Dark Prince

The men, all dressed in dark tunics, spread out, knives gleaming in their hands. Alexander backed away, drawing his own blade as he did so.

'We just want the necklet, young prince,' said the leader, a burly man with a silver-streaked black beard. 'We mean you no harm.'

'Then come and take it,' Alexander told him.

'Is a piece of gold worth your life?' asked another man, this one leaner and wolf-like.

'It's certainly worth more than yours,' Alexander retorted.

'Don't make us kill you!' pleaded the leader. Alexander took several steps back, then his shoulders touched the wall of the building behind him. His mouth was dry, and he knew he could not kill all three without suffering serious injury. For a moment only he was tempted to give them the necklet, then he remembered the touch of death and the terrible loneliness of his childhood. No, it would be better to die. His gaze flickered to the lean man; he would be the deadly one, swift as a striking snake. They moved in closer, coming from left, right and centre. Alexander tensed, ready to leap to his right.

'Put up the blades,' said a deep voice. The men froze, the leader turning his head to see a tall man in a black cloak standing behind them with a glittering sword in his hand.

'What if we do?' the leader asked.

'Then you walk away,' said the newcomer reasonably.

'Very well,' muttered the robber, easing himself to the right, his men following him. Once clear of the action, the three attackers turned and disappeared into the shadows.

'My thanks to you,' said Alexander, but his knife remained in his hand.

The man chuckled. 'I am Hephaistion. The lord Parmenion asked me to watch over you. Come, I will take you to him.'

'Lead the way, my friend. I will be right behind you.'

* * *

Mothac's house was in the poorer quarter of Pella, where he could meet and hold interviews with his many agents.

The building was two-storeyed and surrounded by high walls. There was no garden but to the rear of the property, facing east, was a small courtyard half-covered by a roof of vines. There was only one andron, windowless and unadorned, in which three couches and several small tables were set. It was in this room that Mothac spoke with his spies, for they could not be overheard from outside.

'What is happening to my father?' asked Alexander as Parmenion ushered the prince inside.

The general shook his head and shrugged. 'I cannot say with certainty.' The Spartan stretched out his lean frame on a long couch, and Alexander saw the weariness in the older man. It surprised him for Parmenion had always been his hero, seemingly inexhaustible. Now he looked like any man in his sixties, grey-haired and lined, his pale blue eyes showing dark rings. It saddened the prince and he looked away. 'Sometimes,' continued the Spartan, 'a man will find that his dreams were more magical before they were realized. I think that might be one answer.'

'I don't understand you. He is the most powerful King in Greece. He has everything he ever desired.'

'Exactly my point.' The general sighed. 'When first I met him in Thebes he was but a child, facing with courage the prospect of assassination. He never wanted to be King. But then his brother was slain in battle and Macedonia faced ruin. Philip took the crown to save the nation. Soon after that he began to dream of greatness — not for himself but for the kingdom, and the future of his unborn son. He wanted nothing more than to build for you.'

'But he has done that,' said Alexander.

'I know. But along the way something happened to the man. He no longer builds for you but for himself. And the older he becomes the more he regards you, your youth and your talent, as a threat. I was with him in Thrace when news of the Triballian revolt came through. He was ready to march home, for he knew the strength of the tribesmen, their courage and their skills. Any campaign against them would take months of careful planning. Then came word of your stunning victory. You outflanked them, outthought them and won the war in eighteen days. That was magnificent. I was proud of you. So, I think, was he. But it only showed him how close you are to being ready to rule.'

Alexander shook his head. 'I cannot win, can I? I try to please him by excelling, but that makes him fear me. How should I act, Parmenion? Would it be better if I were retarded, like my half-brother Arridaeus? What can I do?'

'I think you should leave Pella,' advised the Spartan.

'Leave?' Alexander was silent for a moment. He looked into Parmenion's face, but for the first time in all the years he had known him the Spartan refused to meet his eyes. 'He means to kill me?' he whispered. 'Is that what you are saying?'

The general's face was grim as, at last, he looked into Alexander's eyes. 'I believe so. Day by day he convinces himself- or is convinced — of your imminent treachery. He gathers information about you, and the words of your friends. Someone within your group is reporting to him. I cannot find out who.'

'One of my friends?' asked Alexander, shocked.

'Yes — or rather, someone who professes to friendship.'

'Believe me, Parmenion, I have never spoken against my father or criticized a single action. Not even to my friends.

Anyone who speaks against me is lying or twisting the truth.'

'I know that, boy! I know that better than anyone. But we must find a way to make Philip realize it. It would be safer for you to leave the city. Then I can do my best to convince the King.'

'I cannot do it,' said Alexander. 'I am the heir to the throne and I am innocent. I will not run.'

'You think only guilty men die?' Parmenion snapped. 'You believe innocence is a shield to turn away a blade? Where was the shield tonight when the assassins came? Had it not been for Hephaistion you would have been killed.'

'Perhaps,' agreed Alexander, 'but they were not assassins. They wanted the necklet.'

Parmenion said nothing, but his face lost its colour and he moved across the room to a table where a flagon of wine and two shallow cups had been left. He did not offer the prince a drink, but filled a cup and drained it swiftly. 'I should have guessed,' he said softly.

'What?'

'Aristotle leaving. It bothered me at the time. Now I know why.

Many years ago — just before you were born -1 went on a journey… a perilous journey. He accompanied me. But when it seemed that all was lost, he fled. As Chiron, he did much the same. You remember? When we came close to the Forest of Gorgon he became the centaur, returning to his own form only when the danger was past.'

'He told me of that; he said he was frightened.'

'Yes. There is to him an edge of cowardice he cannot resist. I have always seen it in him — and I do not blame him for it. It is his nature, and he tries hard to overcome it. But it is there nonetheless. Now he has run away again, and tonight someone tried to steal the necklet.'

'They could just have been robbers, surely?'

'Yes,' Parmenion admitted, 'they could. But I doubt it. Three men in a deserted street. What were they doing? Hoping some rich merchant would walk by after midnight? And the necklet is not readily visible, especially at night, nor does it look particularly valuable. No. Ever since we returned from Achaea I have lived in fear, waiting for the return of the Dark God.' The general refilled the wine-cup and moved back to the couch. 'I am no mystic, Alexander, but I can feel his presence.'

'He is gone from me,' argued the prince. 'We defeated him.'

'No, not gone. . waiting. You were always to be his vessel. All that protects you is the necklet.'

'They did not get it,' Alexander pointed out.

'This time! But there will now be other attempts. They must feel the time is right.'