"Once upon a time Philoneicus the Thessalian brought Bucephalas, offering to sell him to Philip for thirteen talents, and they went down into the plain to try the horse, who appeared to be savage and altogether intractable, neither allowing any one to mount him, nor heeding the voice of any of Philip's attendants, but rearing up against all of them. Then Philip was vexed and ordered the horse to be led away, believing him to be altogether wild and unbroken; but Alexander, who was near by, said: "What a horse they are losing, because, for lack of skill and courage, they cannot manage him!"
~~The Parallel Lives, Plutarch
The Taming of Bucephalus
As told by Phoebe White
Five men and a horse could be seen traveling up the road from Thessaly. I, among them, was growing tired of the hot dust and seemingly endless road. But raising my eyes, behold, the city of Pella! It sat on the horizon, gleaming in the afternoon sun like gold pieces crowning the overflowing chest.
The men around me raised their hands to the sky and shouted praises. We had been travelling from Thessaly quite some time.
“I pray King Philip has enough sense to buy this steed. He would make fine in battle, if only trained properly”, Philonius commented next to me. I couldn’t help but agree. The other men also nodded in agreement, though most probably just wanted rid of their product. That time I couldn’t blame them. The horse they intended to sell was fierce, wild, considered unrideable. But I knew differently.
Perhaps one of Philip's men actually know how to ride a horse. I thought to myself. But in my heart, I knew these Pellan men would be no different.
I was right. Philonius and two other men went to meet King Philip. The rest of us stayed a short walk east of the city walls. Now Philonius returned with the king, several of the king’s men, and a young boy.
Most curious, to bring a boy to the presence of such a fearsome horse. I noted, cocking my head to one side. Of course, I’d heard of the boy, the one named Alexander. He was the king’s son. But I still failed to see any point in bringing him along. Such a young and inexperienced boy could not succeed where so many had failed.
Yet there was a determined spark in his eye that I noticed as he neared. The forthcoming group met with the ones that had stayed. Many polite gestures were exchanged, of bowing and shaking hands and introducing. I found that the boy Alexander was standing next to me and staring up with big round eyes. I was much bigger than him and must have seemed somewhat intimidating. In an effort to come across as friendly I looked down upon the boy and gracefully dipped my head to him. To my joy, he smiled back.
“My lord, the mentioned steed” Philonius motioned with a bow.
Philip looked suspiciously at the stallion before him.
“Hail, King Philip of Macedon! I, Philonius of Thessaly, recommend to you a horse of great splendor. I hold in my stables a stallion with the finest of sires and most stunning of dams. Such a horse could charge into thousands of battles without so much as a flesh wound. And I would part with it, placing the steed in your hands, for a mere sum of 13 talents, though there lacks the gold in this world able to price the head of said animal.”
That is what King Philip received in a letter three weeks prior and it was what he had been expecting. Now though, in his gaze, I could see doubt beginning to form. But the king agreed to to let his men attempt to ride.
The company moved to a small pen used for cattle. Most the men stood outside the fence while three pulled ropes tied around neck. I was in the center with them and pulled my fair amount. It was no easy task to settle the battle between who was pulling on who. But eventually one side caved and the men victoriously ran away for fear of getting kicked.
No rider stepped forward at once. Fear was in all their eyes. After several minutes of “I’ll wait, you go first! No, it’s fine, you can go, really!” someone finally gathered enough courage to slide over the fence and into the pen. Silence grew and nurtured intensity. I watched as he crept forward. Many times his foot stumbled on loose soil or up-pointed bits of rock. I knew he wouldn’t do as a good enough rider.
The first placed his hands together on the center of the spine. He was slightly plump and he did not take care to even out his weight. I cringed as he forced his poundage up. Without even swinging a leg over, the man was instantly thrown up into the air. He landed with such force that a cloud of dust big enough to blind the observers rose up and didn’t settled for several confusing moments.
A couple men ran into the cloud to regain control of the lead ropes. I ran into the cloud at first, but then away, being fearful of what was hidden in the cloud. The dust eventually subsided, revealing most cowering outside the pen and a few scrambling for ropes that weren’t there. I myself hadn’t been able to make my way out of the pen yet and leaned defensively against the far west fencing.
Everyone glanced around nervously and scuttered behind the safety of the fence. All eyes stared at the horror before them. Except I. I chuckled softly to myself at what mice we were all being, not excluding me.
The many trials of men that followed were not unlike the first. Each failed to prove a worthy rider and concordantly, were thrown to the ground. Very few even touched hide.
“I was told of a horse that could ride into thousands of battles. But this horse could not ride out of this pen. I have no use and certainly no interest in a horse as this. You may take you wild beast back with you, Philonius” King Philip decided.
I couldn’t help but feel contempt towards the king’s words. I knew that the only problem here was a suitable rider. Yet I had no say in this matter and waited patiently while my fellow Thessalonians prepared to embark on the return journey. The men that went into the city to met the king had received horses to ride. One of those men was having trouble fastening his pack to his horse’s saddle.
While waiting, I observed King Philip scolding his son. I didn’t know what the discussion was about but Alexander had apparently won. Philip called Philonius over and relayed some message with abundant hand gestures to Alexander and Philonius and himself. Eventually, Philonius motioned to his men and before long we were back at the pen.
But this time, Alexander stepped forward. I stared dumbly at the boy. He couldn’t be over fourteen.
This boy could die. I solemnly realized. But the same determination fired in his eyes again. I shifted myself many times, my nerves racking. my shadow was cast down in front of me, confusing my vision. (Keep in mind that this had all been on a considerably hot day and it was a rather mind scattering experience. So it did not take more than a shadow to send my heart racing.) Alexander stopped. He tilted his head upward and a gleam of understanding lined his brow.
Stepping forward, the boy grasped the ropes. All the time, talking slowly and comforting the very large, very dangerous, beast before him. As gently as water trickling down smooth rocks, Alexander pulled the ropes to his left and stepped with them. He walked in a circle until he could feel the sun on his back.
I could feel my heart pounding so that it was curious how those around me didn’t hear it. My eyes stayed locked on the boy, for his calmness seemed the only thing keeping my sanity intact.
No one even dared to breathe when Alexander removed his cloak, noticing that it’s waving movements could be unsettling. He ran his hand up the ropes until he felt hot breath being blown through his fingers.
Then all in one swift leap, the young prince was atop. His smile beamed, but he continued to lean close to the twitching ears and whisper gently. Little by little, the rider eased pressure with his heel. And little by little, he pressed harder. Until- one step. Another step. And with each step, Alexander patted the neck in front of him. Hoof beats in perfect time with pats.
I couldn’t believe what was happening! Finally, someone proved worthy to ride what others could not! I gave a small snort at remembering King Philip’s earlier remark. It seemed as though I myself had found victory. I had conquered my own quest.
When Alexander dismounted, his father kissed his forehead. I could tell that the father was telling his son something very important, but at the time I could only hear delighted rejoicing. (And some very un-delighted noises as many men owned up to their lost bets.)
“Take your prize, my son!” the king said happily.
Alexander nodded vigorously and nearly skipped up to me.
“I shall call you Bucephalus, for the ox-head brand you bear! And you shall be my favorite horse!” the young boy announced. I whinnied in agreement and shook my mane with giddiness.
Letting myself be led away to the king’s stables, I felt something that I had never felt for any human, nor could I place at that moment. But now I can. It was love.
To read Plutarch's original- http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Plutarch/Lives/Alexander*/3.html
