Glorious in Defeat

I was raised on the notion that my opponent's blood meant my victory. That screams of terror and fear were cheers of my immortality. Even now as I stood on the threshold of war with Alexander of Macedon, the power that had consumed me when I was crowned but a 16 year old king still coursed through my veins. I, Salim II of Persia, was nothing short of invincible. With the finest warriors God could have sculpted at my side, ready to fight at will, city-states fell at my feet, either by choice or by force. Even the kingdom of Egypt, whom many thought untouchable, felt the might of my hand across its empire.

"Even power has its limits" said Saladin once, my friend from birth.

"If power has limits, I have yet to see them" I replied.

I was only 21 years old, forced to grow to fit a throne my father had left open when he died at Methoni. My empire now outshined even the sun, with gold glimmering as far as the eye could see. My palace stretched out farther than mountains ever could, teeming with servants who pined to cater to a man they worshipped. Yet as I looked down upon a world unworthy of my existence, I was forced to see Alexander of Macedon become a conqueror. He was a demigod on the battlefield before even the age of 20, just as I had been. Now that he was 23, age was the only thing I intended he be my better in.

"This Alexander of Macedon, what of him?" I asked Saladin one day.

"His father, Philip II, perished at the hands of his own brother. Alexander has ascended to the throne like no ruler before him. He speaks without words, rules without fists, and wins without swords"Saladin responded.

"If he fights without swords, then I shall be a formidable opponent."

With no doubt in my mind or fear in my heart, I sent out a servant the following day with my proposal. I would fight Alexander till my breath escaped me; I would fight till death. As our empires grew to sizes too big for Earth itself, we met on the island of Crete. A vast ocean to our East and rocky cliffs to our West set the scene for my victory. As any great commander would, I met with my opponent before the fighting began.

"Fighting will not persist, and I will hold back none of my men" I said.

"Those whom you do not hold back will die a tragic death" Alexander insisted.

"Shall you join them?" I inquired of Alexander.

"I can only fall in the company of the gods themselves" he replied.

As I turned to walk away, I was drowning in thoughts as if I had fallen into that eastern ocean. Was Alexander not afraid of my presence? After seeing even the strongest of leaders cower at the sight of me, his composure bewildered me to no end. I looked up from the ground to see my army; one million men, each wearing armor no mortal could pierce, each wielding swords no skin could withstand. I took pride in my army, for it had grown from only one thousand men years ago. As I prepared for battle, a sense of rage began to overtake me. Had Alexander thought himself superior to me? I would bring about his downfall for such an idea. With that I drew my bow and arrow. Sweat fell from my fingertips as I pulled back on the bow; sweat that eased my pain, sweat that was almost euphoric. I felt at home on the battlefield. It was as though every time I gasped for breath I was taking in air from heaven. As I let go of the string, I felt as though I let go of myself. As if I had let go of the doubt that had filled my followers, the failure that had crept up inside me from time to time.I watched as my arrow soared through the air as if it was a discus thrown by an Olympian. It rose to gently caress the clouds, and then fell to penetrate the armor of one of Alexander's men on horseback.The war ensued. Swords clashed and clanged through a misty breeze. Men fell upon men, piling as high as the cliffs we stood on.Their death would not be in vain. The war seemed like a deadlock thus far, as I drove my sword into the chest of my opponent, only to take it out and sever the head of another. Victory was the only thing I wanted, and its pining was taking over my body like a fatal disease. I searched across the masses with pensive eyes for Alexander, knowing that the ground would not have been his escape. It was in this quick glance that I had to watch my men die. One was cut in the neck, another speared in the stomach, and yet another crushed between shields.For only a brief moment, I thought of my father. Had he died in such a manner? I was not on the battlefield to witness his death, and I would not think about it long enough to find my answer. Casualties had reached the hundred thousands after only hours of warfare.

"I must find Alexander" I began to think. "This war shall not last past the sunset."

I began to run through men with my shield, worrying not if they had fallen to their death. At last I found Alexander stabbing one of my men in the back. I called his name as loud as thunder shaking the Earth, and he looked back at me with fire in his eyes.

Blood stained his sturdy armor, and nicks and scratches were the best my men could get of him. I tried to find his eyes but noticed only the impressive Spartan helmet he wore. I recognized this helmet. It was that of Archelaus, a former king of Sparta,and Alexander had taken it. We walked slowly toward each other, our eyes fixed on our opponent, not to be shaken even by the apocalypse.

"Your men have fought well. I applaud you" said Alexander

"I need not your approval, only your blood on my armor"

Our swords shrieked with force that could make any man go deaf. We withdrew, only to strike again with the same result. Alexander quickly pulled back, and struck my armor this time, but to no avail. We were masters of the sword, our strategies so flawless it could put even Attila the Hun could not contend. The battle raged on, and with every drop of sweat that fell from our bodies, we died a little. Alexander and I were painting a masterpiece, a mosaic of shapes and colors that only one of us could claim to be the artist of. The paint strokes grew stronger when Alexander pierced my armor. The wound was inflicted just below my breast.I acted quickly before he could regain ground, and managed to jab my sword into his side. Blood flowed from his lesion like water released from behind a dam, and it looked as though the bleeding would not cease anytime soon. Alexander still fought with intensity like a lion, and managed to strike me twice more on my arm and leg. Fatigue was crawling into my body, as the only battle that mattered now was right in front of me. I took the chance of stabbing my adversary in the neck, but failed as Alexander pushed me back with his shield. My balance was anything but that of a warrior now. As I fell to one knee, I managed to inflict a deep gash on Alexander's right leg. He too fell to his knees, as I quickly arose to push him to the ground. I stood over my enemy now like a man over a mouse,and held my sword high in the sky as I let it fall down like rain, penetrating Alexander's armor and chest. I watched as Alexander took his last few breaths. They were that which no man could have taken.

"No battlefield shall forget me" said Alexander, his breath cut off as he entered the eternal sleep.

I had not killed Alexander, but rather taken the need of a victory off his shoulders. The victory, however, had been no great win.He was a warrior only to me, and a deity to everyone else. Alexander went to the grave, dragging the world, kicking and screaming, with him. None but Alexander the Great could be that glorious in defeat.