'In what way?'
'I require him to attack my strongest point.'
'What has this to do with the army leaving Sparta?'
'I would sooner not say at this time, lady. I mean no offence.'
'I understand,' she said softly. 'You do not know me, Parmenion, and therefore you hold back your trust. That is wise.
I have a gift for you that will help; you will find it upon your return to the world of the flesh. When it glows warm you will know you are being observed, and all the time that you wear it no evil force can enter your mind, nor know of your thoughts.'
He awoke feeling rested, his body free of aches and pains. Sitting up, he looked around and saw the sun was still well short of noon. Filling his wine-cup, he sipped the drink which was still cool. Priastes moved into the garden, stopping and bowing before him.
'Sad news, lord,' he said. 'Tamis will not be coming. She died last night.'
Parmenion cursed softly and was about to speak when he felt a warm glow at his throat. His hand came up, his fingers touching the necklet he now wore.
'Thank you, Priastes, that will be all.'
'Can we win without her aid?' the old man asked.
'No,' answered the King. Standing, he strode from the gardens, returning to his apartments. A shining mirror of bronze was set into the wall and he halted before it. The necklet was of gold strands, interwoven around a fragment of golden stone laced with black veins.
It was still warm. Parmenion saw a movement in the mirror, a misty figure that hovered below the painted ceiling, but even as he looked upon it the figure shimmered and disappeared.
The warmth of the necklet faded.
'Thank you, Tamis,' he whispered.
'It is very dispiriting,' said Leonidas as he and Learchus moved into the small andron where Parmenion awaited them. There were only five couches here, set around a raised mosaic floor bearing the image of the goddess Artemis turning the hunter Actaeon into a stag. Leonidas sat down. 'So many men with so little talent,' he observed.
Removing his helm, he laid it on the floor at his feet and swung up his legs to stretch out on the couch. Priastes filled two wine-cups, passing them to the young officers.
'It would take months,' put in Learchus, with a sigh. 'And even then. .'
Parmenion looked at the two men and forced a smile. 'You expect too much,' he told them. 'This was only the first day. For myself I am pleased with the progress. The bowmen look promising and I am impressed with the officer responsible for their training. . Daricles? A good man. Tomorrow it will be better.'
'It will need to be,' said Cleander, from the doorway. 'Our scouts report that Philippos is preparing to march.'
Parmenion rose, ushering the ephor into the room. Oleander's face was drenched in sweat, his eyes glowing with the brightness of fever.
'Sit down, my friend,' said Parmenion gently, leading him to a couch. 'I see that you are suffering.'
'The end is near,' Cleander whispered. 'My surgeon tells me I will not live to see the battle. I will prove him wrong.'
'Yes, you will,' agreed Parmenion. 'You must. For you will be in charge of the city's defence. The older veterans and the youngsters will be under your command. I want most of the streets barricaded, except for Leaving Street and the Avenue of Athena.'
'But they lead to the agora,' Learchus pointed out. 'The enemy cavalry will simply ride to the centre of the city.'
'Which is where I want them,' said Parmenion, his expression cold. 'That is where they will die in their hundreds.'
The planning went on deep into the night, until at last Cleander fell asleep and the two Spartan officers made their way to the Royal Barracks. Priastes covered the sleeping Cleander with a woollen blanket and Parmenion left the room and climbed to his quarters.
The moon was high, but despite his weariness the Spartan could not sleep. His thoughts were with Attalus and Alexander, and he was concerned that Thena had not made contact. Fear rose in him, but he pushed it away. One problem at a time, he warned himself.
Priastes had left a pitcher of cool water and some fruit by the bedside. Parmenion swung his legs from the bed and drank. The night air was cool on his naked skin as he walked to the balcony to stare out over the sleeping city.
He thought of Philip and Macedonia, of Phaedra and his sons. So far away… so impossibly far away.
You cannot win, said the voice of his thoughts.
He saw again the slaves crashing into one another as they tried to follow the shouted orders. Three men had been seriously injured during the afternoon. One had tripped and fallen on a sword; a second had moved the wrong way, colliding with another man and falling badly, breaking his leg; a third had been hit in the shoulder by a carelessly loosed arrow. Not an auspicious beginning for the new army of Sparta.
He thought of the men he had trained back in Macedonia — Theoparlis, Coenus, Nicanor. . and imagined them leading their divisions through the gateways to stand alongside him against the Tyrant. ‘I’d give ten years of my life to see that,' he whispered.
But this thought he also forced from his mind. Concentrate on what you have, he ordered himself. Five thousand of the finest warriors. Spartans. No battle could be called lost while such men stood ready.
Do not try to fool yourself.
He heard the door of his room open and smelt Derae's sweet perfume.
'I have neither the time nor the energy to fight with you, lady,' he said as she entered. Her hair was unbraided, hanging loose to her shoulders, and she wore only a long linen robe embroidered with gold.
'I do not wish to fight,' she told him. 'How goes the training?'
He shrugged. 'We will see,' he answered. Having spent the day motivating his officers, he was not surprised to find he had little strength left to lie.
'Why did you say you loved me?' she asked, moving to stand before him on the balcony.
'Because it was true,' he said simply.
'Then why have you never said it before?'
He could not reply. He merely stood gazing down at her face in the moonlight, drinking in the living beauty, scanning every contour. She was older than the Derae of his dreams and memories, yet still youthful, her lips full, her skin soft. He was almost unaware of his hands moving up to rest gently on her shoulders, his fingers sliding under the robe, stroking her skin and feeling the warmth of her body.
'No,' she whispered, pulling back from him. 'That is no answer.'
'I know,' he told her, letting fall his arms and walking past her into the room.
'In two years you have never called for me, never asked me to share your bed. Now — with Sparta facing ruin — you tell me you love me. There is no sense in it.'
He smiled then. 'We are in agreement on that,' he admitted. 'Would you like some wine?' She nodded and he filled two golden cups, not bothering to add water. Silently he handed her a wine-cup, then lay down on the long sofa by the balcony wall. Derae sat in a chair opposite him.
For a time they remained in silence, sipping their drinks. 'Do you truly love Nestus?' he asked.
She shook her head and smiled. 'Once I thought I did, when my father first arranged the marriage. But the more time we spent together, the more I saw how boorish and arrogant he was.'
'Then why did you defend him so fiercely?'
'He was what you took from me,' she answered. 'You understand?'
'I think so. A marriage to Nestus would at least have been consummated, and you would have had a role to play.
Instead you were used by a cold-hearted general who sought to be King. What a fool I have been!'