Dark Prince

'Yes, master. But what of Titan? There is a horse even I would be glad to see the back of.'

'He stays,' said Mothac. 'The lord Parmenion likes him.'

'He is evil, that one. He will see his rider dead, I think.'

'The lord Parmenion has a way with horses.'

'Aya! I would like to see him ride Titan. He will fall very hard.'

'Perhaps,' agreed Mothac, 'but on the day you would be wise to consider placing a different bet. Now finish your grooming — and remember what I said about the Persian.'

* * *

Parmenion was mildly drunk, and at ease for the first time in months. The wide doors of the andron were open to the north winds and a gentle breeze filtered through the hangings, leaving the room pleasantly cool. It was not a large room, with only three couches, and the walls were bare of ornament or paintings. Mothac liked to live simply and never entertained, yet there was a warmth about his home that Parmenion missed when away from the estate.

'Are you happy?' asked the Spartan suddenly.

'Are you talking to me or yourself?' Mothac countered.

'By the gods, you are sharp tonight. I was talking to you.'

'Happy enough. This is life, Parmenion. I watch things grow, the barley and the grain, the horses and the cattle. It makes me part of the land. Yes, I am content.'

Parmenion nodded, his expression grave. 'That must be a good feeling.' He grinned and sat up. 'Do you still miss Persia and the palace?'

'No. This is my home.' The Theban leaned forward, gripping the Spartan's shoulder. 'We have been friends for a lifetime, Parmenion. Can you not tell me what is troubling you?'

Parmenion's hand came up to grip Mothac's arm. 'It is because we are friends that I do not. Five years ago I had a cancer in my brain. That was healed. But now there is a different kind of cancer in my heart — no, not a real one, my friend,' he said swiftly, seeing the concern in the old Theban's eyes. 'But I dare not talk of it — even to you — for it would put a heavy burden on you. Trust me in this, Mothac. You are my dearest friend and I would die for you. But do not ask me to share my. . my sorrow.'

Mothac said nothing for a moment, then he refilled their goblets. 'Then let us get drunk and talk nonsense,' he said, forcing a smile.

'That would be good. What duties have you set yourself for tomorrow?'

'I have two lame horses I will be taking to the lake. Swimming helps to strengthen their muscles. After that I shall be horse-trading with a Persian named Parzalamis.'

'I will see you by the lake at noon,' said the Spartan.

The two men walked out into the night and Mothac saw a lantern burning in the foaling stable. Cursing softly he walked across to the building, Parmenion following. Inside Croni, Orsin and three other Thessalians were sitting round the body of the mare, Larina. The pure black foal was lying beside its dead mother.

'Why did you not call me?' thundered Mothac. Croni stood and bowed low.

'The bleeding stopped, master. She only collapsed a short while ago.'

'We must get the foal another milk mare.'

'Terias has gone to fetch one, master,' Orsin told him.

Mothac moved past the dark-haired boy and knelt by the mare, laying his huge hand on her neck. 'You were a fine dam, Larina. The best,' he said.

Croni sidled forward. 'It is the curse of Titan,' he said. 'He is a demon beast, and the son will be the same.'

'Nonsense!' said Parmenion, his voice harsh. 'Have Titan in the riding circle tomorrow. I shall tame him.'

'Yes, lord,' answered Croni miserably. 'It will be as you say.'

Turning on his heel Parmenion strode from the stable. Mothac caught up with him, grabbing his arm. 'You should not have said that,' he. whispered. 'The Thessalians know their horseflesh. The beast is insane — and so are you if you attempt to ride him.'

'I have said what I will do,' Parmenion muttered. 'I have not seen a horse I cannot ride.'

'I hope you can say that tomorrow,' grunted Mothac.

* * *

The great house was silent as Parmenion rode through the cypress grove towards the main doors. Not a light showed at any window, yet as he reached the front of the house his manservant, Peris, ran forward to take the gelding's reins.

Parmenion leapt to the ground. 'Well met, Peris, does nothing escape your attention?' he asked, smiling.

The servant bowed. 'I saw you this afternoon, lord, on the hilltop. I have been waiting for you. There is cold meat and cheese in the andron, and some pomegranates. Eissa made cakes this afternoon. I will have some brought to you if you desire it.'

'Thank you. How is the arm?'

Peris lifted the leather-covered stump at the end of his right arm. 'It is healing well, lord. There is little pain now, but what there is seems to come from the fingers — as if they are still there. But — as you said -1 am becoming more skilful with my left.'

Parmenion patted the man's shoulder. 'I missed you at the Crocus Field. I felt almost unsafe.'

Peris nodded, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. 'I would like to have been there, lord.' Then he smiled and glanced down at his swelling belly. 'But, even had I the use of both hands, I fear no horse would carry me.'

'Too many of Eissa's honeycakes,' said the general. 'It was good of you to wait up for me.'

'It was less than nothing, lord,' replied Peris, bowing, his plump face reddening.

Parmenion walked on into the house. In the andron at the rear two lanterns were burning, casting a soft glow over the room. It was large, boasting twenty couches and thirty chairs, and L-shaped. When Parmenion entertained guests the full room was used, but now the lanterns glowed only in the alcove by the large doorway to the west-facing gardens.

The general moved out onto the patio, breathing in the scent of the honeysuckle growing by the wall. The house was peaceful and only at times like this did he enjoy being here. The thought was depressing.

He heard a movement behind him and turned, expecting to see the crippled Peris.

'Welcome home, husband,' said Phaedra. He bowed stiffly. His wife was wearing a robe of shimmering blue that clung to her slender frame, her golden hair pulled back from her face and bound with silver wire into a pony-tail that hung to her narrow waist. Parmenion looked into her cold blue eyes and stiffened.

'I will not be here for long, lady,' he told her.

'Long enough to see your son, I would hope.'

'Sons,' he corrected her.

'There is only one for me,' she said, her face expressionless. 'Philotas — he who will be great; the greatest of all.'

'Do not say that!' he hissed. 'It is not true! You hear me?'

She laughed then, the sound chilling. 'I lost my powers when I gave myself to you, general, but I will never forget the vision I saw when first you touched me. Your first-born will rule the world. I know it. And he is Philotas.'

Parmenion felt his mouth go dry. 'You are a fool, woman,' he said at last. 'A fool to believe it, and doubly foolish to say it aloud. Think on this: if Philip or Olympias hear of your vision, will they not seek to have the child slain?'

All colour drained from her face. 'How would they hear?' she whispered.

'Who is listening now?' he asked. 'How do you know which servant may be walking in the gardens, or sitting within earshot?'

'You are just trying to frighten me.'

'Indeed I am, Phaedra. For they would not only kill the babe but the mother, brothers and father. And who would blame them?'

'You will protect him. You are the Lion of Macedon, the most powerful man in the kingdom,' she said brightly.

'Go to bed, woman,' he told her, his voice weary.