I am not discussing real history here. I am talking about Mary Renault’s novel The Persian Boy. The way Alexander treats Hephaestion in that book make me so sad.
Hephaestion studied with Alexander, grew up beside him, fought alongside him through countless battles, and stood with him before the shrine of Achilles and Patroclus. He was Alexander’s closest friend, his lover, his Patroclus—almost another Alexander himself. They shared nearly twenty years of their lives. And yet, in the novel, all of that seems so easily overshadowed by a young, beautiful Persian boy who can dance.
Alexander appears strikingly cold toward Hephaestion. Their intimacy often feels strained, as though Alexander endures it rather than desires it, as if he does not truly welcome Hephaestion’s touch. But with Bagoas, everything changes. Alexander begins to enjoy physical intimacy, seeks it frequently, and expresses affection openly. He protects Bagoas, cherishes him, punishes those who mistreat him, and even kisses him publicly, treating him like a true beloved. The Macedonians themselves seem to adore Bagoas—something Hephaestion never achieves.
Hephaestion’s position, meanwhile, is not good. Because he is Alexander’s closest companion, he is resented by the other generals. They believe he lacks true military merit and owes everything to the king’s favor. He lives in a toxic environment filled with jealousy, hostility, and isolation. He has no real confidant, no lover, no boys or girls. He only has Alexander.Every ounce of Hephaestion’s power exists because Alexander grants it. If Alexander withdraws that favor, Hephaestion would be left with nothing. Worse still, the more Alexander elevates him, the more resentment he attracts. He has no escape. If Alexander die first, Hephaestion would almost certainly be among the first to fall in the political aftermath.
Even more painfully, when Hephaestion quarrels with others, Alexander threatens him with death. That detail alone is devastating. Renault never truly shows us Hephaestion’s inner thoughts. He appears composed, restrained. But can that possibly be true? He is not a tool—he is a human being. Surely he must feel pain. When you watch the person you love most give his heart to someone else, is it really possible to remain untouched? We simply do not know, because the story is not told from Hephaestion’s perspective.
What makes it even more heartbreaking is that Alexander himself seems to recognize, too late, that he wronged him. After Hephaestion’s death, Alexander tells Bagoas that he regrets their relationship because he knows it wounded Hephaestion. That moment is emotionally overwhelming. He has already broken Hephaestion’s heart, and now he wounds Bagoas as well. Hephaestion’s death was not Bagoas’s fault. Bagoas had no power in this dynamic.
If Alexander understood that Hephaestion was hurt, why did he not change while Hephaestion was still alive? Perhaps because he believed Hephaestion would never leave. He knew the depth of Hephaestion’s loyalty. He knew his Patroclus would always forgive him, always remain by his side. And so he allowed himself to ignore the suffering he caused.
This is, tragically, a very human pattern. We often take for granted the people who love us most deeply. We hurt them precisely because we believe their devotion is unbreakable.
Hephaestion’s death, however, is sudden and unforeseen. Alexander is shattered by it. In that moment, twenty years of shared memories come rushing back, and he finally understands what he has lost—the one person who loved him most completely, who devoted his entire life to him. But realization comes only when it is already too late.
In Renault’s novel, Alexander remains a magnificent king. Yet as a lover, he is painfully self-centered. He ignores Hephaestion’s suffering, and after losing him, he redirects his grief and guilt toward Bagoas. The tragedy is that the true problem never lies with the powerless boy. Although Bagoas shows unjust hostility toward Hephaestion—sometimes even wishing for his death, which I personally find disturbing—he is not the architect of this emotional disaster.
I know this is only a work of fiction, and I still recognize it as an extraordinary one. If Hephaestion did not exist within the story, I might wholeheartedly celebrate the love between Alexander and Bagoas. The Persian Boy is a remarkable contribution to queer literature. I have always supported lgbt, and I deeply admire Mary Renault as a lesbian writer. Her prose is so emotionally compelling that it moved me enough to reflect this deeply.
And yet, I cannot escape the discomfort of feeling that one love story unfolds upon the suffering of another. Perhaps this is precisely what the writer was trying to portray as the complexity of human nature.
