'Theo!' he roared, and the soldier froze. Parmenion walked over to the two men. 'What is happening here?' he asked.
'This louse-ridden dog has challenged me,' said Grigery.
'I forbid it,' stated Parmenion.
'It is not for you to forbid anything in Illyria,' retorted Grigery, his dark eyes gleaming.
Parmenion took a deep breath. 'Did Theoparlis strike you?' he asked softly.
'No.'
'I see. So, there was nothing like this,' said Parmenion, lashing Grigery's face with a backhanded blow that spun the man from his feet. A great roar went up from the officers who were preparing to dine. Parmenion ignored the warrior, who was scrambling to his feet, and walked to Bardylis. He bowed low.
'Your majesty, I must apologize for this unseemly scene. But your man, Grigery, has challenged me to battle with him, and I seek your permission to accept.'
'It was not with you!' Grigery shouted.
'Then you do not wish to fight the man who struck you?' asked Parmenion.
'Yes… I mean. .' His eyes turned to the King.
'All men have seen the beginning of this quarrel,' said Bardylis. 'Now we must see the end. I give you permission to fight.'
'Thank you, lord,' said Parmenion. 'Might I — as a guest — ask one favour? It seems only right, since we have interrupted a fine meal, to give you a spectacle not just of skill, but of courage.
Would you therefore have any objection if we fought in the manner of Mesopotamia!! nobles before their King?'
Bardylis stared hard at Parmenion. He had no idea of how Mesopotamia!! warriors fought, but equally had no intention of disclosing this fact.
'As you will.'
'Let a brazier be prepared,' said Parmenion, 'with hot coals to the depth of a man's forearm.'
Bardylis ordered two servants to fetch the brazier. Parmenion walked some distance from the table, and Philip and the others joined him there.
'What in Hades is happening here?' Philip asked.
'I had no choice, sire. I promised you no Macedonian and Illyrian would fight. Whatever happens here will be seen to be between a Spartan and a warrior of Bardylis.' He swung to Theo. 'There is honey on the table. Fetch it — and some red wine. Find bandages and soak them in the wine.'
'What is this manner of fighting?' asked Antipater.
'It is something new,' Parmenion told him.
'You lied to Bardylis?' the King whispered.
'Yes. You need not worry, sire; he cannot read minds.'
Four servants, using crossbars of thick wood, carried a burning brazier out into the field.
Parmenion removed his breastplate and helm, tunic and greaves and, drawing his sword, walked out to stand before the brazier. Nonplussed, Grigery also stripped himself and moved to stand opposite him. The King and his officers formed a circle around the warriors and waited for the battle to begin.
'You need a fire to keep you warm, old man?' asked Grigery.
'Do as I do,' Parmenion told him. The Spartan turned to the brazier and thrust his sword-blade deep into it; leaving it there, he stood back with arms folded across his chest. Grigery plunged his blade alongside Parmenion's.
'Now what?' the Illyrian asked.
'Now we wait,' the Spartan told him, locking his gaze to Grigery's eyes.
Slowly the minutes passed. The spectators' eyes flicked from the naked men to the blades, which had begun to glow a deep red.
The leather binding on the grip of Grigery's blade twisted and cracked, then smouldered, black smoke rising from it. Slowly it peeled away. Parmenion's sword had a metal grip, bound with fine gold wire over snakeskin. The skin burst into flame, the wire falling loose.
'When you are ready,' said Parmenion, 'take your sword and begin.'
Grigery licked his lips and stared at the smouldering swords.
'You first,' he hissed.
'Perhaps we should do it together. Are you ready?'
Grigery reached out, but the heat close to the hilt was unbearable and his hand flinched back.
Gazing around the crowd, seeing their fascination with the contest, his eyes rested on the King whose features were cold. Grigery knew what was expected of him and he looked back at the red-hot sword.
The longer you wait, the hotter it will become,' said Parmenion mildly.
'You miserable whoreson!' screamed Grigery, his hand grabbing for his sword and wrenching it clear. The agony hit him as his flesh blistered and peeled away, sticking to the sword-hilt. With a terrible cry he hurled the weapon from him. Parmenion reached out his left hand, drew his sword from the flames and walked to Grigery.
The Spartan's face was without expression, but his breathing was quick and shallow, his teeth clenched and bared. Lifting the sword he wiped the gleaming blade across Grigery's chest. The sizzling of burning hair and flesh carried to all the listeners and Grigery leapt back, falling to the grass.
Parmenion turned to Philip and bowed, then he raised the red-hot blade and saluted Bardylis.
Parmenion's arm flashed down and the sword plunged into the earth by his feet. The Spartan walked through the crowd to where Theo waited with the honey, which he smeared on the blistered, weeping flesh. 'The bandages,' he croaked. Theo lifted them from the shallow wine dish, squeezed the excess liquid from them and carefully wrapped the general's hand.
'How did you do that?' asked Theo.
'Can't talk… at… the moment,' said Parmenion, closing his eyes as the cool bandages drew the heat from his palm. He felt sick and weak and his legs were trembling. Gathering his strength, he looked at Theo. 'Take the honey and the rest of the bandages to Grigery. Do it now!'
As Theo moved away, Parmenion heard footsteps approaching. He turned to see Bardylis and Philip, followed by a score of officers.
'You are an interesting man, Parmenion,' said the old King, 'and I should have known better than to allow a test of endurance against a Spartan. How is your hand?'
'It will heal, your majesty.'
'But you were not sure, were you? That is why you used your left.'
'Exactly so.'
'Are you strong enough to dine with us?'
'Indeed I am, sire. Thank you.'
The pain was indescribable, but Parmenion willed himself to sit through the meal, even to eat, contenting himself with the knowledge that Grigery was nowhere to be seen.
The Temple, Autumn, 359 BC
Life was increasingly difficult for Derae as Tamis' mental condition deteriorated. The old woman now spent her days sitting in the temple gardens, often talking to herself, and at times it was impossible to communicate with her. Her sense of despair had grown and the duties of the Temple rested on Derae alone. Every day supplicants would arrive — long lines of sick or crippled folk, rich and poor, waiting for the hands of the Healer.
The work exhausted Derae, especially now that the old helper Naza had died, and there was no one to do the work around the garden or to gather the vegetables planted in the spring.
Only occasionally did Derae find the time — and more rarely, the energy — to observe Parmenion.
Day by day she laboured on.
Then she herself fell sick, a fever coming upon her swiftly, leaving her legs weak and her mind hazy. Despite her powers she could not heal herself, nor tend to the sick who waited in vain outside the closed gates. Tamis was no help, for when Derae called out to her the old woman seemed not to hear.
For eleven days Derae lay sick and exhausted, floating between strange dreams and confused awakenings. Once she awoke to see, with her spirit eyes, a man beside her bed.
He had part lifted her and was spooning a broth into her mouth. Then she slept again.