David Gemmell - Dark Prince

'You speak well. And I like the lack of fear in your eyes. And you fight well too. My name is Brontes. These are my brothers, Steropes and Arges.'

'I am Parmenion. This is my… comrade Attalus.'

'We will not kill you,' said Brontes. 'Not this time. Our gift is your lives. But if ever you walk in our woods again your lives will be forfeit.' The minotaur pushed himself to his feet and turned to walk away.

'Wait!' called Parmenion. 'We are seeking a child from our land who was abducted by the King of the Makedones.

Can you help us?'

The minotaur swung his great bull's head. 'The Makedones gave chase to a centaur two days ago. It is said that the centaur carried a child with golden hair. They travelled south to the Woods of the Centaurs. That is all I know. The woods are forbidden to Humans, save Chiron. The horse people will not allow you to pass. Nor will they speak with you. Your greeting will be an arrow through the heart or eye. Be warned!'

Attalus' fist slammed into Parmenion's chin, spinning him from his feet. The Spartan hit the ground hard, then rolled to his back, staring up at the enraged Macedonian who loomed above him with fists clenched, blood still seeping from the shallow gash in his cheek.

'You miserable whoreson!' hissed Attalus. 'What in Hades were you thinking of? Ten men! By Heracles, we should be dead.'

Parmenion sat up and rubbed his chin, then pushed himself to his feet. 'I was not thinking,' he admitted.

'Excellent!' sneered Attalus. 'But I do not want that engraved on the walls of my tomb: "Attalus died because the strategos wasn't thinking." '

'It will not happen again,' promised the Spartan, but the swordsman would not be mollified.

'I want to know why it happened this time. I want to know why the First General of Macedonia rushed to the aid of women he did not know. You were at Methone, Amphipolis and a dozen other cities when the army sacked them. I did not see you racing through the streets protecting the women and children. What is so different here?'

'Nothing,' replied the Spartan. 'But you are wrong. I was never in those cities when the rapes and murders took place.

I organized the attacks, but when the walls were breached my work was done. I do not seek to avoid responsibility for the barbarism that followed, but it was never perpetrated in my name, nor have I ever taken part in it. As for my actions today, I accept they were inexcusable. We are here to rescue Alexander- and I put that in jeopardy. But I have said it will not happen again. I can say no more.'

'Well, I can — if you ever decide to act the romantic fool do not expect me to be standing beside you.'

'I did not expect it in the first place,' said Parmenion, his expression hardening, his eyes holding to the swordsman's gaze. 'And know this, Attalus — if you ever strike me again I shall kill you.'

'Enjoy your dreams,' replied the swordsman. 'The day will never dawn when you can best me with blade or spear.'

Parmenion was about to speak when he saw several of the women moving across the clearing towards them. The first to arrive bowed low before the warriors, then looked up with a shy smile. She was slim and golden-haired, with violet eyes and a face of surpassing beauty.

'We thank you, lords, for your help,' she said, her voice sweet and lilting, almost musical.

'It was our pleasure,' Attalus told her. 'What true men would have acted differently?'

'You are hurt,' she said, moving forward and reaching up to touch his face. 'You must let us tend your wounds. We have herbs and healing powders.'

Ignoring Parmenion the women closed around Attalus, leading him to a fallen tree and sitting beside him. A young girl in a dress of shimmering blue sat upon the swordsman's lap, lifting a broad green leaf which she placed over the wound on his cheek. When she pulled the leaf clear the gash had vanished, the skin appearing clean and unbroken.

Another woman repeated the manoeuvre with the cut on the warrior's left forearm.

The satyr reappeared from the edge of the trees and skipped forward to Parmenion bearing a goblet of wine. The Spartan thanked him and sat down to drink. Smiling nervously, the satyr moved away.

The attempt to rescue the women was everything that Attalus implied: romantic, stupid and, considering the odds, suicidal, and Parmenion's spirits were low as he sat apart from the group. Thinking back he remembered the quiet joy he had felt watching the women, and the sudden explosive anger that had raced through him when he heard their screams. Images leapt to his mind, like a window thrown open in a hidden corner of his soul, and he saw again the children of Methone piled carelessly one upon another in a grisly hill of the dead.

The city was being prepared for destruction and Parmenion had ridden through it, overseeing the demolition. He had stopped in the main market square, where wagons were drawn up to remove the bodies.

Nicanor was riding beside him. Turning to the blond warrior, Parmenion had asked a simple question.

'Why?'

'Why what, my friend?' replied Nicanor, mystified.

'The children. Why were they slain?'

Nicanor had shrugged. 'The women go to the slave markets of Asia, the men to Pelagonia to build the new fortresses there. There is no price any more for young children.'

'And that is the answer?' whispered the general. 'There is no price?'

'What other answer is there?' the warrior responded.

Parmenion rode from the city without a backward glance, determined never again to view the aftermath of such victories. Now, here in this enchanted wood, the realization struck him with sickening force that he was a coward. As a general he set in motion the events that led to horror, and had believed that by not allowing himself to witness the brutality he was somehow freed from the guilt of it.

Sipping his wine, he found the weight of his grief too powerful to bear and tears spilled to his cheeks, all sense of self-worth flowing from him.

He did not know at which point he fell asleep, but he awoke in a soft bed in a room with walls of interlaced vines and a ceiling of leaves.

Feeling rested and free of burdens, his heart light, he pushed back the covers and swung his legs from the bed. The floor was carpeted with moss, soft and springy below his feet as he rose. There was no door in the vines and he approached them, pushing his hands against the hanging wall and moving the leaves aside. Sunlight streamed in, almost blinding him, and he stepped out into a wide glade bordered by oak trees. Standing still for a moment, as his eyes grew accustomed to the light, he heard the sound of rushing water and turned to see a waterfall gushing over white marble, filling a deep pool around which sat a group of women. Others were swimming through the crystal-clear water, laughing and splashing each other, tiny rainbows forming in the spray.

As Parmenion strolled towards the group a looming figure moved from his right and he saw the minotaur, Brontes.

The creature bowed clumsily, his great bull's head dipping and rising.

'Welcome to my home,' he said.

'How did I come here?’

‘I carried you.’

‘Why?'

'You drank the wine, Human. It made you sleep and gave you dreams. Then more Makedones came and the Lady bade me bring you.'

'Where is Attalus?'

'Your companion still sleeps — and will continue so to do. Come, the Lady waits.' The minotaur strode on, past the waterfall, angling to the right through the trees and coming at last to another wall of vines. Two women stood by them, pulling them apart for the minotaur to enter. Parmenion followed, finding himself in a natural hall columned by tall cypress trees and roofed by flowers. Birds of all kinds were flying here, swooping and diving high among the multi-coloured blooms.