Attalus sheathed his blade and moved to her side. ‘Where is Parmenion?’ he asked.
‘In Sparta, raising an army.’
‘Why? He should be here with us. Let the Spartan King fight his own battles.’
‘Parmenion is the Spartan King.’
‘What madness is this?’
‘I am thirsty. Fetch me some water and then we will talk,’ Thena told him, moving away to sit on the hillside. He did as she asked, then sat beside her as she drank. Slowly she explained the events leading to Parmenion’s decision, and the problems he faced.
‘But there is no hope of victory,’ said Attalus. ‘I am no strategos, Thena, but even I know that the first object of battle is to contain the enemy flanks. If you cannot do that, then you will be encircled and destroyed. Five thousand men cannot contain the army we saw on the plain.’
‘I know that,’ she answered wearily.
‘Are you saying he will die there? Why? In the name of Hecate, why?’
‘He is a man of honour.’
‘Honour? What has honour to do with it? He owes these people nothing. His duty is to Alexander, and to his King.’
‘But Alexander is in your care - and Parmenion trusts you.’
‘Well, a curse on him! Does he think he is a god that he can conquer any who stand in his way? Philippos will destroy him.’
Thena rubbed at her tired eyes. ‘Parmenion wants you to take Alexander on to the woods and locate Brontes. Once there, we will discuss a plan he has.’
‘If this plan involves Alexander and me returning to Macedonia, I will support it - but do not expect me to ride to the city or take part in any ill-fated battle against the Demon King.’
A cold wind brushed against Attains’ back and a sibilant voice made his skin crawl. ‘How wise of you,’ it hissed. Attalus spun, his sword flashing into his hand. Before him hovered a pale form, seemingly shaped from mist. Slowly it hardened to become a broad-shouldered man, bearded and powerful, whose right eye shone like gold. Thena sat silently, saying nothing. ‘Ah, Attalus,’ whispered Philippos, ‘how curious to find you set against me. Everything in your heart and soul tells me you are mine. You should be marching with me. I can offer you riches, women, lands, empires. And why do you oppose me? For a child who will one day kill you. Give him to me, and his threat to you will be at an end.’
‘I do not serve you,’ answered Attalus, his voice hoarse.
‘No, you serve a lesser version of me. You follow a man. Here you can follow a god. The idea pleases you, does it not? Yes, I can read it in your heart. Palaces, Attalus, nations under your sway. You can be a king.’
‘His promises are worth nothing,’ said Thena, but her words sounded shrill and empty.
‘He knows,’ said Philippos. ‘He knows I speak the truth; he knows that warriors with his talents will always earn the hatred and envy of lesser men. Even Philip will turn on him one day. But here - with me - he can have his soul’s desire. Is that not so, Attalus?’
‘Yes,’ answered the swordsman. ‘I could serve you.’
‘Then do so. Bring the child to me. Or wait until my riders arrive. Either way I will reward you.’
The Demon King shimmered, his form fading. Attalus turned to Thena. ‘We cannot defeat him. We cannot.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Leave me alone, Thena. I need to think.’
‘No,’ she said, ‘that is what you do not need. You need to feel. He called Philip a lesser man. Do you agree with that?’
‘It does not matter whether I agree or disagree. In life there is only winning and losing. Philippos is a winner.’
‘Winning and losing? Life is not a race,’ she told him. ‘A man who never loses a battle but ends his life alone and unloved has not won. Whatever you may say to the contrary, that is something you understand. If you did not, you would not have served Philip so faithfully. Be honest, Attalus, you love the man.’
‘Yes, I do,’ he shouted, ‘and that makes me as big a fool as Parmenion. But here I could be a king!’
‘Indeed you could. All you have to do is betray Philip and see his son murdered.’
Attalus fell silent for a moment, his head bowing. ‘I have betrayed men before,’ he said softly. ‘It is not so hard.’
‘Ah, but have you ever betrayed a friend?’ asked Helm, moving from the shadows.
‘I never had any friends,’ answered Attalus.
‘What about this... Philip?’
Attalus sighed. ‘He trusts me. He knows what I am and what I have done, yet he trusts me. He even calls me his friend.’ Suddenly he laughed, the sound full of bitterness. ‘And I am. I would die for the man... and I probably will.’
‘Well,’ said Helm, ‘if the discussion is over I would like to get back to sleep.’
Attalus turned to Thena. ‘I will not betray the boy.’
She rose, moving to stand before him. ‘You are a better man than you know,’ she told him.
Derae looked into the man’s pale eyes. He shook his head. ‘I am what I am,’ he told her. She watched as he walked back into the boulders to lie alone. Briefly she reached out, soothing his fears and bringing him the sanctuary of sleep.
Her spirits were curiously lifted. Philippos had been wrong. He had read Attalus, and read him right, yet still he had made a mistake. It was the first small gap in the Demon King’s armour of invincibility. The Tyrant had failed.
Derae could scarce believe it. Of all the men who could be swayed, the bitter hate-filled Attalus should have been the simplest of victims. Yet he had resisted the promises, even though the dark side of his character cried out to accept.
The priestess sat down, resting her back against a boulder. In the moment that Philippos had appeared she had linked with Attalus, intending to strengthen him, to help him. But there had been no need. There was in the Macedonian one tiny shimmering thread, glowing in the darkness of his soul: his love for Philip.
From where did it come, Derae wondered? Attalus was capable of almost any evil, yet he had proved himself incorruptible. She smiled.
‘It is a fine night,’ said Helm, seating himself beside her.
‘I thought you needed sleep.’
He nodded. ‘Sleep without dreams is akin to death, lady.’
‘Have you remembered anything of your life?’
‘No.’
‘You seem very calm. I would not like to be robbed of my past.’
He smiled, the metallic skin stretching, showing teeth of bronze. ‘But I do not know what that past is, or was. There is a kind of tranquillity in the lack of knowledge. Perhaps I was an evil man. Perhaps there are deeds in my past that would shame me.’
‘I sense no evil in you, Helm.’
‘But then the world shapes us, Thena, evil begetting evil. If a man grows with hatred in his heart, then his actions will be governed by that hatred. Like Attalus, perhaps. I have no memories. I am unshaped.’
‘The core of you is unchanged,’ she said. ‘You rescued Iskander, risking your life. And you understand friendship and loyalty.’
‘But then the boy can free me from this... spell. That gives me a selfish reason to fight for him.’
‘My life has been long,’ said Derae, ‘longer than this youthful body shows. It is my experience that evil thrives when men and women are weak. You are not weak. Trust me. I do not say you were a good man, or a holy one - your skill with the sword belies that. But you are not evil.’
‘We shall see,’ he answered.
Parmenion stood with Leonidas and Learchus at the north entrance to the training grounds, watching dispassionately as the slaves, servants and old men filed past them. Officers moved among the men, greeting old comrades and directing veterans to the west of the area where hundreds of swords, shields and spears had been piled against the walls.
In the distance Parmenion could hear the pounding of hammers as the city’s armourers worked feverishly to produce more weapons, arrowheads and blades, spear-points and
helms.
‘How many men so far?’ asked the King.
‘Four thousand,’ answered Leonidas, ‘but the training grounds will not take too many more. Those here this morning are from the south and east of the city. We have asked the... volunteers... from the north and west to assemble this afternoon.’
‘How can we judge so many?’ Learchus enquired. ‘And how do we instill discipline into them in less than two days?’
‘I wish to see only two skills imparted to the slaves,’ Parmenion told him. ‘Those we choose must learn to stand in wide line battle order, and to move into close formation for an attack.’
‘But that will be of little use,’ pointed out Leonidas. ‘No matter how good their formation at the onset, once the order to advance is given the lines will break. They will become what they are - a rabble.’
‘I know that. But drill them in the two formations. When the order is given I want them to move as smoothly into place as the finest of Spartan warriors. Also find five hundred men who can use bows; we will need them to turn back the Makedones cavalry.’
‘It will be as you order, sire,’ said Leonidas.
‘Good. I will return around mid-morning to supervise the training.’
‘Do you want me with you, sire, when you see Tamis?’ asked Leonidas.
‘No,’ he answered, with a wry smile. ‘If she is good she will understand all. If she does not, then she can be of little use to us.’
The palace was all but deserted when Parmenion rode in through the main gates. All the male servants - bar Priastes - were at the training ground. Dismounting by the stables Parmenion led the grey mare into a paddock and pulled clear the leopardskin chabraque, which he hung over a rail. The mare whinnied and galloped around the paddock fence, tossing her head and rearing, announcing her presence to the stallions in the small meadow beyond.
Parmenion strolled into the palace, shouting for Priastes, and the old man came running from the upper rooms.
‘The seeress, Tamis, is expected. Bring her to my quarters.’
‘Yes, sire, but would it not be better to see her in the western gardens?’
‘You think my quarters unfit for a seeress?’
‘No, sire,’ answered Priastes reproachfully, ‘but the lady is very old and the stairs very steep. The garden will be cool and I will bring you wine and fruit.’
Parmenion smiled assent and walked down the long, cool corridor to the western gardens. They were well laid out, with winding paths and small fountains built around four willows, their branches trailing in man-made streams. Several marble seats had been set in the shade and here Parmenion stretched out his frame, easing the muscles of his neck and back. He was tired and on edge. The night before had been spent in meetings - first with Lecnidas, then the dying Oleander and the other ephors. At dawn he was still awake, discussing strategies with the Barracks Masters whose youngsters he had called upon. There were 2,000 boys over the age of fifteen, and for them he had a special purpose.
Now the sun was two hours short of noon and Parmenion’s eyes were gritty and sore, his back aching with the weight of the breastplate.
Priastes brought embroidered cushions which he scattered on the bench, then returned with a stone pitcher of cooled wine and a bowl of fruit - oranges, pomegranates and apples - which he set down before the King.
‘You should sleep for a while,’ said the old man.
‘I will... soon.’
It was restful here and he leaned back against the soft cushions and closed his eyes to think. So many plans to be laid, so many stratagems to consider, so many....
He awoke in a moonlit meadow, refreshed and alert. He was without armour and the night breeze was pleasantly cool upon his body.
‘Welcome, Parmenion,’ said a voice. He sat up and saw an old woman sitting beneath a spreading oak.
‘Where are we?’ he asked.
‘In a neutral place, far from wars and the threat of war. How are you feeling?’
‘Rested. Are you the Tamis I knew, back in my own Sparta?’
‘No. But then you are not the Parmenion I have known. What can I do to aid you? I must tell you that I will not kill, nor will I help you to kill.’
‘Can you shield me from the golden eye?’
‘If that is what you wish.’
‘I must know also when we are being observed. That is vital.’
‘Your meeting with the ephors, and the deaths of Chirisophus and Soteridas, were seen. As was the training this morning.’
‘Last night with Cleander?’
‘I do not know. But you must assume that Philippos is aware of your plans.’
‘Can he see us now?’
‘No,’ answered Tamis. ‘This is but a dream. Everything you say here is known only to me, and you, and the Source of All Creation.’
‘Good. Where is the boy?’
‘He and his companions are close to the Lands of the Enchantment. But they are in great danger. More than a hundred Messenian riders are waiting for them, and more follow.’
‘Can we do anything to aid them?’
‘No.’
Parmenion took a deep breath and pushed his fears for Alexander from his mind, concentrating only on the defence of Sparta. ‘It is vital that we are not observed leaving the city. All our hopes rest on that. Yet I do not want Philippos to be aware that his... view... has been restricted. You understand?’
‘No,’ Tamis admitted.
‘My strategy must needs be simple, for I will be leading a fledgling force. I am obliged to depend on Philippos for the victory. He will know that I have an army of slaves, children and old men, built around the power of the Spartan phalanx. His strategy will be based on that knowledge. My only hope... our only hope... is to fool him.’
‘In what way?’
‘I require him to attack my strongest point.’
‘What has this to do with the army leaving Sparta?’
‘I would sooner not say at this time, lady. I mean no offence.’
‘I understand,’ she said softly. ‘You do not know me, Parmenion, and therefore you hold back your trust. That is wise. I have a gift for you that will help; you will find it upon your return to the world of the flesh. When it glows warm you will know you are being observed, and all the time that you wear it no evil force can enter your mind, nor know of your thoughts.’
He awoke feeling rested, his body free of aches and pains. Sitting up, he looked around and saw the sun was still well short of noon. Filling his wine-cup, he sipped the drink which was still cool. Priastes moved into the garden, stopping and bowing before him.
‘Sad news, lord,’ he said. ‘Tamis will not be coming. She died last night.’
Parmenion cursed softly and was about to speak when he felt a warm glow at his throat. His hand came up, his fingers touching the necklet he now wore.
‘Thank you, Priastes, that will be all.’
‘Can we win without her aid?’ the old man asked.
‘No,’ answered the King. Standing, he strode from the gardens, returning to his apartments. A shining mirror of bronze was set into the wall and he halted before it. The necklet was of gold strands, interwoven around a fragment of golden stone laced with black veins.
It was still warm. Parmenion saw a movement in the mirror, a misty figure that hovered below the painted ceiling, but even as he looked upon it the figure shimmered and disappeared.
The warmth of the necklet faded.
‘Thank you, Tamis,’ he whispered.
‘It is very dispiriting,’ said Leonidas as he and Learchus moved into the small andron where Parmenion awaited them. There were only five couches here, set around a raised mosaic floor bearing the image of the goddess Artemis turning the hunter Actaeon into a stag. Leonidas sat down. ‘So many men with so little talent,’ he observed. Removing his helm, he laid it on the floor at his feet and swung up his legs to stretch out on the couch. Priastes filled two wine-cups, passing them to the young officers.
&nbs
p; ‘It would take months,’ put in Learchus, with a sigh. ‘And even then...’
Parmenion looked at the two men and forced a smile. ‘You expect too much,’ he told them. ‘This was only the first day. For myself I am pleased with the progress. The bowmen look promising and I am impressed with the officer responsible for their training... Daricles? A good man. Tomorrow it will be better.’
‘It will need to be,’ said Cleander, from the doorway. ‘Our scouts report that Philippos is preparing to march.’
Parmenion rose, ushering the ephor into the room. Oleander’s face was drenched in sweat, his eyes glowing with the brightness of fever.
‘Sit down, my friend,’ said Parmenion gently, leading him to a couch. ‘I see that you are suffering.’
‘The end is near,’ Cleander whispered. ‘My surgeon tells me I will not live to see the battle. I will prove him wrong.’
‘Yes, you will,’ agreed Parmenion. ‘You must. For you will be in charge of the city’s defence. The older veterans and the youngsters will be under your command. I want most of the streets barricaded, except for Leaving Street and the Avenue of Athena.’
‘But they lead to the agora,’ Learchus pointed out. ‘The enemy cavalry will simply ride to the centre of the city.’
‘Which is where I want them,’ said Parmenion, his expression cold. ‘That is where they will die in their hundreds.’
The planning went on deep into the night, until at last Cleander fell asleep and the two Spartan officers made their way to the Royal Barracks. Priastes covered the sleeping Cleander with a woollen blanket and Parmenion left the room and climbed to his quarters.
The moon was high, but despite his weariness the Spartan could not sleep. His thoughts were with Attalus and Alexander, and he was concerned that Thena had not made contact. Fear rose in him, but he pushed it away. One problem at a time, he warned himself.
Priastes had left a pitcher of cool water and some fruit by the bedside. Parmenion swung his legs from the bed and drank. The night air was cool on his naked skin as he walked to the balcony to stare out over the sleeping city.