Lion of Macedon

'He would have died in agony from the stomach wound," said Xenophon. 'If anything, you ended his misery.'

'That is not the point, is it?' asked Parmenion quietly, turning to face the silver-haired Athenian.

'No, it is not. You destroyed him, and it was not good to see. Also you made enemies. No one who saw the duel will forget the way he died. But in Thebes you can make a new life. Epaminondas is a good man and he will find a place for you.'

Parmenion sank back on a marble seat. 'Derae had a dream about me, but it was a false one. She dreamt she was in a temple and I came to her dressed as a general; she called me the Lion of Macedon.'

'It has a good ring to it,' said Xenophon, suddenly feeling the chill of the evening and shivering. 'Let us go back to the house. I have some gifts for you.'

Clearchus had set out the presents on a long table and Parmenion moved first to the bronze breastplate. It was simply made and not, as in more expensive pieces, shaped to represent the male chest. Yet it was strong and would withstand any sword-thrust. At the centre of the breast was a lion's head, cast in iron. Parmenion glanced up at Xenophon. 'Perhaps she was not so wrong,' the Athenian whispered. Parmenion reached out and stroked his fingers across the lion's jaws. Beside the breastplate was a round helm, also of bronze and lined with leather. There were greaves, a bronze-studded leather kilt and a short dagger with a curved blade.

'I do not know what to say,' Parmenion told his friend.

'They were to have been a Manhood gift. But now, I think, is a better time. There is something else which I hope will prove useful.'

Xenophon lifted a leather-bound scroll and passed it to Parmenion, who opened the tiny buckles and spread the parchment. 'It details my journeys across Persia and the march to the sea. I do not claim to be a great writer, but there is much that a soldier can learn from my notes, and many of my friends have asked me for copies of it.'

'I will never be able to repay you for your kindness.'

'Friends never need repaying, it is what makes them friends. Now prepare yourself for the journey.

With luck the Spartans will forget about you as time passes.'

Parmenion shook his head. 'They will not forget, Xenophon. I will see to that.'

'You are a man alone, and such thoughts are foolish. Sparta is the power in Greece and will remain so long past our lifetimes. Forget about vengeance, Parmenion. Even the might of Persia could not bring down Sparta.'

'Of course you are correct,' said the young man, embracing his friend.

But as the dawn was breaking and he rode from the estate, he thought of Derae's dream and of Thebes, and the Spartan garrison there. A hostile force, hated and feared, dwelling at the centre of a city of 30,000 Thebans.

Drawing his sword, he gazed down at the gleaming blade. 'I pledge you to the destruction of Sparta,' he whispered. Raising the weapon high he pointed it to the south-east and, though the city was far beyond his range of vision, he pictured the sword poised above it with the sun's harsh light turning it to fire.

'I carry the seeds of your hatred,' he shouted, hurling his words to the winds, 'and I know where to plant them.'

Yes, he thought, Thebes is the right destination for the Lion of Macedon.

Thebes, Autumn, 382 BC

'I care nothing about omens,' said the warrior, his voice shaking. 'Let us gather an army and drive the cursed Spartans from the city.'

The tall man at the window turned to the speaker and smiled. Allowing the silence to grow, his dark eyes raked the room. 'We three,' he said at last, 'hold the hopes of our city in our hearts.

We must not be rash.' Ignoring the warrior, he locked his gaze to the sea-green eyes of the orator Calepios. 'The Spartans seized Thebes because they knew we had not the force to oppose them. What we must consider is what they want from us.'

'How do we do that?' Calepios asked.

'What they want is sharp swords in their bellies!' roared the warrior, surging to his feet.

The tall man moved swiftly to him, dropping his voice. 'Why not get closer to the window, Pelopidas? For then you could let the whole city hear you!'

'I'm sick of this constant talk,' Pelopidas replied, but he lowered his voice. 'It offends me that we allow the Spartans to strut around Thebes.'

'You think you are the only man who finds it so?' the tall man asked him.

Their eyes met. 'I am sorry, my friend,' said the warrior, 'but it knots my belly and clouds my mind. Speak on.'

'We must decide what the Spartans desire — and do the opposite. But we must use stealth and cunning, and we must learn patience.'

The tall man moved back to the window, staring out over the city and the hill upon which the Cadmea stood, its high walls patrolled by Spartan soldiers.

'It seems to me,' said Calepios, 'that the Spartans desire what they have always desired -

conquest. They want to rule. Agisaleus hates Thebes. Now he has us.'

'But does he have what he wants'}' queried the tall man. 'I think they are hoping we will rise against them and attack the Cadmea. If we do that, spilling Spartan blood, they will descend upon us with a full army. They will sack the city — maybe even destroy it. And we have no force with which to oppose them.'

'There are other cities,' said Pelopidas. 'We could ask for help.'

'Cities full of spies and loose mouths,' snapped the tall man. 'No, I suggest we organize ourselves. You, Pelopidas, should leave the city. Take to the open country. Gather to yourself warriors and move north, selling your services as mercenaries in Thessaly or Illyria or Macedonia -

it does not matter where. Build a force. Prepare for the day when you are summoned back to Thebes.'

'And what of me?' Calepios asked.

'The pro-Spartan councillors now lord it over the city — you must become part of their ruling elite.'

'I will be hated by the people,' the orator protested.

'No! You will never speak about the Spartans in public, neither to criticize nor praise. You will devote yourself to working among Thebans, helping and advising. You will invite no Spartans to your home. Trust me, Calepios; we need a strong man at the centre, and your abilities are respected by all. They will need you — even as we need you.'

'And what of you, Epaminondas?' asked the warrior.

'I will stay in the city, and slowly I will gather supporters for the cause. But remember this: it is vital that the Spartans find no excuse to send an army into our lands — not until we are ready.'

The door to the andron opened and Calepios leapt from his seat as a servant entered and bowed.

'Sir,' he said to the tall man, 'there is a Spartan to see you.'

'Do they know?' whispered Calepios, his face reddening.

'Is he alone?' Epaminondas asked.

'Yes, sir. He has a letter from the general Xenophon.'

'Show him to the Eastern room, I will see him there,' said the tall man. 'Wait here for a little,'

he told the others, 'then leave by the rear alleys.'

'Be careful, my friend,' warned the warrior. 'Without you we are nothing.'

* * *

Epaminondas leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes fixed to the young man's face. 'And how is the general?' he asked, his fingers drumming on the desk before him.

'He is well, sir. He sends you greetings and I have a letter for you.'

'Why did he send you to me, Parmenion? I am merely a private citizen in a city ruled by…

others. I can offer you little.'

The younger man nodded. 'I understand that, sir. But Xenophon said you were a soldier of great skill. I think he hoped you would find me a place in the army of Thebes.'