His money dwindled as the odds on his races shortened, but at the start of his third year in Thebes he won against a Thessalian named Coranus, the middle-race victor of the Olympic Games where he had narrowly beaten Leonidas of Sparta. The odds against Parmenion were five to one, and he wagered all he had. The race was close, Parmenion finishing a mere arm's length in front of the Thessalian — and then only because his opponent stumbled in the powdery dust at the last bend. It was a lesson well learned. Never again would he wager everything on a single gamble.
Two days later came the news Parmenion had feared for almost three years. Mothac ran into the courtyard. 'Epaminondas has been arrested, along with Polysperchon. They have been taken to the Cadmea for torture.'
Book Two
Thebes, Autumn, 379 BC
Ordering Mothac to stay at the house, Parmenion headed for the west of the city and the home of the councillor Calepios. An elderly servant led him to a small room with three couches and asked him to wait. After several minutes another servant entered, bowed and led the Spartan along a corridor to an elaborately decorated andron, the walls covered with Persian rugs and hangings, the floor boasting a colourful mosaic showing Heracles slaying the Nemean Lion.
There were nine couches set around the room and two servants stood by, holding pitchers of wine and water, as the master of the house reclined, apparently reading from a large scroll. Calepios looked up as Parmenion entered, and adopted the expression of a man pleasantly surprised to see an old friend. Parmenion was not fooled by the scene; there was tension in the air, and Calepios'
eyes showed fear.
'Welcome to my house, young Leon,' said the councillor, tossing aside the scroll and rising. He was not a tall man, yet he was imposing in a subtle way. His eyes were deep green under shaggy brows, and his beard was carefully curled in the Persian fashion. But it was his voice which gave him power, deep and vibrant. 'To what do I owe this pleasure?'
'May we talk alone?' asked Parmenion.
'We are alone,' said Calepios, unconsciously betraying his noble birth. For him, servants were as much a pan of the house as tables and couches.
Parmenion flicked a glance at the wine carriers and Calepios waved the men away. As the doors closed, the councillor beckoned Parmenion to the couch beside him and both men sat.
'How close are your plans to fruition?' asked Parmenion.
'Plans, my boy? What do you mean?'
'We have little time, sir, for playing games. Polysperchon and Epaminondas have been arrested. But then you know this. You are gambling that they will say nothing of your involvement in the plan to retake the Cadmea. Now I ask again, how close are you?'
Calepios' green eyes locked to Parmenion's face, and his own features tightened. 'Epaminondas trusted you,' he said softly, 'but there is no way I can help you. I don't know what you are talking about.'
Parmenion smiled. 'Then perhaps the man who was with you a moment ago can offer us some advice.'
He turned his head and looked back over his shoulder to a long, embroidered curtain. 'Perhaps you would like to come out, sir, and join us.'
The curtains parted and a tall man stepped into view. Broad-shouldered and slim-hipped, his bronzed arms showed many scars. His face was square-cut and darkly handsome, his eyes so deep a brown that they appeared black. He smiled grimly. 'You are observant, Parmenion,' commented the newcomer.
'Even an accomplished drinker does not have two pitchers of wine and two servants by his side,'
said the Spartan. 'And this couch still retained the heat from your body. You are Pelopidas?'
'Observant and sharp-witted,' said Pelopidas, moving to a nearby couch and reclining on his side.
He picked up a goblet of wine and sipped it. 'What would you have us tell you?'
Parmenion looked at the man who had fought side by side with Epaminondas, suffering seven great wounds and yet surviving, the man who with only thirty companions had fought off 200 Arcadians in a pitched battle. Pelopidas looked exactly what he was: a peerless fighter, a man made for war. 'A long time ago Epaminondas asked me to prepare a plan to take the Cadmea. I have done so. I was merely waiting for him to announce the time; it can be brought into operation within a day. But it depends upon the resources available.'
'I take it you mean men,' said Pelopidas.
'Exactly. But men who understand discipline and the necessity for timing.'
'We have more than 400 men in the city, and within minutes of a general insurrection there will be thousands of Thebans on the streets, marching upon the Cadmea. I think we can kill a few hundred Spartans.'
'My plan involves no killing of Spartans,' said Par-menion.
'Are you mad?' Pelopidas asked. 'These are Spartan warriors — you think they will give up without a fight?'
'Yes,' answered Parmenion simply.
'How?' put in Calepios. 'It would be against all tradition.'
'First,' said Parmenion quietly, 'let us examine the alternatives. We can storm the Cadmea, and -
perhaps — take it. By killing the Spartans we give Agisaleus no choices. He will bring the army to Thebes and retake the city, putting to death all who had a part in the insurrection. You will have no time to gather an army of your own. The retaking of the Cadmea in those circumstances would be the worst folly.'
'You speak like a coward!' snapped Pelopidas. 'We can raise an army — and I do not believe the Spartans are invincible in battle.'
'Neither do I,' said Parmenion, holding his voice at an even pitch. 'But there is a way to retake the Cadmea — without a battle.'
'This is all nonsense,' said Pelopidas. 'I'll listen to no more of it.'
'It must be fascinating,' said Parmenion quietly, as the warrior rose, 'to have a body like a god without a mind to match it.'
'You dare insult me?' stormed Pelopidas, the colour draining from his face as his hand reached for the dagger at his side.
'Draw that blade and you die,' Parmenion told him. 'And after you Epaminondas will die, and Thebes will remain in chains or be destroyed utterly.' Holding to the man's gaze Parmenion rose.
'Understand this,' he said, his voice shaking with repressed emotion, 'my entire life is devoted to one dream — the destruction of Sparta. For years I have been forced to wait for my vengeance, learning patience while the talons of rage tore at my soul. Now the first moment of my revenge is close. Can you imagine how much I want to see the Spartans in the Cadmea slain? How my heart cries out for them to be humbled, cut down, their bodies thrown out to feed the crows? But there is no point to petty vengeance when the greater dream lives on. First we free Thebes, then we plan for the great day. Now, Pelopidas, be silent — and learn.'
Swinging away from the warrior he turned to Calepios, outlining his plan and watching the man's every expression. The councillor was intelligent, with a keen mind, and Parmenion needed his support. Choosing his words with care the Spartan spoke quietly, answering every question Calepios put to him. Then he turned to Pelopidas.
'What now is your view, warrior?' he asked.
Pelopidas shrugged. 'Sitting here it sounds good, but I don't know how it will work in reality.
And I still think the Spartans will bring an army.'
'So do I,' agreed Parmenion, 'but they may not fight. I think Agisaleus will seek the support of Athens. The Spartans took the Cadmea three years ago because pro-Spartan dissidents in the city invited them here. They have always argued that they are guests — friends. It makes a lie of that if- when asked to leave — they return to do battle.'