Lion of Macedon

'Then you were wise to wait. Everything I have built has been for you — and for him.'

'He will be your heir?" she asked, whispering the question.

'My only heir, I promise you.'

'What of your sons from future wives?'

'They will not take his place.'

'Then I am content, Philip. Truly content. Will you attack the Olynthians?'

Philip chuckled and sat up. 'Parmenion told me you were a student of strategy. I did not believe him. Why do you concern yourself with such matters?'

Her green eyes hardened. 'My father was a King, from a line of Kings. You think I should learn to weave and grow flowers? No, Philip, that is no life for Olympias. Now tell me about the Olynthians.'

'No,' he said, rolling from the bed.

'Why? Do you think me stupid? I want to help you. I want to be a part of your plans.'

'You are a part of my plans,' he said, swinging to face her. 'You are the mother of my son. Can you not be content with that? I have many advisers, but few are those with whom I share my private thoughts. Can you understand that? No one can betray my plans, if no one knows the full extent of them.'

'You think I would betray you?' she snapped.

'I never met a woman yet who knew when to hold her tongue!' he roared, 'and you are proving no exception.' Philip threw a cloak around his shoulders and strode from the room.

It was close to midnight and the corridor beyond was deserted, only two of the seven lanterns still flickering. The King marched to the end of the corridor, wrenching open the doors. The two guards beyond snapped to attention. Ignoring them, Philip stepped out into the moonlit gardens.

The guards glanced at one another, then followed him.

'Leave me be!' he thundered.

'We cannot, sire. The Lord Attalus. .'

'Who is the King here?' he bellowed, glaring at them. They shifted uneasily, and his anger passed.

He knew their problem. If the King walked away into the night to be murdered, their own lives would be forfeit; they were in an impossible situation. 'I am sorry, lads. A burst of temper, no more than that.' He sighed. 'Women! They bring out the worst and the best in any man.' The men grinned. 'All right, follow me to the home of Parmenion.'

The half-naked King and the two black-cloaked guards crossed the gardens to the western wing of the palace. Lantern-light could be seen from Parmenion's quarters and the King did not bother to knock on the narrow side door. Opening it, he stepped inside.

Parmenion was sitting with his servant and friend, the Theban Mothac. Both men were poring over maps. The Spartan glanced up, showing no surprise at the King's entrance.

'And what are we studying?' asked Philip, striding across the room to stare down at the maps.

'The upper reaches of the River Axios, north of the Bora mountains,' said Parmenion. 'The maps came today. I commissioned them last year.'

'You are anticipating problems in that area?' Philip enquired.

'There is a new Illyrian leader named Grabus who is trying to organize a league with the Paionians. They could prove troublesome.'

Philip sat on a couch and swung to Mothac. 'Pour me some wine, Theban,' he commanded.

'Why?' responded Mothac, eyes blazing. 'Have you lost the use of your arms?'

'What?' shouted Philip, his face reddening, his earlier anger returning with redoubled force.

'I am no Macedonian — and not your servant,' Mothac told him. Philip lurched to his feet.

'Enough!' stormed Parmenion, leaping between the two men. 'What nonsense is this? Mothac, leave us!' The Theban made as if to speak, then spun on his heel and stalked from the room. 'I am sorry, sire,' the Spartan told the King. 'He is not himself. I cannot believe he would act in that manner.'

'I'll see him dead,' snarled Philip.

'Calm yourself, sire. Here, let me pour your wine. Sit for a while.'

'Do not seek to soothe me, Parmenion,' muttered Philip, but he sank back to the couch, accepting the silver cup. 'I've had my fill of people today.'

'A problem between you and the Queen?' asked Parmenion, seeking to change the subject.

'She is inside my mind. When I look at the sky, her face is there. I cannot eat, I cannot sleep.

She has bewitched me. Now she wants to hear all my plans. I'll not have it!'

Parmenion kept his expression even. 'She is very young, Philip. But she is the daughter of a King; she has been well trained, and has a fine mind.'

'It is not her mind that interests me. I am surrounded by men with fine minds. A woman should have a fine body and a sweet temperament. Do you know that she raised her voice to me? Argued with me!

Can you believe that?'

'In Sparta women are encouraged to speak their minds. In all matters — save war — they are considered the equal of men.'

'You think I should explain myself? Never! This is not Sparta. This is a man's kingdom, ruled by men, for men.'

'The kingdom,' said Parmenion softly, 'is yours. It will be ruled as you say.'

'And never forget that!'

'Why would I forget?'

'Will you discipline your servant?'

'No, sire — for he is not a servant. But I apologize on his behalf. Mothac is a lonely man, a man of sorrows and sudden tempers. He has never taken well to being treated with scorn.'

'You take his part? Against me?

'I will take no man's part against you, Philip. But listen to me; you came in here full of anger.

And, in anger, you treated him like a slave. He reacted. True, he reacted in a manner unworthy of him, but still it was a reaction. Mothac is loyal, trustworthy and the finest of friends.'

'You do not need to speak for me,' said Mothac, from the doorway. He walked across to Philip and knelt. 'I ask your pardon. . sir. It was ill-mannered of me. And I am sorry to have brought such shame to the house of my friend.'

Philip looked down at the kneeling man, his anger still great. But he forced a laugh. 'Maybe it was as well.' Standing, he raised Mothac to his feet. 'Sometimes, my friend, a crown can make a man too arrogant, too swift to react in the name of pride. Tonight is a lesson learned well. Now.

. let me pour.you a cup of wine. And then I shall bid you good night.'

Philip filled a cup, passing it to the astonished Theban.

Then he bowed and left the house. Parmenion watched him walk away in the moonlight, flanked by his guards.

* * *

'He is a great man,' said Mothac, 'but I do not like him.'

Parmenion pushed shut the door and looked into his friend's eyes. 'Most Kings would have had you killed, Mothac. At best they would have seen you whipped or banished.'

'Oh, he is clever all right,' the Theban responded. 'He values you and your talents. And he has the strength to overcome his baser desires. But what is he, Parmenion? What does he want?

Macedonia is strong — no one can doubt that. Yet still the army grows, the recruiting officers moving from village to village.' Mothac sipped his wine, then drained it in a single gulp. Sinking back to the couch, he pointed at the maps spread on the wide table. 'You asked me to co-ordinate information from lands surrounding Macedonia. We now have a constant stream of news from merchants, soldiers, travellers, wandering actors, builders and poets. Do you know what is happening in Upper Macedonia?'

'Of course,' answered Parmenion. 'Philip is building a line of fortress towns against any future Illyrian invasion.'

'True. But he is also forcibly expelling any of Illyrian blood from lands they have held for centuries. Vast tracts of timberland, valleys and pastures — all stolen from their owners. Some of the men expelled are former soldiers in the Macedonian army.'

Parmenion shrugged. 'For centuries the Illyrians have been blood enemies of Macedon. Philip is trying to end the threat — once and for all.'