Lion of Macedon

A man rose from behind a rock. 'For Athena's sake, Laris! Let the woman go, and let us get away from here!'

The leader turned to Derae. His knife slashed the thongs binding her hands, then he lifted the noose from around her neck. He turned to see the Spartan riding towards him, his bow looped over his shoulder. Laris scanned the rocks but could see no one. He licked his lips, convinced the bowman was alone; longing to plunge his blade into the Spartan, to see his life-blood draining from him.

The warrior smiled at him. 'I have told the others to let you pass and you can trust my word. But I should ride fast. I do not speak for those who follow.'

The men ran for their horses. Laris suppressed the urge to strike out; he could hear the hoofbeats of the Spartan force. Grabbing his stallion's mane, he leapt to the beast's back and galloped through the pass. As he had expected there was no one there — no archers, no hoplites, no slingers. Just rock and shale. He could feel the eyes of his men upon him. He had been tricked by one Spartan. One man had made him surrender his prize.

What now would they say in Corinth?

* * *

Parmenion leaned out, taking Derae's hand and swinging her up behind him. Then he touched heels to the mare and walked the beast back into the trees.

Within minutes Patroclian came galloping towards them, followed by Leonidas and the others.

Parmenion raised his hand and the red-bearded Spartiate drew rein as Derae eased herself to the ground.

'What happened here?' Leonidas demanded, pushing his way to the front.

'Parmenion and the others blocked the pass,' said Derae. 'He killed one of their scouts, then negotiated to allow them through if they gave me up.'

'What others?' asked Patroclian.

'Archers, I suppose,' said Derae. 'He threatened to kill all the raiders unless they released me.'

'Where are these other men?' Patroclian enquired of Parmenion. 'I would like to thank them.'

'There are no others,' Parmenion told him. Edging his mount forward, he rode through the group and back down the scree slope to where the wagon was waiting. Tossing the quiver and bow to Tinus, he lifted a waterskin from the seat beside the servant and drank deeply.

Xenophon rode alongside. 'You did well, strategos. We found where the trail swung east, but we would have been too late had you not blocked the pass. I am proud of you.' He tossed a blood-covered arrow to Tinus. 'It was a fine strike at the base of the throat, severing the windpipe and lodging in the spine. A fine strike!'

'I was aiming for the chest or belly, but I over-compensated for the gradient.'

Xenophon was about to speak when he noticed Par-menion's hands begin to tremble. He glanced at the young man's face, which showed no expression, though the blood had drained from it.

'Are you well?' asked the Athenian.

'My head is pounding, and there are lights flashing in my eyes.'

'We will camp here,' said Xenophon. Parmenion dismounted and staggered several paces before falling to his knees and vomiting. Then he stood and sucked in great gulps of air. Xenophon brought him the waterskin and he rinsed his mouth. 'You feel better?'

'I am shaking like a leaf in a storm — I can't believe it. Back there I was so calm, but now I am acting like a frightened child.'

'Back there was the work of a man, a cool man. A man of iron nerve,' Xenophon assured him. 'This takes nothing from it.'

'I feel as if there are hot lances inside my head. I have never known pain like it.' Parmenion sat down, resting his back against the wagon wheel. 'And the light is burning my eyes.' Tinus climbed down from the wagon, holding a wide hat of straw over Parmenion's head to shade him. The pain grew

— and Parmenion slipped into darkness.

* * *

Parmenion awoke several times in the night, but his head seemed filled with searing light, bringing agony and nausea. With an effort of will he slipped back into the sanctuary of sleep.

When finally he opened his eyes, the absence of pain was almost blissful. He was lying in a cool room with the shutters closed, and he could hear the low hum of conversation beyond the whitewashed walls. He sat up and saw that his left forearm was bandaged, but he could not remember being wounded.

Someone stirred in a chair across the room, and a man rose and walked over to him. He was short and slender, with wispy grey hair. He smiled.

'The pain is gone, yes?' enquired the man, his voice deep and faintly comical coming from so frail a body.

'Yes,' agreed Parmenion. 'What happened to me?'

'The world,' said the man, sitting on the bed beside him, 'is made up of four elements: earth, air, fire and water. But it is held in harmony by the will of the gods. As I understand it, you displayed an act of rare courage. You put yourself under severe stress. This caused an excess of fire in your system, heating your blood and destroying your harmony. Hot blood coursed in your brain, causing intense pain and nausea.'

'You bled me then,' said Parmenion, touching the bandage on his arm.

'I did. It is well known that this relieves the pressure. If you feel faint, I will repeat the process.'

'No, I feel fine.'

'Good. I will tell the general you are well. But you ought to be purged, young man; it would be safer.'

'Truly, I am well. The pain has gone. I commend your skill.'

The little man smiled. 'In truth I am better with wounds, but I study,' he confided.

'Will this happen to me whenever I face danger?'

'It is unlikely. I have known many men to suffer such head pain, but the attacks are usually rare and only accompany times of undue stress. It is common also among clerics who complain of blurred vision and dancing lights before their eyes. Opium is the best cure for this, processed to the Egyptian formula. I will leave some with Xenophon, in case your pain returns.'

Parmenion lay back. He fell asleep once more, and when he awoke Xenophon was sitting beside him.

'You gave us a scare, strategos. The good doctor wanted to drill a hole in your skull to release the bad humours, but I dissuaded him.'

'Where are we?'

'Olympia.'

'You mean I have slept for a full day?'

'More than that,' replied Xenophon. 'It is now almost noon on the second day. I had hoped to take you hunting, but as it is the doctor says you should rest for today.'

'I am well enough to ride,' Parmenion argued.

'I am sure you are,' agreed Xenophon soothingly, 'but I will not allow it. The doctor has spoken and we will follow his advice. Anyway, there is a guest to see you and I am sure you will not object to spending time with her while I ride out to hunt with her father.'

'Derae? Here?'

'Waiting in the gardens. Now remember, my boy, to appear feeble and wan. Elicit her sympathy.'

'I need to bathe — and shave.'

'And to dress, let us not forget that,' said Xenophon as the naked Parmenion threw back his sheet and rose from the bed.

The gardens were constructed around a shallow stream flowing from the eastern hills. White boulders had been carefully polished and placed in circles, half-buried in the soil. Around them, brightly coloured flowers had been planted after the fashion of the Persians. Stone pathways had been designed to meander through groves of oak trees, and stone benches were placed in shaded hollows. There were statues from Corinth and Thebes, mostly showing the goddess Athena in full armour, and one of Artemis carrying a bow. By a small man-made lake there was a series of statues portraying the twelve labours of Heracles. Usually Parmenion would sit by them, enjoying the cool breeze across the water, but not today. He found Derae sitting by the stream under the shade of a willow. She was dressed in an ankle-length chiton of white, edged with green and gold. Around her waist and looped over her shoulders was a sea-green chlamys — a long, rectangular strip of fine linen, delicately embroidered. As she saw him, she stood and smiled. 'Are you now well, hero?' she asked.