During the Hetairideia, the Festival of
the Companions, the king formally recognized Hephaistion as a
royal Hetairos in Amyntor’s place.
The opening ceremonies involved a purification sacrifice. The king
would decapitate a black dog for Hekatē, then he, his sons, and
any other Argeads would pass between the two parts, followed by
the Hetairoi, and then the army, whereupon he received the
soldiers’ oaths of loyalty. These days, the army was too large for
every man to participate, so they made oaths to their officers,
who then represented them. Also, if once held at Aigai, these days
the ceremony was offered wherever king and army found themselves
each spring equinox. This year, it was Dion’s precinct of Zeus
Hypsistos, the Highest. Before the sacrifice, all new Hetairoi had
to take their vows. For this, Alexandros stood at his father’s
right hand, Amyntas and then Arrhidaios behind, as all Argead men
held the oath of the Hetairoi.
Only a king could make a Companion. It wasn’t guaranteed, although
it was rare, the cause of some great affront, that a son wouldn’t
take his father’s place. More often, kings bestowed the title on
new men, even non-Makedonēs. Philippos especially had used it to
win friends in the South. This year, with the Asian campaign
looming, six men stood before him to receive the honor and none
was Makedonian by ancestry, even the one who claimed it as his
identity.
He stood first, dressed in a rich black khiton that
Alexandros had given him to mark the occasion. He hadn’t wanted to
accept it, but the prince had insisted. “Kleopatra spent two
months on this; you’ll insult her if you don’t wear it.” After
seven years, he knew how to make his friend take a present.
Hephaistion worried—Alexandros thought overmuch—that others would
believe his loyalty all about favors, yet the Hippomenes clan was
wealthy enough to purchase the glossy black wool for themselves.
Alexandros had wanted to do something to mark him out, and black
looked well on him, setting off his dark coloring. Kleopatra had
hemmed it with a fine pattern of galloping white horses.
Yet he wore neither cloak nor belt. Those were in Alexandros’s
hands. The king gestured for Hephaistion to approach and he halted
in front of Philippos. They were almost exactly of a height.
Philippos set his right hand on Hephaistion’s left shoulder. “I
grant you all the lands of your patrimony, and name you an
Hetairos of my court. In recognition of that, I present you with a
belt for bearing a sword in my defense.”
He reached behind without looking, and Alexandros passed him the
belt, which he put on Hephaistion with his own hands. This was no
simple leather affair, nor something a man would ever wear into
combat. Purely ceremonial, gold plaques stamped with rosettes
decorated the length with a gilded oval buckle as big as a woman’s
hand, bearing the sunburst.
Philippos reached for the cloak, which Alexandros gave over. If
the belt were new, the cloak had belonged to his Amyntor.
Philippos had held it since the funeral. Now he swung it around
Hephaistion’s shoulders, scarlet cloth flashing in the sun, to pin
it in place. Hephaistion reached up to grip the edge, knuckles
tight. Alexandros watched his friend’s face. It was as hard as
marble, but Alexandros could see his lips pressed together tightly
to keep them from trembling and his dark eyes were wet.
He might have his father’s status, but Alexandros knew he’d have
traded it all in an instant to have his father back.
(Why this was cut:It’s largely ceremonial and doesn’t add much to
the plot. We already know Hephaistion misses his father.)