'Thank you,' answered Olympias. When Parmenion knelt and lifted Phaedra to his arms, she murmured but did not seem to wake. The soldiers banked up the fires and drifted to their blankets as the general led the way back to the carriage. Nicanor opened the door and Parmenion laid the seeress on the cushions within, covering her with two woollen cloaks.
'Your singing was beautiful, Nicanor,' said Olympias. 'I shall treasure the memory.'
He blushed. 'The men like to hear the songs; it reminds them of home and family. I cannot tell you how much your pleasure means to me.' Bowing, he backed away. Parmenion followed, but Olympias called him back.
'Will you sit with me a little while, general?' she asked.
'As you wish,' he answered. Her fire had died low and he added fuel, building the blaze. The first cold winds of winter were sweeping across the plain and already there was snow in the mountains.
'What is it you fear?" he whispered.
'Why should I fear anything?' she responded, sitting close to him.
'You are young, lady. I am not. You hide it well, but it is there.'
'I fear for my son,' she said, her voice so low he could barely hear her. 'He will be a great King
— if he lives. He must live!'
'I am a soldier, Olympias. I can make no promises as to his safety. But, for what it is worth, I will protect him as best I can.'
'Why?'
It was such a simple question, yet it ripped at Par-menion's mind with a whip of fire. He could not answer it directly and turned to the blaze, idly stoking it with a branch. 'I serve Philip. He is Philip's son,' he said at last.
'Then I am content. They say in Epirus that Macedonia will soon move against the cities of the Chalcidice. They say that Philip seeks to rule Greece.'
'I do not discuss the King's plans, lady, nor am I always party to his thoughts. As far as lam aware, Philip seeks to secure Macedonia. For too long the country has been ruled by others, its security resting on the whims of politicians in Athens, Thebes or Sparta.'
'Yet Philip took Amphipolis — an independent city?'
'No one is independent. It was an Athenian enclave, giving them a foothold into Macedonia,' he told her, uncomfortable with her direct line of questioning.
'But then what of the Chalcidean League and Olynthus? Are they not a threat? Olynthus has close ties with Athens — as have the cities of Pydna and Methone.'
'I see you are a thinker, and wiser than your years. Yet you are not wise enough to hold your tongue on matters best not discussed in the open. Do not trust me overmuch, Olympias. I am the King's man.'
'That is why I do trust you,' she answered him. 'I am Philip's woman. My son's life rests on his survival. If a King dies, is it not the Macedonian way for the new King to kill his precedessor's heirs?'
'It has been, lady, though you will be aware that Philip did not kill his brother's son. But what I am saying to you is that you should trust no one. Not me… not Nicanor. . not anyone. Direct your questions to Philip.'
'Very well, Parmenion. I am chastened. Will you forgive me?' Her smile was an enchantment, but Parmenion fought to remain untouched by its magic.
'Now that is a weapon you should use,' he said.
'Ah, how wise you are. Will I have no secrets from you, Parmenion?'
'As many as you wish, lady. You are very beautiful and yet intelligent. I think you will continue to captivate the King. But, make no mistake, he is also a man of wit and discernment.'
'Is that a warning, general?'
'It is the advice of a friend.'
'Do you have many friends?'
'Two. One is Mothac, the other Bernios. Friendship is not a gift I give lightly,' he said, holding her gaze.
Reaching out, she touched his arm. 'Then I am honoured. But, is not Philip a friend?'
'Kings have no friends, lady. They have loyal servants and bitter enemies. Sometimes the two can be interchangeable; it is the mark of the man how well he recognizes this.'
'You are a fine teacher,' said Olympias. 'But one last question, if I may?'
'As long as it does not touch upon strategy,' he answered, smiling. For a moment she was silent.
The smile had changed his face, making him almost boyish.
'No, not strategy — at least, not directly. I was wondering about you, Parmenion. What ambitions are there for a man with your reputation?'
'What indeed?' he said, rising. Bowing to her, he turned and strolled back to the soldier's camp-fire, checking on the sentries before allowing himself the luxury of sleep.
Back in the carriage Phaedra lay awake, her heart pounding. When Parmenion lifted her she had been jerked from sleep by the power of his spirit. It was too strong to read and she had felt swept away by a sea of images of enormous intensity. But through them all was one overriding vision. It was this which made her heart beat so, which left her mouth dry and her hands trembling.
All her life Phaedra had known of the one way to lose the curse of seeing. Her mother had told her of it.
'When you give yourself to a man, the powers will wither and die like a winter rose.'
The thought had been so disgusting that Phaedra would sooner keep the curse than surrender it in that way. In truth, the thought was still disgusting — but the rewards! She summoned the vision from memory, watching again the glories of the future.
How could she not take the risk?
Sitting up, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stared at the stars shining bright beyond the carriage window. She could hear Parmenion and Olympias talking by the fire. His voice was soft, almost gentle, yet his words were confident and born of an inner strength.
'I could grow to love him,' Phaedra assured herself. 'I could will it so.' But she did not believe it. 'It does not matter anyway,' she whispered. 'I do not need to love him.'
She waited until Parmenion had gone, and pretended sleep when Olympias climbed into the carriage.
Slowly the hours passed. Steeling herself, Phaedra slipped from the carriage and moved stealthily through the camp seeking out where Parmenion lay; he had made his bed away from the soldiers in a sheltered hollow. As she gazed down on his sleeping form her courage almost fled from her but, steeling herself, she slipped from her dress and lay down beside him, carefully lifting the single blanket over her slender body. For some time she lay still, unable to summon the courage to wake him. But again the vision came to her — more powerfully than before. Gently her fingers touched the skin of his chest. He was still impossible to read, random scenes pouring over her like a wave and engulfing her senses.
Her hand slid lower, stroking his belly. He groaned in his sleep, but did not wake. Her fingers touched his penis and — for a moment only — she recoiled. Gathering her courage she touched him again, fingers circling him, feeling him swelling under her touch. He awoke then and turned towards her. His right arm moved over her, his hand touching her shoulder, sliding down over her breast.
'I have you!' she thought. 'You are mine! And our son will be the god-King. He will rule the world!'
And she saw again the vision of a Battle King leading his troops across the world.
Parmenion's first-born.
My son!
The Temple, Asia Minor, Winter, 356 BC
Derae lay on her bed and loosed the chains of her soul, floating free of the temple and soaring into the blue winter sky. In the distance clouds were bunching for a storm, but here by the sea the day was fine. Gulls arced and dived around her invisible form and she gloried in their freedom.
Swiftly she sped across the sea, crossing the trident-shaped land mass of the Chalcidice and on to Pella — seeking, as always, the lover fate had denied her. She found him in the throne-room. .