Chapter 22 – Aristotle Tutoring Alexander 

"You see Alexander, the essence of an object exist within the thing itself. Our human consciousness, our soul resides completely within the physical form. It is not something that exists outside of the physical body. The unseen cannot become an explanation for the observable world. The best way for our human consciousness to gain any kind of knowledge and understanding of the world is through natural philosophy."

These are the words I wake up to. When I open my eyes I see two figures in front of me. The older man is teaching the adolescent boy sitting in front him. The building we are in is made of stones but it is very open.

I know where I am. I am in Greece.

And I also know what to say. "Science."

"Excuse me?" the oldest man asks me. Some people helped shape human history. Some people changed the course of history. Without this mind one of the greatest conquerors of all time might have never accomplished what he did.

I've never experienced this before. I've never felt this kind of excitement and awe before. Seeing Gustave again was a gift and so was seeing Tanya again. But those were different kind of excitements. This means something different. This is history.

"What you call natural philosophy will become science and you're right," I tell him and then add more softly, to myself, "science over arts. That's always been my motto."

"You should not discredit the use of the arts in society, they are actually... and what am I even doing? Who are you? What are you doing here? How did you get here?" Aristotle tells me. He's basically scolding me. I'm getting scolded by Aristotle. This is epic.

"All very valid questions that unfortunately come without any answers," I tell him. I'm pretty sure it'll piss him off. I'm pretty sure my very presence in this place annoys him, but I can't help being giddy. And I can't tell the truth. I want to stay here. I don't want to leave just yet.

"You need to get out of here this instant," Aristotle tells me.

"Catharsis," I just blur out. It's the first thing I can think about. The most obvious thing.

"Excuse me?"

"Catharsis," I repeat, "You came up with that. We go to watch plays where awful things happen because we need to experience it. We need tragedies in fiction to remind us that bad things can happen to decent people."

I see the doubt in his eyes. He doesn't understand how I could know this. "Who are you? How do you know this?"

I tell him the truth. "Where I'm from, anyone with any kind of advance knowledge knows about you. We study your teachings."

"You are a liar."

I wasn't lying that time. But it is true that I do need to lie. I want to lie. I want to stay here. Before, I didn't care about the people in the paintings but this is different. This is Aristotle. Aristotle and... oh lord... I realize who else is here. I realize that whoever cared enough about Aristotle to paint him would be painting this other person too..."I'm a Nymph. This is my temple. I was curious. I wanted to see you teach," I tell Aristotle and look at the young man, "And I wanted to see the future king of Macedonia."

"How do you know me?" he asks me.

"Scholars know about Aristotle. Everyone knows about Alexander," I tell him. Alexander the Great. That's Alexander the Great. He isn't great yet, but he will be soon.

"You need to leave the premise immediately. My teachings are not for the likes of you," Aristotle tells me firmly.

"You don't understand. We only ever got the notes of your students. All your works are gone," I kind of beg him. My curiosity is burning. It's probably not even real. What this man is saying might just be a figment of my imagination, but in the slight off chance that this is Aristotle, I can't pass the opportunity.

"Leave," Aristotle repeats.

"Wait, teacher, I'm a little curious here." Alexander gets up. He can't be older than sixteen. That's what the history books say. Aristotle teaches him until he's sixteen. He's beautiful though. Another damn jailbait. I always figured that our romantics mind had made him into something more idealistic than he really was, but he is gorgeous. It's probably just my own romantic mind that's imagining this though.

"You tamed a horse when you were ten," I tell him. I always loved Alexander the Great. There was a time when I studied about his life, so I know about him. I love the history of great conquerors. It's always been fascinating to me, the way they built whole nation. Maybe that's why I wanted to be an engineer. I wanted to build something of my own. "You figured out it was scared of its shadow. Your father was so proud of you he said Macedonia wasn't big enough for your ambitions. It won't be. The whole world wouldn't be big enough for your ambitions if you had all the time you wanted. You love Omer's Iliad. Aristotle gave you a copy. The son is far better than the father."

"Alexander, do not listen to the creature," Aristotle interjects.

He doesn't look his teacher when he answers him, he's just looking at me. His head tilts slightly. His eyes narrow just a bit. He's studying me. "It's saying interesting things."

"She probably learned it from her brother. Or husband. Does it matter? She deceits."

I look at Aristotle. "I don't." I kind of do, but I'm not completely lying to them, just about the nymph part. "I just know things. I know what you believe in. I understand numbers and equations and philosophies about natures that you can't even dream about. I know how it interests you too, the fact that numbers systems often have ten as their point of reference. You think it might be because men are born with ten fingers, because they have the equivalent of pebbles to the number of their own fingers."

I know what he sees when Aristotle looks at me. He sees something that does not make sense. But I can also see a sort of curiosity behind his eyes. He wouldn't be the man he is without it.

"Listen to it if it pleases you. Your lessons are done for the day," Aristotle tells Alexander and just storms out.

It's kind of dramatic and it saddens me because I would have loved to know more about his teachings. Everything burned. Everything of his was lost except for the notes his students took. I wanted to know if he really believed everything we say he did.

But then again, I have Alexander the Great staring at me right now like I'm keeping one of the most important secrets of all time, so hey, a gal can't complain.

Really, anywhere I'm not being skinned alive is always a party.

"Who are you exactly?" he asks me again.

"Just a woman who knows what you'll become."

"And what is that?"

"A man who wields these quite efficiently," I tell him, pointing at swords that are resting against the wall.

"So I'm a fighter?" he asks walking slowly to the swords. He picks on up. He looks contemplative.

"You'll be more than just a sword," I tell him with a smile.

He smiles back at me. "Did you ever wield on of these?"

I think back to the Sabine painting. "Yes."

"Did you win?"

I think about the Roman. I can't even remember his name. I feel bad about that. "Yes, but I won not because of skills but because of luck."

"Do you wish me to show you how to wield it properly?"

For a second, I'm completely speechless. Learning how to fight from Alexander the freaking Great? The answer comes a little too naturally and confuses my interlocutor. "Hell yeah!"

Just like that, the young man throws a sword my way and shows me how to fight. He shows me how to hold the sword properly and how to block and to attack. How to move. How to not get killed.

I don't see the time pass. I have no idea how long the lesson lasts. I just know that at one point the sheer incredulity of the whole thing kind of hits me and I can't help giggling.

"That feint wasn't funny. Why are you laughing?" he asks me, wiping his brow with his forearm.

I'm leaning against my legs, trying to catch my breath. And stop giggling. "I'm sorry I just can't believe I'm learning to fight with Alexander the Great."

"Alexander the Great?"

"Yes!"

He snorts. "Where does that come from?"

"You have no idea of the things you do, of the things will you will do..." I tell him that and I'm a little bit in awe with the guy. He's still so young and I can already see it. I could see it while he was teaching me things. I can see it now when he's smiling at me. He's so unbelievably charismatic. If he told me I had to jump off a cliff I probably would.

"And what are those great things I do?"

"Well, you'll take elephants to your battles," I tell him.

"Elephants" he makes a big round gesture with his hand, obviously referring to the colossal size of the mammal.

"Yes, elephants."

He chuckles. "I must be out of my mind."

"You are, you will be..." I say softly, "but no one will ever be your equal after. Maybe Julius Cesar but you did it faster than him, and no one stabbed you in the back and you'll never lose a battle. They still teach your tactics in military schools, thousands of years later. There are a few names that survive the test of history. Yours do. Billions of people will know who you are. You'll never truly die."

"That's a lovely thing to imagine."

"It's the truth."

"Am I a tyrant? In your history?"

That's difficult to answer. I'm pretty sure his mom burned his step mother and half brother. He didn't do it but it was made in his name. I don't think he was okay with it though, but he had a lot of people killed off to stay in power. And history books lie. Alexander the Great was not the greatest conqueror in history; he's just one of the figures we picked in our little favourite pool. It doesn't erase the fact that almost anyone knows who he is, or as at least heard the name. "You make hard decisions because you understand the weight of power and the concessions you need to make to keep it. Some people have to die. But you're not cruel. At least I never thought you were."

We're both silent for a little while. I guess we needed a break. That's when I hear the sound of the voice of other boys. Of course, because Aristotle had other pupils.

And that suddenly reminds me... I might as well satisfy my curiosity while I'm here. "Where's Hephaestion?" I ask him. History books don't know that much about Alexander's best friend, not even his actual age, and if he really did study under Aristotle but they know that Hephaestion is to Alexander what Patroclus was to Achilles.

He frowns but smiles at the same time. Like he's surprise I asked this. "How..." Alexander shakes his head slightly. "Outside, napping somewhere probably."

"Sooooo. Do you like him?" I feel like we're at a slumber party here and we're gossiping.

Again, Alexander chuckles softly. "Of course I like him."

"But, do you like him, like him. I mean, do you love him," I'm a hopeless person.

"Once again, of course I love him, he's my dearest friend."

"But is he the kind of friend that you would hug."

"Hug?"

"Embrace."

Alexander just keeps looking amused and confused. "And again, of course I'd embrace him. I cherish his company."

"It's probably wrong of me to try to get you to admit you're gay," I mumble a little too loudly.

"I am quite joyous at the moment if that can comfort you," he tells me and I burst into laugher.

Oh well. It's okay. I don't think I have it in me to ask him if he wants to passionately kiss his friend. I guess I'll stay in the dark.

And then I just look at him and I think about all the wasted potential. Thirty two years. He's probably already reached the middle of his existence. He doesn't really have that much time. "I don't know what to tell you to save you," I suddenly tell him.

"Do I need to be saved?"

"You could have accomplished so much more, that's all. It'll all fall apart without you," I admit.

"I'm sure my children will keep my dreams alive..." And then he looks a little worried, "I don't have any children?"

He does, but they don't live for very long. "I don't know if I should tell you. I don't know what I'm allowed to say. I have no idea if this might change the course of history." Technically, even if what I told him had an incident on history, Alexander's Greece needs to die down so Rome can ultimately take its place.

"I accomplish great things and people remember me?"

"Yes they do."

"And is my death gruesome and humiliating?"

"No, not at all."

"Then say nothing. Let's not change what is to come. I'll face it willingly."

"A wise man." I smile. "I'll face my end willingly too."

"How so?"

"Let's fight one last time. And don't hold back."

"I will do no such thing."

"You can't hurt me. Trust me. I'm a Nymph."

I could stay longer here. I could stretch this as long as I can stay awake. But I'm pretty sure Aristotle is going to come back and shoo me away with a broomstick or something. I don't see myself falling asleep at the feet of Alexander's bed. I don't see how I'm supposed to explain my presence here any longer. And I want to see how I'd actually fair in a fight with Alexander the Great.

I hold my own for longer than I could have guess. I'm pretty sure Alexander is going very easy on me though. It doesn't matter, I last more than ten second. But when I'm too slow to stop one of Alexander's blow and it lands right in my stomach, I think Alexander is more surprised than I am.

I don't think he's prepared for the blood, he didn't expect it, and he catches me right before I fall on the ground. "Lady! Lady?"

I feel blood coming up my mouth. It's not the first time I feel this, so I don't panic. I just hold's Alexander's hand that's putting pressure on my wound and tell him, "It's Melody. My name is Melody."

"Why did you lie? Why did you have me kill you?" he asks and he looks pissed and sad and confused and all sorts of things.

"I didn't lie. You'll see. I'll just disappear and start again." I tell him. I should really stop dying in people's arms like this. I don't think they enjoy it. I'm losing a lot of blood now and I'm feeling a little delirious so I say, "Dying by your hand in your arms is quite the honour Alexander the Great."

"You just said..."

I stop him with a quote from his favourite book. "Why so much grief for me? No man will hurl me down to Death, against my fate. And fate? No one alive has ever escaped it, neither brave man nor coward, I tell you - it's born with us the day that we are born."

I feel my hand drop and the last thing I can see before everything turns to black is Alexander the Great's anguished face over my death.

I die with the knowledge that in some version of something, Alexander the Great cared about whether I lived or died. I die thinking that I really hope that this adventure was real.