Nicanor was riding beside him. Turning to the blond warrior, Parmenion had asked a simple question.
'Why?'
'Why what, my friend?' replied Nicanor, mystified.
'The children. Why were they slain?'
Nicanor had shrugged. 'The women go to the slave markets of Asia, the men to Pelagonia to build the new fortresses there. There is no price any more for young children.'
'And that is the answer?' whispered the general. 'There is no price?'
'What other answer is there?' the warrior responded.
Parmenion rode from the city without a backward glance, determined never again to view the aftermath of such victories. Now, here in this enchanted wood, the realization struck him with sickening force that he was a coward. As a general he set in motion the events that led to horror, and had believed that by not allowing himself to witness the brutality he was somehow freed from the guilt of it.
Sipping his wine, he found the weight of his grief too powerful to bear and tears spilled to his cheeks, all sense of self-worth flowing from him.
He did not know at which point he fell asleep, but he awoke in a soft bed in a room with walls of interlaced vines and a ceiling of leaves.
Feeling rested and free of burdens, his heart light, he pushed back the covers and swung his legs from the bed. The floor was carpeted with moss, soft and springy below his feet as he rose. There was no door in the vines and he approached them, pushing his hands against the hanging wall and moving the leaves aside. Sunlight streamed in, almost blinding him, and he stepped out into a wide glade bordered by oak trees. Standing still for a moment, as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, he heard the sound of rushing water and turned to see a waterfall gushing over white marble, filling a deep pool around which sat a group of women. Others were swimming through the crystal-clear water, laughing and splashing each other, tiny rainbows forming in the spray.
As Parmenion strolled towards the group a looming figure moved from his right and he saw the minotaur, Brontes.
The creature bowed clumsily, his great bull's head dipping and rising.
'Welcome to my home,' he said.
'How did I come here?’
‘I carried you.’
‘Why?'
'You drank the wine, Human. It made you sleep and gave you dreams. Then more Makedones came and the Lady bade me bring you.'
'Where is Attalus?'
'Your companion still sleeps — and will continue so to do. Come, the Lady waits.' The minotaur strode on, past the waterfall, angling to the right through the trees and coming at last to another wall of vines. Two women stood by them, pulling them apart for the minotaur to enter. Parmenion followed, finding himself in a natural hall columned by tall cypress trees and roofed by flowers. Birds of all kinds were flying here, swooping and diving high among the multi-coloured blooms.
There were many pools within the hall, surrounded by white marble boulders from which grew enormous flowers of salmon-pink and crimson. Yellow-stoned paths had been set around the pools, curving across the moss-covered floor of the hall, all leading to the dais at the far end.
Ignoring the women and satyrs who sat by the water's edge, Brontes marched on until he stood before the dais. His brothers, Steropes and Arges, were sitting here, but Parmenion barely glanced at them; his eyes were drawn to the naked woman who sat upon a throne carved from a huge block of shining marble. Her hair was white — but not the tired, listless colour of the aged, more the proud, unconquered white of mountain snow. Her eyes were grey, her face ageless, unlined and smooth, but not young. Her body was slim, breasts small, hips boyish.
Parmenion bowed low. The woman rose from the throne and climbed from the dais, taking the Spartan's arm and leading him deeper into the hall, then out through the vines to a hollow in the hills bathed in sunshine.
'Who are you, Lady?' he asked, as she sat beneath a spreading oak.
'Men have given me many names,' she answered. 'More than the stars, I think. But you may continue to call me Lady.
I like the sound of it upon your tongue. Now sit beside me, Parmenion, and tell me of your son, Alexander.' It was a moment before he realized what she had said, and a cold thrill of fear whispered through his soul.
'He is the son of my King,' he told her, as he stretched out on the grass beside her. 'He has been abducted by Philippos. I am here to return him to… his father.'
She smiled, but her knowing eyes held his gaze. 'He is your child, sired during a night of Mysteries. It is a shame you bear — with many other guilts and despairs. I know you, Man, I know your thoughts and your fears. You may speak openly.'
Parmenion looked away. 'I am sorry that you have seen so much, Lady. It grieves me to bring my. . darkness… to this place of beauty.'
Her fingers touched his face, stroking the skin. 'Do not concern yourself with such shame — your guilt is all that kept you alive after you drank my wine. For only the good can know guilt and you are not evil, Parmenion. There is kindness in your heart and greatness in your soul — which is more than can be said for your companion. I have let him live only because you need him. But he will sleep on until you leave, and will never see my land.' Rising smoothly, she walked to the crest of a hill and stood staring at the distant mountains. Parmenion followed her and listened as she pointed out the landmarks. 'There, far to the west, are the Pindos Mountains, and there, across the plains to the south, is River Peneios. You know these places, for they exist in your own world. But further south there are cities you will not know: Cadmos, Thospae, Leonidae. They fight in a league against Philippos — and will soon fall. Athens was destroyed during the spring. Soon only one city state will stand against the Tyrant: Sparta. When you find Alexander, take him there.'
'First I must find him,' said the warrior.
'He is with the magus, Chiron, and safe for the moment. But Philippos will find him soon, and the Wood of the Centaurs will prove no barrier to the Makedones.'
Turning to him she took his arm, leading him back through the glades to the hall of vines.
'Once upon a time,' she said, her voice soft and sorrowful, 'I could have helped you in this quest. No longer. We are the people of the Enchantment, and we are slowly dying. Our magic is failing, our sorcery faint against the bright swords of the Makedones. I give you my blessing, Parmenion. There is little else.'
'It is enough, Lady, and a gift I am unworthy of,' he told her, taking her hand and kissing it. 'But why give me even that?'
'Our interests may yet be mutual. As I said, the Enchantment is fading. Yet there is a legend here that all of us know.
It is said that a golden child will come among us, and the land will shine once more. Do you think Alexander is that golden child?'
'How could I know?'
'How indeed? Once I could see into the future — not far, but far enough to be able to protect my people. Now I see only the past and lost glories. And perhaps I too cling to foolish legends. Sleep now — and awake refreshed!'
He awoke wrapped in his cloak at the camp-site, the horses grazing by the stream. Across from the dead fire Attalus slept on, no signs of wounds upon his face and arms.
Parmenion stood and walked through the woods to the clearing. There were no bodies here, but dried blood still stained the earth.
Back at the camp-site he woke Attalus.
'I had the strangest dream,' said the swordsman. 'I dreamt we rescued a group of nymphs. There was a minotaur and.
. and. . damn, it's fading now.' Attalus rolled to his feet and brushed dirt from his cloak. 'I hate forgetting dreams,'