Servants brought them their evening meal of fish and cheese. They ate in silence for a while, but Xenophon's appetite was not good and he pushed away his plate, pouring a goblet of wine and adding a little water. He drank it swiftly and poured another.
'Perhaps Cleombrotus will make a difference,' Parmenion suggested. The Spartans had always boasted two Kings on the principle that one could lead the warriors into battle while the other stayed home and guided the fortunes of the city. Agisaleus had shared the kingship with his cousin, Agesopolis, but he was simple-minded and rarely appeared in public. Agesopolis' death, four months before, had seen the rise to power of Cleombrotus, a fine warrior and athlete.
'I doubt he will change the mind of Agisaleus,' said Xenophon. 'Cleombrotus is sound enough, but he lacks intellect. I fear for Sparta. Those whom the gods would destroy, they first make proud,'
he quoted.
'Surely pride is Sparta's great strength?' said Parmenion, watching with concern as Xenophon refilled his goblet without bothering to add water.
'Indeed it is, but do you know how many true Spartiates are left in the city? Fewer than 2,000.
For the mess bills have risen and the poorer Spartans can no longer afford to send their children.
Think of yourself. Your mother had a good holding but it has gone to pay for your education. It is nonsense. In ten years the number of Spartiates will halve again — how then will Sparta remain preeminent? And how long will it be before we see your strategy from the Games used in reality?'
'Do not let it sadden you, Xenophon. None of it is within your power to change.'
'That is what saddens me,' the general admitted.
Not for the first time Tamis found her doubts growing. Events were moving swiftly now, and she sensed the power of the Dark God's acolytes seeking her, searching for a way to attack and destroy the one who could disrupt their plans.
But Tamis was not without power of her own and she cloaked her soul, avoiding the spirit eyes of those who hunted, slipping by them like the unseen breeze that whispers through moonlit branches.
Learchus had died — killed by Parmenion. Tamis had not actively sought his death, though she knew part of the blame rested on her increasingly frail shoulders. All men die, she told herself. And was it not Learchus who had hidden in the alleyway ready to attack an unarmed boy? He had brought his doom upon himself.
Still the doubts nagged at her. Her prayers now were largely unanswered and she felt alone against the servants of Chaos. She could no longer summon Cassandra, nor any spirit of the past. The Ways were no longer open to her. It is just a test, she assured herself. The Source is still with me. I know it!
Surely it is better for a few to die out of their time, than for many — for multitudes — to suffer?
How many times had she told herself this, repeating it like a spell against her fears? Too many, she realized. But I have gone too far to falter now.
When Learchus died the Dark God's servants had turned their eyes on Sparta, weaving their spells around the survivors Nestus and Cleombrotus, watching over them. It was harder now for Tamis to manipulate their emotions secretly, encouraging them to be reckless, to risk their lives.
Yet the Watchers could not oversee everything and Tamis had waited patiently, ready to exploit even a momentary lapse. Now it had come. The girl Derae had been publicly denounced, her nance Nestus filled with righteous anger and a truly Spartan lust for revenge. Only the death of the man who had shamed him would satisfy his warrior's heart.
The Watchers were furious, Tamis knew. She could feel their anger and frustration like flames in the night. Tamis opened the shutters of her single window and stared out over the distant acropolis.
The first of many perils faced Parmenion now, and she was unable to help him, just as the Watchers were unable to protect Nestus. Now would be a time of swords, of strength and of skill. And the Watchers were closing in. Soon they would locate her, and then would come the onslaught, demons in the night tearing at her soul, or assassins in the daylight with sharp blades to rip into frail flesh.
Turning, she gazed around the squalid room that had been her home for so many, lonely years. She would not miss it, nor Sparta, nor even Greece, the home of her spirit.
Opening the door, she stepped out into the sunlight. 'For the moment, Parmenion,' she said, 'you are alone. Only your own strength and courage can aid you now.'
Leaning on a staff, a tattered grey cloak around her shoulders, Tamis walked slowly from Sparta.
Not once did she look back, nor allow a single moment of regret to touch her heart.
Back at the dwelling the temperature plummeted as a dark shadow formed on the wall opposite the window, growing, spreading, forming into the semi-translucent shape of a tall woman, hooded and veiled in black.
For several moments she moved around the room, her spirit eyes searching. Then the dark woman vanished. .
. . opening the eyes of her body in a palace across the sea. 'I will find you, Tamis,' she whispered, her voice low and cold. 'I will bring you to despair.'
Three days before the end of his stay in Olympia, Parmenion was surprised to see Hermias riding across the long meadow to the house. His friend usually journeyed south to the sea with his family for the hottest part of the summer, and their summer home was several hundred leagues from Olympia.
During the last year Parmenion had seen little of Hermias, for his friend had become close with the young King, Cleombrotus, and the two were often seen together in the city or riding in the Taygetus mountains.
Parmenion strode out to meet Hermias. He too had changed during their time at Menelaus and at nineteen he was strikingly beautiful, with no trace yet of a beard. Once a fine runner, he no longer had the inclination to exercise hard and was rarely seen at the training ground. Hermias had grown his hair long, and Parmenion could smell the perfumed Persian oil which adorned it even before his friend jumped to the ground.
'Well met, brother,' shouted Parmenion, running forward to embrace him.
Hermias pulled back from the hug. 'I have bad news, Savra. Nestus, believing the lies about you, is on his way here now. He means to kill you.'
Parmenion sighed, turning to stare at the distant hills. 'You must ride away,' urged Hermias. 'Do not be here when he comes. Tell me the truth of it and I will try to convince him.'
'The truth of it?' responded Parmenion. 'What would you have me say? I love Derae. I want. .
need. . her for my wife.'
'I accept that,' said Hermias, 'but he believes that you ravished her. I know you would never consider such a vile act, but Nestus is blinded by rage. If you go to the hills for a while, I will speak to him.'
'We made love,' said Parmenion softly, 'and we were foolish. He has every right to be angry.'
Hermias stood open-mouthed. 'You. . it is true, then?'
'I did not ravish her! We are lovers, Hermias. Try to understand, my friend.'
'What is there to understand? You behaved like. . like the Macedonian you are.' Parmenion stepped forward, reaching for his friend's arm. 'Don't touch me! Nestus is a friend of mine, and has been since we were children. Now he carries a shame he does not warrant. I know why you did it, Savra: it was to revenge yourself on Leonidas. I despise you for it. Take a horse and ride from here. Go anywhere. But do not be here when Nestus arrives.'
Hermias strode to the gelding and vaulted to the beast's back. 'I gave up much for you, Parmenion.
Now I rue the day I met you. What you have done is evil and much suffering will come of it. I loved you — as a friend and a brother. But your hate was. . and is… too strong.'