'Follow me,' she commanded, and returned to her body. For a while she stood in silence beyond the gates until, at last, the ghostly figure moved out into the courtyard.
'You say he will be a great man,' said Artema. 'But will he be happy?'
'Yes,' lied Tamis.
Then I must be content. Will I be reunited with his father?'
'I cannot say. For where you will ride I cannot go. But I pray it will be as you desire it. Mount the horse, for he alone knows the Paths of the Dead, and he will carry you safely.'
The figure of mist flowed to the stallion's back. 'Will you look after my son?' asked Artema.
'Will you be his friend?'
'I will look after him,' promised Tamis. 'I will see that he has all he needs to meet his destiny.
Now go!'
The stallion lifted its head and began to walk towards the burial hill. Tamis watched until it was out of sight, then sank back to sit on a marble bench.
But will he be happy?
The question gnawed at her, changing her mood from sorrow to anger.
'The strong do not need happiness. He will have glory and fame, and his name will be whispered in awe by men of all nations. Generations will know happiness because of him. Surely that is enough?'
She glanced up at the window of Parmenion's room. 'It will have to be enough, strategos, because it is all I can give you.'
Parmenion awoke in the night, his mind hazy and uncertain. He sat up, unsure of where he was.
Moonlight was streaming through the open window. He looked up at the moon and saw again his mother's face, cold in death. Reality struck him worse than any blow he had received from Gryllus or the others, hammering home into his heart. He rolled from the bed and moved to the window which opened out on to the courtyard. He stared down at the empty square and saw that the sand-pit had been removed, the scene of his triumph once more merely cobbled stone. He thought of his victory, but it was as nothing against the enormity of his loss. A child's game — how could it have meant so much? He glanced back at the bed, wondering what had awoken him. Then he remembered.
He had been dreaming of a white horse, galloping over green hills.
He looked up at the moon and the stars. So far away. Unreachable, untouchable.
Like his mother…
The sense of separation was unbearable. He sat down on a high-backed chair and felt the cool night breeze bathing his skin. What did it matter now that he was despised? The one person who loved him was gone.
What will you do, Parmenion? Where will you go? he asked himself.
He sat by the window until the dawn, watching the sun rise over the peaks of the Parnon mountains.
The door opened behind him and he turned to see the man Clearchus, his judge from the Games.
Parmenion stood, and bowed.
'No need to accord me your respect,' said the man. 'I am little more than a servant here. The master of the house invites you to break your fast with him.'
Parmenion nodded and the man made as if to leave, then turned. His hard face softened. 'It probably means nothing, boy, but I am sorry about your mother. Aline died when I was eleven; it is not a loss that you forget.'
'Thank you,' said Parmenion. Tears welled, but he forced his face to remain set, and followed Clearchus to the courtyard where Xenophon sat waiting. The general rose and smiled. 'I trust you slept well, young xtrategox?'
'Yes, sir. Thank you.'
'Be seated and take some food. There is bread and honey. I found the benefits of it when campaigning in Persia; it makes a good start to the day.'
Parmenion cut several slices from the fresh loaf and smeared them with honey.
'I have sent a message to the barracks,' said Xenophon. 'You do not have to attend muster today.
So I thought we would ride out towards Ilias.'
'I am not a good rider, sir,' Parmenion admitted. 'We cannot afford a horse.'
'Then how can you know if you are a good rider or not? Enjoy your meal — and then we will see how good you are.'
They finished their breakfast and moved back through the house to the long stables at the rear, where there were six stalls and five horses.
'Choose,' said Xenophon. 'Examine them all and select a mount.'
Parmenion entered each stall, making a show of examining the horses. Not knowing what to look for, he stroked each mount, running his hand over their broad backs. There was a grey, with a fine curved neck and strong back, but he looked at Parmenion with a jaundiced eye which seemed to promise pain. Finally the youngster chose a chestnut mare of fifteen hands.
'Explain the choice,' said Xenophon, slipping a bridle over the mare's head and leading her out into the yard.
'When I stroked her she nuzzled me. The others merely stood — except for the grey. I think he wanted to bite off my hand.'
'He would have,' Xenophon admitted, 'but you made a fine choice. The mare is sweet-natured and swift to obey. Nothing shakes her.' The general laid a goatskin chabraque on the mare's back. 'It will not slip,' he told Parmenion, 'but remember to grip her with your thighs, not your calves.'
On the back of the grey he placed a magnificent leopard-skin shabraque. 'In Persia,' he said,
'many of the barbarians use hardened leather seats, strapped to the horse's back. But that is for barbarians, Parmenion. A gentleman uses only a blanket, or at best an animal skin.'
The air was fresh, the early morning sun lacking the strength-sapping power it would show within a few hours. They walked the horses across the Planes and out to the rolling hills north of the city. Here Xenophon cupped his hands and helped Parmenion to mount; then the general took hold of the grey's mane and vaulted to the gelding's back. The move was smooth, sure and graceful, and Parmenion found himself envying the older man's style.
'We will start by walking the horses,' said Xenophon, 'allowing them to adjust to the weight.' He leaned forward, patting his mount's long neck.
'You care for them,' said Parmenion. 'You treat them like friends.'
'They are friends. There are so many fools abroad, who believe that a whip will subdue a horse and make it obey. They will subdue it — no doubt of that. But a horse without spirit is a worthless beast. Answer me this, strategos — who would you rather depend on in battle, a man who loves you or one you have tormented and beaten?'
'The answer is obvious, sir. I would rather have a friend beside me.'
'Exactly. Why is it different with a horse, or a hound?'
They rode across the hills until they came to a level plain covered with dry grass. 'Let them have their heads,' said
Xenophon, slapping the rump of the gelding. The beast took off at a run, the mare following.
Parmenion gripped the mare's belly with his knees and leaned forward. The thunder of hoofbeats filled his ears and the exhilaration of the rider swept over him. He felt alive, truly, wondrously alive.
After several minutes Xenophon swung his horse to the right, heading for a cypress grove to the east. There he slowed the gelding to a walk and Parmenion cantered alongside. The Athenian leapt to the ground and smiled up at Parmenion. 'You handled her well.'
The youngster dismounted. 'She is fine. Very fine,' he said.
'Then pat her, and tell her.'
'Can she understand me?'
'Of course not, but she can hear your tone and know from your touch that you are pleased with her.'
'Does she have a name?' Parmenion asked, running his fingers through the dark mane.
'She is Bella, Thracian stock with the heart of a lion.'
They tethered the horses and sat beneath the cypress trees. Parmenion suddenly felt uncomfortable.
Why was he here? What interest did this legendary Athenian have in him? He did not want to be seduced by Xenophon, nor did he wish to be put in the position of having to reject such a powerful suitor.