David Gemmell - Dark Prince

'I see,' said the King softly. 'You are angry with me. But you judge me too harshly, Parmenion; I have only done what you taught me to do. All those quiet lessons in strategy in the sunshine at Mieza and on your estates. Well, what would you have done? Thebes rose against us. Athens sent messages of support, but sat back to wait and watch what the boy -king would do. Sparta sent an army north, five thousand men camped at Megara. Every southern city was ready to break their treaties with Macedonia, for they were treaties made with Philip — the warrior -king. Not with the boy , Alexander. Persian agents were everywhere, showering the Great King's gold upon any who would declare enmity to Macedon. Philip could have cowed them — but he would have had the weight of his reputation behind him.

The boy had no reputation save for victories against " crude tribesmen ".' Alexander shook his head, his expression sorrowful. 'I was negotiating with the Thebans, trying to find a peaceful way to end the deadlock. But there was an incident near a postern gate in the southern wall, when a group of young Thebans attacked a scouting party of Macedonians led by Perdiccas. The Theban army then issued out, storming our camp. We routed them swiftly and entered the city, at which point our besieged garrison in the Cadmea opened their gates and attacked from within.

You have seen the fall of cities, Parmenion — warriors everywhere, small skirmishes, running battles. There is no order. And yes, the slaughter was great. It took hours to stop it, to restore discipline.

'The following day I ordered the destruction of the city and marched the army south. The Spartans retreated. The Athenians sent emissaries pledging their loyal support. The razing of Thebes was like an earth tremor, destroying the foundations of rebellion. But it hurt me, Parmenion. The glory that was Thebes, the home of Hector's tomb, the works and statues of Praxiteles. You think it did not hurt me?'

The general looked up, saw what appeared to be anguish on the young man's face and sighed. 'And Attalus? Did that hurt you?'

'No,' admitted Alexander, 'but you know I had no choice. He hated me and feared me. For years he tried to poison Philip's mind against me: he was my father's man, he would never be mine. But I tell you this, had he been living in retirement on his estates I would have let him live. But he was not. He was in Asia in joint command of an army — an army he might have tried to turn against me.'

Parmenion could not argue with the truth of that. Philip himself had come to power after having organized the murder of possible rivals. But there was one last, lingering boil to be lanced. 'What of the babe?' he asked.

'That was a terrible deed- and none of my doing. I am ashamed to tell you that I believe it was my mother, aided by a friend of hers from Samothrace — Aida. The night after my father's murder the two women went to Cleopatra, who was later found strangled with a length of braided silver wire. Olympias denied it — but who else could it have been?

It was a ghastly way for my reign to begin — the murder of my infant brother.'

'You had no part in it?'

'Did you think that I would?' Alexander was genuinely shocked and the Spartan read the sincerity in his eyes.

Parmenion felt as if an awesome weight had slid from his shoulders. Reaching out, he embraced the younger man, and there were tears in his eyes. 'I cannot tell you how relieved I am,' he said. 'The killing of the child has haunted me. I thought. .'

'You thought the Dark God had taken control of me?'

Parmenion nodded. Alexander reached down, drawing a slender dagger from his belt. Taking Parmenion's hand, he pressed the hilt of the dagger into his palm. The Spartan's fingers closed around the weapon and Alexander leaned his body forward so that the point of the dagger touched his chest.

'If you doubt me, then kill me,' he told Parmenion.

The Spartan looked into the young man's eyes, seeking any sign of the Beast from the Enchantment. But there was nothing. All he could see was the handsome young man his son had become. Letting slip the knife, he shook his head. 'I see only a King,' he said.

Alexander chuckled. 'By all the gods, it's good to see you again, Parmenion! Do you remember the day we sat in the palace at Pella, discussing your victory at the Crocus Field? I asked you then if you would one day be my general.

You recall?'

'Yes, you were about four years old. I said I might be a little old by the time you became King. And indeed I am.'

'Well, now I ask you again: Will the Lion of Macedon lead my army to victory?'

'If the gods are willing, sire, he will.'

Bodies lay everywhere, and the mud-churned banks of the Granicus were slippery with blood. Parmenion removed his helm, passing it to Ptolemy who took it in trembling hands. The Spartan looked into the youngster's unnaturally pale face, saw the sheen of cold sweat upon his cheeks. 'Are you enjoying the glory?' he asked.

Ptolemy swallowed hard. 'It was a great victory, sir,' he answered.

'Follow me,' the general ordered. Parmenion and his six aides walked slowly across the battlefield, stepping over the bloated corpses of the Persian slain. Dark clouds of crows and ravens rose from the bodies, their raucous cries harsh upon the ears. Parmenion halted beside the mutilated corpse of a young Persian noble, dressed in silk and satin. The fingers of his left hand had been cut away, then discarded once the gold rings had been stripped from them. His face was grey, his eyes torn out by carrion birds. He would have been no older than Ptolemy. In the midday heat the body had swelled with the gases of death and the stench was terrible. 'He dreamed of glory,' said Parmenion harshly, turning on his officers. 'Yesterday he rode a fine horse and sought to destroy the enemies of his King. He probably has a young wife at home, perhaps a son. Handsome, is he not?'

'Why are we here, sir?' asked Ptolemy, averting his eyes from the dead Persian.

Parmenion did not answer. Across the field some Macedonian and Thracian soldiers were still looting the dead, and above the battleground flocks of dark birds were circling, crying out in their hunger.

'How many lie here, do you think?' the Spartan asked.

'Thousands,' answered Perdiccas, a tall, slender young cavalryman who had arrived in Asia with Alexander.

'Somewhere near sixteen thousand,' Parmenion told him. To the far left Macedonian work parties were digging a mass grave for their fallen comrades. 'How many did we lose?' continued the general, looking at Ptolemy. The young man shrugged and spread his hands.

Parmenion's face darkened. 'You should know,' he told him. 'You should know exactly. When you ride into battle your life depends on your comrades. They must be confident that you care for them. Can you understand that? They will fight all the better for a caring commander. We lost eight hundred and seventeen Macedonians, four hundred and eleven Thracians, and two hundred and fifteen allied Greeks.'

The general walked on and, mystified, the officers followed. Here the bodies lay in groups, hundreds one upon another. 'The last stand of the Royal Infantry,' said Parmenion. 'With the army fleeing around them, they stood their guard… to the death. Brave men. Proud men. Do them honour in thought and word.'

'Why should we do the enemy honour?' asked Perdiccas. 'What purpose does it serve?'

'Who will rule this land now?' said Parmenion.

'We shall.'

'And in years to come the sons of these brave men will be your subjects. They will join your armies, march under your banners. But will they be loyal? Will you be able to trust them? It might be wise, Perdiccas, to honour their fathers now in order to win the love of their children later.'