'You honestly believe we can win?' asked Leonidas.
'I don't believe it -1 know it! We are Spartans. They will not break us. No. They will break upon us. Their cavalry will skirt us. They will ride for the city, for they will know that every man in the ranks will see them and fear for the lives of his wife and children, his mother, his sisters. Then their infantry will attack, outnumbering us by perhaps three to one. The battle will be won or lost in the next hour.'
'How can you be sure that the cavalry will pass us by?' asked Lycon.
'I saw his methods at Man tinea. Philippos is not a cavalryman; he uses his infantry for all major thrusts. And he wants the city taken. He wants it all, and he has no patience. But more important than this, he would not wish to push us back in a fighting retreat only to have us defending Sparta. He will want us isolated, the city destroyed behind us.'
'And if you are wrong?' put in Timasipn. 'How then can we survive?'
Parmenion forced a smile. 'I am not wrong, but if his cavalry do not attack the city, then Oleander will march out with all his men and join us on the field of battle. One other matter. The slaves must not be issued with red cloaks; only the Spartans must wear them.'
'But why?' Oleander asked. 'Surely the object is to make the recruits feel like Spartans?'
'I want the Spartan regiments to stand out. I want the enemy to see them clearly.'
'It will be a day long remembered,' muttered Timasion. 'Five thousand Spartans against forty thousand barbarians!'
'It will be a day the Makedones will never forget,' promised Parmenion.
Nestus lay awake in the narrow pallet bed listening to the snoring of the other soldiers. Forty men slept in this long room, forty non-ranking Spartan soldiers, none of whom would speak to the giant. He was a man alone, and bitterness swamped him.
His own father had refused to receive him, and word of his shame had swept through the city. Friends shunned him in the streets, turning their faces away and pretending not to see him.
His mouth was dry and he rose from the bed and padded through to the empty dining area, where he poured himself a goblet of water. A cold breeze touched his bare back and he shivered.
Life had been so full of promise a mere two years before. He had loved Derae and a splendid wedding had been planned. His father had been so proud. A link with the royal house — brother-in-law to the future King. Everyone knew that Leonidas was the heir apparent, and Nestus was his closest friend. Oh, how bright the future, how golden!
It even outshone his frustration at having to serve the mix-blood who had become Sparta's First General.
Parmenion…
Now more than ever the mere thought of the name made bile rise in his throat, left his heart hammering.
The day had been burned into his memory, never to be erased: Agisaleus dead, Leonidas to be King. Summoned to see his friend at the Cattle Price Palace, he had joyed in the options before him. Was he to be promoted? Which regiment would he command in the new order? But no. He had learned that the wedding was cancelled and that his bride — his love — was to wed Parmenion, in order that the half-breed could become Sparta's King.
'I should have killed him then,' whispered Nestus. He pictured his sword-blade sliding through Parmenion's ribs, the light of life fading from the bastard's eyes.
Slumping down at a long table, Nestus poured another goblet of water.
And what is there now, he asked himself? Death to follow his dishonour. The destruction of Sparta, the massacre of its people. His thoughts swung to Derae and he pictured her being dragged from the palace, raped and then butchered by the barbarians.
The curse of the gods was upon the city for allowing a half-breed to sit upon the throne!
The room grew colder, but Nestus scarcely noticed it.
Why should you stay? The thought leapt unbidden to his mind, shocking him with its clarity. 'Where else could I go?'
Creta. You have friends on the island. . and you have coin.
'I couldn't desert my friends, my family.'
They have deserted you. They shun you in the street.
'I did wrong. I drew a sword upon the King.'
The half-blood? A man who used dark sorcery to win his throne and steal your woman?
Sorcery? The thought had not occurred to him before. Of course, that was it. Leonidas had been bewitched. What other reason could there be for a noble-born Spartan to relinquish his rights to the throne?
Kill him.
'No. No, I couldn't.'
Like the heroes of old, kill the man who stole your bride. Take back what is rightfully yours. Derae loves you. Save her. Take her from the city — to safety in Creta.
'To safety, yes! I could rescue her. She loves me; she would come. We could be happy there. A short ride to Gytheum, then a ship. Yes! Kill the half-blood and reclaim what is mine! Yes!'
The cold disappeared and the room became clammy and hot. The sudden change made Nestus shiver and he rose, making his way back to his bed. Silently he dressed in a grey chiton tunic and calf-length sandals. Then, taking up his cloak and sword, he walked from the barracks.
His father's house was dark and quiet and he climbed through a ground-floor window, moving stealthily through the rooms until he came to his father's study. Here, hidden behind a carved oak chest, was a niche in the stone of the wall; in it were five large leather pouches, heavy with gold. Taking two he left the house, making his way to the stables. A groom sleeping in a bed of hay by the door awoke as Nestus entered. The giant's fist crashed into the man's face, splintering his cheekbone; the groom sagged back unconscious.
Nestus put bridles and reins on two of the fastest horses, then bound their hooves with cloth before leading them out into the moonlit street and on to the Cattle Price Palace. There were only two sentries at the main doors, and both men were known to him. Leaving the horses tethered out of sight beyond the main wall, Nestus strode through the great gates and approached the men.
'What do you want here?' hissed the first. Nestus' fist cracked against the man's jaw, spinning him unconscious to the ground. Then he leapt at the second, seizing him by the throat and savagely wrenching the soldier from his feet. The man's neck snapped with a loud crack. Nestus had not meant to kill him and he dropped the body, stepping back horrified.
Kill the other, came the thought. Nestus drew his sword and, without hesitation, plunged it through the helpless warrior's throat.
Pushing open the doors of the palace he ran inside and up the long stairs to the third floor, making his way along the cold corridor to the Queen's apartments. His heart was beating fast now and his mouth was dry. The door to the Queen's rooms was ajar and he opened it just enough to slip inside. The moon shone brightly through the balcony window and the first thing he saw was a shimmering green robe tossed carelessly to a couch. Moving to it he lifted it to his face, smelling the perfume upon it. Arousal flared within him and he padded to the bedroom where Derae lay on top of the sheets. Nestus stood in the doorway gazing at her moonlit form. The Queen was naked and lying upon her side, her legs drawn up and her head resting on her left arm. Sweat broke out on Nestus' brow. Her golden skin seemed whiter than ivory in the moonlight, yet soft and warm, glowing with health. He swallowed hard and moved to the bedside, laying his blood-covered sword on the sheet. His hand moved to her arm, sliding over the skin, then down to her waist and up over the curve of her hips. She moaned in her sleep and rolled to her back.