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Why I, Alexander was Great

This is why, more than any other reason, that I will go down in history as the last man to earn the name “the Great.” For both Ramses of Egypt and Cyrus of Persia earned this moniker as well before me.

Ramses II reigned for sixty-seven years during the 19th dynasty of the 12th century BC. He too was known as "Ramses the Great." Not only did Egypt experience considerable prosperity, he also built and left remarkable buildings after his throne. He was a glorious warrior who left his mark as peacemaker, ranking as the first king to sign a peace treaty with his enemies, the Hittites.

Cyrus, who reigned not too long ago during the 6th century BC, was also great. He was the founder of the Archaemenian dynasty and the Persian Empire. He was a great fighter but it was his policy of tolerance and understanding – such as his authorization of the rebuilding of the Jerusalem Temple in 538 BC – towards the people of his empire that I admired greatly.

During my journey in Persia, I visited his tomb for it was always my intention. It was early in the year 324 BC when I reached the old religious capital of Persia, Pasargadae.

I was able to visit it with little resistance from the local Persians because the Governor Phrasaortes had died during the campaign. Cyrus’ tomb had been broken into and robbed, which disturbed me considerably. After all, Cyrus had done so much for Persia. Such desecration was unholy and disrespectful.

Unsurprisingly, the tomb was in the royal park at Pasargadae. Many trees had been planted around it; streams of water flowed by. The base of the monument itself was rectangular in shape and its roof was made of stone. I stepped inside the chamber where there was a golden coffin containing Cyrus’ body. An inscription in Persian said: “O man, I am Cyrus son of Cambyses, who founded the Persian Empire and ruled over Asia. Grudge me not for my monument.”

I did not grudge Cyrus. I expected a more lavish burial. Everything I did was with sights fully set on grandeur: I took my father’s impressive army and made it swifter and deadlier. My vision of life was one of grandeur as well. It is thus rather ironic that my own death proved to be so, well, so anti-climatic.

Be it in combat or during civilian life, over time, I grew confident that I would not die. I had escaped death numerous times. One time at the Battle of Granicus, Cleitus came to my rescue when an enemy fighter attacked me from the back. Another time, in the battle against the Mallians, an arrow actually pierced my lung. I downplayed this but my troops were under the impression that I was killed. The reassuring part was that their anger drove them to kill everyone in a large massacre, so that made me quite happy despite the pain.

Another time, while invading Samarkand, an arrow actually split my leg bone rendering me unable to ride back.

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