‘When we return to Sparta,’ said Parmenion, ‘I will sell the Sword of Leonidas. With that money, I will be able to marry Derae.’
‘We have almost two months here,’ said Xenophon sadly, looking away. ‘It will give you time to think out your plans, and PatrocUan time to lose his anger. Much can happen in that interval. Perhaps the servants will not talk. Perhaps Nestus will forgive her. Who knows? But if you are to grow, Parmenion - if you are to become the man you ought to be -then you must learn from this experience.’
‘What can I learn? Not to fall in love?’
‘No, no man can do that. But you must realize that love is perilous; it affects the mind, blinding us to obvious realities. Think of Helen and Paris. They brought about the downfall of Troy. You think that is what they intended? No, they were merely lovers. You are one of the most intelligent and intuitive men I have ever met, and yet you have acted like a complete dullard. If that is what love brings, then I am thankful it has eluded me.’
‘It will end well,’ whispered Parmenion. ‘I promise you.’
‘That is still love talking. No man of intellect makes a promise he cannot keep. Now eat, and let us talk of this no more tonight.’
As the weeks passed Parmenion found Xenophon’s wisdom once more to be true. The longing and the love he had for Derae did not pass, but his mind cleared and he felt a deep sense of shame for the foolish way he had conducted his affair.
Had Patroclian been so minded he could have taken the matter to the Council, who would have recommended Parmenion’s death to the ephors. There was no question of a defence, the law was specific. Any Spartan who violated a virgin was subject to death by poison, or by the blade. Derae herself could be sacrificed to the death goddess, Hecate.
Now Parmenion could look back on his passion with cool logic. In truth, he could not regret their love-making; it had been the high point of his life and had freed him from the miseries of his childhood, exorcizing bitterness and hatred. He no longer desired vengeance against Leonidas, no longer dreamed of leading an army against the Spartans. All he wanted now was to live with Derae and sire children of their love.
During the days he rode with Xenophon out into the countryside of the Peleponnese, and when the sun had fallen he ran on the hillsides, building his strength and exhausting his passions with physical effort.
At night he would sit with the Athenian general discussing military tactics, or political strategies. Xenophon was deeply distressed by Sparta’s failure to provide sound leadership for Greece, and gloomily predicted future disasters.
‘Agisaleus cannot abide the Thebans and makes public his disdain. It is unwise. I love the man, but he is blind to the dangers. He cannot forget that it was Thebes’ actions which brought him back from military successes in Persia. He cannot forgive.’
‘And yet,’ said Parmenion, ‘his return from Persia brought him great credit. He crushed the Thebans and restored Sparta’s position.’
‘That is a popular Spartan view,’ Xenophon agreed, ‘but in reality the only victor was Persia.’
‘But they had no part in the revolt, did they?’
Xenophon laughed aloud. ‘Politics, Parmenion. Do not think merely of swords and campaigns. Agisaleus had invaded Persia and he was winning. Persian gold - of which there is an unlimited supply - was sent to Thebes and Athens. With that gold they raised their armies; that is why Agisaleus was forced to come home. There was only one way he could win - he sent ambassadors to Persia, agreeing to be her vassal. Persia then abandoned Thebes and Athens and supervised the peace negotiations.’
‘Good strategy,’ said Parmenion. ‘No wonder the empire has ruled for so long. With a little gold, they halted an invasion.’
‘Better than that: the Greek cities of Asia were all given over to the Persians.’
‘I did not know that,’ Parmenion said.
‘It is not taught to Spartan youngsters, it would be bad for morale. But it is a canker within Agisaleus. He knows he can never march on Persia again, for Thebes and Athens would rise against Sparta in his absence.’
‘Surely he could meet with their leaders? Then he could lead a joint expedition into Persia.’
Xenophon nodded. ‘Exactly. But he never will. His hatred has blinded him. Do not misunderstand me, Parmenion. Agisaleus is a good King and a fine man, cultured and wise.’
‘I find it hard to understand,’ said Parmenion.
‘Do you now? Love and hate are very similar. Think of your own madness with Derae - did you take time to consider the perils? No. Agisaleus is the same - mention Thebes and his face changes, and you can see his hand reaching for a sword-hilt.’
Servants brought them their evening meal of fish and cheese. They ate in silence for a while, but Xenophon’s appetite was not good and he pushed away his plate, pouring a goblet of wine and adding a little water. He drank it swiftly and poured another.
‘Perhaps Cleombrotus will make a difference,’ Parmenion suggested. The Spartans had always boasted two Kings on the principle that one could lead the warriors into battle while the other stayed home and guided the fortunes of the city. Agisaleus had shared the kingship with his cousin, Agesopolis, but he was simple-minded and rarely appeared in public. Agesopolis’ death, four months before, had seen the rise to power of Cleombrotus, a fine warrior and athlete.
‘I doubt he will change the mind of Agisaleus,’ said Xenophon. ‘Cleombrotus is sound enough, but he lacks intellect. I fear for Sparta. Those whom the gods would destroy, they first make proud,’ he quoted.
‘Surely pride is Sparta’s great strength?’ said Parmenion, watching with concern as Xenophon refilled his goblet without bothering to add water.
‘Indeed it is, but do you know how many true Spartiates are left in the city? Fewer than 2,000. For the mess bills have risen and the poorer Spartans can no longer afford to send their children. Think of yourself. Your mother had a good holding but it has gone to pay for your education. It is nonsense. In ten years the number of Spartiates will halve again - how then will Sparta remain pre-eminent? And how long will it be before we see your strategy from the Games used in reality?’
‘Do not let it sadden you, Xenophon. None of it is within your power to change.’
‘That is what saddens me,’ the general admitted.
Not for the first time Tamis found her doubts growing. Events were moving swiftly now, and she sensed the power of the Dark God’s acolytes seeking her, searching for a way to attack and destroy the one who could disrupt their plans.
But Tamis was not without power of her own and she cloaked her soul, avoiding the spirit eyes of those who hunted, slipping by them like the unseen breeze that whispers through moonlit branches.
Learchus had died - killed by Parmenion. Tamis had not actively sought his death, though she knew part of the blame rested on her increasingly frail shoulders. All men die, she told herself. And was it not Learchus who had hidden in the alleyway ready to attack an unarmed boy? He had brought his doom upon himself.
Still the doubts nagged at her. Her prayers now were largely unanswered and she felt alone against the servants of Chaos. She could no longer summon Cassandra, nor any spirit of the past. The Ways were no longer open to her. It is just a test, she assured herself. The Source is still with me. I know it!
Surely it is better for a few to die out of their time, than for many -for multitudes - to suffer?
How many times had she told herself this, repeating it like a spell against her fears? Too many, she realized. But I have gone too far to falter now.
When Learchus died the Dark God’s servants had turned their eyes on Sparta, weaving their spells around the survivors Nestus and Cleombrotus, watching over them. It was harder now for Tamis to manipulate their emotions secretly, encouraging them to be reckless, to risk their lives.
Yet the Watchers could not oversee everything and Tamis had waited patiently, ready to exploit even a momentary lapse. Now it had come. The girl Derae had been publicly
denounced, her nance Nestus filled with righteous anger and a truly Spartan lust for revenge. Only the death of the man who had shamed him would satisfy his warrior’s heart.
The Watchers were furious, Tamis knew. She could feel their anger and frustration like flames in the night. Tamis opened the shutters of her single window and stared out over the distant acropolis.
The first of many perils faced Parmenion now, and she was unable to help him, just as the Watchers were unable to protect Nestus. Now would be a time of swords, of strength and of skill. And the Watchers were closing in. Soon they would locate her, and then would come the onslaught, demons in the night tearing at her soul, or assassins in the daylight with sharp blades to rip into frail flesh.
Turning, she gazed around the squalid room that had been her home for so many, lonely years. She would not miss it, nor Sparta, nor even Greece, the home of her spirit.
Opening the door, she stepped out into the sunlight. ‘For the moment, Parmenion,’ she said, ‘you are alone. Only your own strength and courage can aid you now.’
Leaning on a staff, a tattered grey cloak around her shoulders, Tamis walked slowly from Sparta. Not once did she look back, nor allow a single moment of regret to touch her heart.
Back at the dwelling the temperature plummeted as a dark shadow formed on the wall opposite the window, growing, spreading, forming into the semi-translucent shape of a tall woman, hooded and veiled in black.
For several moments she moved around the room, her spirit eyes searching. Then the dark woman vanished...
... opening the eyes of her body in a palace across the sea. ‘I will find you, Tamis,’ she whispered, her voice low and cold. ‘I will bring you to despair.’
Three days before the end of his stay in Olympia, Parmenion was surprised to see Hermias riding across the long meadow to the house. His friend usually journeyed south to the sea with his family for the hottest part of the summer, and their summer home was several hundred leagues from Olympia.
During the last year Parmenion had seen little of Hermias, for his friend had become close with the young King, Cleombrotus, and the two were often seen together in the city or riding in the Taygetus mountains.
Parmenion strode out to meet Hermias. He too had changed during their time at Menelaus and at nineteen he was strikingly beautiful, with no trace yet of a beard. Once a fine runner, he no longer had the inclination to exercise hard and was rarely seen at the training ground. Hermias had grown his hair long, and Parmenion could smell the perfumed Persian oil which adorned it even before his friend jumped to the ground.
‘Well met, brother,’ shouted Parmenion, running forward to embrace him.
Hermias pulled back from the hug. ‘I have bad news, Savra. Nestus, believing the lies about you, is on his way here now. He means to kill you.’
Parmenion sighed, turning to stare at the distant hills. ‘You must ride away,’ urged Hermias. ‘Do not be here when he comes. Tell me the truth of it and I will try to convince him.’
‘The truth of it?’ responded Parmenion. ‘What would you have me say? I love Derae. I want... need ... her for my wife.’
‘I accept that,’ said Hermias, ‘but he believes that you ravished her. I know you would never consider such a vile act, but Nestus is blinded by rage. If you go to the hills for a while, I will speak to him.’
‘We made love,’ said Parmenion softly, ‘and we were foolish. He has every right to be angry.’
Hermias stood open-mouthed. ‘You... it is true, then?’
‘I did not ravish her! We are lovers, Hermias. Try to understand, my friend.’
‘What is there to understand? You behaved like... like the Macedonian you are.’ Parmenion stepped forward, reaching for his friend’s arm. ‘Don’t touch me! Nestus is a friend of mine, and has been since we were children. Now he carries a shame he does not warrant. I know why you did it, Savra: it was to revenge yourself on Leonidas. I despise you for it. Take a horse and ride from here. Go anywhere. But do not be here when Nestus arrives.’
Hermias strode to the gelding and vaulted to the beast’s back. ‘I gave up much for you, Parmenion. Now I rue the day I met you. What you have done is evil and much suffering will come of it. I loved you - as a friend and a brother. But your hate was... and is... too strong.’
‘It is not hate,’ protested Parmenion, but Hermias swung the gelding’s head and galloped away. ‘It is not hate!’ shouted the Spartan. Standing thunderstruck as Hermias rode back across the meadow, Parmenion heard footsteps behind him but did not turn. Instead he watched his friend riding into the distance.
‘That was sound advice,’ said Xenophon sadly. ‘Take the bay mare and ride for Corinth. I will give you enough money for the journey and a letter to a friend who resides there. He will be glad to make you a guest until you decide where you want to go.’
‘I cannot. It would mean giving up Derae.’
‘She is lost to you anyway.’
‘I will not accept that!’ He swung on Xenophon. ‘How can I accept it?’
‘Are you willing to die for your love?’
‘Of course. What would you expect me to say?’
‘And are you willing, also, to kill an innocent man for it?’
Parmenion took a deep breath, struggling for a calm that would not come. He did not know Nestus well, but the man had never been one of his enemies, had never tormented him. Now he was seeking - as any Spartan would - to exorcize his shame with the blood of the man who had dishonoured him. He met Xenophon’s eyes. ‘I cannot run, Xenophon. My life would be nothing without Derae. I know that now.’
The general masked his disappointment. ‘How good are you with the sword?’
‘Capable.’
‘And Nestus?’
‘He was - and is - the sword champion of Lycurgus. He is powerful.’
‘Can you master him?’
Parmenion did not answer. ‘Am I evil?’ he asked.
‘No,’ answered Xenophon. ‘Action and reaction, my boy. I knew a man once in Persia who was asked to bring water to a dry area. He built a small dam which diverted a river, irrigating fields and saving a community. They were grateful for he had given them life, and there were feasts and banquets in his honour. He stayed with them for several months. When he left he came, after five days, to a deserted town, where there were corpses and a dry stream. He had saved one community and destroyed another. Was he evil? Intention is everything. You did not set out to shame either Nestus or Derae, but now you must suffer the consequences. One of you must die.’
‘I do not want to kill him. I swear that, by all the gods of Olympus,’ said Parmenion. ‘But, if I run, I can never claim Derae. You understand?’
‘You may borrow my breastplate and helm - assuming that Nestus is geared for war. Oh, Parmenion, what has your folly brought upon you?’
Parmenion forced a smile. ‘It brought me Derae and I cannot regret that - though I have lost Hermias, and he has been my friend since childhood.’
‘Come and eat. The body does not fight well on an empty stomach, believe me. Take honey, it will give you strength.’
It was late afternoon before Nestus and his companions rode up to the house where Parmenion was sitting with Xenophon in the shadow cast by the sloping, tiled roof. The
Athenian rose, gestured for Parmenion to remain where he was and walked out to meet the riders.
There were six men with Nestus but Xenophon knew only two of them: Leonidas and Hermias.
‘Welcome to my home,’ said Xenophon.
‘We seek the man Parmenion,’ stated Nestus, lifting his leg and jumping to the ground. He was a tall young man, broad-shouldered and lean-hipped - not unhandsome, though his beauty was marred by a hook of a nose.
Xenophon approached him. ‘Have the ephors granted permission for this duel?’
‘They have,’ said Nestus. Reaching into his tunic, he produced a scroll and handed it to Xenophon. The Athenian opened it and read swiftly.
‘
Will honour be satisfied with anything but blood?’ he asked, handing back the warrant.
‘No. You know what he did. What choice do I have?’
‘As a gentleman, none at all,’ said Xenophon softly. ‘But - and I speak not in his defence, nor even with his permission - he did not know of your involvement with the lady.’
‘She is no lady, she is a whore - made a whore by your half-breed house guest.’
Xenophon nodded. ‘Then blood it must be. However, let us act like gentlemen. You have ridden a long way and you, and your friends, must be thirsty. My home is your home; I will have servants fetch refreshments.’
‘That will not be necessary, Athenian,’ snapped Nestus. ‘Just send Parmenion to me. I will kill him and we will be on our way.’
Xenophon moved closer to the young man. ‘While I appreciate your anger,’ he whispered, ‘it ill becomes a gentleman to act with such rudeness.’
Nestus looked into the pale blue eyes and saw the fury there. ‘You are correct, sir. My anger spoke - and it should not be directed at you. I thank you for your courtesy, and I am sure my friends would be glad of refreshment. For myself, with your permission, I will wait in your gardens until the time for the battle.’
Xenophon bowed. ‘I will send cool water to you - unless you would prefer wine?’
‘Water will suffice.’ Nestus stalked off into the gardens. The other men dismounted and followed Xenophon into the house. No one looked at Parmenion, who sat silently with his eyes on Nestus seated alone on a bench by the stream.
After a few minutes Parmenion heard someone approaching from behind and looked up, expecting to see Xenophon.
‘You nursed your hate well,’ said Leonidas, ‘and the arrow you sent found its mark.’
Parmenion stood and faced his old enemy. ‘I do not hate you, Leonidas, nor your family. I love Derae. What I did was wrong and I am ashamed of my actions. But I mean to marry her.’
For a moment Leonidas said nothing, his expression unreadable. ‘I love my sister,’ he said, ‘even though she is wilful. But you are my enemy, Parmenion, and will remain so until the day of your death -which I pray will be today. You cannot stand against Nestus.’
Lion of Macedon Page 12
