Lion of Macedon

He paced the room for an hour, then ate a breakfast of pears and goat's cheese and wandered out to the meadows beyond the palace. His mood was not lightened by seeing the horses there, thin-legged and weak. He sat on a wide gate and scanned the hills where sheep and goats were grazing, tended by a slim boy.

What is the matter with you, Philip? The women were wonderfully willing and endlessly creative.

Normally, after a night of love-making, he awoke feeling like a young Heracles. Those cursed seeds, he thought. Never again! He saw Parmenion running down the hillside and shouted to him. The Spartan slowed his run.

'Good morning, sire. You are awake early.'

'I have been up for hours,' said Philip. Parmenion leaned against the fence, stretching the muscles of his calves. 'You are still fast, Leon. I think you could beat them all even now.'

'Would that it were true, sire. But I do not fool myself. What is wrong?'

'Is it so plain?'

'You look like thunder.'

'It is the waiting, Parmenion. Two years I've longed for this day, and now I can bear it no longer. She is here. Her name is Olympias. . and I am not allowed to see her. Gods, man! I am Philip! I take what I want!'

Parmenion nodded. 'We have been here but a day, sire. Be patient. As you said, this was ordained by the gods, so let it take its own course. Why don't you run for a while? It will clear your head.'

'I'll race you to that grove of trees,' said Philip, suddenly sprinting away. The morning breeze felt good in his face and the contest made him feel alive, his headache disappearing. He could hear Parmenion just behind him and he powered on up the hillside. It mattered nothing to him that the Spartan had already run for more than an hour. The contest was everything. He hurdled a low boulder and raced for the trees a hundred paces ahead. His breathing was more ragged now, and he could feel the burning in his calves, but also he could hear the Spartan just behind him. He slowed in his run. Parmenion came alongside. Philip thrust out his arm, pushing Parmenion off balance. The Spartan half stumbled and lost ground, giving Philip just the edge to reach the first tree and slap his palm against it.

'Unfair tactics!' Parmenion shouted.

'Victory,' answered Philip weakly, sinking to the ground and raising his arm, his face red, his breathing fast and shallow. Within minutes he had recovered and the two men sat in the shade gazing out over the fields and mountains, but again and again Philip's eyes were drawn to the white marble palace.

'I'll have a home like that,' he said. 'Even the gods will be glad to live there. I'll have it all one day, Parmenion.'

'Is that all you want, sire?'

'No. What does any man want? Excitement. Power. I think of Bardylis often — old, withered, as good as dead. I look at myself and I see a strong, young body. But I am not fooled, Parmenion. Bardylis is only a reflection of the Philip to be. I want to live life to the full. I want not a single regret to haunt my dotage.'

'You are asking a great deal, Philip,' said Parmenion softly. 'All men have regrets — even Kings.'

Philip looked at Parmenion and smiled. 'For two years I have asked you to call me Philip when we are alone — yet you wait till now. Why is that?'

The Spartan shrugged. 'These are strange days. Yesterday you spoke to me like a father. Then I met a woman and I felt excitement such as I have not known in a decade. Today I feel. . different -

like a man again.'

'Did you bed her?'

Parmenion chuckled. 'Sometimes, Philip, your predictability dazzles me. No, I did not bed her.

But, in truth, I wanted to. And that sensation has been a stranger to me for too long. By the way, how many women did you have in your rooms last night? By the sounds it must have been a troupe of dancers.'

'A mere twenty or thirty,' answered Philip. 'So what was this woman's name?'

'I don't know.'

'Where does she live?'

'I don't know that either.'

'I see. You don't think it might be a little difficult to further this relationship? What did she look like?'

'She wore a veil.'

'So, the general Parmenion has fallen for a woman whose face he has not seen and whose name he does not know. I am at a loss to understand the nature of your arousal. Did she have nice feet?'

Parmenion's laughter rippled out. He lay back on the grass and stared at the sky. 'I did not see her feet,' he said. Then the laughter came again; it was infectious and Philip began to chuckle, his dark mood evaporating.

After a while both men returned to the palace where the King ate a second breakfast. The dark-haired girl came to him just after noon. 'The Lady Aida will see you now, lord,' she said. Philip followed her down a long corridor to a high-ceilinged room where statues of young women lined the walls. A woman was waiting by the southern window and she turned as Philip entered. She was dressed in a dark, hooded robe, her face pale as ivory. Philip swallowed hard as he recognized her from his first dream.

'At last we meet,' she said.

'Where is my bride?' whispered Philip.

'She will be waiting for you,' said the hooded woman. 'Tomorrow, on the night of the Third Mystery, she will be brought to your rooms. But there is something you must do, King of Macedon.'

'Name it.'

'You will not go to her until the third hour after midnight; you will not see her before then. At that appointed hour she will conceive your son — not a moment before, not a minute after. You will lie together in the third hour. If this is not done, there will be no marriage.'

Philip laughed. 'You believe I will have a problem in that area?'

'I hope not, Philip,' she answered coldly. 'Much depends on it. This son will be greater than any warrior before him. . but only if he is conceived in the third hour.'

'As I said, I see no reason to fear failure.'

'Then I will give you two. If you fail, all your dreams of greatness will come to nothing; the gods will desert you. And, secondly, you already have a son: Arrhidaeus. He is simple-minded, his limbs weak; your wife Phila died in giving birth to him. Apart from this one chance, Philip, all you will sire are daughters. What I offer you now is a chance — your only chance — to sire a perfect heir.'

'How did you know of Arrhidaeus?' whispered Philip.

'I know all your secrets. I know the secrets of the world. Be prepared, King of Macedon. Olympias will await you.'

* * *

Aida watched the Macedonian turn and stalk from the room. As the door closed behind him she returned to her high-backed chair and sat, her thoughts uneasy, her emotions confused.

Philip was a powerful man, his personal magnetism compelling, yet something was wrong and Aida's tension grew. So much depended on this union, so many plans laid over so many years.

Aida had been a child when her mother first told her of the Dream of the Dark Birth, and of the many failures which had followed. Only once in each fifty-year cycle did the harmony of the universe falter, giving rise to a unique moment of planetary confusion.

When the last alignment took place in Mesopotamia, Aida was fourteen. Her mother had bewitched the Great King and prepared an acolyte of exceptional beauty. The wedding night had proceeded as planned but the girl — her mind dazed by the drugs — had wandered from the balcony, falling to her death on the marble stone of the courtyard. Aida's mother had been desolated, and for two months she refused to speak; then just when it seemed she would recover, she slashed her throat with a bronze knife.

Now the moment was here once more. There would be no balcony for Olympias, no danger to the princess. Philip was a ram who would need no assistance to fulfil his… necessary. . task.

So what could go wrong? Aida did not know. But she felt the icy touch of fear.