Lion of Macedon

'Thank you, sir. Good night.'

'Good night, Cleiton.' The general returned to his blankets, but his sleep was haunted by dreams.

Derae was running on a green hillside, her eyes wide with fear. He tried to go to her, to explain that all was well, but as he approached she screamed and sped away. He could not catch her and stopped by a stream where he gazed down at his reflection. Pale eyes in the bronze mask of Chaos stared back-at him. Pulling the helm from his head, he called out to her.

'Stop! It is I, Parmenion.'

But she did not hear him, and vanished from sight.

He awoke with a start and sat up. His back was aching and a slow, painful pounding hammered within his skull. 'You fool,' he told himself, 'you forgot your sylphium.' There was water heating on a fire. Dipping a cup into the pot he almost scalded his fingers. Then adding his dried herbs to the liquid, he stirred it with his dagger, waited for it to cool and then drained the infusion. Almost at once the pain departed.

Bernios approached. 'You look dreadful, my friend,' said the surgeon. 'Do you ever sleep?'

'When I need it.'

'Well, you need it now. You are not a young man any more. Your body needs rest.'

'I am forty-three years old,' Parmenion snapped. 'That is hardly ancient. And I can still run twenty miles, should I so choose.'

'I did not say you were decrepit, I merely pointed out that you are no longer young. You are very sharp this morning — that also is a sign of age.'

'My back aches — and do not tell me it is because I am old. There is an iron spear-point lodged under my shoulder-blade. But what of you? Why do you not sleep?'

'Another man died in the night. I sat with him,' said Bernios. 'No one should die alone. He was stabbed through the belly; there is no worse pain than that. But he didn't complain — save at the end.'

'Who was he?'

'I did not ask — and don't lecture me about it. I know the importance you place on such details, but I cannot remember all the faces.'

'What did you give him?'

'The gift of poppies,' answered Bernios. 'A lethal dose.'

'That is against the law. I wish you would not tell me these things.'

'Then don't damn well ask!' responded the surgeon. He was instantly contrite. 'I am sorry, Parmenion; I also am weary. But you are beginning to worry me. You have been tense now for days.

Is something troubling you?'

'It is nothing of importance.'

'Nonsense. You are too intelligent to concern yourself over trifles. Do you want to talk of it?'

'No.'

'You are ashamed of it?'

'Yes,' admitted the Spartan.

'Then keep it to yourself. It is often said that confession is a healing process. Do not believe that, Parmenion; it is the mother of all pain. How many know of your. . shame?'

'None — save myself.'

'Then it did not happen.'

'It would be pleasant were life that simple,' said Parmenion.

'Why complicate it? You expect too much of yourself, my friend. I have some bad news for you: you are not perfect. Now get some rest.'

* * *

'Walk with me,' Olympias commanded Parmenion as they made camp on the second night in a hollow on the Emathian Plain. The Spartan followed the Queen as they strolled towards the small camp-fire set by Phaedra. The Queen saw that he was ill at ease and took his arm, enjoying the sudden tension in his muscles. So, she thought, he is not impervious to my beauty. 'Why have you avoided me, general?' she asked sweetly.

'It is not a matter of avoiding you, your highness. But my duty is to see you safely to your husband in Pella. That priority engages my mind, and I fear I am not good company."

She sat down on her cushions, a gold-embroidered woollen shawl around her shoulders.

'Tell me about Philip,' she said. 'There is so much I do not know. Is he kind to his servants?

Does he beat his wives?'

Parmenion settled himself beside the fire. 'Where would I start, lady? He is a King and he behaves like one. No, he does not beat his wives — or his servants — but neither is he soft or weak. There is only one other wife, Audata, the daughter of King Bardylis. But she dwells now in Pelagonia -

by choice."

'She has a child by Philip, I understand,' she said, her hand unconsciously moving to her own swollen belly.

'She has a daughter — a beautiful child.'

'Strange from so ugly a mother,' snapped Olympias before she could stop herself.

'There are many kinds of beauty, my lady, and not all of them fade as swiftly as the flesh,' he told her, his voice cool.

'Forgive me,' she said swiftly. 'It is hard not to be jealous. And I wish us to be friends. Will we be friends?' she asked suddenly, her green eyes holding to his own.

'All the days of our lives,' he told her simply.

After he had gone Phaedra moved close alongside the Queen. 'You should not flirt, Olympias, not among these Macedonians.'

'I was not flirting — though he is a handsome man, save for that hawk nose. Philip is a warrior King and he will take many wives. I need to ensure that my son remains the true heir to the throne and it is never too early to win allies. Parmenion destroyed the power of the Spartans, raising Thebes to greatness. Last year he crushed the Illyrians. Before that he fought for the Great King.

He has never been defeated in battle. A good friend to have, do you not think?'

'You have learned much,' Phaedra whispered.

'Oh, there is more that I know. The King has three advisers he trusts above all others. First is Parmenion, preeminent in strategy, then comes Attalus, cold and deadly, the King's assassin.

Lastly there is Antipater, the Second General, a tough, worthy warrior.'

'What of the women?'

'Philip thinks little of women — save for Simiche, his brother's widow. He trusts her, confides in her. I will win her friendship also.'

'Your plans seem well laid,' commented Phaedra.

'They were set in Samothrace by the Lady Aida. She knows all things, past and future. I was chosen

— and I will not disappoint her.'

'Did you love her?' asked Phaedra.

'Are you jealous, sister of my heart?'

'Yes, jealous of all who touch you — or even look upon you.'

'You should take a man. I will arrange it for you, if you desire it.'

'I can think of nothing worse,' said the seeress, snuggling close to her friend.

At that moment there came the sound of music from the camp-fire of the soldiers, soft and mournful. A voice was raised in song — not a battle hymn but a love song of surprising gentleness, accompanied by the high, sweet tones of a shepherd's pipes. Olympias stood and walked through the trees to where the soldiers sat in a great circle around the piper and the singer. She shivered as she gazed upon the scene: men of war, in breastplates and greaves, their swords beside them, were listening to a tale of two lovers. The singer was Nicanor. He saw the two women approach and faded to silence, the soldiers standing as the new Queen walked among them.

'No, please,' said Olympias, 'do not stop, Nicanor. It is beautiful.' He smiled and bowed; the piper began to play and Nicanor's voice once more rang out. Olympias settled down in the circle with Phaedra close beside her. The seeress shivered and Olympias opened her shawl, the girl once more snuggling in close with her head on the Queen's shoulder. Nicanor sang for more than an hour.

The soldiers did not cheer or whistle as each song ended, yet there was tremendous warmth in the air and Olympias felt like a child again, safe and comfortable with these tough riders. Phaedra was asleep, her head a weight on Olympias' shoulder.

Parmenion appeared and crouched down beside her. 'I will carry her back for you,' he said, his voice soft so as not to wake the sleeping seeress.