#Alexander the Great's campaigns

[jeannereames]

Hello Dr. Reames! Why do you think Alexander never set his sights on the conquest of Sicily - a rich island with longstanding Greek presence? Is it because when he came to the throne the plan to invade Persia was already on its way? I understand that Rome was a backwater town at this point and that Persia was the bigger prize, but Sicily always remained rich and hotly disputed

Inertia had a lot to do with Alexander’s choice, plus SIZE of the conquest, plus a plausible reason for the attack. I’m going to address these backwards.

Sicily, at least in the east, was—as you note—Greek, it’s largest city, Syracuse, Corinth’s most famous (and successful) colony. If conquest was still a valid reason for war in his world, increasingly parameters were put on it. We may understand these as window dressing concealing motives often economic (“follow the money,” ancient version). Yet by the 4th century, attacks on “fellow Greek” city-states needed some sort of rationale beyond naked ambition—often a current or historical beef.

Hence, Philip’s reason for attacking Persia (all about the money) was vengeance for the Greco-Persian Wars of over a century prior.

Another example, with Sicily in particular: Athens attacked Syracuse during the Peloponnesian War because she wanted Sicilian timber (for naval construction), after Brasidas of Sparta had convinced Perdikkas II of Macedon to cut off Macedonian timber—which had been Athens’ supply since the Greco-Persian Wars. Yet Athens justified the attack because Syracuse was a daughter-city of Corinth and Corinth was a member of the Peloponnesian league. Not to mention the war began due to Athenian-Corinthian aggression. So, by extension, Syracuse was tagged as an enemy of the Delian League (e.g., Athens’ not-so-covert empire), and ripe for hostilities.

Alexander didn’t have a ready-made excuse to attack Sicily. He probably could have found one, if he’d really wanted to, but this brings me to my second point.

Sicily is just not that big. And if some of her cities were wealthy enough, they didn’t begin to compare to Persia. When it comes to Alexander, “Think small” was never his modus operandi. LOL. Sicily would have been regarded like the Greek city-states of Anatolia (Asia Minor): a worthy acquisition…on the way to Bigger and Better. Yet Sicily lay west…not on the way to Bigger and Better. Just then. (more below)

Last, and the real reason: simple inertia.

Persia was the campaign his father had planned for probably a decade, and had fought south Greece to line up support for, culminating in the Battle of Chaironeia and the League of Corinth. Alexander did have to spend his first two years re-pacifying the Thracian and Illyrian north, not to mention re-fight Thebes to keep the south quiet … but PERSIA was what he’d been hearing about for years—what all Philip’s alliances were formed to pounce on.

To suddenly change and set his sights west on Sicily wouldn’t have made much sense, not to mention it would have alienated some of the city-states he needed (particularly his naval allies). He couldn’t have sold it as a “Panhellenic” crusade in revenge for the Greco-Persian War.

So, basically, I doubt it would ever have occurred to Alexander to sail west to attack Sicily when Persia was the bigger—and long planned upon—prize.

Now, let me add that—if academic speculation is correct and Alexander was setting up a campaign against Carthage near the end of his life—it’s quite likely that Sicily, and especially Syracuse, would have figured into that…but as allies, just as later with Rome. Carthage had long held the western part of Sicily, and struggled with the Greeks in the east for control of the whole. Conflicts with Carthage are why Syracuse invited in Rome for what became the First Punic War.

By the end of his life, and after Agis’s Revolt was crushed, Alexander was such a power, the Greek city-states had mostly given up opposing him. They contented themselves with snarky remarks and symbolic gestures—until after ATG’s death, when they rose up to try and oppose Antipatros in the Lamian War…which failed.

Yet if we could suppose Alexander had recovered from his last illness and did attack Carthage, Syracuse (et al.) would have been all over that. They’d have stood to benefit handsomely in territorial acquisitions. And at that point in time, Alexander probably was the only power that could have beaten Carthage on the water.

Hope this helps to explain why Alexander’s focus was always Persia.

A last thing: the nature of the Greek landscape, with the formidable Pindus Mountains down the center, had divided the peninsula east and west for centuries. The city-states on the east fronted the Aegean Sea, while those on the west fronted the Corinthian and Adriatic Seas. This affected both colonization and conquest ambitions. So eastern city-states tended to look east and western (including the Peloponnesos) tended to look west.

Macedon looked east. By contrast, Epiros looked west. That’s why Alexander of Epiros went to Italy while his nephew went to Persia. Never underestimate the impact of simple geography on history in the ancient world.

[scrapironflotilla]

I hear that Winston has arrived, and suppose we shall see him within the next few days. He certainly is a very plucky fellow, and I think that he ought to be given a VC, and then taken out and shot. I wonder what sort of reception he will get if he comes among the troops - whether they will cheer him, or shoot him - I think the former. 23/7/1915

Major-General Alexander Godley writing to Sir Ronald Graham, about the impending visit of Winston Churchill to the Gallipoli Peninsula.

[terrible-shining-eyes]

Thinking about Kalanos... thinking about Kalanos and his self immolation... thinking about what it represents in the life of Alexander and how it affected him in the later part of his life... thinking about how it's emphasized in Arrian's Campaign of Alexander... as I often do.

[alessandroiiidimacedonia]

[empirearchives]

Alexander Suvorov on Napoleon:

“Oh, this young Bonaparte, how he strides! He is a hero, a miracle-giant, a sorcerer!” wrote another great commander, Alexander Suvorov, about the young hero. “He defeats nature and he defeats men. He crossed the Alps as if they were not there at all. He has hidden their formidable peaks in his pocket, and concealed his army in the right sleeve of his uniform. It seemed that the enemy only noticed his soldiers when he thrust them out like Jupiter with his lightning, sowing fear everywhere and striking the scattered crowds of Austrians and Piedmontese. Oh, how he moves! As soon as he entered the path of a commander, he cut the Gordian knot of tactics. Not caring about numbers, he everywhere attacks the enemy and breaks it in pieces. He knows the irresistible power of onslaught, and that is all there is to it. His opponents will persist in their sluggish tactics, subordinate to the office pens, while he has a council of war in his head. In action, he is as free as the air he breathes. He leads the regiments, fights and wins according to his will!”

Letter of the Russian general written during the Swiss Campaign

Source:

Олег Соколов. (2022). Битва двух империй. 1805-1812

[cursecuelebre]

Devotional Playlist For Lord Ares there is going to be mostly heavy metal and about destruction and war. This tributed to his aggressive, bloodlust, and anger.

Literally a song that talks about charging and dying in war very epic.

Other war themed song very fast and loud and very high vocals this thrash metal very more fast than regular heavy metal like Iron Maiden. Aggressive and panicked kinda like how Ares is represented as.

This is a classic hymn to Ares in Greek!

A song about the great conqueror Alexander the Great and his campaign

It’s literally a imperial Latin march song in Latin from the movie Ben Hur. Mars was very popular among the Roman Army for obvious reasons.

Very rebellious and aggressive song also thrash

It’s dark but it’s not aggressive, it’s a song about despair and loss

End of civilization resulting in chaos and disorder.

I know I put this with Athena but the themes is very prevalent in war like ptsd and wounds that can never heal nor recover.

[madnessr]

Vagabond

Vagabond — wandering from place to place without any settled home

Poly Lost Boys x GN Reader Synopsis: Forgiveness is a fickle thing. When four souls find each other, the world finds its equilibrium once more; until the absence of another tips the scale forever. What happens when a familiar face shows itself back at the boardwalk after twenty years of absence?

Warnings: slight angst, lots of historical information in the beginning

Word Count: 3k

By issuing the Declaration of Independence, adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4th, 1776, the 13 American colonies severed their political connections to Great Britain. 

You had been ten during the conflicts between America and Great Britain, young and impressionable. Your family came with Puritans, who set sail to America back in 1630. Unlike the Pilgrims, who had left ten years earlier, the Puritans did not break with the Church of England but sought to reform it. All that happened before you were born; your ancestors had settled down and spread their roots into American soil. 

You recalled little of the American Revolution; after all, you were very young back then, but you remember December 15th, 1791, vividly. Your mother couldn't stop crying that day, and your father had pulled out the oldest whiskey they had that day. America was finally severed from the tyrannical rule of George III. 

You came to understand the significance of those dates more as you aged, growing into a strong individual as you helped your family on their farm. You never intended to marry; it wasn't something you had ever desired or looked forward to. The same year you had gotten married was the day you lost your immortality; both events are related but not necessarily connected. You were introduced to the vampiric community in New Orleans, a city that used the day to sleep off the mistakes you made throughout the rambunctious night. 

You had lived through the formation of the Constitution of the United States of America in 1787 when the founding fathers sought to implement more structure into the now independent country. 

The infamous whiskey rebellion. American drunks apparently were not too keen about Alexander Hamilton implementing a liquor tax to try and raise money for the national debt; asserting the federal government's power back in 1794. 

Only nine years later, the Louisiana Purchase happened in 1803. The small land purchase for only $27 million created room for the states of Louisiana, Missouri, Arkansas, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, and Oklahoma, along with most of Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, and Minnesota.

Throughout the 1810s and 1830s, you had moved on from New Orleans and left for New York, seeking human connections and reconnecting with the younger generations. During that time, the Battle of New Orleans in 1815 and the Monroe Doctrine in 1823 seemed to fly past you. 

Then, signed on February 2nd, 1848, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo finally brought closure to the Mexican-American war. At this time, you were no stranger to political conflicts anymore, and the stench of blood and sweat staining battlefields was, unfortunately, no stranger. 

Life moved on regardless, no matter the horrid realities life provided. For a short while, life had finally come to a stand-still, guns tucked away as the world in America resumed its development. Until April 12th, 1861, Confederate troops fired on Fort Sumter in South Carolina's Charleston Harbor at 4:30 A.M., A day that changed America forever, the beginning of the American Civil War. 

The Emancipation Proclamation, The First Conscription Act, The Battle of Chancellorsville, The Vicksburg Campaign, The Gettysburg Campaign, The Battle of Chickamauga, The Battle of Chattanooga, The Siege of Knoxville. The list continued, and the coppery smell of wasted humanity tainted the air, the wind carrying the cries of victims throughout the nation. 

The war ended in the Spring of 1865. Robert E. Lee surrendered the last major Confederate army to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Courthouse on April 9th, 1865.

The number of soldiers who died throughout those four years eventually got estimated to be around 620,000.

Only 47 years later, on July 28th, 1914, the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, beginning the cruel trench warfare of World War I. In early April 1917, America aided the effort to join a war to end all wars. You had entered the war effort, like everyone capable at the time; from soldiers to nurses, everyone gave aid. 

On November 11th, 1918, the war ended. Although the Allies won, you found no reason to celebrate. Not when mothers sold their homes since there wasn't a reason to have a multiple-bedroom house anymore, when graveyards overflowed with the dead, when people mourned their losses, when mothers' only answer to their missing sons was a notice declaring their child missing in action. 

The stock market crashed in 1929, kicking off the Great Depression that would last for more than a decade. 

On September 1st, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Kicking off World War II and beginning one of the most brutal warfare's, Blitzkrieg. On May 8th, 1945, Germany surrendered. After the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan surrendered on September 2nd, 1945, and the Second World War came to an end.

The war ended, and the surviving soldiers returned with missing limbs and broken spirits. You were a firm believer that humans were not meant to witness so much death; it tainted them; it dulled them. Although you were a vampire, a creature supposedly made for horror, you could not forget what you had witnessed in only the span of 21 years. 

You were 201 years old now, relatively young in the grand scheme of time, but you had lived through a few of the greatest horrors the world had ever seen. 

189 years of traversing the lands, you watched grow in a desperate search to find one of your own. Since you were turned and left New Orleans, you had not met a single vampire. You watched with sorrowful wisdom in your eyes as the world passed through you, virginity in people's expressions you wish you had. A gaze untainted by warfare, civil unrest, and brutality. 

Although you have met the occasional human to brighten your own world, it did not cure you. Your search was desolate—fruitless. 

Your feet had carried you to Santa Carla, the year now being 1963, and just as the five stages of grief had settled on acceptance. You bumped into a group of four rambunctious bikers that would change your life forever. That had been the first time you had met, and you had continued to live together, going on to live through the Civil Rights movement and grieving the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.

But on August 12th, 1967, you left Santa Carla. Your absence is only justified by a delicately written letter standing in your place. You had grown to love the boys, but you had lived differently compared to them. 

Marko and Paul were younger vampires than you, having been turned while The Great Depression was bulldozing America. Dwanye had been older, abandoning his immortality in the 18th century along with David. All of them possessed the innate ability to move on from the past, a talent you, unfortunately, did not possess. 

No matter how hard you tried, you could not find peace or excitement in the future. The uncertainty corrupted you, tormented you and your experiences, so you left. Not with the intent to abandon but to sort out whatever you had to sort out. Away from the prying eyes of those you loved, those who you did not want—couldn't disappoint.  

Santa Carla, the town you had never been able to forget. It was 1987 now; twenty years had passed since you had seen the four vampires. You had missed them—a melancholic weight having nestled its way into your heart ever since you left. You regretted the way you had left through a simple letter. A cowardly move; you were wise enough to understand that. But at the time, you couldn't bring yourself to say it to them. How could you? Look someone in the eyes, someone like you—your own pack that never did anything but love you—and tell them you were leaving? 

You didn't have the heart, and if you were a little more honest, you didn't have it now, either. But you missed them more than your hurt pride by walking what felt like a walk of shame as you wandered around the busy boardwalk. One thing you never could get used to was the constant shift in fashion, it felt like the ins became the outs overnight, and you never were able to keep up with it. 

Bright colors were the most fashionable now, with teased hair and loud makeup. You enjoyed it, your knowing eyes watching over the crowd. The smell of hairspray permeated the air, wafting towards you as you passed people. Bulky and oversized clothes were spotted throughout the crowds, some men and women wearing specific member-only jackets. Ah, it seems the surfer nazis still haven't given up on Santa Carla yet. 

The amusement park was new; back in 1867, the boardwalk had small shops littered around—like a market. Originally it mostly sold food and groceries, fish caught fresh from the sea, and farmers selling their produce. 

How has the pier changed so significantly? If it wasn't for the bold, attention-seeking sign that said Santa Carla Boardwalk; you would've thought you were at the wrong address. But stepping on those old wooden floorboards of the pier that occasionally creaked or sunk under your feet was an all too familiar feeling. The smell of salt, rotting seaweed that had washed onto the shore, and the fresh street food made you feel all too at home. 

It felt like you had never really left. 

Your appearance had changed quite a bit since you left Santa Carla, so you didn't expect either the boys or Max to really recognize you. But although you were willing to stay under the radar for the boys, Max was another story. He was a head vampire, a coven leader, and therefore needed to be notified of your presence. 

Entering Max's video store made you feel nostalgic, the same old grimy bell still hanging atop the doorframe signaling your arrival; you had been the one to put that there to originally annoy Max. You were surprised he kept it. The wooden floorboards and furniture gave off a distinct, homey smell. You had been there when the store was built, and the shiny coating across the floors now had grown mat, occasional wood panels brighter in color than before. 

"I never thought I'd meet the day I saw you walk through those doors again." 

Turning around, you met the stern gaze of Max. His outfit made you smile, a desperate attempt at blending in with the crowd. Max was always a stickler for blending in; if he had no intention of turning you; you had no business knowing who; or rather what, he was. 

"It's good to see you." 

"I'm flattered, but I doubt that I am the sole reason you returned." Max always carried that knowing tone, as if he's watched out every move you'd make before you made them. It reminded you that Max had a coven before the boys and you, one he rarely conversed about. Perhaps Max really had seen this turn out before, but analyzing that surprised expression, you could only assume who had left never did come back. 

"How right you are," You sighed, shoulders dropping as you hopped onto the cashier counter. It was before opening, meaning you and Max had some time to chat privately. 

"Twenty years is a long time," Max hummed, a low and almost chiding tone. "What made you come back?" 

"To us, it isn't," You weakly argued back. The cumbersome feeling, or rather an awareness that you were in the wrong, was nearly unbearable. You were smart enough to understand that denial was a fruitless endeavor, and yet you couldn't help but let those desperate attempts escape you. 

"For people waiting for you, it's an eternity." Max sighed in a calm but chiding tone. Although Max never did have to scold you the way he did with the boys, from not committing arson to preventing fights. Max instead focused his guidance towards you on a more emotional level, the morality; a bit ironic being taught by a vampire—but he did his best. 

You glanced outside, through the glass walls of Max's shop, watching the bustling crowd pass you. Twenty years to a vampire was nothing, but somehow the short span of time felt arduous. Why did you come back?

"I never intended on staying away forever. I knew that when the time was right, I'd return." You explained, stealing a quick glance at Max. The older man had a frown etched onto his face, eyebrows furrowed as his own gaze lingered on the rambunctious humans outside. So unaware of the constant and unrelenting passage of time. It was cruel to be immortal; the passage of time no longer hindered you. But emotions are bendable and are the only aspect of ourselves that remains from who we were. Emotions were mortal. 

"Santa Carla has changed, Y/N. It is not what you left behind; they are not the same as they were alongside you." Max recalled, his voice disapproving. 

You knew Max was correct; you knew deep in your wrenching and twisting gut. You jumped off the counter, your feet hitting the floor like gravity had shifted around you, sinking your body into the floor. "I know," you knew; perhaps the boys didn't even want to see you; they could curse you out and send your name to hell for all eternity. They deserved to do it too. 

But they loved you once, and perhaps you can't help shake the feeling that they might love you again this time too. 

Max sighed, walking over to his front door and twisting the closed sign around, and pronouncing the store now open. Each tap of his foot, synced with his steps, was like a thundering echo inside you. It prompted you to get up and to provide closure for the others. You reach the door, opening midway before Max leaves you with some parting advice. 

"I hope you find what you came here for, Y/N. But the time might be right for you now, but it might not be for them."

You nodded, not looking back as you walked out of the store. The air was warmer, humid from the ocean breeze mixing into the air, the notorious assassin for any styled and teased hair due.

Laughter was one of your favorite sounds. As cliche as that might sound, it felt rejuvenating to hear. Whether it was a loud cackle mimicking the call of a hyena or a high-pitched wheeze or whistle. There was a beauty in people's expressions, how their noses tended to scrunch up, or how others held their stomachs and nearly doubled over. Laughter was infectious, and you loved observing the dopamine spread to others. Strangers connecting over a similar sense of joy; there was a beauty in it. 

The boardwalk was filled with it, people brushing shoulders against shoulders as they walked. Groups cackling and shoving each other as they enjoyed the youngness of the evening. Music booming from different directions, punks blasting the newest rap or metal music, hippies tuning out to a gentle jam, but the loudest seemed to be a distant concert down the boardwalk and closer to the pier. Like a bee sensing some honey, you followed. Dodging the occasional passerby, ducking out of the way from shop owners lugging their merchandise around. 

The music got louder, and a small thread of excitement seemed to push you further, faster. Your small stroll transformed into a quickened step, your ears guiding you and your eyes following the crowd. The music was loud; a tight smosh-like pit had formed before the stage where people grind and brushed against each other to the beat of the music. 

Looking around, you scanned the faces of teenagers and young adults. There was an eager but dreaded nervousness to your gaze at the thought of seeing a face that looked familiar. But it wasn't your eyes that caught their presence, but rather your sense of smell. 

 Copper. 

Although it was harder to pick up when the wind stills its prancing, the occasional breeze led you further towards the pier. Away from the smosh pit, and where people stood to enjoy the music but not risk getting mulled over by a hormonal teenager. 

There they stood, strikingly familiar. Although some of the fashion had changed, most of their originality stayed intact. That tiny red flag tied around Dwayne's waist was something the two of you had stolen from a stingy bar owner back in 1964; Markos jacket still had all too familiar patches sewn into its denim fabric; Paul still wore those bracelets you gave him, and David wore the most prominent reminder of you, his oversized coat. 

The wind picked up around you, a cold and mocking breeze flowing through your hair and betraying your presence to the four men you had left behind all those years ago. One by one, heads lifted, smiling ceased, and laughter died. Although you had spent years preparing yourself for this moment, nothing felt so gut-wrenchingly real than standing before them. 

How do you look someone in the eyes after you've abandoned them?

How do you move past that moment when the world around you stills and halts. When you lose yourself in the blear of the world when mortality reaches its hand around your heart and squeezes. A vice-like grip, a feeling blooming within your chest so heavy–so unspeakable. When you see those eyes, recognize the sorrow behind them and realize you were the perpetrator. You were the one who put that agony, that sadness there.

The burden of your actions ties itself around your throat like a noose, tight and unyielding, as you realize the cruelty was done by none other than yourself. And there is no way, in any shape or form, you could reverse the damage you've done. Pain is immortal, it might yield to its throbbing, but it never forgets. 

A world with your boys back in 1967 exists now only in your memory. The four men, cold as the autumn waters, were your reality now. 

"Hello, boys."

[archaeologicalnews]

Looted ancient sarcophagus returned to Egypt from US

An ancient wooden sarcophagus that was featured at the Houston Museum of Natural Sciences was returned to Egypt after U.S. authorities determined it was looted years ago, Egyptian officials said Monday.

The repatriation is part of Egyptian government efforts to stop the trafficking of its stolen antiquities. In 2021, authorities in Cairo succeeded in getting 5,300 stolen artifacts returned to Egypt from across the world.

Mostafa Waziri, the top official at the Supreme Council of Antiquities, said the sarcophagus dates back to the Late Dynastic Period of ancient Egypt, an era that spanned the last of the Pharaonic rulers from 664 B.C. until Alexander the Great's campaign in 332 B.C. Read more.

[whencyclopedia]

Hephaestion

Hephaestion was a member of Alexander the Great's personal bodyguard and the Macedonian king's closest and lifelong friend and advisor. So much so, Hephaestion's death would bring the young king to tears. From 334 to 323 BCE Alexander the Great conquered much of the known world. He led his army on a ten-year odyssey across Asia Minor and into Persia, Egypt and India. Eventually, after his defeat of Darius III, he became the self-proclaimed King of Asia. Of course, he could not have done this without the support of his loyal army and staff of skilled officers – Ptolemy I, Perdiccas, and Craterus, but above all others, Hephaestion.

Early Life

The son of Amyntas, Hephaestion was raised in the Macedonian capital of Pella and according to most sources born in 356 BCE, the same year as the king. Being from an aristocratic family, as were many of the staff officers who would follow Alexander into Asia, he became a student, alongside Alexander, of the philosopher Aristotle at Mieza, a city west of Pella. His intelligence impressed the Athenian academic, and, like the king, they would correspond with each other during the long Persian campaign.

Hephaestion was considered handsome by many, and Alexander's father, Philip II of Macedon, regarded him as an excellent influence on his son. Shortly after Philip married Cleopatra, the future king became concerned about his position as successor. A disagreement erupted between Philip and Alexander, a dispute fueled by his friends. Because of this, many of Alexander's friends were sent into exile; however, because of Philip's respect for Hephaestion, he was spared this humiliation.

Continue reading...

[aphroditelovesu]

The Lost Queen - VII

— summary: You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn’t understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren’t safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won’t let you go so easily.

— genre: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: time travel, obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, mention of torture, kidnapping, angst, fluffy (very rarely), dub-con, possibly smut.

— pairing: yandere!alexander the great x female!reader, yandere!generals x female!reader.

— word count: 2,003.

— tag list: @devils-blackrose, @faerykingdom, @hadesnewpersephone, @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 , @kadu-5607, @zoleea-exultant, @borntoexplore11-blog

— the lost queen series masterlist.

Chapter 7

Time was against you.

The more time passes, the more blood he loses and the more the chances of mortality increase.

You needed to be very careful and be as thorough as possible. Any wrong move or touch would result in Cleitus' imminent death.

The issue of medicine was also complicated and archaic and this only complicated everything. You weren't a doctor, but you knew enough about the human body and health care that you believed you could help save it. Your biggest concern, however, was the infection that could arise and how to treat the wound in his abdomen correctly and not make his situation even worse.

Those nights spent watching Grey's Anatomy could come in handy.

You almost laughed at that thought, but it was true. You tried to remember medical procedures and the biology books you had read in high school. You had to remember what was written.

You looked at Doctor Philip and frowned. He seemed more confused than you and that was because he studied medicine. Of course, not the medicine you knew, but still medicine even if archaic and probably with many flaws.

Obviously, Cleitus needed a hospital, with proper medical treatment. The only problem is that you were in the 4th century BC and not the 21st century and there were no conventional hospitals and there was the bonus that you were in a camp during a military campaign.

All the odds were against you.

The thought alone was very discouraging, but you weren't going to give up. You would do everything in your power to make sure this man lives and in the end it would all depend on how well you did.

Cleitus shouldn't die now and you were aware that saving him could change history even more, but you didn't care. Everything had already changed and you needed to save him.

You had to do it.

You washed your hands with the water that was there and the soap available. It wasn't the same as it was in its time, but it should help eliminate at least some bacteria.

You closed your eyes and counted to ten in an attempt to calm your nervousness and opened them again. You took a needle and sterilized it in beer. It wasn't what was recommended, but there was nothing else available so it would have to do.

Cleitus was lying on the cot, Philip was checking his temperature. You approached the cot with the needle and thread in hand, along with a wet and dry piece of fabric that was supposed to imitate gauze.

Philip looked at you suspiciously, ''What are you going to do?''

''Sew him.'' You replied as if it was obvious. You sat down on a chair placed next to the cot and grabbed the beer. You stared at your patient, Cleitus' tanned skin was pale and a wet cloth was on his forehead, as if it was trying to fight off a fever.

He was in a lot of pain and you would only make him feel more.

Your hands were shaking slightly and you cursed yourself for it. Taking a deep breath and praying to whoever was listening to you, you carefully cleaned the blood from the cut that was still bleeding, praying that internal bleeding wasn't happening.

You could stop external bleeding, but not an internal bleeding.

After cleaning up the blood that would get in your way, you threaded the needle and prepared to sew him up. Philip tried to help guide you, but you already knew what he was talking about.

You knew more about medicine than he did.

Trying to ignore Philip's babbling and the panic settling in your body, you pierced Cleitus's sagging skin and began to stitch him up. He was still and expressed no pain, but you knew he was hurting. The right thing to do would be to anesthetize him, but that was not an option available to you.

You managed to stabilize the tremor in your hands and finished the sewing, cutting the rest of the thread with a small knife. The wound had been closed and sterilized, Philip seemed satisfied and said that Cleitus could recover.

But you knew it wasn't just that.

A deep cut to the abdomen was dangerous and there were many risks to consider.

The cut had been closed but there were many things that could go wrong. An infection, internal bleeding or sepsis could occur. Or this could all happen at once.

The only thing left to do was pray and make sure he wouldn't die, at least not alone.

It felt like days had passed.

You had lost track of the time since you had treated Cleitus.

Your eyelids were heavy and you just wanted to sleep, but you knew you wouldn't be able to sleep, not until you were sure he would live.

In a way, it was your fault. You were to blame for him being in such a state.

Although it seemed unrealistic, you were sure it was your fault. Alexander had his share of guilt that was greater than yours, but you still felt so fucking guilty.

You blamed Alexander too. Oh, and how you blamed him.

What was wrong with that man? By god, why the hell does he want to marry you? He knew you for what? A day or less? And you weren't politically attractive.

Not in terms of beauty, you thought you were quite beautiful.

But not politically. You literally appeared out of nowhere, with just the clothes on your back and probably looking like a ghost and he wanted to marry you.

It seemed like a very bad joke.

Cleitus had been the only sensible one, you recognized that. You were too shocked to react and you blamed yourself for it. Maybe if you had said something, Cleitus wouldn't have been stabbed.

Or he would have been the same way.

There was no way you could have predicted it, but you wished you could go back in time again and reverse this situation. But you couldn't do that.

Or could you?

You shook your head, trying to get those thoughts out of your head. There was no point in thinking about things like that, you didn't even know how you ended up in this place, much less how to travel through time again.

Or did you know? Now, alone with Cleitus in a strangely silent environment, you were finally able to think and analyze everything that had happened a few hours ago.

This all started after you bought that book, you were sure of that. And that book was supposed to be magical, it was the only explanation, even if your mind screamed otherwise.

You have always had a scientific mind and have always sought answers based on science and this has always worked for you. There was nothing that science couldn't explain.

Except that.

Science confirmed that time travel existed, but only into the future and not in the way you were experiencing it. Albert Einstein's theory of relativity was always something to be credited with and you trusted him.

Now you weren't so sure about that.

Science went down the drain in this case. Maybe it was some god playing with you or you went crazy. But you dug deep into your mind, looking for any traces of what might indicate why you were here.

And that was when you remembered that strange man who had approached you before you went to the market.

You shivered when you remembered his words.

''The shadows of fate surround you... The world will never be the same for you, girl.''

Could he be the real culprit of your current torment? Possibly. In fact, him and that damn book were the things you could blame right now and only the gods knew how desperately you needed to blame someone or something.

You felt anger course through your body and you wanted to scream at someone. Preferably the culprit, but anyone would do in your moment of understandable outburst.

You felt tears in your eyes, but this time, they weren't tears of despair, but of pure anger.

You didn't try to fight back the tears, but let them fall and wet your face and the top of your blood-stained chiton.

All the emotions you had been suppressing finally exploded. The anger, the sadness, the fear, it all came at once like a devastating wave. Your eyes burned a little, but you didn't care.

After hours of anguish, you allowed yourself to freak out once and for all. And it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders after letting all your emotions out of you. You buried your head in your chest and folded your legs, trying to hide like you did whenever you were scared.

''(Y/N)?'' You raised your head and tried to focus your unfocused gaze on whoever had spoken to you. It was Perddicas. You smiled a little at his presence.

He approached you and gently touched your bare shoulders. You shivered a little at the sudden contact, but didn't try to push him away.

''Hey...'' You mumbled with a choked voice.

''How is he?'' He murmured, patting your shoulders.

You held back a sob, ''I'm not sure.''

Perdiccas just looked at you fondly with those beautiful blue eyes that you felt like you could get lost in them for hours.

''And how are you?'' His voice was a little louder than a whisper. He was trying to comfort you and you appreciated it immensely.

''Not great.'' You simply said, still looking into those mesmerizing eyes.

A hint of pain flashed across his handsome face. ''I'm sorry to hear that and for what happened to Cleitus.'' He mumbled and you could swear there were tears in his eyes.

''It sucks.''

He laughed nasally, ''Yes.''

No exchange of words was said after that. And it wasn't necessary, body and facial language said everything that needed to be said.

You were very close, closer than would be considered appropriate or comfortable but you didn't care. You needed this comfort, desperately and Perdiccas could offer you that.

He wanted to offer you this.

You knew it from your first interaction with him.

You leaned your face closer to his and his breathing became heavy, You didn't back away however. Your eyes were fixed on the general's full lips.

''(Y/N)...'' Perdiccas murmured, looking at your face with desire and affection.

Hearing him say your name like that sent waves of pleasure through your body. Your faces were close, very close.

''Perdiccas...'' He got goosebumps when he heard you whisper his name.

You no longer had any doubts.

Against all the common sense you had left, you sealed the distance between you. Your lips met in a shy and superficial kiss, but one that quickly became passionate.

You moaned softly and wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing his warm body closer to yours. Perdiccas touched your waist and squeezed lightly, deepening the kiss. Your tongues touched in a shy and passionate way, your mouths became one.

You reluctantly broke apart after the lack of air hit you. You opened your eyes and blushed when you saw his lips swollen from the kiss and his breathing a little labored. Yours was no different.

You took a deep breath and touched his face tenderly, stroking it softly. He was really very handsome, the kind of man you were sure you'd see in one of those magazines, maybe like Vogue.

''(Y/N), you...'' Perdiccas couldn't formulate a proper question, still very surprised and excited by the passionate kiss. He wanted to kiss you more and maybe even more than kiss.

You smiled at him.

You threw yourself against him, looking for the necessary comfort. Perdiccas hugged you tightly and kissed your neck, stroking your hair. You closed your eyes and gave yourself what you wanted most.

— lady l: You didn't expect that kiss, did you? Me neither. The idea for the kiss came up at the last minute and I had to write it, so... Yeah, we had a little kiss between our girl and Perdiccas. Will I mention the consequences this will have? No. Anyway, I hope you liked it and forgive me for any mistakes and bad writing on the medical treatment part lol, don't repeat that! If you have been stabbed, seek medical attention! Love you all and see you in the next chapter ❤️.

[kings-highway]

happy birthday oikawa

bodyswap fic where on his birthday he wakes up in the body of Alexander the Great, and must spend the day learning to balance politics and warfare, lead a campaign and go to battle while not being found out and trying to find a way home - interspersed with moments from the modern era, in which Iwaizumi is screaming and losing his mind as he chases around Alexander the Great, who is loose in the modern era in Oikawa's body. Where did he get that sword.

[jeannereames]

Your top 5 Alexander the Great moments?

Top Five Alexander Moments

One issue with answering this is to figure out what events actually happened, especially when it comes to anecdotes! Here are four I find either significant to understanding his charisma and/or which explain how he functioned and why he was successful, plus one I like just because I’m a horse girl.

1) To my mind, the event that best illustrates why his men followed him to the edge of their known world occurred in the Gedrosian Desert. While I’m a bit dubious that this trek was as bad as it’s made out to be (reasons exist for exaggerating), it was still baaaad. One story relates that some of his men found some brackish water in a sad little excuse for a spring, gathered it in a helm, and brought it to him. Given his poor physical condition after the Malian siege wound, he no doubt needed it badly. He thanked them (most sincerely), then carried it out where all (or at least a lot) of his men could see, raised it overhead, and announced that until all of them could drink, he wouldn’t. Then he poured it onto the rocky ground.

That gesture exemplified his charisma. And it absolutely is not something the likes of a Donald tRump could even imagine doing—nor most dictators, tbh. They’d be blaming everybody else and calling for heads while drinking Diet Coke, not suffering alongside their people.

This wasn’t an isolated event of that type. While he almost certainly didn’t have time to engage along with his soldiers in every project, we’re told he would drop in from time-to-time, to inspire them and to offer a little friendly competition.

He also dressed like his men for everyday activities, especially early in the campaign. As time went on, some sources say he inserted more distance—probably necessary as his duties exploded—but he still seems to have found time to “just hang out” with his Macedonians on occasion. The claims that he was too high and mighty to do so appears to have been exaggeration (as such accusations often are) in order to forward a narrative that he was “going Asian.” Troop resentment over court changes was very genuine—I don’t want to underplay it (especially as I’ve written about it in a few chapters in this), but it tended to boil up during certain periods/events, then die back again. Alexander was trying to walk a very fine line of incorporating the conquered while not ticking off his own people.

2) Reportedly, he once threw a man out of line because he hadn’t bothered to secure the chin strap on his helm. I pick this one because it tells me a whole lot about how he saw himself as a commander, and what he expected of his men (and why he tended to consistently win).

On the surface, his reaction seems almost petty. It’s precisely the sort of mistake students whine about when professors ding them for it. It’s just a chin strap! I’d have tightened it before I went into battle! (It’s just a few typos; you knew what I meant! Or, Why does everything in the bibliography have to be exactly matching in style? Who cares? What a stupid thing to obsess about!) These objections are all of a piece. First, they’re lazy, and second, they indicate a disconcern with details. In battle, such disconcern can get a person killed. And on a larger scale, for a general, such disconcern loses battles.

One of the striking aspects of Alexander’s military operations was just how well his logistics worked. Consistently. We hear little about them precisely because they rarely fail. Food and water was there when they needed it, as were arrow replacements, wood to repair the spears, wool and leather for clothes and shoes, canvas for tents, etc., etc. All those little niggling (boring) details. If these are missing, soldiers become upset (and don’t fight well). Starting with Philip, the Macedonian military was a well-oiled machine. That’s WHY Gedrosia was such a shock: the logistics collapsed. Contra some historians, he did not do it to “punish” his men, nor to best Cyrus.* He had a sound reason—to scout a trade route.

Alexander understood that details matter. It starts with a loose chinstrap. (Or an unplanned-for storm and rebellion in his rear.) Everything else can unravel from that.

3) Alexander sends Hephaistion a little dish of small fish (probably smelts). He also helps an officer secure the lady of his dreams. And writes another on assignment (away from the army) that a mutual friend is recovering from an illness. While technically three “moments,” these are all of a piece. Alexander knows his men, and is concerned not only for their physical well-being, but also their mental state: that they’re happy. Granted, these are all elite officers, but it suggests he’s paying attention to people. I’ve always assumed he sent Hephaistion the fish because they were his friend’s favorite, and/or they were a special treat and he wanted to share. That he didn’t punish an officer for going AWOL to chase the mistress he wanted but offered advice, and even assistance, on how to court and secure her suggests the same care.

I don’t want to take away from what appears to be his serious anger management problems(!), but little details like those above strike me as the likeable side of Alexander—why his men were so devoted to him.

4) Then we have the encounter with Timokleia after the siege of Thebes. While probably a bit too precious to have occurred exactly as related, I think it may still hold a kernel of truth.

Alexander had a reputation of chivalry towards his (highborn) female captives. If some of that was likely either propaganda from his own time or philhellenic whitewashing later by Second Sophistic authors such as Plutarch (and Arrian), poor treatment of women is not something we hear attributed to him.

Ergo, while the meeting was probably doctored for a moral tail, he may well have freed Timokleia as an act of clemency to put a better face on a shocking destruction he knew wouldn’t sit well with the rest of Greece—who he both wanted to cow yet earn support from. (A difficult balancing act.) Also, if Timokleia hadn’t been high-born, she’d probably have been hauled off to one of the prisoner cages with little fanfare.

Nonetheless, I find his actions surprising given the casual misogyny of his era. If we can take the bare bones of the story as true, and it’s not all invented, Timokleia was raped as a matter of course during the sacking of Thebes, then managed to trick her rapist and kill him by pushing him down a well and dropping rocks on him. I assume this happened when his men weren’t there, but they found out soon enough and hauled her in front of Alexander to be punished for killing an officer. To the surprise of all, Alexander decided the man had earned it and freed Timokleia. One might be inclined to call this overly sentimental, but….

There’s a similar story that occurred much later in the Levant, when two of Parmenion’s men seduced/(raped?) the mistresses/wives of some mercenaries. Alexander instructed Parmenion to kill the Macedonians if they were found to be guilty.

In both cases, we have an affront against (respectable) women. In the latter case, Alexander was (no doubt) working to avoid conflict between hired soldiers and his own men, who—in typical Greek fashion—would have looked down on mercenaries as a matter of course. Some sort of conflict between Macedonians and Greek mercenaries up in Thrace had almost got Alexander’s father killed. Alexander saved him. No doubt that was on Alexander’s mind here.

Yet what both events illuminate is a willingness on Alexander’s part to punish his own men for affronts to honor/timē that involved women. Yes, this is clearly about discipline. But it also shows an unusual sensitivity to sex crimes in warfare: actions that would normally fall under the excuse of “boys will be boys” (especially when their blood is up).

I doubt he’d have felt the same about slaves or prostitutes; he was still a product of his time. Yet without overlooking his violence—sometimes extreme (the genocide of the Branchidai, for instance)—I find his reaction in these cases to be evidence of an atypical sympathy for women that I’d like to think isn’t wholly an invention of later Roman authors. And just might show the influence of his mother and sisters.

5) Last… the Boukephalas story…because who doesn’t love a good “a boy and his horse” tale? Obviously the Plutarchian version is tweaked to reflect that author’s later concern to contrast the Macedonian “barbarian” Philip with the properly Hellenized Alexander. Ignore the editorializing remarks, especially the “find a kingdom big enough for you” nonsense.

But the bare bones of the story seem likely: unmanageable horse, cocky kid, bet with dad, gotcha moment. You can imagine this was an anecdote Alexander retold a time or three, or twenty.

——

* His attempts to copy Cyrus may be imposition by later writers. In his own day, he may have cared more about the first Darius, for reasons Jenn Finn is going to explain in a forthcoming, very good article on the burning of Thebes and Persepolis.

[mapsontheweb]

Regions of Current Age Pakistan before Invasion of Alexander

Alexander the Great's military campaigns in the Indus Valley (modern-day Pakistan) involved significant engagements with local territories, kingdoms, and their rulers. In 329 B.C., Alexander conquered Qandhar and encountered Indian tribes for the first time, marking the beginning of his interactions with the complex political landscape of the area. By 327 B.C., he had crossed the Hindukush Mountains, capturing key fortifications such as Astes Fort and massacring 7000 Indians at Massaga of Assakenians. His conquest continued with the siege and capture of Aornos in December of the same year.

During his campaigns, Alexander encountered various powerful entities in the region. The Buddhists, particularly in Sind, were influential, with prominent temples in Multan and Alore. Despite the power of the Buddhist monks, the Brahmins played a significant role in resisting Greek advances, inciting rebellion among local rulers such as Sambus. This resistance led to notable conflicts, including the defeat of Poros in 326 B.C. and the collapse of the Mallians in 325 B.C. The Greek conqueror’s interactions with these local powers highlight the complex and multi-faceted nature of the region's political dynamics.

Alexander's campaign in the southern Punjab in 326 B.C. was marked by the defeat of the Malli and Oxydraki principalities, followed by the liberation of the rivers Hydaspes, Acesines, and Indus. His naval fleet, consisting of 2000 warships, played a crucial role in these operations. The submission of Musicanus, the chief of upper Sind, who paid homage to Alexander to avoid destruction, further exemplifies the mix of military might and diplomatic engagements that characterized Alexander's approach. The appointment of Peithon as the Governor of Sind and the dispatch of Krateros with an army via Bolan Pass were strategic moves to consolidate Greek control over the region.

The period following Alexander's departure saw significant turmoil. In 325 B.C., revolts in Patala and other regions, such as the rebellion of Sambus and Musicanus, were brutally suppressed. Alexander's forces, led by his generals, employed severe measures, including mass executions and enslavement, to quell these uprisings. The death of Philippus, the Satrap of Upper Sindhu Valley, due to internal jealousy among Greeks and Macedonians, underscores the tensions within Alexander’s administration. These events reveal the fragile nature of Greek control and the persistent resistance from local rulers and populations.

Alexander's death in 323 B.C. marked a turning point, as his empire was divided among his generals. Despite the fragmentation of his empire, Sind continued to be governed by Peithon, reflecting the lasting impact of Alexander's conquests on the region. The strategic and administrative decisions made during his campaigns had enduring effects, shaping the political landscape of Sind and its neighboring territories. Alexander's legacy in these regions is a testament to the complex interplay of military conquest, local resistance, and administrative governance that defined his rule.

[blueiscoool]

European Court Upholds Italy's Right to Seize Greek Bronze from Getty Museum

A European court on Thursday upheld Italy’s right to seize a prized Greek statue from the J. Paul Getty Museum in California, ruling that Italy was justified in trying to reclaim an important part of its cultural heritage and rejecting the museum’s appeal.

The European Court of Human Rights, or ECHR, determined that Italy’s decades-long efforts to recover the “Victorious Youth” statue from the Malibu-based Getty were not disproportionate.

“Victorious Youth,” a life-sized bronze dating from 300 B.C. to 100 B.C., is one of the highlights of the Getty’s collection. Though the artist is unknown, some scholars believe it was made by Lysippos, Alexander the Great’s personal sculptor.

The bronze, which was pulled from the sea in 1964 by Italian fishermen and then exported out of Italy illegally, was purchased by the Getty in 1977 for $4 million and has been on display there ever since.

The Getty had appealed to the European court after Italy’s high Court of Cassation in 2018 upheld a lower court’s confiscation order. The Getty had argued that its rights to the statue, under a European human rights protocol on protection of property, had been violated by Italy’s campaign to get it back.

The court ruled Thursday that no such violation had occurred.

“This is not just a victory for the Italian government. It’s a victory for culture,” said Maurizio Fiorilli, who as an Italian government attorney had spearheaded Italy’s efforts to recover its looted antiquities and, in particular, the Getty bronze.

The Getty has long defended its right to the statue, saying Italy had no legal claim to it.

Among other things, the Getty had argued that the statue is of Greek origin, was found in international waters and was never part of Italy’s cultural heritage. It cited a 1968 Court of Cassation ruling that found no evidence that the statue belonged to Italy.

Italy argued the statue was indeed part of its own cultural heritage, that it was brought to shore by Italians aboard an Italian-flagged ship and was exported illegally, without any customs declarations or payments.

After years of further legal wrangling, an Italian court in Pesaro in 2010 ordered the statue seized and returned, at the height of Italy’s campaign to recover antiquities looted from its territory and sold to museums and private collectors around the globe.

Thursday’s ruling by the Strasbourg, France-based ECHR was a chamber judgment. Both sides now have three months to ask that the case be heard by the court’s Grand Chamber for a final decision. But Thursday’s ruling was unanimous, with no dissenting judges, and the Grand Chamber can refuse to hear the case.

There was no immediate comment from the Getty, and its lawyers referred comment to the museum.

Italian Culture Minister Gennaro Sangiuliano praised Thursday’s decision as an “unequivocal ruling” that recognized the rights of the Italian state and its ownership of the statue.

“Following today’s ruling … the Italian government will restart contacts with U.S. authorities for assistance in the implementation of the confiscation order,” he said.

In a statement, he doubled down on Italy’s campaign to bring its looted treasures home, and noted that recently Italy has ceased cooperation with foreign museums that don’t recognize Italian legal confiscation orders.

Recently, Italy banned any loans to the Minneapolis Institute of Art following a dispute over an ancient marble statue believed to have been looted from Italy almost a half-century ago.

The Getty had appealed to the ECHR by arguing, among other things, that Italy’s 2010 confiscation order constituted a violation of its right to enjoy its possessions and that it would be deprived of that right if U.S. authorities carried out the seizure.

The ECHR however strongly reaffirmed Italy’s right to pursue the protection of its cultural heritage, especially from unlawful exportation.

“The court further held that owing, in particular, to the Getty Trust’s negligence or bad faith in purchasing the statue despite being aware of the claims of the Italian state and their efforts to recover it, the confiscation order had been proportionate to the aim of ensuring the return of an object that was part of Italy’s cultural heritage,” said the summary of the ruling.

It wasn’t immediately clear what would happen next, though Fiorilli said the Getty had exhausted legal remedies and it’s now for U.S. the courts to enforce the Italian confiscation order.

“It’s not about guaranteeing the right to property, it’s about guaranteeing the internationally recognized value of every nation’s right to protect its cultural patrimony,” Fiorilli told The Associated Press over the telephone.

The statue, nicknamed the “Getty Bronze,” is a signature piece for the museum. Standing about 5 feet (1.52 meters) tall, the statue of the young athlete raising his right hand to an olive wreath crown around his head is one of the few life-sized Greek bronzes to have survived.

The bronze is believed to have sunk with the ship that was carrying it to Italy after the Romans conquered Greece. After being found in the nets of Italian fishermen trawling in international waters in 1964, it was allegedly buried in an Italian cabbage patch and hidden in a priest’s bathtub before it was taken out of the country.

Italy has successfully won back thousands of artifacts from museums, collections and private owners around the world that it says were looted or stolen from the country illegally, and recently opened a museum to house them until they can be returned to the regions from where they were looted.

The most important work to date that Italy has successfully brought back is the Euphronios Krater, one of the finest ancient Greek vases in existence. The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York, which purchased it for $1 million in 1972 from an art dealer later accused of acquiring looted artifacts, returned it to Italy in 2008.

In 2010, the same year that Italy ordered the “Victorious Youth” statue confiscated from the Getty, a criminal trial ended in Rome against the Getty’s former curator of antiquities, Marion True. After years of trial, the Rome court ruled that the statute of limitations had expired on charges that True received stolen artifacts. She has denied wrongdoing.

In 2007, the Getty, without admitting any wrongdoing, agreed to return 40 ancient treasures in exchange for the long-term loans of other artifacts. Similar deals have been reached with other museums.

Under the 2007 deal, the two sides agreed to postpone further discussion of “Victorious Youth” until the court case was decided.

By Nicole Winfield.

[napoleonic-sexyman-tournament]

Propaganda under the cut because it's long:

Alexander I Pavlovich

a. “Maybe not the most handsome or charismatic man in this tournament, but he has ample chaotic neutral energy that both baffles and fascinates contemporaries. In short, if you're into mysterious men, you won't find a sexier enigma than our imperator.”

b. “Look. Is this or is this not the monsterfucking website.”

c. There are lots of monuments dedicated to him. There's one in Moscow in the Alexander Garden right by the Red Square. While nowhere near as grand as the Alexander Column, I think it's still worth showcasing!

The monument is meant to celebrate his victory in the 1812 Russian invasion. He's holding a sword, proudly standing on top of his enemies' weapon.

The sculptors, however, have never seen the man in their life - all the people involved in the making are still alive and well (i think), so that should tell how new it is. The monument was opened for the public just a decade ago in 2014.

d. quote about this bust from the memoirs of Sophie de Choiseul-Gouffier: “No painter was able to properly capture the features of his face and especially his soft expression. Alexander didn’t like to pose for portraits and they were mostly done with some stealth. In this case sculpture have produced a better likeness. The famed Thorvaldsen made a bust of this sovereign worthy of a hand of such a remarkable artist.”

e. His family nickname might have been ‘our angel’ and the medal commemorating his death bears the inscription “Our angel is in heaven”, but did you know that to this day Alexander looks down on Sankt Petersburg as an actual angel, wings, cross, trampled snake and all? Alas, you cannot see it from the ground, the Alexander Column being so very tall, but the statue of the angel on top certainly seems to take after our sexy thrice-angel Emperor.

f. Apotheosis of Alexander! An eminently universal image, perfectly serviceable for his rise to the throne… of Napoleonic Sexyman Tournament.

It really looks like Peter and Catherine are instructing the Electorate. Gentlevoters, surely you wouldn’t dream of disappointing Sasha’s Grandmother and his scantily clothed giant of a Great-great-grandfather?

g. What is sexier than a man in a dress???

Mikhail Miloradovich:

Miloradovich had a short episode as Catherine the Great's favourite at just eighteen. Alas, usually he's not included on the official list except by Barskov. That is because he was one of several concurrent boytoys candidates in 1789, before Zubov won the contest. But I believe that being to Catherine's taste adds to M's sexyman cred.

He never married, but according to his legend, he kept an entire trunk of love letters (from many, many ladies) in his palace, which was discovered after his death.

Miloradovich possessed the kind of cavalier fantasy that made him a hero among soldiers (and one of Suvorov's favourites). Hence these three popular stories:

Once, while on campaign, his soldiers decided to give M their best wishes on his name day. He was very gracious about it and told them with his best roguish smile that in thanks for their wishes he'd give them a present... that present being the nearest pretty-as-a-picture enemy column (French).

On one occasion Joachim Murat came out, sat down and demonstratively drank coffee during an active fire exchange. Miloradovich naturally couldn't be worse and asked for a table to be set for him. Also under the fire, because where else. "He's drinking coffee? I'm eating dinner here!" And it wasn't a singular event: more than once he and Murat conducted a peculiar gallant flirtation on the field. And yes, Miloradovich also had a weakness for very blingy bling.

Alas, M didn't get to carry a ladder (that we know of), but he didn't shy motivating his soldiers in similar ways. It just so happened that his scouting party came to a stop at a steep slope and froze. Miloradovich came forward, got on the ground and slid down the slope on his spine, laughing and generally having (or pretending to have) lots of fun.

[aliciasgard]

Alexander Skarsgård for the new Calvin Klein fall campaign.

“There was such a great energy during this shoot, I’ve worked with Mert and his team a couple of times before and it’s always a blast. I loved the styling – it felt sophisticated and sleek, but still very relaxed and playful.”