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A CHOICE OF DESTINIES by Melissa Scott

A CHOICE OF DESTINIES

For my friends—D.S., T.G.A., M.M.,

B. 3 . E.C., C.T., P.N., J.C., D.R.,

and, specially, L.A.B.

A CHOICE OF DESTINIES

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events

portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance

to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

book or portions thereof in any form.

A Baen Books Original

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A CHOICE OF DESTINIES by Melissa Scott

Baen Publishing Enterprises

260 Fifth Avenue New

York, N.Y. 10001

First printing, June 1986

ISBN: 0-671-65563-9

Cover art by David Egge

Printed in the United States of America

Distributed by

SIMON & SCHUSTER

TRADE PUBLISHING GROUP

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, N.Y. 10020

THE MACEDONIAN CALENDAR

MACEDONIAN MONTH

GREGORIAN MONTH (Approximate)

Artemisios

mid-April—mid-May

Daisios

mid-May—mid-June

Panemos

mid-June—mid-July

Loios

mid-July—mid-August

Gorpiaios

mid-August—mid-September

Hyperberetaios

mid-September—mid-October

Dios

mid-October—mid-November

Apellaios

mid-November—mid-December

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A CHOICE OF DESTINIES by Melissa Scott

Audnaios

mid-December—mid-January

Peritios

mid-January—mid-February

Dystros

mid-February—mid-March

Xandikos

mid-March—mid-April

Like most ancient calendars, the Macedonian calendar was based on lunar

observations, and thus is about ten days short of the solar year; thus the

Gregorian months given above can be no more than approximate. To

compensate, and keep the Macedonian calendar in line with the seasons,

intercalary months were added, a second month of Xandikos in the third,

sixth, eighth, eleventh, fourteenth, and nineteenth years of the cycle, and an

extra Hyperberetaios was observed in the sixteenth year.

The Macedonian stadion is approximately equal to one-eighth of a Roman

mile; 8.7 stadia equals (approximately) one English mile.

Prologue:

Alexandria Eschate, winter (Peritios), 1855 imperial (1499 A.D., 2252 Ab Urbe Condita-A.U.C.)

It was snowing again. Jason of Sestos stared out the window at the swirling flakes obscuring his

view of the surrounding hills. It was a depressingly familiar sight after three years in command of

the garrison at Alexandria Eschate, and he turned away from the window, sighing his boredom.

The Sogdians had been more or less civilized since Philip Alexander’s reign; the Scythians and

their Kievan allies had been quiet for nearly fifty years. Still, Alexandria Eschate, Alexandria the

Farthest, the last of the eastern cities founded by Alexander III and I, retained its strategic

importance, and Jason supposed he should feel flattered to hold such an important command.

He turned away from the window, glancing around the officers’ mess. The servants had lit a

roaring fire in the main fireplace, and a dozen oil lamps gave an added warmth in the dark

afternoon. Most of the other garrison officers were present, except for Polemocrates, the junior

infantry commander, whose Foot Companions had the watch: there was little for them to do in

this weather, except wait for spring. Alexander the Thessalian, one of perhaps a dozen Alexanders

in the garrison—the name was, not surprisingly, the most common in the empire—was bent over

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A CHOICE OF DESTINIES by Melissa Scott

his daybook, fingers flashing along the beads of his tallyboard as he calculated the month’s

accounts. The senior infantry commander, Amyntor son of Alexander, was sprawled in a

comfortable chair, feet stretched out to the fire. A book lay open in his lap, but he did not seem to

be reading. Jason crossed the room to join him, glad of the excuse for conversation.

“Not a very interesting text, I see,” he said.

Amyntor started and looked up, a rueful smile crossing his face. “Very interesting, actually,” he

said.

“Oh?” Jason asked, more to break the monotony than out of real interest.

“Flavius Arrianus, History of Alexander III/I ,” Amyntor answered, displaying the book’s spine.

Philip Gellius, the garrison’s Roman engineer, looked up from his dice game. “That’s the

controversial one, isn’t it?”

Jason had long ago ceased to be surprised by the variety of the engineer’s interests. Amyntor

nodded.

“Your move, Philip.” Alexander the Lydian, commander of the garrison’s tiny cavalry detachment,

leaned across the gaming board to touch the engineer’s arm. The earrings that had given him his

second name flashed in the lamplight, and Jason found himself wondering again why the

cavalryman had adopted that Lydian custom. He wasn’t really a Lydian, but a citizen of Alexandria-

in-Egypt, and God alone knew what obscure races made up his bloodline. Mostly eastern peoples,

Jason thought, Persians and Asian Greeks and possibly Egyptians; the Lydian was too darkly

pretty to have much western blood.

Philip tossed the dice and shifted his counters along the board’s curving track, saying, “I read it.

What do you think, Amyntor?”

“It is interesting,” the infantry officer said, “but…”

“What are you talking about?” the Thessalian asked, pushing aside the tallyboard.

Amyntor silently held up his book. Philip said, “It’s another history of the great Alexander, only

this one says the Greek rebellion was the greatest thing that ever happened to him.”

The Thessalian snorted, and the Lydian said scornfully, “And how does he figure that?”

“He says that if Alexander had continued east the way he wanted to, there would’ve been an

unstable, shifting frontier somewhere in the middle of India, and that not even Philip Alexander

would’ve been able to hold it together. He says the Greek states would’ve rebelled and the end

result would’ve been the fall of Alexander’s empire and the rise of Roman power, at least in the

West,” Amyntor said.

“I know a Roman argument when I hear one,” Alexander the Lydian said. He shifted his counters,

frowning, and rolled the dice with a muttered invocation. Philip smiled and picked up the dice.

The Lydian shook his head, pushing the tiny pile of copper coins across the table toward the

Roman. “What else does this Arrianus have to say?” There was a note of challenge in his voice

and Jason sighed. Like most of the elite Companion Cavalry, who could trace their regimental

history directly to Alexander’s own cavalry, the Lydian was more than a little in love with the

heroic conqueror. In his eyes, at least, the great Alexander could do no wrong. Jason smiled

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A CHOICE OF DESTINIES by Melissa Scott

faintly. It was in part to discourage such romantic notions that the Companions required a year’s

service in a provincial garrison before a man could be promoted to squadron leader.

Amyntor grinned and gave Philip a quick, malicious glance. “He says the Greeks built everything

important anyway, that any culture Rome built would’ve been sterile and imitative and barbaric—

and he’s Roman himself.”

Philip shrugged, not letting himself be baited. “If I remember correctly, the word Arrianus used

was pragmatic. There’s nothing wrong with a little pragmatism, Amyntor.”

“Pragmatism couldn’t hold all those people together,” the Lydian began, and Alexander the

Thessalian said, “This doesn’t sound much like history to me.”

Philip nodded. “I thought that myself.”

The Lydian said slowly, “I don’t know. Why not speculate? This sort of negative history—or

whatever you want to call it—might give some insight into what actually did happen, help you

isolate what the important factors were.”

“You can’t test any of these things,” the Thessalian said impatiently. “The past only happens

once.”

Jason sighed again, closing his ears to the rising argument, now diverted into all too familiar

territory. Philip and the Thessalian would gang up on Alexander the Lydian—as they always did—

argue him to mulish silence, and then would probably spend the rest of the night arguing the finer

points of philosophy. There was one thing, though, he thought, glancing again at the snow that

swirled ever more thickly outside the windows: if Alexander had gone into India, he might not

have had to put a garrison in this godforsaken spot.

Chapter 1:

Bactra, winter (Peritios), 29 imperial (328 B.C., 426 A.U.C.)

It was a quiet night, so still that the soldiers standing watch on the city wall could hear the faint

shrilling of flutes from the house taken over by their own brigade’s commander. A few, shivering

even under the layers of sheepskin and wool, glanced enviously toward the sound, then up at the

sky, judging the waning hours of their watch. One, pausing to warm his hands at a brazier,

mumbled the watchword to the man who held the next section of wall. Getting the proper

response, he jerked his head toward the inner city and added, “What wouldn’t I give to be down

there.”

The other man, a grizzled, bearded veteran of King Philip’s day, laughed softly, so as not to attract

the attention of their file-leader. He fumbled under the folds of his cloaks and brought out a

wineskin. “Here, have a swallow of this.”

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Melissa Scott - A Choice of Destinies.pdf

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