'Who succeeded Perdiccas?'
'One of the princes. . Philip, I think he said.'
'I knew him in Thebes. I liked him.'
'Oh no,' said Mothac. 'Don't even think it.'
Think what?'
'I see that look in your eye, Parmenion. They have no army and the wolves are gathering — it is folly to even think of it. Anyway, this Philip has made no offer.'
Parmenion chuckled. 'No army, and strong enemies all around him. It is very appealing, Mothac.'
'There is nothing appealing about death!' snapped the Theban.
Archelaos was murdered as he crossed the river Axios to the north-west of Pella, and with his death opposition to Philip from within Macedonia was ended. But it did not end his problems. The Illyrians had crushed the Macedonian army in the north-west, and now the Paionian tribes of the north had invaded, sacking two cities and thirty villages. Worse was to follow for the new King.
In the east the Thracians were massing to invade — ready to install a distant cousin of Philip's, Pausanias, as a puppet ruler. And from the south came word that the Athenians were sponsoring yet another cousin, Argaios, and he was marching with an army to contest the throne.
'What surprises me,' Philip confided to Nicanor, his closest friend, 'is why anyone should wish to take over the kingdom now. There's precious little left that isn't already in enemy hands.'
'You'll win, though, Philip. You will. There's not a man in Greece to out-think you.'
Philip chuckled and threw his arm around his friend's shoulder. 'I would accept that compliment more readily if there was any basis for it in fact. But I need a miracle. I need Parmenion.'
'What can a Spartan do for us?'
'He can build me an army — and, by the bones of Heracles, I need one. Find him for me, Nicanor.
Send out riders, use the seers. Anything. Find him.'
Pushing the problems from his mind, he found himself remembering his days as a hostage in Thebes eleven years ago, when he had watched the legendary Parmenion training the Sacred Band. There was something about the man, a calm that spoke of great strength, and in his pale eyes Philip had seen an understanding, sensing an affinity with the Spartan warrior.
Then had come Leuctra and the defeat of the awesome Spartans. Parmenion's victory. From that time Philip had begun to look for news of the Spartan's travels, listening eagerly to tales of his victories in Egypt and Persia. Satraps offered him fortunes in gold and jewels, vying for the favours of the greatest general of the age. Even the Great King was said to be in awe of his skill.
Once an enemy army surrendered when they heard that Parmenion had been hired to lead a force against them. Even his name had power.
How I need you now, thought Philip.
Attalus approached the King as he stood by the window, his thoughts distant. 'What of the babe, sire?' he whispered. 'Do you wish it despatched?'
It was a reasonable question and Philip considered it. If allowed to grow, his nephew would one day perhaps seek to win his father's throne. And it was customary to eliminate all other claimants.
Philip sighed. 'Where is Simiche?'
'As you commanded, the Queen is a prisoner in her rooms. She still has three hand-maidens, and the child is with her.'
'I will do it,' said Philip. He walked swiftly from the throne-room and down the long corridor to the adjoining building in the east. Two guards saluted as he reached the Queen's quarters; he nodded to them and entered Simiche's private chamber. The Queen was a small woman, elfin-faced, her hair long and dark. She looked up as he entered and almost managed to keep the fear from her face. The toddler, Amyntas, smiled as he saw his uncle and tottered towards him.
Simiche stood and gathered the child to her, stroking his dark curls.
Philip dismissed the hand-maidens, who ran from the room. Simiche said nothing; she did not plead, she merely sat, cuddling her son. Philip was torn. His hand was on his knife-hilt, but he stood in the centre of the room confused and uncertain. Perdiccas could have ordered Philip's death, but he had not. Now Philip was standing before the woman Perdiccas had loved and the son he had adored.
He sighed. 'The boy will be safe, Simiche,' he said at last. 'No harm will come to him. You will go to my summer home and raise him there. I will see you have a good allowance for his education.'
'Do not deceive me, Philip,' she replied. 'If you plan to have us killed, do it now. Do not raise false hopes. Be a man — and use that knife. I will not resist.'
'You have my word, Simiche. There is no question of killing the boy."
She closed her eyes, her head dropping. Tears fell to her cheeks, the release of tension making her tremble as she hugged the boy to her, kissing his face. He struggled to be free of such intense emotion. Philip sat beside the Queen, putting his arm around her. The boy reached out, and giggled as he tugged the King's dark beard.
'May the gods bless you,' Simiche whispered.
'They are not making good work of it at present,' said Philip.
'They will,' she promised him. 'Perdiccas loved you, Philip — but he was in awe of you. He said you had greatness within you and I believe that now. What will you do?'
He shrugged and smiled, ruffling the boy's hair. 'I have no army, and am being attacked from the west, the north, the east and the south. I think I will shave off my beard and become a travelling actor — a reader of comedies.'
She laughed then. 'You will think of something. What is it that you need most?'
'Time,' he answered, without hesitation.
'Who is the greatest enemy?'
'The old wolf, Bardylis. His Illyrians have already crushed the army. If he marches on Pella, there is nothing I can do to stop him.'
'It is said he has a daughter of surpassing ugliness,' said Simiche softly. 'Her name is Audata and he has tried — unsuccessfully — to arrange marriages for her with lowly princes. I daresay he has given up thinking of a King for her.'
'A bride of surpassing ugliness? Something I have always wanted,' replied Philip, and their laughter filled the room.
The days passed with an ominous lack of movement from his enemies, and Philip worked long into the nights, preparing despatches for Athens, to friends in Thessaly to the south and Amphipolis in the east. He sent Nicanor to Bardylis in Illyria, formally requesting the hand of his daughter Audata in marriage, and promising to pay a tribute of 500 talents a year from the day of the wedding. To the Thracian King, Cotys, he sent a long letter assuring him of friendship; but carrying the assurance was the cold-eyed Attalus.
Philip gave him two small metal phials, each marked with different letters. 'This one,' said Philip, 'contains a deadly poison, but it is slow-acting. The other is an antidote. You must find a way to poison the King — without suspicion falling on you. Cotys has three sons, and they hate each other. Once the old man is dead they will never unite to threaten us.'
Attalus smiled. 'You are taking to this business rather well, my friend. I thought you had no desire to be King?'
'A man takes what the gods thrust upon him,' Philip answered. 'But it is vital that Cotys dies.
Before the deed is done, seek out the pretender Pausanias and tell him you are disenchanted with me. Tell him you wish to serve him against me. I leave it to you how you kill him. . but do it.'
'I do not wish to sound like a Cretan mercenary, sire, but it would be pleasant to know that I will return to some honoured position in your service.'
Philip nodded and took the tall warrior by the arm, leading him to a couch by an indoor pool of marble. 'You do not need to call me sire when there is no one else present. You are my friend, Attalus, and I trust you as I trust no other. You are the King's right hand, and as I prosper so will you. Do you trust me?'