Parmenion looked around the room and Soteridas moved back to sit alongside Chirisophus, a dark-haired man with a powerful, jutting jaw. He wore robes of shimmering green, and a golden tore gleamed at his throat.
'Today,' said Parmenion, 'we have only one question to answer: What now for Sparta?'
Leonidas bowed and backed away, the doors swinging shut behind him.
'Surely,' said Chirisophus, spreading his hands, 'there is only one response? We seek terms with Philippos. We cannot now stand against him.'
'I agree,' put in Soteridas. 'The Makedones King is unbeatable — as even our own strategos has now found.'
'It irks me to vote for such a course,' said Dexipus, a short swarthy warrior, balding and bearded, 'but I do not see how we can stand against him. On numbers alone he could envelop our flanks, forcing us in to a fighting square and winning merely by using his javeliners and archers.'
'I say we fight him anyway,' roared Cleander. Parmenion was surprised that a voice of such power could emanate from so skeletal a frame; Cleander was thin to the point of emaciation, his skin yellow and his eyes rheumy. 'What else can we do, my brothers? We are not dealing with an enemy King but with a demonic force. Surrender will not save us from the horrors of such a man. Better to die in battle.'
'With respect, Cleander,' said Chirisophus, 'you are dying anyway. All of us regret that, but you have less to lose than others in the city — the women and the children, for example.'
'Yes, I am dying, but that is not why I say we must fight. Our children will be no more safe than the children of Kadmos. We face the full force of evil here; there can be no compromise.'
'There is a great deal of exaggeration in any war,' said Chirisophus. 'Always the enemy is depicted as a beast.
Philippos is a warrior King — unbeaten, invincible — but he is a man, no more than that.'
'I would disagree,' said another voice and Parmenion swung to see the speaker. He was Lycon, the youngest of the ephors, a good-looking youth in his mid-twenties, dark-haired and dark-eyed. 'I have met the Makedones King and I saw what he did at Methone and Plataea. I agree with Cleander: we must fight him.'
An argument began. 'Enough!' roared Parmenion. A tall thick-set man with a heavy black beard was sitting at the far end of the room and the King turned to him. 'You have not spoken yet, Timasion. Do you have nothing to offer?'
Timasion shrugged. 'I am undecided, sire. My heart says fight, my head says hold. Might I ask what the omens predict?'
Soteridas rose, bowing first to the King and then to the other ephors. 'Today,' he said, 'we sacrificed a goat to All-father Zeus. Its liver was spotted, its belly cancerous. Death and destruction will follow any attempt to make war on Philippos. The gods are against us.'
'As they were at Mantinea?' ventured Parmenion.
'Indeed, sire,' the chief priest agreed.
'It was an interesting battle,' said Parmenion. 'We broke their attack and almost took their centre. But even three hundred Spartans could not carry the victory. Of course, it is even more interesting to speculate what might have happened had we pushed ahead with five thousand Spartans.'
'The gods spoke against such a plan,' Soteridas pointed out.
'So you informed us. I find it curious that the gods of… Achaea. . should choose to side with the Demon King. But then I am not a seer, and it is not for me to question the wisdom of Zeus. Tell me, Chirisophus, how you would appease the Makedones King and save Sparta?'
'You cannot consider this!' Cleander stormed.
'Silence!' thundered Parmenion. 'I wish to hear Chirisophus. Your turn will come again, Cleander.'
Chirisophus rose and began to speak, his voice smooth, his words comforting. There would be, he said, an ambassadorial delegation to Philippos offering fraternal friendship and lasting peace. Gifts could be taken. Philippos was known as a great horseman and Chirisophus himself would donate his prize Thracian stallions. War would thus be avoided and Sparta would be allied to the strongest nation in the world. He spoke for some time, finally pointing out that Philippos — being a warrior King- would inevitably lead his armies north and west, seeking to conquer the Etruscans and the Achaean cities of Italia. Further west even than this were the fabled lands of the Gauls, where buildings were constructed of gold and gems, and their Kings were said to be immortal. 'By suing for peace now,'
Chirisophus ventured, 'we will in fact rid Achaea of Philippos all the sooner. I will naturally offer myself to lead the delegation,' he added, settling himself down on his couch.
'Naturally!' snorted Cleander.
At that moment Leonidas entered the room. Parmenion, the only man facing the doors, waited for his signal. When he pointed to Chirisophus and Soteridas, Parmenion nodded. Armed men moved into the room, walking slowly to stand behind the couches on which lay the traitors. Chirisophus swallowed hard, his face reddening.
'What is happening here, sire?' Cleander asked.
'Be patient,' the King told him. 'We stand at the edge of the abyss. A great evil stalks the land. We had an opportunity to rid the world of this evil, but we were thwarted, for the agents of Philippos are everywhere.' He paused, allowing his gaze to rest on the two traitors. Parmenion felt rage mounting within him. These men had caused the death of the Spartan King, and thousands of others on the field of Mantinea. He wanted nothing more than to walk across the room and cleave his sword through their foul hearts. Calming himself, he spoke again. 'It is the nature of Darkness to corrupt, and men of weak will, or men of lust and greed, will always be susceptible. Chirisophus and Soteridas have betrayed their city, their people and their King. They entered into secret negotiation with Philippos and they conspired to see the Demon King victorious at Mantinea. I do not know what they were offered for this treachery. I do not care. They have tried to doom us all and their crimes are written in blood.'
Chirisophus pushed himself to his feet, while Soteridas sat, all colour draining from his face.
'What I did was for Sparta!' Chirisophus insisted. 'There is no question of treachery. Philippos was always the ultimate victor; only a fool would try to deny him. But that is the past and it is foolish to dwell on it. I am the only man who can save the city. Philippos trusts me and will deal with me fairly. Without me you cannot survive. Think on that!'
'I have thought on it,' said Parmenion. 'Sparta will fight — and Sparta will win. But you — and your lickspittle priest -
will not live to see it. Leonidas!'
'Sire?'
'Remove these. . creatures. Take them to a place of execution. Do it at once and see their bodies are left in unmarked graves.'
Chirisophus backed away from the guards behind him and moved out into the mosaic floor. 'Do not be fools!' he shouted. 'I can save you!'
Suddenly he drew a dagger from his robe and rushed at Parmenion.
The King rolled to his feet, his sword snaking from its scabbard and plunging through the shimmering green robe.
Chirisophus grunted and fell back. Parmenion tore his sword clear of the dying man, and bright arterial blood soaked through the green silk. Chirisophus fell to his knees, hands clenched to his belly, then his eyes glazed and he toppled to his side. Several soldiers dragged the body back across the mosaic, leaving a trail of blood. Soteridas remained where he was, his face void of expression, until two soldiers took him by the arms and led him away.
'By the gods, sire!' whispered Cleander. 'I cannot believe it. His was a true Spartiate family. A noble house… a line of heroes.'
'To judge a man purely by his blood-line is folly,' said Parmenion. 'I have known the sons of cowards to be valorous, and sons of thieves who could be trusted with the treasure of nations. Such treachery is not of the blood, Cleander, but of the soul.'