'You cast doubts on his legitimacy?' asked Parmenion, swinging to face Attalus. 'I can't believe it!'
'I don't know why I said it. I swear to Zeus the words just leapt from my mouth. I was drunk. But if I could take them back, I would.'
'This has all gone too far,' said Parmenion, turning back to the King.
'I know,' said Philip softly, sitting slumped on his throne. 'Suddenly I see everything differently: It is like the sun emerging following a storm. I cannot believe I have treated him so badly. He is my son! When I fell I struck my head and was dazed for a while. But when my senses returned it was as if I was looking through another man's eyes. All my fears were gone and I felt free. I went looking for him to apologize, to beg his forgiveness. But he was gone.'
'I will find him, sire,' Parmenion promised. 'All will be well again.'
'He saved my life. Twice,' whispered Philip. 'How could I think he wanted me dead?'
'I don't know, sire. But I am glad you now see him for what he is, a fine young man who worships you.'
'You must find him, Parmenion.' Philip pushed himself to his feet and limped towards the taller man. 'Return this to him, for I know it means much.' Extending his hand, he opened his fingers.
The Spartan looked down — and felt as if a knife had been thrust into him, cold iron to the heart. The necklet glistened in the lamp-light and Parmenion took it with a trembling hand.
'How. . did you come by it?'
'As I fell, I reached out. My fingers hooked into it.'
In that moment Parmenion realized just why the King's paranoia had disappeared. The magic of the necklet prevented any evil from entering the heart or mind of the wearer.
But what had its loss meant to Alexander?
'I will ride at once, sire,' he said.
'Do you know where he has gone?'
'No, but I know where to look.'
'I will come with you,' said Attalus.
'I do not think that would be wise,' the Spartan told him.
'Wise or not, I will apologize to his face.'
'He may kill you — and I would not blame him.'
'Then I will die,' said Attalus. 'Come, let us go.'
The River Axios, Winter 337 BC
Sleet had begun to fall, icy needles that penetrated the thickest cloak, and the waters of the nearby river — swollen by incessant rain over the last few weeks — surged angrily against the bank. Hephaistion built a fire against a fallen log and the Companions gathered around it, huddled into their cloaks.
'Where shall we go?' asked Ptolemy, holding out his slender hands to the flickering flames. Alexander did not reply.
He seemed lost in thought.
'West to Epirus,' said Craterus. 'We all have friends there.'
'Why not north-west into Pelagonia?' put in Cassander. 'The army there are the men we rewarded after the Triballian campaign. They would rise in Alexander's name.'
Hephaistion looked to the prince, but still Alexander gave no indication that he was listening. Hephaistion added fuel to the fire and leaned his back against a rock, closing his mind to the cold.
It had been a night like this when first he had met Parmenion ten years ago, with sleet turning to snow on the high ground. Only then there had been the sound of the hunting dogs howling in the night, the stamping of hooves as the hunters searched for the runaway boy. Hephaistion had been thirteen years old, living with his widowed mother on a small farm in the Kerkine Mountains. Early one morning Paionian tribesmen from the north had raided into Macedonia, sweeping down from the high passes, killing farmers and sacking two towns. Outriding scouts had come to their farm. They had tried to rape his mother, but she fought so hard that they had killed her, stabbing her through the heart. The young Hephaistion slew the killer with a hand-axe and then ran for his life into the woods. The scouts had war-dogs with them and these had raced after him. Despite the cold the boy had waded through swollen streams, throwing them off the scent for a while. But as midnight approached the dogs had closed in.
Hephaistion shivered as he recalled what had happened. He had picked up a sharp rock and was crouched waiting.
The dogs, two huge beasts with slavering jaws, had bounded into the clearing, closely followed by the six scouts on their painted ponies.
On a shouted command from the leader — a slim, wiry man wearing a yellow cloak — the dogs halted before the boy.
Hephaistion had backed away to a boulder, the rock in his hand.
'See the dogs, child,' said the leader, his voice guttural and cruel. 'In a few moments I will order them to rip you to pieces. See how they stand, as if leashed? They are well trained.' Hephaistion could not keep his eyes from the hounds. Their lips were drawn back over heavy muzzles, showing long, sharp, rending fangs. In his terror the boy's bladder had given way and the six riders had laughed aloud at his shame.
A tall man in bright armour stepped from behind the rocks, a short, stabbing sword in his hand. The dogs howled and charged but the warrior moved swiftly in front of the boy, his sword sweeping out and down, half decapitating the first hound and skewering the heart of the second.
The action had been so swift that the men had not moved. But the leader, seeing his war-dogs slain, dragged clear his sword and kicked his horse forward. Arrows sliced through the night air. The first shaft took the leader behind the ear, punching through to his brain. He toppled sideways from his mount. The other Paionians tried to escape, but the arrows came from all sides. Within a few heartbeats all six men and four of the horses were dead or dying.
Hephaistion dropped the rock and turned to the tall warrior, who was wiping blood from his blade.
'Thank you, sir,' he managed to say. The man sheathed his sword and knelt before him, his eyes seemingly grey in the moonlight.
'You did well, boy,' he said, reaching out to grip Hephaistion's shoulders. 'You stood your ground like a warrior.'
The boy shook his head, tears beginning to flow. 'I wet myself in fear.'
'And yet you neither ran, nor begged for your life. Do not be ashamed of a momentary weakness of the bladder.
Come, let us go somewhere warm and find you some dry clothing.'
'Who are you, sir?'
'I am Parmenion,' answered the man, rising to his feet.
'The Lion of Macedon!'
'The very same.'
'You saved my life. I shall not forget it.'
The general had smiled and moved away into the centre of the clearing, where Macedonian archers were stripping the corpses. A young officer led Parmenion's horse forward and the general smoothly vaulted to its back. Then he held out a hand to Hephaistion. 'Come, ride with me!'
Hephaistion smiled at the memory.
'He is coming,' said Alexander suddenly.
'Who?' asked Ptolemy.
'Parmenion. Attalus is with him.'
The youngster stood, staring south through the sleet. 'I see no one, Alexander.'
'They will be here within the hour,' said Alexander, almost dreamily.
'How do you know?' asked Craterus.
'A vision from the gods,' the prince answered.
'If it is a true vision, how could Parmenion know where to find us?'
'How indeed?' responded Alexander, his sea-green eyes gleaming as they focused on Hephaistion.
'I left a message for him, telling him we had headed north,' said the officer.
'What?' roared Craterus. 'You are a traitor then!'
'Be quiet, my friend,' said Alexander, his voice soft and almost gentle. 'Let Hephaistion speak.'