‘I have fought in many wars, lady, and I have never lost. I do not say this with arrogance, but I am the strategos. If there is a way to defeat Philippos I will find it. Or be buried like... like my brother in an unmarked grave. I can do no more.’
‘You know that you need not fight this war? It is not your world, not your city. You could ride to the Giant’s Gateway and wait for Aristotle.’
‘No, I could not do that.’
‘Why?’
He shrugged. ‘Ever since I came here I have heard nothing but good of the Spartan King. Even the creatures of Enchantment speak well of him, saying he gave them lands for their own where they would not be hunted. He was everything I would wish to be. But our lives took different paths. I became a wandering mercenary, filled with bitterness and hatred, with war my only talent. He became a King - and a better man.’
‘That is not so. You also are kind, noble and generous of spirit.’
‘I am the Death of Nations, Thena, not the father of one.’
‘The woman who gave you that title was wrong - wrong in all that she did. She manipulated your life, causing you grief and fuelling your hatred. But you rose above that.’
‘You knew her?’ he asked, surprised.
‘I was... a disciple. It was part of a plan she had - a dream. You were to be the warrior who would stand against the Dark God. But it was a futile, self-defeating vision, and she died knowing it. But here there was no bitterness and hatred. You understand? He was no different from you. He was a man of courage and nobility, intelligent and caring. But then so is the Parmenion I know.’ Her breathing was ragged, her colour high, and she turned away from him, lying down and covering herself with her cloak.
He moved to her, his hand touching her shoulder. ‘You are angry with me,’ he said, his voice soft, his touch gentle.
‘No,’ she told him, ‘there is no anger. Let me sleep now, for I am very tired.’
She heard him move back to the fire and closed her eyes.
The Pass of Tegaea
Leonidas shouted an order and stepped back from the line. The warriors on either side of him closed ranks and waited, shields held high, short stabbing swords extended. Leonidas ran several paces, then climbed to a high boulder and gazed back down the pass.
The Makedones were dragging aside the corpses, preparing the way for yet another charge. Leonidas strained his eyes to see the new troops massing. The golden sunbursts on their black breastplates proclaimed them to be the King’s Guards. So at last they send the best, he thought. But then the Spartans had held against the Illyrians, the Thracians and other mercenary units. How many attacks had they faced? Twenty? Thirty? Leonidas had lost count. It was enough that the battleground was slick with enemy blood. Hundreds of the Tyrant’s troops had fallen. Hundreds more would fall.
The pass was narrow here, less than seventy paces, and the three Spartan lines were holding their ground. Barely... Leonidas cursed softly. The moon was high, the skies clear, and there was no opportunity to withdraw in battle order. Yet holding this pass was a doomed enterprise, for even now the Makedones cavalry would be riding the high ridges to cut them off. By morning the Spartans would be trapped.
Leonidas was weary, weighed down with the muscle-numbing tiredness that follows defeat. The battle had been won - and then the cursed Kadmians had broken. Gutless bastards! Anger flared again, feeding energy to his muscles. Yet it was not the fickle courage of the Kadmians that enraged him. No, the main thrust of his anger was against the Spartan Priest of Apollo, Soteridas, who had declared the timing of the battle inauspicious. And the Spartan army could not march without the god’s blessing.
Now Soteridas would appear to have been proved correct. Yet Leonidas knew, as did every Spartan fighting man here, that had the whole army been present they would have cut the Makedones to pieces. Instead the allied army had been crushed, the King slain.
Leonidas closed his eyes. Slain... He could hardly believe it.
The enemy drums beat out the signal to advance and Leonidas jumped from the boulder, running to take his place in the front line alongside the giant, Nestus. Blood was flowing from a wound in the warrior’s cheek and his breastplate had been gashed.
‘Here they come,’ muttered Nestus, with a smile. ‘They must like dying.’
Leonidas said nothing.
The black-garbed Makedones bore down on the Spartans, the sound of their war-cries echoing in the pass.
At that moment a low rumble, like distant thunder, echoed through the mountains. Leonidas glanced up at the steep rock-face to the left. Several stones clattered down, followed by fist-sized rocks. At the top of the pass, above the Makedones, Leonidas saw a figure in golden armour pushing against a boulder that hung precariously on a narrow ledge. The huge rock slid clear of the ledge, almost dislodging the warrior, then it fell some sixty feet to explode against a second ledge which tore itself from the cliff-face.
‘Avalanche!’ screamed a Makedones warrior and the cry was taken up. The enemy charge faltered and stopped, the leading warriors turning, trying to get back from the pass. A massive slab of limestone thundered into the Makedones and Leonidas saw men disappear from sight, their bodies crushed beyond recognition. Panic swept through the enemy ranks as they fought to escape the rain of death. Another huge section of rock yawed out above them... and fell, killing a score of warriors.
A choking dust-cloud billowed up, the wind sweeping it to the north - into the faces of the Makedones still waiting at the mouth of the pass.
Leonidas gazed up through the dust. At the crest of the cliff he caught a glimpse of the warrior in the golden breastplate - and his spirits soared.
‘The King!’ he shouted. The King lives!‘
The figure on the cliff-top waved, pointing to the south, and Leonidas understood instantly. The Makedones were in disarray, hundreds of them slain by the rock fall. Now was the time to move back.
‘By rank,’ bellowed Leonidas, ‘file six!’
Smoothly the Spartans fell back into columns and marched in close order from the pass. His lieutenant, Learchus, moved alongside him.
‘Was that truly the King?’
‘I believe so. He started the avalanche.’
‘Zeus be praised! Then we do have a chance.’
Leonidas did not reply. A chance? All that was left to face the Tyrant was the Spartan army - 5,000 fighting men, with no cavalry, archers or javeliners. Ranged against them would be more than 20,000 Makedones infantry and 10,000 cavalry. The only hope would be a defensive battle, holding a ridge or a pass. And between Tegaea and Sparta there were only ragged hills and plains. The land was open to the conqueror.
Parmenion will find a way, he thought. He will! That was love and loyalty speaking, he knew, and his mood darkened.
As children they had been enemies, but always he had held the young mix-blood in high esteem, and as the years passed that esteem had given way to a kind of awe. Now they were closer than brothers. Yet what plan could even such a general as Parmenion produce to counter the demonic skills of Philippos?
The pass widened and as the soldiers filed out on to the plain two riders came galloping towards them.
‘The King!’ someone shouted and the Spartans drew their blades, crashing them against their bronze shields in salute. Leonidas ran forward as the riders approached.
‘Welcome, sire!’ he called out. The King sat silently for a moment, expressionless, then he smiled.
‘It is good to see you, Leonidas.’
The voice was cool and there was a tension about him that Leonidas could not understand. But then these last two days had been hard, and the King had suffered a bitter reverse.
‘What are your orders, sire?’
‘South to Sparta,’ said Parmenion. ‘Battle speed, for the enemy cavalry is close.’ Leonidas bowed and then looked to the woman. She was stern of countenance but her eyes were locked to him. The King made no effort to introduce her, which surprised Leonidas, but he said nothing
and returned to the head of the column.
The men marched until two hours after dawn; then the King commanded a halt, signalling Leonidas to make camp in a small wood on the slopes of a range of gentle hills. The Spartan soldiers moved into the shelter of the trees and then gratefully sank to the ground, stretching tired bodies to the grass.
Leonidas ordered sentries to watch for signs of the enemy, then made his way to where the King sat with the woman. ‘I had thought you dead, sire,’ he said, sitting opposite Parmenion.
‘It was close,’ replied the King. ‘You fought well in the pass. What were our losses?’
‘Eighty-two died in the battle on the plain, a further thirty in the pass itself. Epulis, Karas and Ondomenus are dead.’ The King nodded, but no expression of regret showed. Leonidas could barely contain his surprise, for Ondomenus had been one of the King’s closest companions.
‘The Makedones cavalry,’ said the King, ‘has reached the pass but not followed in pursuit. We will rest here for two hours, then continue south.’
‘How do you know this, sire?’
The King smiled. ‘I am sorry, my friend. My mind is occupied and it has affected my manners. Let me introduce you to the seeress, Thena. She has many talents - and saved my life during the battle.’
Leonidas bowed his head. ‘For that you have my gratitude, my lady. Without the King all would be lost. Where are you from?’
‘Asia,’ Thena answered. Parmenion stretched out on the ground, closing his eyes. ‘The King is weary,’ she continued. ‘May we walk for a while and talk?’ she asked Leonidas.
‘Of course,’ he answered, perplexed. The King’s behaviour was beginning to unsettle him. Taking Thena’s arm, he strolled with her to the edge of the woods and they sat upon a fallen log looking back over the plains.
‘The King,’ said Thena, ‘fell from a ledge, suffering a severe blow to his head.’
‘I saw the dent in his helm, lady. I am surprised he survived.’
‘He is a strong man.’
‘He is the best of men, lady.’
‘Yes, I am sure that he is. I have known him but a little time. Tell me of him.’
‘Surely even in Asia you have heard of Parmenion?’
‘I meant tell me of the man. It is said he is a mix-blood. How did he become King?’
‘He was the First General of Sparta. When Agisaleus was slain in the Great Athenian War three years ago, the ephors elected Parmenion.’
‘But he has no links to the royal houses,’ said Thena.
‘That is not true, lady. He married well.’ Leonidas chuckled.
‘Married?’
‘My own house is of the noble line, and I could have had the throne. But in the dark days of a seemingly lost war I knew we needed a better man than I. And Parmenion was that man. Therefore we brought him into my family. He married my sister, Derae.’
The shock was terrifying. Derae felt her heartbeat quicken, her hands tremble. She knew that her face was betraying her, for Leonidas leaned forward.
‘Are you well, lady?’ he asked, his voice full of concern.
But she could say nothing. An alternate world in which Philippos ruled and Parmenion was King of Sparta! You fool, she told herself. How could you have not known there would be a twin for you?
‘Please leave me, Leonidas,’ she said, forcing a smile. ‘I have much to think about.’ Bewildered the warrior rose, bowed and moved away.
Alone, she felt the full weight of grief descend.
‘Why are you unhappy?’ asked Tamis, and Derae jerked to awareness as the old woman’s spirit hovered before her.
‘I cannot talk,’ whispered Derae, ‘but I give you permission to share my memories. All answers lie there.’
‘I would not wish to intrude on them,’ said Tamis softly.
‘You would not be intruding,’ Derae assured her. ‘Indeed, I would value your counsel.’
‘Very well,’ Tamis replied, and Derae felt a flicker of warmth as Tamis merged into her mind, flowing through the thoughts of the past. At last the old woman withdrew. ‘What would you have me say to you?’ she asked.
Derae shrugged. ‘I love him. It seems that all my life I have loved him. Yet all we had was five days together. And the time here... where he does not know me. I cannot bear to see them together, I cannot.’
‘Yet it is different here,’ said Tamis gently. ‘Here there was no rescue, no five days of passion. In this world Derae loved a man called Nestus, but was forced to put him aside in order to marry Parmenion. They live together now in cold comfort... without love.’
‘She does not love him? I cannot believe it.’
‘As I said, here he did not rescue her; they had few meetings before the wedding. And she was betrothed to Nestus, whom she adored. I believe she still does.’
‘Then what has it all been for?’ whispered Derae. ‘Why did this have to be? Why did the Tamis I knew have to interfere?’
‘She did you both great harm, and I do not excuse it. But had she not done so then my vision could not have been realized. The strategos would not have come to the aid of my world.’
‘What are you saying?’
‘Let us assume that your Parmenion had never become the Death of Nations. How then could he help the Sparta of this world? He would never have come here, for there would have been no Alexander to follow, to rescue. Do you understand?’
Derae’s mind reeled and she shook her head. ‘Then you are saying the Tamis of my world did right? I cannot believe that!’
The older woman shrugged. ‘You misunderstand me. In the context of your world she was wrong, for her actions led to the birth of the Chaos Spirit and destroyed your dreams of love. But here? Here the child may be Iskander and the hope of the Enchantment.’
‘This is beyond me, Tamis.’
‘It comes down to this, my dear. Every action we take has many consequences, some for good, some for evil. Consider your own life as an example. When you were kidnapped as a young girl it brought you and Parmenion together. An evil action, but the outcome was good. And though my namesake was wrong to take you from Sparta, you became a Healer. We none of us know where our actions will lead. That is why the followers of the Source must not use the weapons of evil. Everything we do must be governed by love.’
‘You think that love cannot lead to evil?’
‘Of course it can. For love creates jealousy, and jealousy hate. But love also conquers, and deeds inspired by love bring harmony far more often than discord.’
‘And do we deal with Philippos with love?’ countered Derae.
‘I do not hate him,’ answered Tamis. ‘I feel great pity for him. But I did not bring Parmenion here - though I could have done. Nor have I used my powers to see Philippos slain - though this also I could have done. For I do not know the will of the Source in this.’
‘That sounds like evasion,’ said Derae, ‘for you cannot escape the simple point that my Parmenion is here, and he is a warrior. He will attempt to fight Philippos, and in that battle thousands will be slain. Surely that involves using the weapons of evil?’
The other woman nodded. ‘Perhaps. But I cannot, of my will, change the world. All I can do is to maintain my own principles in the face of the world’s evil. When a cancer is spreading through the body and the surgeon cuts it out, is he acting on behalf of evil? He is hurting the body and causing pain. Is that evil? All principles can be made to look foolish in the eyes of the world’s wisdom. Once there was a city under siege.
The enemy King said that he would spare the city if the inhabitants took a single babe and sacrificed it to him on the battlements. Now the city could not hold against him and surely, it was argued, the slaying of a single babe would be better than seeing all the babes of the city killed when the attacker breached the walls.‘
‘What did they do?’
‘They refused.’
‘And then?’
‘They were slaughtered. No one survived.’
‘
What is your point, Tamis?’
‘That is a question for you to answer, my dear. You think them wrong?’
‘I cannot say. But the babe they might have sacrificed died anyway.’
‘Yes.’
‘Then why did they refuse?’
Tamis sighed. ‘They understood that you do not turn aside a great evil by allowing a small one to be committed. Evil grows, Derae. Give way once and you will give way again... and again. Would you have killed the babe?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Not even to save the city?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you ask why they also refused?’
‘Because I am used to the evil of Man and I understand the nature of selfishness and compromise. I am amazed that an entire city should exhibit such nobility of spirit.’
‘They had a great leader, my dear. His name was Epaminondas and he was King Parmenion’s closest friend. The people loved him for his virtue. They died for him.’
‘What became of the enemy King?’
‘He marches on Sparta, Derae. For the man was Philippos.’
‘I will not stay to see it,’ said Derae. ‘I will travel south to the Giant’s Gateway. I will not watch Parmenion with... with his wife. Nor will I wait to see him die.’
‘You think he will fail?’
‘How can he succeed, Tamis?’
The old woman had no answer.
Parmenion lay awake, deeply unhappy about the subterfuge. He knew himself to be an imposter, and it irked him. Yet what choices were there? Could he say to Leonidas, ‘I am not your king, but a warrior from another world’? And if he did, would he still command the Spartan army? He sat up and gazed around at the camp.
He could see Nestus, the swordsman he had slain for ordering Derae’s death. And Learchus, the boy he had killed in Sparta on the night of the attack on Hermias. Here and there were other men whose faces he recalled but whose names were lost to him, vanished in some dim corridor of memory.
He stood. ‘Officers to me,’ he called. They rose and moved to sit in a circle around him, all of them bowing save the giant Nestus. Parmenion met the man’s eyes, sensing the hostility there. Leonidas appeared from the woods and joined him. Parmenion looked at his handsome face, the tightly curled hair of red-gold, the clear blue eyes. My enemy and my friend, he thought.