I, Alexander, whose name means male succor and the protection of warriors, was born prince of a kingdom of peasants and soldiers. My father, Philip, sent gifts and silver to families that brought boys into the world. He took care of the boys' physical education and put them in training as soon as they were six. Royal envoys scoured the villages once a year during the celebrations dedicated to Zeus, selecting the tallest, strongest, and most deft boy children to turn them into the best warriors on earth.

Having a soldier in the family was an honor. Every Macedonian household had at least one. Parents whose son had just enlisted in the army and who were losing a pair of hands to work in the fields were handsomely compensated by my father. He promised them the unimaginable spoils of conquered cities. He turned war into an opportunity for everyone to grow rich.

Money and strength were then but one. There was nothing we valued more highly than a man's strength. The Macedonians had been trading on their valor and military expertise for a long time, and neighboring cities paid them to fight their enemies and die for them. My father brought an end to this bartering. He explained to our soldiers that they could not put a price on a Macedonian's life and that selling our strength was wasting a valuable resource.

At the time of my birth our people was fighting for riches and my father for power. The divisions among the Greeks played into my father's hands, and he asserted his authority over everyone as Agamemnon had in the days of Troy. He reigned over the Athenians, the Thebans, and the Spartans while all around him men and women schemed to take his place. During her pregnancy my mother constantly hid herself, convinced that people wanted Philip to have no heir.