Lion of Macedon (10 page)

“Never! It is one of the seven swords. I will treasure it all my life.”

“That is a pity,” she said, moving smoothly to her feet. “For I would like to have bought it.”

“What need would you have of a sword?” he asked, rising to stand before her.

“I would give it to my brother,” she answered.

“It would be a handsome gift. Do you object to my watching you run?”

“Should I?” she countered, smiling.

“Are you betrothed?”

“Not yet, though my father talks of it. Is this a proposal, Parmenion?”

Before he could answer, a hand grabbed his shoulder, dragging him back. Instantly he spun, his fist cracking into Leonidas’ jaw and staggering him. The golden-haired Spartan rubbed his chin, then advanced.

“Stop it!” shouted Derae, but the youths ignored her, their eyes locked together, their concentration total. Leonidas leapt forward, feinting a hook before thundering a straight right to Parmenion’s face. The smaller man rolled with the blow, grabbing Leonidas’ tunic and hammering his knee into his opponent’s groin. Leonidas grunted with pain and doubled over. Parmenion’s forehead crashed against Leonidas’ face, and he sagged and half fell. Parmenion pushed him away, then saw a large jagged stone jutting from the grass. Tearing it clear, he advanced on the dazed Leonidas, wanting nothing more than to smash open his skull.

Derae leapt into his path, her open hand connecting with his cheek like a thunderclap. His fingers circled her throat, and the stone came up.… He froze as he saw the terror in her eyes.

Dropping the stone, he backed away. “I … I am sorry.… He … he is my enemy.”

“He is my brother,” she said, her expression as cold as the stone he had dropped.

Leonidas, recovered now, stepped alongside her. “You come near my sister again and you will answer to me with a blade in your hand.”

Suddenly Parmenion laughed, but there was no humor in the sound. “That would be a pleasure,” he hissed, “for we
both know what blade I would carry. One that you will never own though your soul yearns for it. But fear not, Leonidas, I want nothing from you—or your family.”

“You think I fear you, peasant?”

“If you don’t, you should. Come against me whenever you will, you arrogant pig. But know this—I will destroy you!”

Turning on his heel Parmenion stalked from the scene.

Hermias left the training ground and loped through the streets, across the marketplace, arriving at the lake sanctuary as the girls were leaving. There was no sign of Parmenion, and he was about to duck away behind the trees when Derae saw him and waved. Smiling shyly, he stepped forward. Derae ran to him, kissing his cheek. “It is not often we see you here, Cousin. Are you developing an interest in girls?”

Two of Derae’s friends moved alongside him, touching his tunic and pretending to examine the weave.

Hermias blushed. “I am looking for my friend, Parmenion.”

Her face darkened. “He was here. Now he is not,” she snapped.

“Has he offended you?” asked Hermias fearfully.

Derae did not answer for a moment. Leonidas would be furious if he learned she had spoken of his defeat, yet she felt driven to talk of the incident. Linking arms with Hermias, she walked away from the other girls, and they sat down in the shade by the sanctuary lake. There she told Hermias all that had occurred.

“You cannot know what he has suffered, Derae,” he explained. “For some reason—and I cannot fathom it—he is hated by all. He can do nothing right. When he wins a race, there are no cheers, even when he runs against boys from other barracks. And yet he is kind, thoughtful. They set on him in gangs, beating him with sticks. Few there are who would attempt to tackle him singly.”

“But my brother would have no part in such wickedness,” said Derae. “He is noble and strong; he would never run with a pack.”

“I agree with you. I have always … respected Leonidas. But the beatings are done in his name, and he makes no attempt to stop them. The last was the evening before the game, and Parmenion was forced to hide all night upon the acropolis. You saw his bruises.”

Derae picked up a flat stone and hurled it out over the lake, watching it skim across the sparkling blue water. “No one is ever hated without reason,” she said. “He is obviously arrogant and lowborn. Leonidas says he is a half-breed, a mix-blood, yet he struts among true Spartans, looking down on them.”

Hermias nodded. “There is truth to that. But when all men are against you, all that is left is pride. He will not let them humble him. I advised him to play to lose in the game, but he would not. And look what happened! Everyone hates him even more now. What future is there for him, Derae? He is running out of money; he has no status.”

“Has he no friends at all save you?”

“None. There is a girl, I think. He watches her every week. When he talks of her, he is a different man. But I do not know her name, and I doubt he has even spoken to her.”

“He has spoken to her,” said Derae. “He even grabbed her throat and threatened her with a rock.”

Hermias closed his eyes and leaned back, resting his head on the grass. “It was you, then. I do not understand. Was he cursed at birth by some malevolent spirit? I must find him.”

“I think you should avoid him, Hermias. I looked into his eyes, and there is something deadly there. My blood turned cold.”

“He is my friend,” answered Hermias, rising smoothly to his feet, “and I have news for him. But first I must see Leonidas. Where will I find him?”

“He said he was going to practice with spear and sword; he should still be at the training field. But do not tell him it was I who told you.”

“Please, Derae, he will think Parmenion has sent me.”

Derae shook her head and rose. “Very well, Hermias. Tell
him you spoke to me. But be warned; he now regards Parmenion as a sworn enemy. You will find no comfort there.”

Leonidas—in breastplate, kilt, and greaves—was battling against a youth called Nestus, and the training field rang with the sound of sword on shield as the two attacked one another. No wooden practice blades here; both were using the short iron stabbing swords of the
hoplite
. There was tension in the spectators as the combatants circled, seeking openings. The powerfully built Nestus was the barracks champion with the short sword, but Leonidas was cool, strong, and fast. Both youths were breathing heavily, and Nestus was cut on his upper arm, a thin trickle of blood dripping to the dust. Leonidas leapt in, but Nestus darted forward, his shield crashing against Leonidas to send him sprawling to the ground. Instantly Nestus was upon him, his blade resting against Leonidas’ throat. A muted cheer went up. Leonidas grinned and rolled to his feet, discarding his shield. Embracing the other man, he congratulated him and then walked away to the shade, where water skins were hanging.

Hermias ran to him, helping him remove his breastplate.

“Thank you, Cousin,” said Leonidas, wiping sweat from his face. “Damn, but he is good. I am getting closer to him, though, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” agreed Hermias. “You had a chance at a groin thrust. In a real battle you would have used it—and won.”

“You saw that? Yes. He has a habit of raising his shield too high. What brings you here? Not to fight, surely.”

“No,” said Hermias, taking a deep breath. “I came to talk of Savra.” He looked away from Leonidas’ face, bracing himself for the anger he felt sure would follow.

“Has he spoken to you?” asked Leonidas softly.

“No. Derae told me.” He glanced at Leonidas, finding the absence of anger disconcerting.

“What do you require of me?”

“An end to the beatings and the violence.”

“They have nothing to do with me. I do not sanction them; I
learn of them only after they have taken place. He is not popular.” Leonidas shrugged. “What would you have me do?”

“Tell Gryllus and Learchus that such … beatings … displease you.”

“Why should I do this?”

“Because you are a noble man. You are not a coward, and you need no one to fight battles for you.”

Leonidas chuckled. “Flattery, Hermias?”

“Yes. But I believe it is true nonetheless. They cannot beat him into submission. One day they will kill him, and for what? Because they think it would please you.
Would
it please you, Cousin?”

“Yes, it would,” admitted Leonidas. “But you are right; it is base, and I will have no part in it. I will see that it stops, Hermias; I should have done so long ago. It shamed me that he arrived at the game carrying such wounds.”

“I am in your debt, Cousin.”

“No,” said Leonidas, “I am in yours. But know this: Parmenion is my enemy, and one day I will kill him.”

For two hours Hermias searched for Parmenion, finally finding him sitting on a granite block below the statue of Athena of the Road. Hermias sat alongside him. “Why so glum,
strategos
?” he asked.

“Don’t call me that! One day, perhaps, but not now.”

“Your face is like thunder, Savra. Are you thinking of the fight with Leonidas?”

“How did you learn of that?”

“I spoke to Derae. I did not know she was the one you watched.”

Parmenion hurled a stone into a nearby field, scattering a flock of large black and gray birds. “I hate crows. When I was a child, I was frightened of them; I thought they would fly through my window and eat my soul. I had overheard one of my neighbors saying that crows had eaten my father’s eyes on the battlefield. I used to cry at night, and I could hear their wings in my mind.”

“Would you rather be alone, Savra? I don’t mind.”

Parmenion forced a smile and put his arm around his friend’s shoulder. “I don’t want to be alone, Hermias, but that is what I am.” Standing, he scooped up another stone, hurling it high over the field. “What is there for me here, Hermias? What can I hope to become?”

“What would you wish to be?”

Parmenion shook his head. “I do not know. Truly. Once I desired only to be a Spartan
hoplite
, bearing shield, sword, and spear. I wanted to march with the king into foreign lands, to become rich on plunder. But lately I have been dreaming strange dreams.” He lapsed into silence.

“Go on!” urged Hermias. “Sometimes dreams are messages from the gods. Do you dream of eagles? They are good omens. So are lions.”

“There are no animals,” said Parmenion, “only men, armed for war. There are two armies on a level plain, and I am a general. The phalanxes surge forward, and the dust rises, muffling the war cries. One army is Spartan, for they are wearing blood-red cloaks. The slaughter is terrible, and I see a king lying slain. Then I awake.”

Hermias was silent for a moment, then he grinned. “You are a general, you say. That is a good omen, surely. And, I would guess, a true one, for there is no one to outthink you, Savra. And with you leading them, how could Sparta lose?”

“That is the point, my friend. I am not a general in the Spartan army, and it is Sparta’s king who dies.”

“Hush!” whispered Hermias. “You should not say such a thing. Put it from your mind. It is not an omen at all—you were dreaming of the general’s games, that is all. It has been on your mind for so long and has caused you such grief. Forget it, Savra. Do not speak of it again. Anyway, I have some news that will cheer you … I promise.”

“Then tell it, my friend. I do need cheering.”

“Leonidas spoke up for you today on the training ground, and so did Lepidus. Leonidas admitted he had played badly and that you deserved to win. Others were
saying you cheated, but he spoke up for you. Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I can almost hear the gods singing with joy,” remarked Parmenion.

“But don’t you see? It means that the beatings will end. You are free of it.”

“We’ll see. I’ll judge it by how many attend my victory celebration.”

“I do have other news that is less cheering,” said Hermias sadly. “There is no easy way to say this, Savra, but there will be no victory ceremony.”

Parmenion laughed grimly. “Now, there is a surprise!” His face set, he jumped down from the block and turned to look up at the stone goddess.

“What have I done, Athena, that the gods should hate me? Am I evil? Perhaps I am.… But one day I will repay them for their cruelties. I swear it!”

Hermias said nothing, but he felt a sudden stab of fear as he gazed at Parmenion’s face and saw the icy hatred in his eyes. He clambered down and moved to Parmenion’s side.

“Do not hate me, too!”

Parmenion blinked and shook his head. “Hate you, my friend? How could I ever hate you? You have been a brother to me, and I will never forget that. Never! Brothers we have been, brothers we shall be, all the days of our lives. I promise you. Now I have to go to Xenophon’s house. I will see you later. Come to my house this evening.”

“I will. Take care.”

“Why should I take care?” responded Parmenion. “Did you not say the war was over?”

Xenophon led Parmenion to a wide room in the eastern part of the house, where it was cool and bright. “Well?” asked the general, lounging on a divan. “Do you have the answer to Plataea?”

Parmenion nodded. “Thermopylae put thoughts of defeat into the hearts of the Persians.”

“Good! Good! I am well pleased with you. I have told you that war is an art, and so it is. But the art is to win the battle before the sword is drawn, before the spears are leveled. If your opponent believes he will lose, then he
will
lose. That is what happened at Plataea. The Persians—who could not face a mere three hundred Spartans—panicked when faced with five thousand. A general must work on the hearts of men, not just his own but the enemy’s.”

“Does this mean that you will teach me?” Parmenion asked.

“It does. Do you read?”

“Only poorly, sir. My mother taught me, but it is not a skill that is cared about in the barracks.”

“Then you must learn. I have books that must be studied, strategies you must memorize. A general is not unlike a blacksmith, Parmenion. He has many tools and must know the value and the purpose of each.”

Parmenion took a deep breath. “There is a question I must ask, sir. I hope it will not offend you.”