'No, don't touch me!' cried Gryllus, backing away. 'I want nothing from you.' Turning, he ran across the courtyard and out on to the main street. Xenophon sighed. He had tried so hard with the child, painstakingly teaching him, trying to fill Gryllus with thoughts of honour, loyalty, duty and courage. But to no avail. And Xenophon had watched him grow, had seen the birth of arrogance and cruelty, vanity and deceit. 'I do not hate you,' he whispered, 'but I cannot love you.'
He was about to enter the house when he saw an old man standing by the sand-pit, staring down at the soldiers. As the host, Xenophon was compelled by good manners to speak to him and he strolled across the courtyard.
'May I offer you refreshment?' he enquired.
The old man looked up into the general's face. 'You do not remember me?' he asked, lifting the stump of his right arm.
Tasian? Sweet Hera! I thought you dead!'
'I should be — sometimes I wish I was. They cut my right hand away, general, leaving me to bleed to death. But I made it home. Sixteen years it took me.' Pasian smiled, showing broken, rotted teeth. 'Home,' he said again, his voice wistful. 'We fought our way clear of the Persians and forted up in a circle of boulders. We could see Agisaleus and the mam force and thought they would come to our aid. But they did not. We were only Sciritai, after all. One by one we died. I killed eleven men that day. The Persians were not best pleased with me, Xenophon; they took my hand. I managed to stop the bleeding, and I found a farmer who covered the wound with boiling pitch.'
'Come inside, my friend. Let me fetch you wine — food.'
'No, though I thank you. I came only to see the boy — to watch him win.'
'Leonidas?'
'No. The other boy — Savra. He's no Spartan, Xenophon, and may the gods be praised for that!'
'How do you know him? He was not born when you marched into Persia.'
'I met him on the road, general. . when I was almost home. You know, I had not realized how old I had become until I saw the hills of my childhood. All these years I have struggled to come home -
and there I was, a decrepit cripple with a broken cart. I called out to him for help, and he came.
He took me to my son's house. And not once did he tell me I had lost him the Great Race. Can you imagine that?'
'He finished last, I believe,' said Xenophon.
'He was first — in sight of the city. And I have nothing to give him. No possessions. No coin. But I will pay my debt, Xenophon, by claiming another. Twice I saved your life. Will you honour my debt?'
'You know I will — as I hope you know that, had I been in Persia with Agisaleus, I would have come for you.'
Pasian nodded. 'I do not doubt it, general. I understand the boy is a mix-blood, with little money and less influence. Help him, Xenophon.'
'I shall, I promise you.'
Pasian smiled and walked away, stopping for one last look at the sand-pit. 'I enjoyed the battle,'
he said, over his shoulder. 'Nice to see the Spartans humbled.'
Parmenion raced out through the gates and into the noon- deserted streets. He did not feel the intensity of the sun on his skin, nor the pain of his bruises. He did not see the houses as he passed them, nor hear the yapping dogs that snapped at his heels.
His head was full of the roaring of anguish, and all he could see was his mother's face floating before his mind's eye — soft and smiling, calm and understanding.
She was dying.
Dying. .
The word hammered at him over and over, and his vision blurred, yet still he ran. He knew then that he had always known. When the weight fell away from her once beautiful face, when her limbs had become skeletal and her eyes had grown dull. And all the other signs of blood and pain. Yet he could not face what he knew, and had turned his eyes and his mind away.
He came to Leaving Street and cut off through the poorer quarter, cannoning into a fat trader and knocking him from his feet. The man's curses followed him.
The doorway of his house was blocked by neighbours, standing silently. He pushed his way through them and found Rhea sitting by the bedside. The doctor, Astion, was standing in the small courtyard with his back to the room. Parmenion stood in the doorway, his heart pounding as Rhea turned to him.
'She has gone,' said the woman, rising and moving to Parmenion, her plump arms circling him.
'There is no more pain.'
Tears flowed to Parmenion's cheeks as he stared at the slender body on the bed. 'She did not wait for me,' he whispered.
Rhea hugged hurt for a moment and then moved to the door, gently pushing back the neighbours and friends, closing the door on them. Then she returned to the bed and sat, taking Artema's small hand in hers. 'Come,' she told Parmenion. 'Sit by her on the other side. Say farewell.' Parmenion stumbled forward and took his mother's right hand, and together they sat in silence for a while.
Astion entered, but they did not see him and he left quietly.
'She talked of you at the end,' said Rhea. 'She spoke of her pride. She wanted to wait, to see you, to know how you fared.'
'I won, Mother,' said Parmenion, gripping the lifeless fingers. 'I won before them all.' He gazed down at Artema's face. The eyes were closed, the features still.
'She looks peaceful,' Rhea whispered.
Parmenion shook his head. He could not see the peace, only the terrible finality of death, the total stillness, the separation. Yet her hand was warm and the fingers supple. How many times had she stroked away his pains, or patted his face with these hands? He felt a terrible knotting in his stomach and a swelling in his throat. Tears fell more freely, coursing down his face and splashing against his mother's hand.
'She talked of a white horse,' said Rhea. 'She could see it on a hillside. It was coming for her and she said she was going to ride it all the way back to Macedonia. I do not know if that is a comfort. She also said she could see your father, waiting for her.'
Parmenion could not speak but, reaching out, he touched the skin of his mother's face.
'Say goodbye,' whispered Rhea. 'Tell her goodbye.'
'I can't,' sobbed Parmenion. 'Not yet. Leave me for a while. Please, Rhea!'
'I need to prepare the… I'll come back in a while.' She walked to the door and stopped. 'I loved her, she was a fine woman and a good friend. I will miss her, Parmenion. There was not an evil thought in her; she deserved better.'
When he heard the door close Parmenion felt the floodgates of his grief give way and he sobbed uncontrollably, his mind awash with images. He could remember his father only dimly as an enormous dark giant moving about the house, but his mother had been with him always. When, as was the Spartan custom, he had been taken at seven to live in a barracks with other boys, she had wept and held him to her as if his life was in danger. He had sneaked out often, climbing over walls and roof-tops to see her.
Now he would see her no more.
'If you loved me you'd come back,' he said. 'You would never have left me.' He knew the senselessness of the words, but they were torn from him.
He sat with the corpse until the light began to fade. Hearing a door open, he expected Rhea's hand upon his shoulder.
'I bring your trophy, general,' said Xenophon softly. 'Cover her face and we will talk in the courtyard.'
'I can't cover her face!' protested Parmenion.
Xenophon moved to the other side of the bed. 'She is not here, boy; she is gone. What you see is the cloak that she wore. It is no terrible thing to cover her.' His voice was gentle and Parmenion blinked away his tears and stared up at the Athenian.
Tenderly Parmenion lifted the white sheet over the still face.
'Let us talk for a while,' said Xenophon, leading the boy into the courtyard and sitting on the stone seat. The Athenian now wore a long cloak of blue-dyed wool over a white linen tunic, and calf-length sandals of the finest leather. Yet still he looked every inch the soldier. He was carrying the sword of Leonidas, which he placed in Parmenion's hands.