Lepidus turned and left the room. He walked out into the night and found himself drawn back to the scene of the fight. A lamp was burning in the window of Parmenion’s house and Lepidus tapped at the gatepost.
Parmenion opened the grilled gate and stepped aside for the officer. Lepidus walked into the small building and sat on the narrow bed. Parmenion offered him a goblet of water, but he waved it away.
‘I want you to put from your mind what happened tonight at the barracks,’ said Lepidus. ‘And I would like you to forgive the general. Learchus was his nephew and he loved the boy. What you did was admirable. Do you understand me?’
‘Yes, sir, admirable.’
‘Sit down, Parmenion. Here, beside me.’ The boy did so. ‘Now give me your hand and look me in the eyes.’ Parmenion did as he was bid. He felt the strength in the older man’s grip and saw the concern in his face. ‘Listen to me, boy. There are few left, it seems, who understand what being a Spartan is about. When we fight, we fight to win. We stand by our friends, we kill our enemies. The attack on Hermias was cowardly. You did well. I am proud of you.’
‘I did not have to kill Learchus,’ said Parmenion.
‘Do not admit that to anyone. You understand me?’
‘Yes,’ answered Parmenion wearily, all the events of the last few days rearing up in his mind and threatening to overwhelm him; the death of his mother, the victory at the Games, the loss of Derae and now the murder of Learchus. ‘I understand you.’
‘Listen to me, you were worried about your friend and you took on a gang. That was courageous. And, yes, you killed someone. The important - the vital - issue is, did you enjoy killing him?’
‘No,’ said Parmenion.
‘Then do not worry about it.’
Parmenion looked into Lepidus’ face and nodded.
But I did enjoy it, he thought, may the gods forgive me. I wish I could have killed them all.
Tamis leaned on her staff, staring at the servant kneeling before her.
‘My master urges you to come to the house of Parnas,’ said the man, avoiding her eyes.
‘Urges? When his son lies dying? Surely you mean begs?’
The noble Parnas would never do that but I beg you, Honoured One. Save Hermias,’ pleaded the servant, tears in his eyes.
‘Perhaps I can save him - perhaps not,’ she answered. ‘But tell your master that I will ask the gods for guidance. Go now!’
Tamis turned on her heel and vanished into the dark interior of her dwelling-place. The fire was burning low but, as she sat before it, the flames flickered and rose to form the face of Cassandra.
‘I did not summon you,’ said Tamis. ‘Begone!’
‘You must heal the boy, Tamis. It is your duty.’
‘Don’t talk to me of duty. Learchus is dead, and I have denied the Dark One a possible father of the flesh. That was my duty. Hermias is holding back the development of Parmenion. Because of their friendship he still retains, in part, a gentle soul. I did not cause Hermias to be hurt. No blame attaches to me; it was the Will of the Source. And now he will die, for a blood clot is in his brain. As it moves, it will kill him.’
‘But you can heal him,’ said the fire woman.
‘No. When he is dead, Parmenion will become the man of iron I need.’
‘Can you honestly believe, Tamis, that this is the will of the Source? That a boy with no evil in his heart should die?’
‘Children with no evil in their hearts die all the time, Cassandra. Do not preach to me. They die in fires, in droughts, in plagues and in wars. Does the Source stop them? No. And I no longer complain about it. This is His world. If He chooses for innocents to die, then that is His right. I caused Hermias no harm - even though he stood in my way. Now he is dying. I interpret that as a prayer answered.’
Tamis closed her eyes and floated free of her body, rising through the low roof and drifting high above the city.
The house of Parnas stood in the east of the city and she flew towards it, hovering in the flower-garlanded courtyard where a group of Hermias’ friends had gathered. Par-menion stood alone by the far wall, ignored.
‘They say he was vomiting in the night,’ said fat Pausias. ‘Then he passed out. His colour is terrible. The surgeon has bled him, but to no avail.’
‘He is strong,’ said Nestus. ‘I am sure he will be all right.’ The sword champion glanced at Parmenion, then walked across to where he waited.
‘What happened last night?’ Nestus asked. ‘All I have heard is rumour.’
‘Hermias was attacked,’ answered Parmenion. ‘He was struck on the head by a club. He was dazed and groggy when I brought him home.’
‘It is said you killed Learchus. Is it true?’
‘I did not know it was Learchus,’ lied Parmenion. ‘He was merely one of a group attacking Hermias.’
Nestus sighed. ‘This is bad, Savra. Very bad. I cannot say I have ever liked you, but you know that I have never had any part in the attacks on you.’
‘I know that.’
‘If Hermias dies, the others will be arraigned for his murder.’
‘He will not die!’ Parmenion snapped.
A movement by the gates caught Parmenion’s eye and he turned to see Derae and two of her friends enter the courtyard. She saw him but made no sign of recognition as she walked slowly to the open doors of the andron.
Tamis entered the main building, drawn by the girl’s soul-fire which blazed like concentrated starlight.
The father of Hermias was sitting in the andron talking to the surgeon, Astion. He looked up as Derae entered, then stood, his face drawn and haggard. He kissed her cheek, offering her watered wine.
‘Can I see him?’ she asked.
‘He is dying, my dear,’ said Parnas, his voice breaking.
‘He is my friend - my dearest friend,’ Derae told him. ‘Let me go to him.’
Parnas shrugged and led her to the bedroom where Hermias lay, his face as pale as the linen sheet which covered his body. Derae sat beside him, her hand moving to stroke his brow.
‘No!’ shouted Tamis, though none could hear her. Derae’s soul-fire flared, bathing Hermias in blinding light. Tamis could not believe what she was seeing: at the boy’s temple the light turned gold, then red, the blood clot beneath the bone dispersing. Hermias groaned and opened his eyes.
‘Derae?’ he whispered. ‘What are you doing here? It is most unseemly.’
‘They told me you were dying,’ she answered, smiling. ‘But I can see that is not the case.’
‘I had the most terrible dreams,’ he told her. ‘I was in a place of darkness where nothing grew and no birds sang. But even now the memory fades...’
‘So it should, for the sun is shining outside and all your friends are gathered here.’
‘Parmenion?’
‘He also,’ she said, her smile fading. ‘Now I will leave you to your rest.’
Standing, she returned to the andron. ‘He is awake,’ she told Parnas, ‘and his colour is good.’
Parnas ran to the bedroom, embracing his bewildered son.
The surgeon seized Derae’s arm. ‘What did you do?’ he asked.
‘I did nothing. As soon as I sat down, he awoke.’
Tamis listened to the words, her anger rising. You do not know, you stupid child! You have the Gift and you do not realize it!
Furious, the seer returned to her body. The fire was dead, the room in darkness. Derae’s power was a new element, and Tamis gathered her strength to walk the paths of this new future.
It was dusk when Leonidas was summoned to the rooms of the Barrack Senior. He had been riding along the banks of the Eurotas River for most of the day, and had learned of the previous night’s tragedy only upon his return when he found Lepidus waiting for him at the stables.
The soldier had said little as they walked to the barracks, mounting the stairs to the general’s rooms. Inside, seated with the Senior, were two of the city’s ephors - councillors responsible for
the day-to-day organization of Sparta’s rigid social, legal and economic structure. Leonidas bowed to them both. One he recognized as Memnas, a friend of his father’s. Memnas was the chief magistrate, and he headed the night-watch and the militia.
The Senior stood. ‘Your friend Learchus lies murdered,’ he said.
Leonidas felt the shock of the words. ‘Murdered? I was told he was killed in a fight,’ he replied.
‘That is what we are to determine,’ put in Memnas. He was a short, slender man, with a trident beard and dark hawk-like features. In the blue robes of the ephor he seemed a frail figure, yet he had marched with Agisaleus into Persia and had fought, so it was said, like a lion. ‘Be seated, young man. We have asked you here so that you may corroborate the claims of the killer.’
‘I was not there, sir. How can I help you?’
‘Two boys - friends of yours - lie injured, one with a broken shoulder and another with a broken arm. They will say nothing of the incident, save that it was a brawl. They did not see the killing blow struck. They also say that Parmenion attacked them without warning, and they deny harming Hermias.’
‘What would you have me do?’ asked Leonidas. ‘I am not a militiaman, nor yet a member of the night-watch.’
‘You are from a noble family and highly regarded in the barracks. Find out the truth and come back to us within two hours. Otherwise there will be a full - and public - inquiry that will, whatever the outcome, harm the reputation of Lycurgus Barracks.’
‘I will do what I can - but I promise nothing,’ Leonidas told them.
He found Gryllus at the gymnasium; the Athenian youth’s nose was swollen, his eyes bruised. Leonidas walked him to the square, finding a quiet spot lit by the torches of the Oracle Shrine. There Gryllus told him all he could recall of the fight.
‘He murdered him, Leon!’ he said, at last. ‘I still can’t believe it!’
‘You went after him at night, hooded and masked. And not for the first time, Gryllus. What did you expect? That he would greet you with flowers?’
‘He killed him with his own dagger. I saw it. He backed him to a wall and then stabbed him.’
‘You saw it and did nothing?’
‘What could I do? He is a demon - possessed. He leapt from the sky. We didn’t know it was Hermias; we were just going to stop Savra from running in the trials. We did it for you - to avenge your shame!’
Leonidas’ hand snaked out, his fingers circling Gryllus’ throat. ‘You did nothing for me!’ he hissed. ‘I have seen it in you for a long time, Athenian. You like inflicting pain, but you are not man enough to stand alone. You run with a pack, like the cowardly dog you are. Now hear this: tomorrow you will be gone from Sparta. I care not where. If you are here, I will come after you myself and rip out your bowels with a blunt knife.’
‘Oh, please, Leonidas...’
‘Be silent! You will tell no one else of your... infamy. Learchus’ death is on your head and one day you will suffer for it.’
Leonidas returned to the ephors at the appointed time.
‘You have discovered the truth?’ Memnas asked.
‘I have, sir. A group of youths attacked Hermias, believing him to be Parmenion. The half-breed is innocent of blame; he acted to save his friend.’
‘And the names of the other youths?’
‘That was not part of your instruction to me, sir. The ringleader - an Athenian - will be leaving the city tonight. He will not return.’
‘Perhaps it is better that way,’ said Memnas.
Two hours after dawn the 500 youngsters of Lycurgus Barracks were marched to the training ground, where file leaders ordered them into line to await the Barrack Senior. First- and second-year children were allowed to sit at the front, while those aged from nine to nineteen stood silently to attention. All the older youths now knew of the tragedy, and not one person had spoken to Parmenion since muster.
He glanced to his left and right. The boys on either side of him had edged away, creating distance. Parmenion did not respond but stared stonily ahead, longing for the day to pass swiftly.
The children at the front stood up as the Barrack Senior strode into view flanked by two of the city councillors in their blue ceremonial robes. Parmenion felt panic flare within him. The blue-clad ephors looked grim, and he pictured them marching to him and escorting him to the execution ground. Tearing his eyes from them, he gazed at the general. In full armour the Barrack Senior looked even more ferocious than when Parmenion had seen him last night.
The old man’s eyes scanned the ranks. ‘Many of you already know,’ he roared, ‘of the death of our comrade, Learchus. The ephors here,’ he added, gesturing at the councillors, ‘have investigated fully and have, in their wisdom, declared the incident closed. So be it. Today the body of our departed friend is being laid out. Tomorrow we will all attend the cremation. The lament will be sung by Leonidas. That is all!’ He stepped back, spun on his heel and stalked away.
Lepidus ordered the boys to stand down and then spoke for a moment or two with the ephors before making his way to Parmenion and leading him to one side. ‘That was hard on you, and you did well to be here. But there is something else .. . after today you will no longer be part of Lycurgus Barracks. Next week you will join the Menelaus group.’
‘What about my mess bill here? I have just paid for the year ahead -I have no more money.’
‘I will loan you the sum,’ said Lepidus. ‘I wish I could give it to you, but I am not a rich man.’
‘No! I will not leave,’ argued Parmenion, fighting to control his temper. ‘There are no grounds. I will refuse to go-’
‘Life will be unbearable for you here, boy! Surely you can see that? Your presence would wreck morale. And the barracks system depends on morale - you understand that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ answered Parmenion softly. ‘I would like to see the Barrack Senior to discuss the move.’
‘He does not want to talk to you,’ said Lepidus, aware of a change in Parmenion but unable to pin down the exact nature of it.
‘His wants are immaterial. If he does not see me, then I stay. Tell him that, Lepidus!’ And Parmenion walked away without a word.
That afternoon he was summoned to the Senior’s rooms. The old man did not look up from his desk as Parmenion entered. ‘Make this swift,’ he snapped. Then he heard the rasp of a chair-leg against the floor, and looked up shocked to see Parmenion seated before him. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ he asked.
‘I am negotiating, general,’ answered Parmenion, meeting the other man’s eyes and holding his gaze. ‘You want me gone? I wish to go. But there is the matter of my mess fees. Three days ago I paid over 140 drachms to this barracks. My mother sold a one-third share in our landholding to raise that money.’
‘That is not a problem of mine,’ said the old man.
‘But it is,’ Parmenion told him. ‘Since I have paid, then I will stay. You have no right to request me to leave. I have broken no rule.’
‘Broken... ? You murdered a boy!’ snarled the old man, pushing himself to his feet.
‘Not according to the ephors,’ answered Parmenion calmly. ‘Now if you wish me to leave you will supply me with 200 drachms. Is that clear enough for you... sir?’
For almost a minute the general stared at Parmenion, his face deep crimson. Then he smiled and relaxed. ‘So, the Macedonian blood finally rises to the surface. There’s not a man in that whole country who wouldn’t sell his wife to buy a sheep. Very well, peasant, I will give you your two hundred - much good will it do you. You may stay on in any barracks, but when you reach Manhood you will find no one willing to endure you in any Soldiers’ Hall. You will never be a Spartan, Parmenion. Never!’
The youngster chuckled. ‘You mean that as an insult? I do not take it so. I know what I am, general, as I know what you are. I would be obliged if the money could be sent to my home before sunset.’
Parmenion stood and bowed.
Within the hou
r he was standing before another old man, fierce-eyed and grim-lipped. Leaning back in his chair, Agenor linked his arms behind his bald head and observed the young man. ‘I want no deaths here,’ stated the officer.
‘Nor I, sir.’
‘But I want fighters - and I want thinkers. I understand you run well?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Good. Find yourself a bed in the western dormitory, and then report to Solon at the training field.’ As Parmenion prepared to leave, the man rose and waved him back. ‘Lepidus spoke well of you, boy. He says you have had a tough time and that you bore it well. Know this, that here you will be judged only by what we see - not by what we have heard.’
‘That is all I ask, sir. Thank you.’
Parmenion hoisted his blanket roll to his shoulder and walked to the western wing. All the rush beds bar two had blankets upon them. Parmenion chose the empty bed farthest from the door and lay down. For a while he watched dust-motes dancing in shafts of sunlight coming through a broken shutter. Then he closed his eyes.
A hand touched his shoulder and he was instantly awake. There were stars in the sky and the room was filling up with young men. He looked up at the boy who had touched him.
It was Hermias.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Parmenion, rolling to his feet and embracing his friend.
‘I transferred here this morning,’ Hermias answered. ‘I wouldn’t want you to feel lonely.’
Parmenion was truly moved. Lycurgus Barracks was where the rich sent their youngsters; it was for the elite Spartiates. Parmenion had been the only poor boy enrolled there - as the son of a hero, part of the cost of his education was being paid by his father’s battalion. For Hermias to leave the elite to join Menelaus, the smallest of barracks, was something Parmenion could hardly believe. ‘You should not have done this, Hermias, my friend. But I am glad you did. I cannot tell you how glad.’
‘It is a new beginning, Savra. A chance to forget the past.’
Parmenion nodded. ‘You are right,’ he said.
But he would not forget. He would make them pay. He would live for the day when his enemies lay in the dust at his feet, staring up at him, begging forgiveness.
Lion of Macedon Page 9
