Lion of Macedon

He could hear the sound of pounding feet and kicked the gelding into a run, galloping past the running figure of Leonidas.

'Wait!' shouted the man.

The gelding thundered out on to the main avenue, where Parmenion slowed him until they reached the main gates. Then he allowed the horse his head, riding at speed towards the mountains.

Glancing back, he saw two horsemen galloping from the city. The gelding was breathing hard as they topped a rise and Parmenion had no choice but to slow down. Even so he took the horse along narrow paths and treacherous trails where he guessed the riders would not follow.

He was wrong. As he made camp in a cave high upon a ridge he heard the sound of walking horses on the scree outside. He had a fire blazing, and there was no way to disguise his presence.

'Come inside, there's a warm fire,' he called, keeping his voice cheerful and bright. Moments later two men entered the cave. One was tall, his beard dark and heavy, the other slender but well-muscled. Both wore swords and breastplates.

'Leonidas wished to speak with you,' said the bearded man. 'What is your name, friend?'

'Andicles. And yours?' asked Parmenion, rising.

'And what of your family?' continued the man. 'Where do you live?'

'By what right do you question me, Sciritai?' stormed Parmenion. 'Since when do slaves badger their masters?'

The man's face burned crimson. 'I am a free man and a warrior and, Spartan or no, I'll take no insults!'

'Then offer none!' snapped Parmenion. 'I am a messenger of the King, and I answer to no man. Who is this Leonidas that he should send you to question me?'

The slender man moved closer. 'By all the gods, Leonidas was right! It is you, Parmenion!'

Parmenion's eyes narrowed as he recognized the man; it was Asiron, one of the boys who had taunted him at Lycurgus Barracks ten years before.

'There is obviously some mistake here,' he said, smiling.

'No,' said Asiron. 'I'd stake my life on it.'

'Yes, you have,' replied Parmenion, drawing his sword and slashing it swiftly across Asiron's throat. The man hurled himself back from the gleaming blade, but blood was already gouting from the wound in his neck.

The Sciritai leapt to his left, drawing his own sword and grinning wolfishly. 'Never killed a Spartan yet,' he hissed, 'but I always wanted to.'

The Sciritai attacked with blinding speed. Parmenion parried and jumped back, his right forearm stinging. Glancing down, he saw a line of blood oozing from a narrow cut. 'I think I'll take you a slice at a time,' said the Sciritai. 'Unless you'd like to surrender and throw yourself on my mercy?'

'You are very skilful,' Parmenion told him as they circled one another. The Sciritai smiled, but said nothing. He launched an attack, feinted with a belly thrust and then slashed his sword towards Parmenion's face. The blade sliced agonizingly close to Parmenion's throat, the tip opening the skin of his cheek.

'A slice at a time,' repeated the Sciritai. Parmenion moved to his left, putting the fire between them, then sliding his foot forward into the blaze he flicked burning branches into the Sciritai's face. His opponent stumbled back, oiled beard aflame. Parmenion ran in close, slamming his sword into the man's groin. The Sciritai screamed and lashed out, but Parmenion ducked and wrenched his blade clear. As bright arterial blood gushed from the wound, drenching the Sciritai's leg, Parmenion moved back, waiting for him to fall. Instead, the Sciritai charged him. Parmenion blocked a vicious cut, but the man's fist cracked into his chin, sprawling him to the cave floor; he rolled as the man's iron blade clanged next to his head, sending a shower of sparks into the air. The Sciritai staggered, his blood pooling on the floor by his feet.

'By the gods,' he muttered thickly. 'I think you've killed me, boy.'

He sank to his knees, dropping his sword.

Parmenion sheathed his own blade and caught the man as he toppled sideways. Lowering him to the ground, he sat beside the warrior as his face grew ever more pale.

'Never… got to… kill a… Spa. .' His eyes closed, his last breath rattling from his throat. Parmenion rose and walked to Asiron. The man had hit his head on the cave wall as he jumped back from Parmenion's wild cut. His throat was bleeding, but the cut was not deep and already the blood was clotting. Removing the man's sword-belt, he bound his hands behind him and then rebuilt the fire. His right foot was blistered from the flames and he removed his sandals, hurling them across the cave. It took more than an hour for Asiron to wake: at first he struggled against his bonds, then he sat back and stared at Parmenion.

'You treacherous dog!' he hissed.

'Yes, yes,' said Parmenion wearily. 'Let us have all the insults first — then we can talk.'

'I have nothing to say to you,' answered Asiron, his eyes flicking to the body of the Sciritai and widening in shock. 'Gods, I never believed he could be bested with a blade!'

'All men can be bested,' said Parmenion. 'What did Leonidas say to you?'

'He thought he recognized you, but could not be sure. He sent me — and Damasias — to intercept you.'

Parmenion nodded. 'Not sure. . that is good. Then even now the Spartan army is marching upon its old enemy. I wonder if they are singing battle songs of glory. What do you think, Asiron?'

'I think you are a misbegotten and vile creature.'

'Is that any way to speak to an old friend who has decided not to kill you?'

'You'll get no thanks from me.'

Parmenion chuckled. 'Do you remember the night before the General's Games, when you and Learchus and Gryllus attacked me? I spent that night hiding upon the acropolis, dreaming of the day when I could repay you all. But then children are like that, aren't they, full of fantasies? As you sit here I have sent the Spartan army to invade Athens. My heart is glowing.'

'You make me sick! Where is your loyalty? Your sense of honour?'

'Honour? Loyalty? Why, I think that was thrashed out of me by good Spartan gentlemen like yourself, who pointed out that I was a Macedonian — not a Spartan at all. For whom should I express my loyalty?' His voice hardened. 'To the people who killed the woman I loved? To the city that made me an outcast? No, Asiron. I left you alive for a simple reason. I want you to tell Leonidas that it was I who organized the retaking of the Cadmea — and I who set Sparta at war with Athens. And more, my old, dear friend. It will be I who will see Sparta destroyed, her buildings razed, her power at an end.'

'Who do you think you are?' Asiron asked, with a dry, humourless laugh.

'I'll tell you who I am,' answered Parmenion, the words of Tamis echoing in his mind. 'I am Parmenion, the Death of Nations.'

* * *

Soon after dawn Parmenion released Asiron and rode for Thebes. The cuts on his face and arm were healing fast, but his right foot was burned and blistered, leaving his mood grim as he cantered to the city gates. An arrow flashed by him, then another. Swinging the gelding's head, he galloped out of range. Several horsemen rode out towards him, swords drawn. Parmenion wrenched off the Spartan helmet and waited for them.

'It is I,' he yelled, 'Parmenion!' The horsemen surrounded him and he recognized two of the men as members of the Sacred Band. They began to question him, but he waved them away and steered his mount into the city to report to Epaminondas.

Four days later Parmenion was awakened at midnight by shouting outside his home. Rising from his bed, disgruntled and annoyed, he threw a cloak around his naked frame and moved down the stairs, meeting Mothac as he emerged to the courtyard. 'I'll crack his skull, whoever he is,' muttered the Theban as the pounding on the gate began. Mothac pulled open the gate and Pelopidas ran in, followed by Epaminondas. The drunken Theban warrior grabbed Parmenion round the waist, hoisting him into the air and swinging him round.