Lion of Macedon

'Yes,' answered Parmenion, too abruptly. Nicanor looked up sharply, but Parmenion turned away.

'See to their needs,' he said over his shoulder as he walked to his blankets.

The younger man took up a wineskin which he carried back to the Queen's camp-fire. Olympias was sitting on some cushions brought from the carriage; the girl he took to be her maid was tending the blaze.

'I have some wine for you, ladies,' said Nicanor, bowing deeply.

Olympias flashed him a dazzling smile. 'And you are, sir?' she asked.

'Nicanor. I am Parmenion's First Captain.'

'Join us, Nicanor,' ordered the Queen. He filled their wine cups, added water, then folded his cloak to make a seat. 'Why is Parmenion not here?' Olympias asked.

'He is… er… weary, my lady. He did not sleep much last night. He was concerned to be here on time. He feared. . well, he feared the Illyrians might raid and he was right. He usually is; it is most galling.'

'And yet you like him?'

'Oh, yes, my lady. He is a fine general — the best in the world. He has built Philip's army into a force to strike fear into the hearts of all our enemies.'

'But he is not Macedonian,' Olympias pointed out.

'Half Macedonian,' replied Nicanor. 'He was raised in Sparta.'

'Perhaps then we should forgive his bad manners in not attending us. Spartans are not renowned for their courtesies.'

'I do not believe he meant to be discourteous,' Nicanor said. 'Far from it. He ordered me to see to your needs. I believe he felt you would sooner rest and recover from your ordeal than endure his company.'

Olympias smiled and, reaching out, touched Nicanor's arm. 'You are a good friend to your general, and a powerful advocate. I shall forgive him instantly. And now, Nicanor, I would like to rest.'

The young man rose and bowed once more before gathering up his cloak and walking back through the trees.

'You are shameless,' said Phaedra. 'You quite dazzled the poor man.'

Olympias let the smile fade from her face. 'This is a foreign land,' she said softly. 'I will need friends here. Why did Parmenion not come?'

'Perhaps it was as the officer said, that he was weary.'

'No. He would not meet my eyes when he rode up. Still, what does it matter? We are safe. The future is bright.'

'Do you love Philip?' asked Phaedra suddenly.

'Love? He is my husband — the father of the child I carry. What has love to do with it? And, anyway, I have met him only once — on the night of the wedding in Samothrace seven months ago.'

'What was it like on the Isle of Mysteries — when he made love to you?'

Olympias leaned back, smiling at the memory. 'The first time was magical, strange. . but in the morning it was as it always is. The man ruts and grunts, sighs and sleeps.' She yawned. 'Fetch me my blankets, Phaedra. And some more cushions. I will sleep now.'

'You should sleep in the carriage. You will be warmer.'

'I want to see the stars,' answered Olympias. 'I want to watch the Huntress.'

Olympias lay down, her mind lazily drifting back to Samothrace and the Night of the Mysteries. The women, scores of them, had danced in the grove — drinking, laughing, chewing the sacred herbs that brought visions, bright colourful dreams. The torch-lit procession then filed to the palace, and Olympias remembered them carrying her to Philip's bed.

She had waited, her mind spinning, the colours super-naturally bright… red hangings, yellow silks, golden cups.

And he had come to her — his face, as ritual demanded, hidden by the Helm of Chaos. She had felt the metal against her cheek, felt his body cover her like a fire-warmed cloak.

Wrapped in her blankets, the new Queen of Macedonia slept beneath the stars.

* * *

Parmenion lay awake staring at the same stars, recalling the same night. His sense of shame was strong, painful almost. There were many deeds in his life which had left him with sorrow, others which had caused scars to both body and spirit. But shame was new to the Spartan.

The night had been like this one, stars like gems on sable, the air clean and fresh. Philip was drunk as he waited for his bride; he had collapsed on a couch just as the women brought his new wife to his bedchamber.

Parmenion had glanced through a gap in the curtains to see Olympias, naked, her body glistening, waiting. . waiting.

He tried to tell himself that it was vital that the wedding was consummated on this night, reminded himself that Philip had told him exactly that.

'/// do not perform within the Sacred Hour the wedding will be cancelled. Can you believe that, Parmenion?'

But that was not why the Spartan had donned the ancient helm. He had looked upon the naked woman -

and he had wanted her, as he had desired no one since his love had been stolen from him a quarter of a century before. He had made love to her and, when she slept, he went to Philip, dressing the unconscious King in the helm and cloak and carrying him to her bed.

You betrayed the King you swore to serve. How will you redeem yourself?

The night was chill and Parmenion rose. Wrapping his black woollen cloak tightly round his shoulders, he strolled out to where the sentries kept watch.

'I'm awake, sir,' said the first man. In the darkness Parmenion did not recognize him.

'I did not doubt it,' the general told him. 'You are a soldier of Macedon.' He wandered from the woods and down to the banks of the Haliacmon. The water was dark as the Styx, but glimmering in the starlight. He sat on a boulder and thought of Derae.

Five days of love — fierce, passionate love. Then they had taken her from him, carrying her to the shores of Asia where they hurled her into the sea to drown, her hands tied behind her. A sacrifice to the gods, for the protection of Sparta.

And how Sparta had needed protection! Parmenion remembered the battle at Leuctra where his strategic genius had seen the fall of the Spartan army, the crushing of Sparta's dreams.

'You are Parmenion, the Death of Nations,' the old seeress had told him. How right she was. Last year he had led the Macedonians against the Illyrian King, Bardylis, devastating his army. The old King had died within seven months of the defeat, his country in ruins.

Looking up at the stars, Parmenion pictured Derae's face, her flame-gold hair, her green eyes.

'What am I without you?' he whispered.

'Talking to yourself, general?' said a voice from close by. A young soldier moved from the shadows of the river-bank.

'It happens when a man gets old,' Parmenion told him. The moon emerged from behind the clouds and the Spartan recognized Cleiton, a young soldier from eastern Macedonia who had joined the army the previous autumn.

'It is a quiet night, sir,' said Cleiton. 'Were you praying?'

'After a fashion. I was thinking about a girl I used to know.'

'Was she beautiful?' asked the young man, laying his spear against a rock and sitting opposite the general.

'She was very beautiful. . But she died. Are you married?'

'Yes, sir. I have a wife and two sons in Crousia. They are moving to Pella as soon as I can afford to rent a house.'

'That may be some time.'

'Oh, I don't think so, sir. There'll be another war soon. With fighting wages, I should see Lacia again within six months.'

'You want a war then?' Parmenion asked.

'Of course, sir. It is our time. The Illyrians are destroyed, the Paionians also. Soon it will be to the east in Thrace, or south against Pherai. Or maybe Olynthus. Philip is a warrior King. He will see the army is looked after.'

'I expect that he will,' agreed Parmenion, rising. 'And I hope you get your house.'