Olympias: Alexander’s Mother  
Philip II: Alexander’s Father 
 
The illustration below is based on Plutarch’s legendary tale about Alexander’s birth:  
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Olympias’ eyelids flutter, so that the whites of her eyeballs were momentarily illuminated by the stream of moonlight. The soft tap-dance of the raindrops on the windowsill was accompanied by a lethargic gust of humid air that seemed to carry itself slowly into the room. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead; without waking, she pushed a lock of dark hair out of her face. Olympias looked almost tranquil as she lazily rolled onto her side.  

Then without warning, a flash of lightning pierced the midnight air; almost simultaneously, Olympias’ body seem to be struck with something hard as it convulsed with vigour. Her eyes snapped open first with confusion then with terror. Olympias sat up with a jolt, and her arms instinctively wrapped around her sides: where it throbbed with a fiery feeling. Suddenly, she felt movement inside her body, almost suffocating her from the inside.

It clicked. She knew that feeling. She was pregnant.  

“But how?” Olympias asked out loud to the still air.  
A thunderbolt sounded outside. She was pregnant with the Son of Zeus.  
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9 months later, on the Macedonian inland, a squealing infant was born by the name of Alexander.

His birth was dated at 356 B.C.E (2300 years prior), and from the word go, Alexander showed that he is a fearless leader.

Born to the King of Macedonia, Philip the II, and as the male heir, Alexander was destined to take the throne.  
Hence, he studied philosophy and the arts of fighting; he played with swords and was a skilled horseman; Physically Alexander was always one step ahead of children his age, and in terms of wit, he was out of this world.  

When Alexander was 12 years old, he faced an unparalleled challenge: Bucephalus.  
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In 368 B.C.E Philip II (Alexander’s father) received an untameable warhorse by the name of Bucephalus as a gift.  
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The sunlight slowly drained away, and the Macedonian hills seems to stretch hideously with their shadows. Outside the hustle and bustle of the city-centre, gathered a group of remarkable horsemen. Occasionally, the sounds of oohs and ahhs reverberated softly as the rouge warhorse unseated yet another fierce warrior of Philip’s realm. Philip looks agitated at the ongoing spectacle, wincing slightly, since with a loud crunch, his personal bodyguard Joe fell in a drastic mess of mud and sweat.  

Amidst the throng of tired legs, young Alexander stared intently at the movement of the sleek, dark horse.  
Sensing the desperation of the crowd, Philip raised his voice to call it a day.  

“My father, Sir,” Alexander suddenly said to utter silence, “I think I know how to tame him.”  

To a crowd of jeers, boos and couple of guffaws, Alexander walks up to the dark horse and gently took the reins from Joe. Using the palm of his hand, he tilted the Bucephalus’s head toward the last embers of sunshine. To everyone’s surprise, the horse relaxed its protests, and without a word, Alexander swung himself on top: Bucephalus was afraid of its shadow.  

A cheer, then the whole crowd joined in as they watch young Alexander ride into the setting sun.  
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When Alexander was 20 years old, the unthinkable happened.  
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On a sunny day, in the ancient Macedonian amphitheatre, King Philip the II walked nonchalantly on the stage. Philip was accompanied by no bodyguards as, by 376 B.C.E, he was already a well-respected and beloved ruler - Second only to the King of Greece.  

In broad daylight, a man in a dark tunic raced onto the stage, and in his hand was a wicked blade. Alexander leaped up from his seat and opened his mouth to shout - but no sound came out. The only sound was the scream of Philip as he clenched his torn torso, and he crumpled like a withering leaf in the mess of his own blood.  

A silence enveloped the amphitheatre, then it erupted in a mass of bewildered chaos: the King was dead. Alexander felt a stab at his own heart; his panic overcome by the harsh anagnorisis that he was now king.  

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At the tender age of 20, Alexander was the King of Macedonia.  

Seeing his father killed in front of his own eyes deeply moved Alexander, and thus partially to remember his father and partially to escape the fate of being stabbed himself, Alexander keeps a dagger with him at all times.  
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For many nights, Alexander lay awake, twisting and turning. 

Finally, he got up, and by the dim, flickering candlelight, Alexander pulled out a sleek dagger. He carefully placed it beside his pillow and snuffed out the candle.  

That night, he rested easy.  
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Winding back the clock, Alexander was now 13 years-old, and already a child prodigy.

Seeing the potential in his soon-to-be heir, Philip brought the most renowned Greek philosopher to Macedonia in order to teach Alexander the arts of critical thinking, and the name of this man? Aristotle.  

Under the guidance of Aristotle, Alexander learnt the famous text: The Iliad.

The Iliad was an epic written by the Greek poet Homer in the 8th Century B.C.E, and tells the story of Achilles - who unsurprisingly was Alexander’s Idol. 
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Achilles was born to a mortal father, a sea-nymph mother, and an unexpected prophecy.

Legend has it that Achilles would fight in the world’s biggest war, become a mythical fairy-tale, and could only perish after the death of his mortal enemy. Thus, to strengthen his power, Achilles’ mother bathed young Achilles in the River Styx by his heel.  

On the eve of his 18th birthday, Achilles was called to war.  
Since Helen, who was deemed the most beautiful woman of her generation, was stolen from the Greek king Agamemnon by Paris of Troy; and as a Grecian citizen, Achilles was obliged to fight.  

When arriving at Troy, the Greeks were met by towering walls and unrelenting Trojan warriors. In battle, Achilles met his equal - Hector the Prince of Troy. Thus, a war which was supposed to last for a few months, lasted a decade upon the blood and rubble of the Trojan seaside.  

During these ten years, famines hit, diseases hit, but the war continued ceaselessly. That is, until the death of Patroclus, Achilles’ friend and lover. In an offensive, Patroclus was heavily injured by Hector, and subsequently taken back to the Grecian campfire, where he was put into an eternal slumber.  
Seeing his childhood brother killed by his mortal enemy Hector, Achilles proposed a duel between the two greats. Consequently, fuelled by the flames of revenge, Achilles slayed Hector in combat. He then dragged the wretched body of Hector around and around the walls of Troy until he was begged by Hector’s family to put him to rest. 

With Hector’s death, came Achilles’ death. As echoed in the prophecy, Achilles was shot with a stray arrow that hit him in his heel, and at merely 28, Achilles the hero was no more.  
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When Alexander heard the tale of Achilles, he wanted to be just like him.  

Hence, on his first expedition as the Macedonian King, Alexander toured the legendary city of Troy to witness his idol’s legacy. 

It was in Troy, when he heard about the vast kingdom in the east, the one his father failed in conquering.  

He listened again closely: Persia was calling.  
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King Darius II: the Leader of Persia and Enemy of Alexander  

Alexander was 23. At 23, Alexander was hardened and ruthless general, an insurmountable tactician. At 23, Alexander met his mortal enemy - Darius II - at the Syrian town of Issus.  
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The sullen sun scorched the flat plains of Issus, and the wind chanted a tentative tune. Beneath the awakening horizon, the sound of trumpets muffled the rooster’s crow, and the deafening footfalls shook the earth. From the ruins of the broken castle, Alexander’s forces emerged in a chase for glory. Alexander himself rode high on the back his Bucephalus as he led the Macedonians on - on towards the sea of red and white.  

“Advance!” Alexander’s voice boomed above the rest.

“Advance and never look back!”  

Alexander’s bronze armour was a mirror to the sunshine as he charged, headfirst, feet gripping the tense muscles on Bucephalus’ back. The Macedonian banner billowed behind him. Around Alexander, his men fell off their horses simultaneously, and the air filled with screams of agony.  

Suddenly, another rain of shafted arrows scattered on a sea of broken bodies. Alexander looked left and right - both flanks of the Macedonian army were surrounded by the overpowering Persians. However, he had no time to think: one slash, one parry, one stab; one slash, one parry, one stab. Alexander’s arms ached from the constant repetition of sword strokes and sweat poured down his back as he unhorsed yet another soldier branded in red and white.  

Agonisingly, they were getting push back, further, and further.  
Then he saw a glimpse of a golden chariot, like a shepherd behind the sheep, driving them on. It was Darius.  

Alexander’s expression remained unchanged, but his eyes became clouded with a dark thunder. Almost tentatively, Alexander regrouped his weary men, and retreated slowly in the face of the sun.  

Darius stuck hard and fast, spurring his army closer and closer towards Alexander’s retreating battalion.  

Only, he was not retreating. Merely taking a detour. With the hot sun beating on his face, Alexander could feel the giddiness of Bucephalus - his muscles tensing with the adrenaline of the battle. In an instant, Alexander withdrew back to the ruined castle, in another, a fresh wave Macedonians materialized from the shrouded enclaves of the inner palace.  

Darius’ hungry army were instantaneously met with fresh faces and fresh legs thus they were taken aback by the sudden onslaught.  

Discreetly, Alexander led a small platoon of his finest men, and swept a clean arc around Darius’ troop. From the back they pounced, then BANG, Macedonians rushed in waves on both sides. The sharp sound of blade against chainmail shook the air, as Alexander deftly slashed and slew, slashed and slew.  

Slowly, the crowd of men thinned in front of the Macedonians, and there, exposed on his right flank, was Darius. Alexander charged, spurring Bucephalus on with wicked desire - that was his Hector, and he was Achilles. Seeing their leader’s hasty retreat made even the bravest Persian men scatter, and many fell dead in Alexander’s wake, making him slow down.  

Alexander cursed. Amidst the chaos, Darius fled.  

Bucephalus neighed softly; turning towards his direction, Alexander scanned the ground. Unhorsing himself, he bent down, and picked up a golden square - a box - engraved with the Persian coat of arms.  

Darius’ box.   
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Alexander at age 33. In a life that could have been so much more. From the Macedonian plains to the Indus Valley, Alexander was the first general to conquer the world.

However, the legacy of Alexander would be incomplete without the glittering city of Alexandria and standing tall alongside the jagged coastline – was its Lighthouse.  

As we travel into the past, we see the lighthouse winking at sailors close to shore, and now it seems to be speaking to us. In Alexander’s deep voice, the wind whispered one last time,

“Nothing is impossible for him who will try.”