A deafening roar sounded from the trees and the Makedones, terror in their eyes, fled from the clearing.
'By Zeus, that was close,' said Attalus.
'It's not over yet,' Parmenion whispered.
Emerging from the tree-line came three colossal men, each over seven feet tall. One had the head of a bull and was carrying a huge double-headed axe. The second had a face that was almost human, save that it boasted a huge double-pupilled single eye in the centre of the forehead; this one carried a club into which iron nails had been half hammered. The third had the head of a lion; he carried no weapon, but his hands ended in talons the length of daggers. Behind them the women gathered together, fear still showing in their eyes.
'Sheathe your sword,' ordered Parmenion.
'You must be insane!'
'Do it — and swiftly! They are here to protect the women. It may be we can reason with them.'
'Dream on, Spartan,' whispered Attalus as the demonic beasts shuffled forward, but he returned the stabbing sword to its scabbard and the two men stood before the advancing monsters. The cyclops moved closer, raising his pitted club.
'You. . kill. . Makedones. Why?' he asked, his voice deep, the words coming like drum-beats from his cavernous mouth.
'They were attacking the women,' Parmenion answered. 'We came to their aid.'
'Why?' asked the monster again, and Parmenion looked up at the club hovering above his head.
'The Makedones are our enemies,' he said, tearing his eyes from the grisly weapon.
'All. . Humans… are… our. . enemies,' replied the cyclops. To the right the lion-headed monster squatted down over a dead soldier, ripping loose an arm at which he began to gnaw. But all the while his tawny eyes remained fixed on Parmenion. The minotaur moved closer on the left, dipping his horned head to look into the Spartan's face. His voice whispered out, surprising Parmenion, for it was gentle, the tone perfect. 'Tell me, warrior, why we should not kill you.'
'Tell me first why you should?' Parmenion responded.
The minotaur sat down, beckoning the Spartan to join him. 'Everywhere your race destroys us. There is no land -
save one — where our lives are safe from Humans. Once this land was ours; now we hide in woods and forests. Soon there will be no more of the Elder races; the sons and daughters of the Titans will be gone for ever. Why should I kill you? Because even if you are good and heroic your sons, and the sons of your sons, will hunt down my sons, and the sons of my sons. Is that an answer?'
'It is a good one,' agreed Parmenion, 'yet it is flawed. Should you kill me, then my sons would have reason to hate you, and that alone will make your vision true. But should we become friends, then my sons would come to know you and look upon you with kindly eyes.'
'When has that ever been true?' the minotaur asked.
'I do not know. I can only speak for myself. But it seems to me that if an act of rescue can result in summary execution then you are little different from the Makedones. Surely a son of the Titans will show more gratitude than that?'
'You speak well. And I like the lack of fear in your eyes. And you fight well too. My name is Brontes. These are my brothers, Steropes and Arges.'
'I am Parmenion. This is my… comrade Attalus.'
'We will not kill you,' said Brontes. 'Not this time. Our gift is your lives. But if ever you walk in our woods again your lives will be forfeit.' The minotaur pushed himself to his feet and turned to walk away.
'Wait!' called Parmenion. 'We are seeking a child from our land who was abducted by the King of the Makedones.
Can you help us?'
The minotaur swung his great bull's head. 'The Makedones gave chase to a centaur two days ago. It is said that the centaur carried a child with golden hair. They travelled south to the Woods of the Centaurs. That is all I know. The woods are forbidden to Humans, save Chiron. The horse people will not allow you to pass. Nor will they speak with you. Your greeting will be an arrow through the heart or eye. Be warned!'
Attalus' fist slammed into Parmenion's chin, spinning him from his feet. The Spartan hit the ground hard, then rolled to his back, staring up at the enraged Macedonian who loomed above him with fists clenched, blood still seeping from the shallow gash in his cheek.
'You miserable whoreson!' hissed Attalus. 'What in Hades were you thinking of? Ten men! By Heracles, we should be dead.'
Parmenion sat up and rubbed his chin, then pushed himself to his feet. 'I was not thinking,' he admitted.
'Excellent!' sneered Attalus. 'But I do not want that engraved on the walls of my tomb: "Attalus died because the strategos wasn't thinking." '
'It will not happen again,' promised the Spartan, but the swordsman would not be mollified.
'I want to know why it happened this time. I want to know why the First General of Macedonia rushed to the aid of women he did not know. You were at Methone, Amphipolis and a dozen other cities when the army sacked them. I did not see you racing through the streets protecting the women and children. What is so different here?'
'Nothing,' replied the Spartan. 'But you are wrong. I was never in those cities when the rapes and murders took place.
I organized the attacks, but when the walls were breached my work was done. I do not seek to avoid responsibility for the barbarism that followed, but it was never perpetrated in my name, nor have I ever taken part in it. As for my actions today, I accept they were inexcusable. We are here to rescue Alexander- and I put that in jeopardy. But I have said it will not happen again. I can say no more.'
'Well, I can — if you ever decide to act the romantic fool do not expect me to be standing beside you.'
'I did not expect it in the first place,' said Parmenion, his expression hardening, his eyes holding to the swordsman's gaze. 'And know this, Attalus — if you ever strike me again I shall kill you.'
'Enjoy your dreams,' replied the swordsman. 'The day will never dawn when you can best me with blade or spear.'
Parmenion was about to speak when he saw several of the women moving across the clearing towards them. The first to arrive bowed low before the warriors, then looked up with a shy smile. She was slim and golden-haired, with violet eyes and a face of surpassing beauty.
'We thank you, lords, for your help,' she said, her voice sweet and lilting, almost musical.
'It was our pleasure,' Attalus told her. 'What true men would have acted differently?'
'You are hurt,' she said, moving forward and reaching up to touch his face. 'You must let us tend your wounds. We have herbs and healing powders.'
Ignoring Parmenion the women closed around Attalus, leading him to a fallen tree and sitting beside him. A young girl in a dress of shimmering blue sat upon the swordsman's lap, lifting a broad green leaf which she placed over the wound on his cheek. When she pulled the leaf clear the gash had vanished, the skin appearing clean and unbroken.
Another woman repeated the manoeuvre with the cut on the warrior's left forearm.
The satyr reappeared from the edge of the trees and skipped forward to Parmenion bearing a goblet of wine. The Spartan thanked him and sat down to drink. Smiling nervously, the satyr moved away.
The attempt to rescue the women was everything that Attalus implied: romantic, stupid and, considering the odds, suicidal, and Parmenion's spirits were low as he sat apart from the group. Thinking back he remembered the quiet joy he had felt watching the women, and the sudden explosive anger that had raced through him when he heard their screams. Images leapt to his mind, like a window thrown open in a hidden corner of his soul, and he saw again the children of Methone piled carelessly one upon another in a grisly hill of the dead.
The city was being prepared for destruction and Parmenion had ridden through it, overseeing the demolition. He had stopped in the main market square, where wagons were drawn up to remove the bodies.