Lion of Macedon

'Indeed I am. You are looking beautiful; your clothes are very fine.'

'Thank you. But you are pale — perhaps you should rest for a while.' They sat together in uncomfortable silence for several minutes until Derae laid her hand on his arm. 'I wanted to thank you. I was terrified. You have no idea how I felt when you stood upon that rock and demanded my release. It was as if you were sent by the gods.'

'Perhaps I was,' he whispered, covering her hand with his own.

'My father was very impressed by your courage — and your initiative. I was really convinced there were men with you.'

Parmenion grinned. 'Xenophon taught me that victory is achieved by putting the thought of defeat into the heart of your enemy. To him goes the honour.'

'But to you the glory. I like to see you smile, Savra; it makes you handsome. You do not smile enough.'

Her hand was warm beneath his, and he could feel her closeness and smell the heavy scent of the perfumed oil on her hair. Her head was tilted towards him, and he could not read her eyes; the pupils were wide, her face flushed, her lips slightly parted. He found himself leaning closer towards her. She did not draw back, and his lips touched hers. Her arms encircled his neck, her body pressed in to him and he could feel her breasts against his chest. He felt dizzy, yet exhilarated. His hand slid along her shoulder and down her arm. Her hand came up to close over his fingers. For a moment only he felt disappointment, then she drew his hand down to her breast.

Then, as swiftly as it began, Derae ended the embrace, pulling back sharply.

'Not here! Not now,' she pleaded.

'When?' asked Parmenion, battling to control his surging emotions.

'When they have gone. We will hear the horses.'

'Yes… the horses.'

They sat in unnatural silence, waiting, listening as the grooms beyond the garden wall brought out the mounts, hearing the laughter of the hunters, men boasting of their skills and others mocking with gentle humour. Then came the thunder of hooves and quiet descended on the garden. Parmenion stood, reached out and took Derae's hand, drawing her up to him. He kissed her again and they walked back through the garden gate and on to the house. Back in his room Parmenion gently untied the thongs at Derae's shoulder, the white and green chiton falling to the floor.

Stepping back, he gazed at her upper body. Her arms and face were bronzed, but her breasts and waist were white as marble. Tentatively he reached out to touch her breast, his palm stroking gently across the raised nipple. She unfastened the brooch that held his chiton and, naked now, they moved to the bed.

For a while they kissed and touched, but then Derae lay back drawing Parmenion on to her. He groaned as he entered her and felt her legs slide up over his hips. In all his life he had never known such pleasure, nor dreamt of scaling such a peak of joy. It was madness, he knew, but he had no control — wished for none. Even the thought of death could not stop him now.

His passion made him want to power into her, yet he did not wish the moment to end and forced himself to move slowly, rhythmically, his eyes open, watching her face. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. He brushed his lips against hers and her mouth opened, her tongue darting against his own. He felt himself building to a climax and slid from her.

'No,' she said, pulling at him. He knelt by the side of the bed, running his tongue across her flat belly, then lifted her thigh across his shoulder. 'What are you doing?' she asked, struggling to sit. He pushed her back and lowered his head between her legs. Her hair was soft, pelt-like, and his tongue caressed her. She began to moan, softly at first and then louder. She shuddered against him, her hands tugging at his hair. Climbing to the bed, he entered her once more. Derae's arms circled his neck, and she clung to him with fierce strength until he too reached a climax.

Bathed in sweat they lay together with arms entwined. Now it was over, the passion spent, all Parmenion's fear came rushing back. What they had done was against the law. What if the servants had seen them walking hand in hand from the garden? And could they have failed to hear her cries, or the creaking of the bed? Raising himself on his elbow, he looked down at the girl. Her eyes were closed, her face wondrous in its beauty.

He knew then that she was worth the risk, worth any risk.

'I love you,' he whispered.

Her eyes opened. 'I had a dream,' she said. 'Three days ago. I went to a seeress with it. She told me that it meant I would love only one man in my life, and that he would stand and defy an army for me.'

'What was your dream?'

'I dreamt I was in a temple, and all was darkness. And I said, "Where is the Lion of Macedon?" The sun shone then and I saw a general in a white plumed helmet. He was tall and proud, and walking with the light at his back. He saw me, and opened his arms. He called me his love. That's all I remember.'

'Why was there darkness? You said the sun was shining.'

'I don't know. But the dream disturbed me. I should have thought of you, for you are half Macedonian. You are the Lion of Macedon from my dream.'

He chuckled. 'I am told Macedon has few lions,' he said. 'And it is not a country renowned for producing generals.'

'You don't believe in my dream?'

'I believe we are destined to be together,' he told her. 'And I would defy an army for you.'

'You already have.'

'That wasn't an army, that was a rabble. But I could bless them now for bringing us together.'

Leaning down, he kissed her — and his passion returned.

* * *

For five days the lovers met in secret, riding out into the hills high above the land. They saw only a few shepherd girls and spent their days wandering through the woods and making love in sheltered hollows.

For Parmenion it was a time of bliss beyond imagining. His bitterness fled from him and he revelled in the glory of the summer sun, the clear blue skies and the beauty of the land. The cruelties of his life seemed distant now, like the memory of winter snow. He could picture them, but could not feel the icy cold of their reality.

On the morning of the sixth day his world changed. He led the chestnut mare from her stall at the rear of the white-walled house and bridled her.

Xenophon walked to him, laying a hand on his arm. 'Do not ride today,' he said softly.

'I need to feel the wind in my face. I will be back soon.'

'I said no!' Xenophon snapped. 'And if you need reminding, the mare belongs to me.'

'Then I shall walk!' responded Parmenion, his face flushed with anger.

'You fool! When will you start using your mind?'

'What do you mean?'

'You know exactly what I am saying. My servants know where you are going. I know where you are going. Patroclian knows where you are going. You have conducted this affair with all the subtlety of a rutting bull.'

'How dare you?' stormed Parmenion. 'You have spied on me.'

'What need was there for spies? You took her to your room on the first day, and her cries echoed around the house. You meet her on hillsides and walk hand in hand, where you can be observed for miles. Patroclian would be within his rights to have you arrested and executed, but he is a man of honour and feels he owes you for your courage.'

'I intend to marry her,' declared Parmenion. 'It is not as you think."

'As I said, Parmenion, you are a fool! Now return the mare to her stall.'

'Allow me to ride out to Derae. I need to talk to her,' begged Parmenion.

'She will not be there; she has been sent back to Sparta.'