OH, LOVE: A Crowned Alcoholic and a Princess with Snakes
Art Design: huxley.media via Photoshop
Greece, among other countries, recently held a televised project to determine the ten most famous Greeks in history. Compared to similar rankings elsewhere, this list is truly impressive. The country is not overflowing with politicians, generals, and other bloodshedders: Socrates comes in fifth, Aristotle sixth, Plato ninth — who wouldn’t envy that?
And the honorable second place? Oncologist Georgios Papanikolaou, the inventor of the Pap smear test for early detection of cervical cancer, is a man who has saved millions of women across the globe. That one sparks pure envy in me…
But still, as everywhere else, the top spot went to a man who personally killed masses of people — and how many perished by his command, no one could count. And yet, he was in many ways ahead of his time: he valued people for their talents, not their bloodline; he praised, elevated, and embraced the Persians who had once lost a war to him; and he spread Greek culture — one of the most advanced at the time — all the way to the borders of China.
So there’s no need to argue — Alexander the Great was undoubtedly a hero. But who were the parents who gave birth to such a child, endowed him with such genes, and raised him the way they did? Let’s talk about them.
PLACE OF ACTION SETTING
Macedonia was, after all, a kingdom with at least a five-hundred-year history by the time Alexander was born — so it’s more accurate to say it lay north of Greece rather than in northern Greece. The language, however, was practically the same: an Athenian or a Spartan could understand a Macedonian about as well as a Kyiv resident understand someone from Lviv.
However, the Macedonians themselves suffered from an inferiority complex when it came to the cultural superiority of classical Greece. They produced few great thinkers or artists and were overjoyed when their king, Alexander I, was finally allowed to participate in the Olympic Games — an event strictly reserved for Greeks — after a rather contentious debate.
This same king, nicknamed Philhellene — Friend of the Greeks (which, incidentally, implies he wasn’t entirely Greek himself!) — heroically avoided obeying Xerxes’ orders to help the Persians conquer Greece. More than that, he risked his crown and his life to supply the Greeks with intelligence.
Then again, this is the typical patriotism of someone living in the diaspora, whose romantic view of their homeland isn’t clouded by the messy realities happening on the ground. In truth, belonging to a nation depends less on ancestry or birthplace and more on convictions — no matter how outraged that might make the Gestapo’s racial office or similar institutions in spirit.
TIME TO MARRY
Now that Philip of Macedon had ascended to the throne, he had to start thinking about whom to pass it on to. Time to have heirs — and that meant choosing the right woman. Intimacy wasn’t a problem for a wealthy man on the Balkan Peninsula — if necessary, you could always buy a slave and resolve such issues however you saw fit.
And it didn’t even have to be a slave — affection for a handsome boy was, in those times, considered even more virtuous, since it wasn’t tied to procreation. So keep in mind: practically all the great Greek philosophers, politicians, and sculptors would have ended up in Soviet prison under the infamous Article 121.
Nevertheless, marriage was considered so important that Greek men kept their wives locked away in the gynaikon, the women’s quarters of the house — much like Muslims did in their harems. Antiquity was a thoroughly male-dominated world, where a woman’s rights were roughly on par with those of her bracelet or scarf.
That said, women like Aspasia managed to achieve things that were simply unthinkable for most of their peers. But how many such women were there? Well, as we’ll soon see — quite a few, in fact…
WITH MANY NAMES
Young King Philip wasn’t expecting much trouble from women. He was expanding the borders of his kingdom through successful wars — but there were other ways to do that, too, such as dynastic marriages. And while the average Greek man usually had only one wife, there was no formal ban on polygamy — who were they to deny a man what was permitted to the gods?
If Zeus, the king of the gods, could have multiple lovers, who would dare forbid the king of men? Philip wasn’t even twenty-five when he already had wives from Thessaly — Nicesipolis and Phila — along with the Macedonian Philinna and the Illyrian Audata. For Muslims, four wives are the limit, but the Prophet Muhammad wouldn’t be born for another eight hundred years, and no one dared to suggest to Philip that a fifth wife was “too much.”
The daughter of the king of Epirus, a small state next to Macedonia, was originally named Polyxena. But in Greece, names weren’t necessarily for life. The philosopher Aristocles was nicknamed Plato (meaning “broad-shouldered,” like a plateau), and that’s how we know him today. So Polyxena eventually began to be called Myrtale — if you want a different name, go right ahead.
AT THE SACRED RITE
It was under this name that she attended the famed Samothracian Mysteries — a secretive and highly prestigious religious rite closed to the uninitiated — where she met Philip. They noticed each other immediately: Philip was covered in scars and, though still with both eyes at the time, it was clear that wouldn’t last much longer (he would lose one to an arrow during a siege within five years).
And Myrtale (as she was still called then) behaved at the mysteries in a way that even the most seasoned participants found unhinged. Waving around two massive snakes during the rites was extreme — even for these ceremonies, which weren’t called bacchanals for nothing and allowed for things like sudden violence and the murder of anyone who got in the way or couldn’t run fast enough.
They were immediately drawn to each other — maniacs are often into femme fatales, and besides, marrying a princess from a neighboring kingdom is usually a smart political move. After the wedding, Philip suddenly renamed his wife, and she became known as Olympias — why, I don’t know.
But since it was under this name that she gave birth to the very same Alexander who recently topped the list of history’s most famous Greeks, Olympias is how she is remembered. Although, near the end of her life, she would change her name once again — to Stratonice. I won’t go into detail about Alexander — everyone already knows about him. I’m here to talk about his parents.
THIS IS TOO MUCH!
Now for the sad part: the exotic couple’s domestic bliss didn’t last long. Philip began to fear the marital bed — after all, besides his wife, there might also be a real snake in it. And honestly, who’s to say there wasn’t? Greece has no shortage of serpents. But the couple’s private life quickly took an unusual turn. They adored their son and did their best to raise him — an aggressive father and a borderline psychotic mother.
But not wanting to share his bed with snakes, Philip began solving his personal needs with any harpist or dancer who caught his eye at the banquets (a pretty boy would do just as well — this was antiquity, after all…). Especially since, at these feasts, Philip indulged so heavily in Dionysus’ gifts that he could easily lose track of his partner’s gender in a drunken haze. His constitution was robust — he’d drink vinegar water in the morning (the Greek version of pickle juice) and be as good as new.
Still, he initially observed a semblance of decorum toward his wife, even when he drank to the point that the only snakes he saw in bed were green ones. But how long could that last?
At one of these drunken feasts, Philip crossed an unthinkable line — he publicly, and with the use of force, performed what one might call his «marital duty» not with Olympias, but with her own brother, Alexander of Molossia. Pointing to ancient Greek «liberated» morals won’t help here — after all, even in modern times, a private encounter between a young man and woman behind closed doors and fresh sheets might be praiseworthy, but that same act, carried out in a loud crowd mid-binge, becomes an unforgivable disgrace.
DIVORCE AND MAIDEN NAME
And that’s not even mentioning the fact that Philip, at the same time, managed to fall in love with a noble Macedonian woman named Cleopatra — far more dangerous for the Epirote Olympias, since Philip’s new flame had a whole clan of powerful and well-connected relatives. They quickly pressured Philip to announce a divorce from Olympias — after all, who was going to tell the king what he could or couldn’t do? But now the question arose: was Alexander still the rightful heir?
Cleopatra’s uncle Attalus certainly didn’t think so — at the wedding feast for his niece and Philip, he openly prayed to the gods for a legitimate heir to be born from the new union. Upon hearing this, Alexander shouted: «So what are you saying, scoundrel — that I’m a bastard?» and hurled a priceless goblet at Attalus (and I’m pretty sure he hit him!).
Philip then drew his sword and lunged at his son with the clear intent to kill him — not his finest moment. Alexander was a strongman and a skilled fighter, while Philip, by that time, was one-eyed, one-armed, and so drunk he couldn’t make it across the floor — he tripped, fell, and passed out cold.
Alexander sneered and said something to the effect of, «So that’s the brave man who hopes to cross from Europe into Asia, and he can’t even cross from one couch to another» (as banquets back then were held reclining, not seated). But he wasted no time and fled to Epirus, to the other Alexander — Molossus — and good thing too. It looked like Philip wasn’t planning to stop at just a divorce…
FAREWELL FOREVER!
No one in the kingdom wanted such a scandal, and many tried to smooth things over. Alexander eventually returned — after all, the kingdom still needed an heir, Cleopatra had given birth to a daughter, and Olympias also reclaimed her chambers (whether the divorce was finalized or not, only Philip knew, and no one dared to ask). To appease everyone, they offered Alexander of Molossia yet another Cleopatra — Philip’s sister — as a bride. So, peace, love, and olive wreaths… for the moment.
At the wedding, celebrated in the local theater, Philip, accompanied by both Alexanders and, naturally, his bodyguard (a king must maintain appearances), entered the narrow passage connecting the palace to the stage. The entourage lingered behind… Wait — who was this bodyguard?
Everyone knew him — Pausanias, a dashing warrior and, incidentally, also one of Philip’s lovers (as you’ve probably gathered by now, gender wasn’t exactly a concern for him). He had had a falling-out with Attalus, who treated him the same way Philip had treated Alexander of Molossia — at a banquet, no less, and even invited the servants to watch and join in. Pausanias’ complaints to Philip were ignored — Attalus was more valuable than a disgraced guard.
So, Pausanias took matters into his own hands. In that narrow passageway, he drove a Celtic dagger with full force between the king’s ribs. That was it — Philip no longer needed a bodyguard; you can’t be killed twice. Pausanias tried to flee, but two of Alexander’s close companions, Perdiccas and Leonnatus, caught up with him and skewered him with their spears — ensuring he would never reveal his accomplices. And who could have hated Philip so deeply? Theories still abound — but as you can see, there was no shortage of suspects.
AN ANTIQUE ENDING
Many years later, during a drunken quarrel, Alexander killed his friend Cleitus the Black, shouting: «Go join Philip, Parmenion, and Attalus!» Attalus and the general Parmenion had both been executed on Alexander’s orders — so what about Philip? Did drunken Alexander voice what sober Alexander secretly believed?
We’ll never know. But as for Olympias — her troubles were over. She had clearly loved Philip deeply, and strong feelings don’t disappear; they just sometimes reverse their polarity. While Alexander was off conquering Persia, Olympias ruled peacefully in Pella, constantly embroiled in vicious feuds with Alexander’s regent, Antipater. He would write letters of complaint to Alexander, but upon reading one of them, the king simply said, «Antipater doesn’t understand that one tear from a mother is worth a thousand such letters».
But chaos broke out after Alexander’s death. Olympias seized power in Macedonia with the help of her native Epirus and committed horrific atrocities. Antipater’s son, Cassander — no less ruthless than Olympias herself — laid siege to Pydna, where the aging queen had taken refuge. The city eventually fell, and Cassander sent 200 soldiers to kill Olympias — but none of them could bring themselves to strike the mother of Alexander.
So Cassander turned to the families of the noble Macedonians whom Olympias had executed, and they took revenge in the ancient fashion — by stoning her to death. She met her end with courage: wrapped herself in her black cloak and did not utter a sound as the stones began to fly.
That’s antiquity for you — everything was grand: bravery, betrayal, love, and murder. What are we, moderns, in comparison?
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