so that those of us that are still alive can return home to our wives and children.” His voice shook slightly as he spoke.

Andreas sighed. In the back of his mind, he knew and sympathised with the men’s demands. But of course, he had a duty in this very moment.

“Right. And you believe rioting and looting our own encampments is the way to seek Alexander’s favour?” Damianos looked down at the ground at these words, hesitating. It was a tense moment that passed before he spoke again.

“The army is in ruins, General. No one is in any condition to fight. You can’t blame the men for their anger.”

Anger, thought Andreas. Who was he to speak of anger? Andreas, who had seen his own wife die and yet continued to stay with Alexander, knew what anger meant. But the words struck a chord, nonetheless. Yet, he knew he had to lash out.

“Who, exactly, are you to tell me what not to do when you so boldly claim responsibility for the kind of unrest your men have been spreading amongst the camps?” Andreas’s nostrils flared. He was about to continue speaking when he heard the whinny of a horse from a short distance away.

“Stand down, Andreas. They’re with me.”

“General Coenus.” Andreas made eye contact with the man riding towards them. He’d never been fond of Coenus and wasn’t too happy to see him here.

“What’s happening here is the will of the people. I understand that Alexander has tasked you with a responsibility, but even you can’t stop this from happening. The Indian campaign must end tonight.”

Andreas sighed. “This is not a conversation to be had here. Meet me in the main command tent.”

Coenus raised an eyebrow. “That afraid of the truth, Andreas? Don’t be a coward.” Typical of Coenus to make this an ego issue yet again, even in these disastrous circumstances.

“And you,” said Andreas, “don’t want to get demoted yet again.” That dropped his smirk. Coenus sighed, and motioned in the affirmative. The two dismounted their horses as Andreas felt the gaze of the men fixed directly on them. Very tangibly feeling the weight that was on his shoulders, he quietly stepped into Alexander’s tent, Coenus following.

Despite the ruins that the rest of the encampment was in, the main command tent itself seemed largely preserved from all damage. Andreas could see how one could remain in pretense in here and refuse to face the outside world. Maybe Alexander wasn’t in his most rational senses after all.

“My most respected leader, I am here simply for your own good. The demands of these men will be met with blood, one way or another. You have to stand down for the sake of your personal safety,” Coenus finished speaking, somehow able to meet Alexander in the eyes as he did. From the side, Andreas could only see his right eye; his blue one. Coenus would be making contact with both the stormy grey blue left eye, and the calm blue right eye.

It had been for that reason that Andreas had never quite been able to look at Alexander in the eyes. Besides, it was easy to avert eye contact, admit to his authority, and see him as nothing more than the wisest commander. In that sense, Coenus had already bested Andreas.

Alexander’s responses admitted to Andreas’s fears about his rationality. He spoke in short, ragged breaths, “…destiny, promised father…” And then he turned to Andreas. “You’re the last one left who believes in me. You choose. I trust you.”

Of all the outcomes the two generals could have expected, that was the least. And for once, Andreas was in power. In control. Since his family’s death, he had completely submitted his control to Alexander. Alexander knew best, always. Always something to trust in.

And now, apparently, he held that trust in the palm of his hand? If it hadn’t been such a tense moment, Andreas would have relished the disdain Coenus must have heard about hearing this. But that wasn’t the time, nor the place.

The moment lasted forever. As Andreas blinked, the images of the destruction that lay outside flashed before his eyes. The embers, floating from the burning remains of what used to be a stable for the Hetairoi’s horses, against the evening sky. The banners demarking each cohort of the army, torn to shreds. Weapons snapped in pieces, scattered about the already burning grass. He had seen a lot in his lifetime but the pure rage on display here; he’d never seen that.

And in that moment, he knew. Damianos may have touched a nerve, but he was right. Andreas just hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself, but now he had no choice. 

But Andreas would be damned if he let this moment go that easily.

He walked up to Coenus and whispered, “I know you engineered this. Just enjoy your victory.” 

“Don’t mind if I do.” He smirked slightly.

Andreas turned his eyes towards Alexander, meeting them directly for the first time, to see the eyes of a truly broken man. At the back of his mind, a couple of thoughts quickly formed. The death of a loved one could connect some men before they would ever admit it to themselves. 

“I believe it’s time to go home, Alexander.”

Alexander’s last words were almost too quiet to hear. “There’s no home for a son who has failed his father.”

Andreas thought the least he could do was pretend not to hear it. “Shall I make the announcement, Coenus, or would you like the honours?”

Coenus forced a smile. “I believe this one is yours, Andreas. I’ll get to work contacting the commanders of the Hetairoi, Prodromoi, and Pezhetairoi. There’s a lot to be done.” 

Andreas sighed, not entirely sure what he felt just yet. All he knew was that there was a new mission to accept. And this one would define the legacy of Alexander the Great.

He headed out into the night.