Knot a problem

"Do you not know the legend, Alexander?"

"I have heard it, Ptolemy. Do you deign to tell me that you believe it? It is absurd."

The men talked as they rode toward the city of Gordian, capital of the Phrygian empire.
The weather–as it always seemed to be in this part of the world–was hot, with no cloud
to be seen that might provide respite from the searing sun.

"I do not, and you know it."

"Then why the constant harping on the subject? You should grow wings to better bother me."

"Alexander, I may not believe this legend, and you may not believe it–but the men do.
The men who follow your commands, who conquer cities in your name. . .those men believe wholeheartedly in what is told them."

"It is absurd. As if the gods would give the world to any that could untie a knot, no matter
how complex!"

Behind the two, a cloud of dust covered the horizon. 35,000 men followed gladly in their
generals' footsteps. These men had been to Persia as invaders and left as conquerors.
King Darius III had felt the wrath of the Macedonians as wielded by Alexander. Facing
a foe that numbered 40,000, the Macedonians only buried 110 of their own. All of it
was due to the man who rode at the head, who discussed the truth of the Gordian Knot with
Ptolemy.

"They have closed their gates against me, Ptolemy. Am I such a barbarian that they cannot 
invite me in?"

The city of Gordia was closed as if it were midnight rather than midday. The strong bronze
gates shone brightly in the sun, and soldiers shifted uneasily on the battlements. Alexander
dismounted from Bucephalus–his horse–and walked up to rap the gates with his spear.

"I call upon the city of Gordia to open its gates and welcome me. The gods smile upon those who provide comfort and rest to travelers, forget you not."

From the battlements, a voice answered. "Gordia welcomes all who enter its gates in the name of peace, but forever shall stand fast against those who come with spear readied for battle."

Alexander stood and looked up at the ramparts, an unreadable expression on his face. "Then my spear shall be put away. If it is my word you need, then you have it."

Silence was the answer from the ramparts. The gates started to slowly swing open. "Then be welcomed, Alexander. We hope your time here is filled with peace."

Ptolemy moved closer to the young king. "If you wanted this city, we could take it. Why do you give them peace?"

"Because peace is what they want from me at this time," came the answer. "It will not be long until all of Persia takes knee before me."

Alexander walked into the city, secure in the knowledge that there would be no attacks on his person. The world trembled beneath the feet of Alexander the Great, and no one would attempt to stop his strides across it.

Before five steps were taken past the gates, a lavishly dressed man came hurrying up to greet the two wanderers. "Greetings, Alexander. Welcome to Gordia, the jewel of Persia."

"Ptolemy, go back and tell the men that we are camping outside the gates. There is to be no aggression toward this city while I am here."

"As you say, Alexander."

The king then turned back to the emissary. "I have come for two things– a place to rest myself and my men, and a look at the Gordian Knot."

The emissary nodded, a look of trepidation crossing his swarthy features. "Both can be
arranged. There is a small ceremony that is required when one comes to attempt the unraveling of the knot, and it takes a small time to set up...could we plan that on the morrow?"

"That will do," said Alexander. "Take me to where I shall pass the night. When Ptolemy returns, send him to me."

Alexander was shown to the finest room in the small palace to wait for his general. When
Ptolemy arrived, he was sitting in a chair with his eyes lost in thought.

"You wished to see me, Alexander?"

"Do you ever wonder–how those yet to come will view us, Ptolemy?"

"Excuse me?"

"The reaction from Gordia–it has given me pause. To what ends does my path take me? Am I fated to be a mere footnote in the scrolls of what will be?"

"Alexander, when those to come look back on what you have–and will–accomplish, they will sing your name to the heavens! No one shall be looked at with the same eyes, after you."

"I hope that you are correct in what you say, Ptolemy. The days grow long away from
Macedonia–for myself as well as the men. Now I will sleep. You are welcome to the other room that I was given, unless you wish to try out the pleasures of the town for yourself."

And so he slept. This brazen young man who had the world at his fingers, who men wished to be–and who women wished to be with. There was no stopping him.

In the morning, at a respectful time, the emissary who greeted him at the gates came to
Alexander's room. "Let he who wishes to try the knot come forward."

"I am he. Let us get this over with." Alexander had a fitful sleep, fraught with dreams of
the world paying homage to him–pleasing dreams, one would think–but they sat wrong with
him on that night.

The emissary led Alexander and Ptolemy through the town to a small shrine. "Let he–and only he–who wishes to test himself against the powers of the gods step forth and pass through this portal; wielding only this sword and in the presence of the gods shall he be tested." The emissary handed Alexander a middle-sized bronze blade. To Alexander's trained eye the blade was too dull to do anything with but perhaps cut bread.

Wordlessly, Alexander stepped through the door. In all truth the young king did not know what to expect–but the pride and self-assurance that allowed him to defeat Darius III did not fail him. It is only a bit of rope, he thought.

Imagine his surprise when he walked into the chamber and saw his nemesis, Darius III, sitting on a dais and smiling at him.

Alexander was strangely calm as he lifted the dull blade that he was given. "So, you come to strike from the shadows, Darius. I had expected more from you."

"You do me an injustice, young one." An man of many years, the term was not an insult coming from that mouth. "As custom dictates, when someone tries the knot, I must be present. How else am I to kneel before the one who unravels it?"

"So you hold true to the story?"

"It is no story, Alexander." The words were clipped, as if Darius felt personally the sting of
the younger man's disbelief. "From past ages, the prophecy has been passed through the lineage of all who were born from Gordius. The gods themselves have decreed this to be true. None in Phrygia would doubt it, and none would stop the king from ceding the kingdom to the one who unravels the knot.

"If this be you, then so be it."

"Where is this rope, Darius? I see it not."

"Pass through the chamber there," said Darius, pointing behind the dais. "I shall follow you
in, and watch. Never fear–all who enter here except the supplicant are unarmed, and I would not strike at you from behind. . . regardless of what you may think of my honour."

Alexander flinched slightly at the gentle rebuke. "Then follow, Darius. The future is within
my grasp."

The young king led the way, with Darius close behind. Alexander could not help a quiet gasp crossing his lips as he saw the room.

The chamber was adorned with gold–which stood out against the stark look of most of this
deserts' dwellings–and the knot itself hung suspended, seemingly without the aid of any
device. Frescoes on the walls told the story of Gordius, who had devised this knot to keep
his oxen from escaping the tresses of his cart–only to be told by the gods of the higher use
it was for.

"It is beautiful," Alexander said as he took it all in. "This shrine is a wonder that I have
not seen–ever. The gods themselves must have crafted it, for no human hands could work such detail."

"Do not concern yourself with the story, young king," said Darius. "The frescoes have no hints, no clues as to the unraveling of the knot–believe me, for I have tried many times, to no avail." At Alexander's startled look, he replied, "What? Do you think yourself the only one to hunger for the world? To have the respect and rule over all of the lands' inhabitants? I had figured you more intelligent than that."

"I am surprised that you have those goals, nothing more," replied the Macedonian. "No tales have I been told that support you as having such lofty aspirations–indeed, you have seemed content to sit on your throne through the years."

"Never confuse dreams for that which can happen, Alexander. I have dreamed many times about what you reach, but I know mine own limitations. Do you know yours?"

The Persian king would not speak more on the subject, and all of Alexander's queries would get the response, "The knot, Alexander. That is the only thing that matters now," no matter what he said to Darius. So Alexander turned his attention to the knot.

He studied the rope for many hours, never touching it, but working the paths of the strands in his mind from every angle. Darius watched on, silent, studying the young king as intensely as the Macedonian studied the rope.

Day turned into night, and night back into day–still Alexander studied the knot. Darius slipped off into a light sleep many times, waking only when Alexander shifted position. No words were spoken, and when Alexander moved forward towards the knot, Darius knew intuitively that history was about to be made.

So let the gods judge this one true, thought the Persian king. If any would rise to the throne of all the lands, let it be this one.

Alexander, as if hearing the thoughts in the silent chamber turned and flashed a quick, tight
smile at Darius. "There is only one way to unravel this knot, and I have found it, Persian."

After those words, Alexander lifted the blunt sword high and sliced the knot in half.

Darius looked on in shock as the rope–the pride of his kingdom, that the ruler of the world
would need pass through Gordian–tumbled to the floor, unraveling as it fell. "You mock the
gods, Alexander," Darius' voice was tired and sad, as he spoke the words that would haunt
Alexander throughout the rest of his days.

"You will come close, but you will fail. Your men, hearing of this, will give up hope in a
faraway land, not wishing to follow you farther–dreaming of the hills of Macedonia. You have indeed cemented your place in the annals of what is, and what will be–but that place will not be as lofty as it could have been. So the gods speak through Darius, third of that name, king of Persia."

Alexander could only watch in shock as the aged king shuffled out of the room.

©Cameron Wm. Akers, 1999