'Enough!' he said aloud, as the memory brought fresh arousal. It was a form of double betrayal, and even now he could not understand it. His pride and powerful sense of honour had led him to believe that he would never betray a friend. Yet he had. But what was worse, and continued to torment him, was how even now, while his mind reeled sick with the shame of his deed, his body continued to react to the memory with arousal, lust and delight.
It was why he endured Philip's anger, and his occasional taunts. Guilt tied him to the Macedonian King with bonds stronger than love, as if by serving Philip faithfully he could in some way even the balance, eradicate the shame.
'You never will,' he whispered.
Olympias had been so much like Deraes, slim and beautiful, her red-gold hair glinting in the torchlight. She had tried to remove the helm, complaining that the cold metal was hurting her face, but he held her hands down against the soft sheets, ignoring her pleas. She had spent the first part of the night in the Woods of the Mysteries, inhaling the Sacred Smoke. Her pupils were enormously dilated and she lost consciousness while he lay upon her. It did not stop him.
Guilt came later when he crept back into Philip's rooms, where the King lay naked on a couch, lost in a drunken sleep. Pulling clear his helm, Parmenion gazed down on the man he had sworn to serve and felt then the sharp pain of regret. He dressed the unconscious monarch in the cloak and helm and carried the King into the bedroom, laying him alongside Olympias.
Back in his own rooms he had tried to justify his actions. The Lady Aida, in whose palace they were guests, had told Philip that if he did not consummate the wedding within what she termed the Holy Hour, then the marriage would be annulled. Philip had laughed at that. Faced with a beautiful woman, he had never been found wanting, and felt no concern at the threat. Yet, as he waited through the long night, he had continued — despite Parmenion's warnings — to drain goblet after goblet of the heavy Samothracian wine. Philip's capacity for alcohol was legendary, and it still surprised Parmenion how swiftly the King had succumbed to its influence on this special night.
At first Parmenion tried desperately to rouse Philip, but then he had gazed into the bedroom where Olympias lay naked on the broad bed. He tried to convince himself that his first thought had been of Philip, and the hurt to his pride in the morning when all of Samothrace heard of his failure in the marriage bed. But it was a lie. That excuse came later, as he lay awake watching the dawn.
Now he lived with a constant torment, as double-edged as any dagger. Firstly he feared the truth becoming known, and secondly he had to endure the sight of his beloved son being raised by another.
'I hope you are thinking of a plan to get us home,' said Attalus, moving silently alongside the Spartan.
'No,' admitted Parmenion, 'my thoughts were on other matters. Did you enjoy your swim?'
'It cooled me for a while. Where is the sorcerer?'
'He will be back soon. He has gone to see if the centaurs need his help.'
Alexander climbed into view, the steps on the cliff path almost too high for him. He waved as he saw Parmenion and moved alongside him, sitting close. Instinctively the Spartan put his arm around the boy. Attalus said nothing, but Parmenion felt his gaze.
'We must make our way down to the Gulf of Corinth,' said Parmenion swiftly, 'and then to Sparta. We can only hope that Aristotle will find a way to us there.'
'Hope?' sneered Attalus. 'I would like something stronger than that. But why Sparta? Why not return to the Circle of Stones and wait? That is where he sent us. Surely that is where he will expect us to be?'
Parmenion shook his head. 'The enemy are everywhere — and they have used sorcery to locate Alexander. We could not hope to survive alone against them. Sparta holds out. We will be safe there. And Aristotle is a magus; he will find us.'
'I am not convinced. Why not wait here?' argued Attalus.
'I wish that we could, but Chiron does not believe we are safe even here. The King's reach is long, his powers great.
Are you beginning to regret your decision to accompany me?'
Attalus chuckled. 'I began to regret it the moment we rode from the Circle. But I will stay the course, Spartan.'
'I did not doubt it.'
'Look! A ship!' cried Alexander, pointing out to sea where a trireme was sailing gracefully into view, its black sail furled, its three banks of oars rising and dipping into the sparkling blue water. Slowly the prow turned until the craft was pointing to the shore.
Closer it came until the watchers could see clearly the hundred or so armed men gathering on the great deck.
'Friendly, do you think?' asked Attalus as the ship was beached, the warriors clambering to the sand.
'They are Makedones,' said Alexander, 'and they are coming for me.’
‘Then some of them will die,' said Attalus softly.
'Back into the palace,' ordered Parmenion, sweeping Alexander into his arms and moving away from the cliff-edge.
Far below them the Makedones soldiers began the long climb up the steep path, sunlight glinting from spear and sword.
Parmenion ran into the palace kitchens where he had put aside his breastplate, helm and sword. Donning the armour, he lifted Alexander and made his way swiftly to the wide stairway, taking the steps two at a time.
'What if those flying creatures are still on the other side?' asked Attalus as they reached the illusory wall.
'We die,' muttered Parmenion, drawing his sword and stepping through to Chiron's cave. It was empty. Lowering Alexander to the ground the Spartan moved to the cave-mouth, scanning the mountainside. The dead grey stallion lay where it had fallen, black crows squabbling over the carcass. Beyond the stallion lay the corpses of more than thirty Vores, but these the crows avoided. Of Parmenion's gelding there was no sign.
'We'd be safer in the woods,' said Attalus. Parmenion nodded and the trio crossed the open mountainside, reaching the sanctuary of the trees without incident.
The woods were unnaturally silent. No bird-song sweetened the air, and not a trace of breeze disturbed the canopied branches above. The silence made both warriors uneasy, but Alexander was happy walking beside his hero, holding Parmenion's hand. They walked deeper into the woods, keeping to a narrow game trail that twisted, rose and fell until it reached a shallow stream where cool mountain water rippled over white stones.
'Do we cross it — or follow it?' asked Attalus, keeping his voice low. Before Parmenion could answer they heard sound of movement from the trail ahead, the snapping of dried wood underfoot. Then came voices, muffled by the undergrowth.
Gathering the child, Parmenion backed away towards the bushes, Attalus beside him. But before they could find a place in which to hide, a warrior in a raven-winged helm appeared on the other side of the stream.
'Here!' he bellowed. The child is here!'
More than a score of dark-cloaked soldiers carrying spears and swords ran to join him. Attalus' blade hissed from its scabbard.
Parmenion swung round. Behind them was a narrow track. On either side were thick stands of thorn bushes and brambles. From where he stood the Spartan could see no end to the track, but glancing down he saw cloven hoofprints of deer leading away up the slope.
The Makedones surged forward into the water, the woods echoing with their screams of triumph.