Dark Prince

Parzalamis swung and walked back to his seat. Rich Persian perfume wafted to Mothac as the man crossed the room and he chuckled. 'What amuses you?' asked his guest, his expression hardening.

'Not amusement — embarrassment,' said Mothac swiftly. 'Happy as I am to see you, your magnificence makes my home feel like a pig-sty. Suddenly I see all the cracks in the wall, and notice that the door-frame has warped.'

The Persian relaxed. 'You are a clever man, Theban. Your tongue moves faster than a cheetah. So, I have bought your horses and now let us move to more serious matters. What are Philip's plans?'

Swinging his legs from the couch, Mothac refilled his goblet. 'Parmenion assures me he is still securing his borders against his enemies. The Great King has nothing to fear.'

'The Great King fears nothing!' snapped Parzalamis. 'He is merely interested in his vassal king.'

'Vassal?' queried Mothac. 'As I understand it, Philip sends no tribute to Susa.'

'The point is immaterial. All Macedonia is part of the Great King's empire. Indeed, the same can be said for all of Greece. Athens, Sparta and Thebes all accept the sovereignty of Persia.'

'If Macedonia is indeed a vassal,' said Mothac, choosing his words carefully, 'then surely it is strange that the Phocians paid their army with Persian gold when all men knew the army would march against Philip.'

'Not at all,' answered Parzalamis. 'The general Onomarchus travelled to Susa and knelt before the Great King, offering his allegiance to the empire. For this he was rewarded. And let us not forget it was Philip who marched against the Phocians, not the reverse. And I am unhappy with this idea of securing borders. Where does it stop?

Philip already controls Illyria and Paionia. Now the Thessalians have made him their King. His borders grow with every season. What next? The Chalcidice? Thrace? Asia?'

'Not Asia,' said Mothac. 'And Parmenion maintains the Chalcidice is safe for the time being. Therefore it is Thrace.'

'What does he want?' hissed Parzalamis. 'How much territory can any one man hold?'

'An interesting question from a servant of the Great King.'

'The Great King is divinely blessed. He is not to be confused with a barbarian warrior. Thrace, you say? Very well, I will bear that intelligence to Susa.' Parzalamis leaned back, staring at the low ceiling. 'Now tell me of the King's son.'

The question was asked in a tone altogether too relaxed and Mothac let it hang in the air for a moment.

'He is said to be a brilliant child,' the Theban answered. 'When barely four he could read and write, and even debate with his elders.'

'Yet he is possessed,' said Parzalamis. Mothac could feel the tension in the man's voice.

'You see a four-year-old child as a threat?'

'Yes — not of course to Persia, which is beyond fear, but to the stability of Greece. You lived for many years in Persia and no doubt came to understand the true religion. There is Light which, as Zoroaster informed us, is the root of all life, and there is Darkness, in which nothing grows. Our wise men say that this Alexander is a child of Darkness.

You have heard this?'

'Yes,' agreed Mothac, shifting uncomfortably under the Persian's gaze. 'Some talk of him being a demon. Parmenion does not believe it.'

'And you?'

'I have seen the child only once but, yes, I could believe it. I touched his shoulder when he came too close to a stallion. The touch burned me. I could feel it for weeks.'

'He must not live,' whispered Parzalamis.

‘I’ll have no part in this,' answered Mothac, rising and walking to the door. Stepping outside into the gathering twilight he looked around. There was no one in sight and he returned to the room. The light was failing and Mothac lit three lanterns. 'It would be madness to kill the child. Philip's anger would be colossal.'

'That is true. But we must consider where best such anger could be directed. In Athens the orator Demosthenes speaks out against Philip with great vehemence. If the assassin were to be in the pay of Athens then Philip would march south, yes?'

'Nothing would stop him,' agreed the Theban.

'And it is well known that central Greece is a burial ground for ambition. All the great generals have fallen there.'

'How will the deed be done?'

'The matter is already in hand. A Methonian slave named Lolon will kill the child; he has been bribed to do so by two Athenians in our service. He will be taken alive, of course, and will confess that he was hired on the instructions of Demosthenes, for he believes such to be the case.'

'Why are you telling me this?'

'The two Athenians have been told to flee north from Pella. It will not be expected. You will hide them here for some weeks. After that they can make their way to Olynthus.'

'You ask a great deal,' Mothac told him.

'I agree, my dear Mothac, but then — as you know — we pay very well.'

* * *

Parmenion sat in the western alcove of his andron, eyes fixed on a honey-bee as it settled on a flowering yellow rose.

The bloom slowly bent as the bee shuffled inside seeking pollen.

'Is that all he said?' asked the Spartan.

'Is it not enough?' Mothac countered.

Parmenion sighed and stood, stretching his back. It had taken three years to infiltrate Mothac into the Persian spy system, and at last it was beginning to justify the effort. At first they had been wary of him, knowing him to be Parmenion's friend. Then slowly, as his information proved accurate, they had begun to trust him more. But this sudden sharing of such a powerful secret would need some serious consideration. 'I will have the servant watched, and put extra guards in the garden beneath Alexander's window.'

'But you must tell the King,' put in Mothac.

'No, that would not be wise. There is great fear in Persia that — ultimately — Philip will lead his forces into Asia. It is making them reckless. The attack on Philip at the Festival — the Olynthians would never attempt anything so rash.

No, it was the Persians, and I don't think it wise to tell Philip. But equally I do not want Parzalamis to know that you are no traitor.'

'Why is that so important?' asked the Theban.

Parmenion grinned. 'I do not wish to find you with a knife between your ribs. And there is no doubt in my mind that Persia will one day be the enemy. It is the richest kingdom in the world — and Philip spends recklessly. Despite the mines and cities we have captured there is still not enough wealth in Macedonia to pay for the army. No, Persia is the ultimate prize, therefore it is vital to maintain contact with Parzalamis. But how do we save the prince — without compromising you?'

'The Methonian servant could have an accident — break his neck?' offered Mothac.

Parmenion shook his head. 'Too obvious. And the Athenians — whose names we do not know — would only hire someone else. It is a thorny problem. But I will work on it.'

'He gave no indication of how soon Lolon will strike. It could be tonight!' said Mothac.

'Yes,' answered Parmenion, holding his voice even, not allowing a flicker of emotion to betray his concern. 'I will ride for Pella tomorrow. Now, tell me, how is Titan's foal?'

'Suckling well with a milk mare. He is strong. He will survive.'

'Good. Now you should get home and rest. I need to think.'

Mothac stood. 'This game is growing in complexity, my friend. I am not comfortable with it.'

'Nor I. But kingdoms are at stake and nothing remains simple.'

When the Theban had gone Parmenion strolled in the gardens, halting at the marble fountain. There were three statues at the centre representing Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War, and Hera, the Queen of the Gods. In their midst stood a handsome youth holding an apple.