Lion of Macedon

'Move your head back, sire,' he said. Bardylis looked up at the man and offered his neck. The knife continued its work until at last the servant stepped back.

Bardylis stroked the skin of his face and head. 'You did well, Boli,' he told the man. 'Now tell me, why did my threat not unnerve you?'

The man shrugged. 'I don't know, lord.'

'Then I shall tell you,' said Bardylis, smiling. 'It is because you decided that if you made a single nick you would cut my throat and then run for your life.'

Boli's eyes widened and Bardylis saw that the truth had hit home. He gave a dry chuckle and pushed himself to his feet. 'Do not let it concern you.'

'If you knew that, lord, then why did you threaten me?'

'A little danger adds spice to life, and — by the Balls of Zeus — when you reach eighty-three you need a lot of spice. Send in Grigery.'

Bardylis wandered to a bronze mirror and gazed at his reflection, hating the sagging skin of his face, the spindly limbs and the thin, white hairs of his long moustache. There were times when he wished he had not been quite so skilful at recognizing traitors. Perhaps, he thought idly, I should have let Bichlyis kill me. His son had been a fine warrior, tall and proud; but he had reached fifty years and still his father ruled the Dardanoi. The rebellion had been shortlived, his army crushed, and Bardylis had watched his son being slowly strangled to death.

He turned away from the mirror as the man who had killed his son entered. Grigery was tall, wide-shouldered and slim-hipped. Though he boasted the shaved skull and braided top-knot of the Dardanoi, he had grown neither beard nor moustache, his clean-shaven face pale and handsome after the fashion of the southern Greeks.

Grigery bowed. 'Good morning, sire. I trust you are well?'

'Yes, I am, but the definition of well has a different meaning for the old. Is the Macedonian here?'

'He is, sire. But he brought with him only four men.'

'Four? What, could he not find twenty Macedonians with the courage to enter Illyria?'

Grigery chuckled. 'I would imagine not.'

'Who are the four?'

'One is a common soldier named Theoparlis, another is the King's lover, Nicanor; the third is a soldier called Antipater — he it was who led the charge against the Paiones. The last is a mercenary named Parmenion.'

'I know that name,' said Bardylis. 'I offered him employment.'

'He served the Great King in Persia, I understand. He was also a friend to the Theban Epaminondas.'

'More than that,' said Bardylis. 'Leuctra. The Spartan defeat. What other news is there?'

'Little of import, sire. Neoptelemus has agreed to increase his tribute. But then, you expected that.'

'Of course. Now that his army is destroyed he has little choice.'

'He also offered one of his daughters in marriage, sire.'

'The man's a fool. Much as I would wish it otherwise, my interest in women perished a decade ago.

Still, let us turn to matters of greater importance; I want Philip well treated while he is here -

but also he must be made to realize who is the master now.'

'How should I engineer this, lord?'

'Be polite to the King but — out of his sight — goad his followers. It would be interesting to force one of them to challenge you. I would then of course have no option but to allow a duel to go ahead. You would then kill the man.'

'Which one, sire?'

'Not Nicanor. I want the King mildly humbled, not aroused to fury. Fury leads to stupidity. Let it be the soldier, Theoparlis. And have Parmenion brought to my chambers tonight — but do not allow Philip to know of the invitation.'

'You will employ him?'

'Why not? That would be a secondary blow to the Macedonian. Tell me, what do you make of Philip?'

'He seems anxious to please. However, it is difficult to judge the man. He has a great deal of charm and uses it well. He has cool eyes, and I would be wary of him in combat. But as to his nature… I have no idea.'

'His brother was headstrong, but a dynamic man,' said Bardylis. 'It interests me why Perdiccas let Philip live. Either he was considered no threat, or Perdiccas was a fool. Similarly, why has Philip not slain the son of Perdiccas? They are an intriguing family.'

'He was not slow to kill his own stepbrother,' Grigery pointed out.

'I know.' Bardylis sighed and returned to his throne. 'Ah, if I was sure he would be a threat he would not leave here alive. But a husband for Audata is not a prize I had thought to find. Invite him here for a private meeting. Bring him in an hour.'

After Grigery had left Bardylis summoned Audata to him. She was a tall, bony woman with a prominent nose, but though Bardylis knew many considered her ugly, he himself could see only the child he had loved since birth. She entered the room and hugged him.

'Have you seen him?' asked Bardylis, holding his daughter's hands.

'Yes. He is handsome, though I fear he is shorter than I.'

'I want you to be happy,' he told her. 'And I still do not know if this is wise.'

'I am twenty-seven years old, Father. Do not concern yourself over me.'

'You speak as if twenty-seven were ancient. You still have time to bear healthy sons and watch them grow. I want that for you. I want you to know the joy I had while you were growing.'

'Whatever pleases you,' she said. They sat and talked until Grigery returned and announced Philip.

Audata left swiftly but waited outside the throne-room, watching the scene through the partly closed door.

Bardylis stood before the throne as Philip entered. The Macedonian walked forward and then knelt at Bardylis' feet, taking his hand and kissing it.

'A King should not kneel to another King,' chided Bardylis.

'But a son should honour his new father,' replied Philip, rising to his feet.

'A good point,' agreed the Illyrian, waving Grigery away. 'Come and sit with me, there is much we have to discuss.'

* * *

Parmenion added the sylphium leaves to the boiling water, stirring it with his dagger-blade. 'What is it?' asked the Illyrian servant who had brought the water.

'Herbs from Macedonia. It makes a refreshing drink. My thanks to you.'

Parmenion moved to a couch and sat down, waiting for the infusion to cool. Mothac had been furious when he heard he was being left behind, and had fussed around Parmenion like an old woman. 'You will take the sylphium before going to bed each evening? You will not forget?'

'Of course I will not forget.'

'You forgot in Egypt that time. Three days it was, when I was sick with a fever.'

'I had other matters to worry about. We were being besieged at the time.'

Mothac grunted, remaining unconvinced. 'You have enough for five days — six at the very outside.'

'I will be careful, Mother. I promise you.'

'That's right! Mock! We are talking about your life, Parmenion. Just remember.'

Parmenion swung his legs to the couch and relaxed, sipping the cooling drink. Like many of the southern Greeks, the Illyrians drank from shallow dishes. Only in Thebes had the Persian goblets found a natural second home. He finished the sylphium and settled back, his muscles weary from the long ride. The King had left his 20 °Companions near Mount Babouna in the south, promising to return within five days. They had been met by the man Grigery and 100 Illyrian cavalrymen. It was a tense ride to the Palace of Bardylis, and Parmenion was weary hours before they sighted the long, single-storeyed building. It was unadorned by statues and there were no gardens, merely stables for the King's horses; but the rooms they had been given were comfortable, and each man had been assigned a servant.