But now, on the fourth day, Mothac no longer believed it.
The flesh was melting away from Parmenion's face and there was no sign of a return to consciousness. Filling a goblet with cool water Mothac lifted Parmenion's head, holding the goblet to his lips. The water dribbled from the sleeping man's mouth and the Theban gave up.
Hearing the gate below creak open, he walked to the door. Horas entered the house, climbing the stairs to the bedroom where he unrolled his pack of knives. Mothac looked hard at the tall, thin physician; he did not like surgeons, but envied them their knowledge. Never would he hav& believed he would ever defy such a skilled and clever man. But today he knew there would be no further blood-letting, and he stepped over to the physician.
'Put away your knife,' he said.
'What's this?' enquired Horas. 'He needs bleeding. Without it he will die.'
'He's dying anyway,' said Mothac. 'Leave him be.'
'Nonsense,' said Horas, lifting a skeletal hand and attempting to push Mothac aside. But the servant stood his ground, his face reddening.
'I had a wife, master physician. She too was bled daily — until she died. I'll not see Parmenion follow her. You said he was resting, recovering his strength. But you were wrong. Now you can go.'
He glanced down at the doctor's hand, which still rested against his chest.
Horas hastily removed his hand, replaced his knife and rolled his pack. 'You are interfering in matters you do not understand,' he said. 'I shall go to the justices and have you forcibly removed from this room.'
Mothac grabbed the man's blue tunic, hauling him close. All colour drained from his face and his eyes shone like green fire — Horas blanched as he gazed into them.
'What you will do, doctor, is go away from here. If you take any action which results in the death of Parmenion, I will hunt you down and cut out your heart. Do you understand me?'
'You are insane,' Horas whispered.
'No, I am not. I am merely a man who keeps his promises. Now go!' And Mothac hurled the physician towards the door.
After the man had gone Mothac settled down in the chair beside the bed. He had no idea what to do, and a sense of rising panic set his hands trembling.
Surprised by his reaction, he looked down at Par-menion's face — aware for the first time how much he loved the man he served. How curious, he thought. Parmenion was in many ways a distant man, his thoughts and dreams a mystery to Mothac; they rarely talked of deep matters, never joked with one another, never discussed their secret longings. Mothac leaned back and gazed out of the window, remembering the first night he had come to the house of Epaminondas, the death of Elea like a hot knife in his heart. Parmenion had sat with him, silently, and he had felt his companionship, felt his caring without the need for words.
The three years he had served Parmenion had been happy ones, to his amazement. Thoughts of Elea remained, but the jagged sharp edges of hurt had rounded, allowing him at least to recall the times of joy.
The creaking gate cut through his thoughts and he rose, drawing his dagger. If the doctor had brought back officers of the watch, then he would see what it meant when Mothac made a promise!
The door opened and Epaminondas entered. The Theban's face was swollen, his eyes dark and bruised.
He walked slowly to the bedside and looked down at the sleeping man.
'No better?' he asked Mothac.
The servant sheathed his blade, 'No. I stopped the physician bleeding him; he has threatened to go to the justices.'
Epaminondas eased his tortured body into a chair. 'Calepios tells me that Parmenion suffered terrible pains in the head.'
'It happens sometimes,' Mothac told him, 'especially after races. The pain was intense, and on occasions he would almost lose his sight. Parmenion told me only a month ago that the attacks were increasing.'
Epaminondas nodded. 'I had a letter from a friend in Sparta; his name is Xenophon. He was Parmenion's mentor for several years and he witnessed the first attack. The physician then believed there was some growth in Parmenion's skull. I hope he does not die. I would like to thank him. I could not have taken much more. . punishment.'
'He won't die,' said Mothac.
Epaminondas said nothing for a while, then he looked up at the servant. 'I was wrong about you, my friend,' he admitted.
'It does not matter. Do you know of anyone who could help him?'
Epaminondas rose. 'There is a healer, a herbalist named Argonas. Last year the Guild of Physicians sought to have him expelled from the city; they say he is a fraud. But a friend of mine swears Argonas saved his life. And I know of a man, blinded in the right eye, who can now see again. I will send the physician here, tonight.'
'I have heard of the man,' said Mothac. 'His fees are huge. He is fat and wealthy, and treats his servants worse than slaves.'
'I did not say he was pleasant company. But let us be honest, Mothac. Parmenion is dying: I cannot see him lasting another night. But do not concern yourself with thoughts of fees; I will settle them. I owe him much — all of Thebes owes him more than we can repay.'
Mothac gave a dry, humourless laugh. 'Yes, I have noted how often Calepios and Pelopidas have come to see how he fares.'
'Calepios has obeyed Parmenion's last instruction,' Epaminondas told him. 'He has gone to Athens to seek their aid against Spartan vengeance. And Pelopidas is training hoplites, trying to build an army in case Cleombrotus comes against us. Stay here, with Parmenion. I will send Argonas. And, Mothac… get some food inside you and rest awhile. It will not help your master if you fall sick.'
'I am as strong as an ox. But you are right. I will get some sleep.'
It was dusk before Argonas arrived at the small house. Mothac had fallen asleep in the courtyard and he awoke to see an enormous figure, swathed in a red and yellow cloak, looming over him.
'Well, fellow, where is the dying man?' Argonas asked, his voice deep, seeming to echo from within the vastness of his chest.
Mothac rose. 'He's in the bedroom upstairs. Follow me.'
'I need to eat something first,' said Argonas. 'Fetch me some bread and cheese. I'm famished.' The fat man sat down at the courtyard table. For a moment Mothac stood and stared, then he turned and strode to the kitchen. He sat and watched as Argonas devoured a large loaf and a selection of cheese and dried meat that would have fed a family of five for a full day. The food simply disappeared, with little evidence of chewing. At last the doctor belched and leaned back, stroking crumbs from his glistening black beard. 'And now a little wine,' he said. Mothac poured a goblet and passed it across the table. As Argonas reached out, his pudgy fingers curling round the goblet, Mothac noted that each finger boasted a golden ring set with a gem.
The doctor drained the wine at a single swallow and then rose ponderously. 'Now,' he said, 'I am ready.'
Following Mothac to the bedroom, he stood looking down at Parmenion in the lantern light. Mothac was standing in the doorway, watching the scene. Argonas had brought no knives, and that at least was a blessing. The physician bent over the bed and reached down to touch Parmenion's brow; as his fingers brushed against the burning skin, Argonas cried out and stumbled back.
'What is wrong with you?' asked Mothac.
Argonas did not reply at first, and his dark eyes narrowed as he looked down on the dying man. 'If he lives, he will change the world,' whispered the physician. 'I see the ruins of empire, the fall of nations. It might be better to leave him.'