David Gemmell - Dark Prince

The thought was not comforting.

The Makedones were coming, but how long before they reached the city? They had fought one battle a few days ago.

It was likely that Philippos would let his troops rest, to enjoy the fruits of victory, the spoils and the plunder. Five days? Three?

He would not consider the Spartans a major threat — not with only 5,000 men. And the addition of a slave army would concern him not at all.

The door behind him opened and the scent of sweet perfume filled the air. He knew instantly who had entered and turned slowly, his heart palpitating, his mouth suddenly dry.

Derae stood before him, dressed in a gown of white bordered with gold. Her red hair was long, drawn back from her face in intricate braids. Her eyes were green, her skin burnished gold. His breath caught in his throat as she approached him. After all these years he was once more face to face with the woman he had loved and lost.

'Derae!' he whispered.

'You shamed Nestus,' she said, her eyes showing her fury, 'and I will hate you for as long as you live!'

Parmenion could not speak, the shock was too great. He felt his legs trembling and backed away from the balcony.

For more than thirty years he had loved this woman. No, he tried to tell himself, not this Derae. But logic was useless against the vision before him. Her face and form had lived in his memory for three decades and the sight of her now unmanned him.

'Well, speak!' she demanded.

He shook his head and lifted the wine-cup, pulling his gaze from her, trying to break the spell.

'Have you nothing to say?'

Anger touched him then, flaring swiftly. 'Nestus is fortunate to be among the living,' he told her. 'And as for your hatred, lady, it will be shortlived. It is likely that we all have but five days to live. If you wish to spend those days with Nestus, go to him; you have my blessing.'

'Your blessing? That is something I have never had. I served your purpose: you wed me to become King, you stole my happiness — and now you give me your blessing. Well, a curse upon it! I do not need it.'

'Tell me what you need,' he said, 'and, if it is within my power, you shall have it.'

'There is nothing you can give me,' she answered, spinning on her heel and striding towards the door.

'Derae!' he called and she stopped, but did not turn. 'I have always loved you,' he said. 'Always.'

She faced him then, cheeks crimson and eyes blazing, but her anger died as she saw his expression. Without replying she backed away and fled the room.

Parmenion moved to a couch and sat, his thoughts sombre.

Soon the old servant, Priastes, returned to the King's quarters and bowed.

'What will you wear today, sire?' he asked.

'I will be garbed for battle,' answered Parmenion.

'Which breastplate do you desire?'

'I do not care,' he snapped. 'You choose, Priastes. Just bring it.'

'Yes, sire. Are you well?' the old man asked.

'Fine.'

'Ah,' said Priastes knowingly, 'but the Queen is angry. The world is falling apart, but the Queen is angry. She is always so — why do you not take another wife, boy? Many kings have several wives. . and she has given you no sons.' The old man obviously had a warm relationship with the King and Parmenion found the open friendliness comforting. He answered without thinking.

'I love the woman,' he said.

'You do?' responded Priastes, astonished. 'Since when? And why? I'll grant she has a fine body and good child-bearing hips. But, by Zeus, she has the foulest temper.'

'How long have you been with me, Priastes?'

'Sire?'

'How long? Exactly?'

'Exactly? You gave me my freedom after the battle at Orchomenus. When was that. . the year of the Griffyn? The time has sped by since.'

'Yes, it has,' agreed Parmenion, none the wiser. 'Have I changed much in that time?'

'No,' said the old man, chuckling, 'you are still the same — shy and yet arrogant, both a poet and a warrior. This war has been hard on you, boy, you look older. Tired. Defeat does that to a man.'

‘I’ll try to see that it doesn't happen again.'

'And you'll succeed,' said Priastes, chuckling. 'All the oracles said you'd die in that battle, but I didn't believe them.

That's my Parmenion, I said. There's no one alive who can beat him. And I know you would have won but for those Kadmians. I hear you dealt with Nestus. About time. How long have I been telling you to do just that? Hmm?'

'Too long. Now fetch my armour — and then let me know when the ephors arrive.'

Priastes wandered away into a back room, emerging with a cuirass of baked black leather, edged with gold, and a kilt of bronze-reinforced leather strips. 'Will these suffice?'

'Yes. Bring me some food while I dress.'

'May I ask a favour, boy?'

'Of course.'

'Leonidas says you are asking every able-bodied man — including slaves — to take up swords in defence of the city.

Well, what about me? I'm only seventy-three and I am still strong. I'll stand beside you.'

'No,' answered Parmenion. 'The older men will be left to defend the city.'

Priastes stood his ground, his expression hardening. 'I would like to be with you… on the last day.'

Parmenion looked into the old man's grey eyes. 'You think I will die?' he asked softly.

'No, no,' answered Priastes, but he would not meet the King's gaze. 'I would just like to be there to share the glory of victory. I never had a son, Parmenion, but I've looked after you for nearly fifteen years. And I love you, boy. You know that?'

'I know. Then it will be as you say: you will come with me.'

'Thank you. Now I'll find some food for you. Cakes and honey? Or would you prefer some salted meat?'

While Priastes fetched the food Parmenion dressed, then wandered to the balcony. The Parmenion of this world had been a good man, he realized, caring and patient. Why else would he allow his servants to address him so informally? Why else would he have tolerated the insubordination of Nestus? Now an old man wanted nothing more than to die beside the man he loved. Parmenion sighed. 'You were a better man than I,' he whispered, staring up at the cloud-streaked sky.

Below the balcony and beyond the palace walls Sparta was beginning to stir. Slaves were moving towards the market-place and shops were opening, merchants displaying their wares on trestle-tables.

So like his own city, he thought. But here there was no Xenophon and no Hermias, he realized suddenly. His only friend in the Sparta of his own world, Hermias, had stood by him when all others felt only hatred and contempt for the mix-blood. Hermias, who had died at Leuctra, fighting on the opposite side.

'The ephors are ready, sire,' said Leonidas.

'Let him eat first,' snapped Priastes, moving in behind the Spartan officer.

Leonidas grinned. 'Like a she-wolf with her young,' he commented.

'Watch your tongue, boy, lest this old man cut it out for you,' retorted Priastes, setting a silver tray down before the King. Parmenion ate swiftly, washing down the honey-cakes with heavily-watered wine. Dismissing Priastes, he turned to Leonidas.

'I will not know the ephors,' he said, 'so I want you to greet them by name.'

'I will. And the men I have chosen are already on their way to the homes of Chirisophus and Soteridas. I will join them once the meeting is under way.'

'If you find anything incriminating, return to the palace and the discussions. Do not say anything, merely point at the guilty.'

'It will be as you say.'

'Good. Now lead me to the meeting.'

The two men walked from the King's quarters and down the statue-lined staircase to a long corridor. Servants bowed as they passed, and the sentries in the royal gardens stood to attention as the two men strolled across the grounds.