The groups marched off, armed with shields and clubs. Parmenion turned to the men waiting patiently behind him. 'Look at the weapons,' he said. There were clubs and shields, but beyond them ten-foot-long staves left in a ragged pile.
Theo called his men together at the western edge of the field. 'The most dangerous group will be led by Achillas,' he told the warriors. 'He is closer to Petar than to us. We will march across the field towards them, but hold back as they clash, then we will hit the victor.'
'What about the Spartan?' Gaelan asked.
'You've seen the men he has,' Theo answered. 'We'll keep a watch on him. I think he will also hang back.'
Achillas' group was the first to move and, as Theo suspected, they angled directly towards the men with Petar. With a great shout they surged forward, clashing with the enemy, clubs cracking against shield and skull. One of Petar's men broke through, racing at Achillas, who leapt back from a blow and then cracked his club against the warrior's chin, stunning him. Petar fell under a series of hits. But then Theo and his group charged in, taking Achillas from the rear. The warrior tried to seek refuge behind his men, but Theo leapt at him, bearing him to the ground.
The Spartan!' yelled Gaelan. Theo rolled to his feet.
'Back!' he ordered his men. Pulling out of the melee, his group locked shields and watched the Spartan approach. His smaller group was also in tight formation.
'Do we charge them?' asked Gaelan.
'Wait!' replied Theo.
The defeated men sat down to watch the clash. Suddenly the Spartan's force surged forward, their long staves lancing out to punch men from their feet. Theo's front line went down. 'Move back!'
Theo bellowed, and the men ran to the southern end of the field, turning once more to face the advancing formation. Swiftly Theo outlined a plan to Gaelan and the others. Then they waited, shields locked together. Once more the Spartan's army charged. The front rank again went down, and the enemy pushed on over them, closer to Theo who had placed himself at the back of his force.
Inside the Spartan square Gaelan rose from beneath his shield and touched Parmenion on the shoulder with his club. 'Killing blow!' shouted Gaelan.
A great cheer went up from the watching warriors. Parmenion took hold of Gaelan's arm and raised it in the victor's salute, then he led all the men back to the north of the field.
'This afternoon,' he told them, 'you saw almost all the major problems faced by infantry. Petar, you experienced what happens when a charge comes unexpectedly, the sheer force of it carrying the enemy through to the centre. Achillas, you suffered the double envelopment, being hit on your flank as you engaged Petar. Theo, despite being the victor, you saw what happens when a foe is better armed, the spear giving greater length and penetration than the sword. Your ploy was a good one and I do not belittle it; indeed I will learn from it. But in a real battle, though you might have destroyed the enemy general, your troops would have been cut to pieces — and you would have died in the process.'
He presented the badges, watching with pleasure as Theo handed the second to Gaelan.
'Tonight all badge-holders will be given their prizes. Now, gentlemen, you may return to your duties — all except the generals.'
As the men wandered away, Theo, Achillas and Petar sat down with Parmenion. 'Tomorrow,' said the Spartan, 'I will be riding south to Aigai to begin training the men there. I will be gone for a week. During that time you will bring the men here every day; you will make them run, you will fight mock battles and you will issue badges. One of you will command, the other two will be under-officers. For this you will all be paid an extra drachm a day.'
'Which of us is to command?' asked Achillas.
'Who would you choose?'
'Myself,' Achillas said.
'And, if it was not to be you, who then?'
Theo.'
Parmenion turned to Petar. 'For whom would you vote, if not yourself?'
'Theo,' answered the blond-bearded warrior.
'Before you ask me,' said Theo, 'let me say that I cannot make a choice. Achillas is an old friend and a warrior I respect. Petar is a good man, but I do not know him well. I sense that I will have the deciding vote on this issue, and I protest the unfairness of such a vote. You are the strategos. We are all strangers to you and you have seen us — and judged us. So play no more games, Parmenion. You choose!'
'You have a fine mind,' said Parmenion, 'but do not complain of life's unfairness. It is never fair — at best it is impartial. I believe that all three of you have qualities of leadership, but at this moment I would not presume to judge which of you has the greatest potential. All of you are fine swordsmen, brave men. Each of you has won the respect of his fellows. I will ask you to decide now, among yourselves, who is to lead the training.'
The men looked at one another, but it was Achillas who spoke first.
'It should be Theo,' he said. Petar nodded in agreement.
'So be it,' said Parmenion. 'I thank you all. Now, Theo, let us walk together and discuss strategy.'
'It is an insult!' stormed Attalus. 'Twenty men! How can a King travel into hostile lands with only twenty men?' A murmur of agreement ran round the officers gathered in Philip's throne-room.
'What do you say, Parmenion?' asked the King.
'Bardylis is the victor. He destroyed Macedon's army. He wants the world to see that you go to him as a supplicant and not as a King.'
'And your advice?'
'Do as he says,' Parmenion answered.
'What else would you expect from a Spartan?' hissed Attalus. Parmenion chuckled and shook his head as Philip gestured Attalus to silence.
'Give us the benefit of your reasoning,' he urged Parmenion.
'It does not matter what the world sees now. In fact it could be argued that it is better for Macedon to seem. . vulnerable. What we need is time. Next year you will have an army the equal of Bardylis. A year after that, and it will be the envy of Greece.'
'But,' said Nicanor, 'there is the question of pride, of honour.'
'This is the game of Kings, young man,' Parmenion fold him. 'Today Philip must suffer for his brother's defeat. But soon it will be others who will feel the shame.'
'What of you, Antipater?' asked Philip. 'You have said littie.'
'There is little to say, sire. I agree with Attalus. The situation is not to my liking. Yet you must go — or there will be no wedding. Without the wedding, an invasion is sure.'
Philip sat back on his couch and looked at the four men. So different all of them, but each with unique skills. Cold-eyed Attalus, who could kill without remorse as long as it served to further his ambition. Nicanor, gloriously brave and doggedly loyal, a man who would ride into the whirlwind if Philip ordered it. Antipater, cool and efficient, a warrior respected by the army.
And Parmenion, who in a few short weeks had revitalized Macedonian morale, gathering a core of warriors and filling them with pride and camaraderie.
So different in looks too: Attalus thin and hatchet-faced, his skin tight around his cheekbones, his teeth too prominent, giving him the appearance of a hastily covered skull; Nicanor almost feminine of feature, fine-boned and honest-eyed; Antipater, his black beard shining like a jaguar's pelt, his dark eyes keen, observing more than his expressions showed; Parmenion, tall and slim, seeming younger than his forty-two years, his pale eyes so knowing.
On you all will I build Macedonia, thought Philip. 'We will take only four riders,' he said suddenly. 'We here will ride to Illyria and collect my bride.'