THE BESTSELLING EPIC OF THE GLORY AND THE GRANDEUR INTRIGUES AND PASSIONS OF ANCIENT GREECE...AND THE WARRIOR KING WHOSE CONQUESTS BUILT AN ETERNAL LEGEND. ALEXANDER Volume II: THE SANDS OF AMMON A thousand years after Agamemnon fought the Trojan War. Alexander, the king of Macedonia and descendant of Achilles, follows in the footsteps of Greek legend. He has gathered a mighty force to liberate the Greek cities of Asia -- from legendary Sardis and Miletus to Halicarnassus. But vengeance is just one of Alexander's ambitions. Great oracles and loyal followers claim Alexander is more than mortal -- a powerful warrior, and insatiable scholar, a political genius. Yet,in battle after battle, one man blocks his way. Memnon of Rhodes, a Greek-born mercenary chosen by the Persian Great King to lead his vast army, is a cunning strategist who challenged Alexander's claim to the title of Lord of Asia. In Memnon, Alexander confronts an enemy who inspires his admiration. And in Memnon's wife, Barsine, he finds a woman who captures his heart. But neither bravery nor love can stem the tide of Alexander's destiny. For with Persia defeated, Alexander's thoughts turn to Egypt and beyond... Dr. Valerio Massimo Manfredi is an Italian historian, archaeologist, and journalist. The professor of archaeology in the "Luigi Bocconi" University in Milan and a familiar face on European television, he has published a number of scientific articles and essays as well as thirteen novels, including the Alexander trilogy and The Last Legion. Alexander was published in thirty-six languages in fifty-five countries and was sold for a major film production in the U.S., and The Last Legion is soon to be a major motion picture starring Colin Firth and Ben Kingsley. Dr. Manfredi is married with two children and lives in a small town near Bologna. Chapter One From the top of the hill Alexander turned toward the beach and beheld a scene that was almost identical to the one that had been played out a thousand years earlier. Hundreds of ships were lined up along the coast, carrying thousands and thousands of soldiers, but the city behind him -- Ilium, heir to ancient Troy -- rather than preparing for years of siege and resistance, was now getting ready to open its gates and welcome him, descendant of Achilles and of Priam. He saw his companions coming up toward him on horseback and spurred Bucephalus toward the top. He wanted to be the first to enter the ancient shrine of Athena of Troy and he wanted to do it alone. He dismounted, handed the reins to a servant and crossed the threshold of the temple. Inside, objects glimmered in the darkness, difficult to make out, draped deep in the half-shadow. Their shape was indefinite and his eyes took some time to become accustomed to the gloom; just a moment before they had been coping with the dazzlingly bright sky of the Troad region, with the sun at its highest. The ancient building was full of relics, of weapons displayed in memory of the war described by Homer in his epic of the ten-year siege of the city built by the gods themselves. On each of the time-worn souvenirs was a dedication, an inscription: Paris' lyre was here, as were Achilles' weapons and his great storied shield. He looked around, his eyes resting on these mementos that unseen hands had kept shining for the reverence and the curiosity of the faithful over the centuries. They hung from the columns, from the ceiling beams, from the walls of the cella -- but how much of all this was real? And how much was simply the product of the priests' cunning, of their will to exploit it all for their own ends? At that moment he felt as though the only genuine thing in the confused jumble -- more like the clutter of objects displayed in a market than suitable fittings for a sanctuary -- was his own passion for the ancient blind poet, his boundless admiration for the heroes who had been reduced to ashes by time and by the countless events that had taken place between the two shores of the Straits. He had arrived out of the blue, just as his father Philip had done that day at the temple of Apollo, at Delphi, and no one was expecting him. He heard some light footsteps and hid behind a column near the statue of Athena, a striking image of the goddess carved in stone, painted in various colors and bearing real metal weapons: this primitive simulacrum was sculpted from a single block of dark stone, and her mother-of-pearl eyes stood out starkly from a face blackened by the years and by the smoke of the votive lamps. A girl wearing a white peplum, her hair gathered into a headdress of the same color, moved toward the statue. She carried a bucket in one hand and a sponge in the other. She climbed up onto the pedestal and began wiping the surface of the sculpture, spreading as she did so an intense, penetrating perfume of aloe and wild nard throughout the temple. Alexander moved up to her silently. "Who are you?" he asked. The girl jumped