David Gemmell - Dark Prince

An hour passed. . then another. Finally a cloaked figure left by the rear door, moving swiftly down the path. But he did not pass through the gate; instead he cut across the garden to a second inner gateway. Hephaistion stood and, keeping to the shadows of the wall, followed the 1 man. Hanging ivy grew thickly by the inner gate and the scent of roses came from beyond the wall. Hephaistion slowed his walk, moving with care through the undergrowth. He could hear low voices in the small garden beyond and he recognized them both.

'Is he talking treason yet?' Philip asked.

'Not as such, sire. But he grows more discontented day by day. I asked him tonight how he felt about the coming campaign and he outlined his plans for the taking of a walled city. He speaks like a general, and I think he sees himself leading the army.'

Hephaistion's eyes narrowed. That was not as it had been. He had listened to that conversation and Alexander had merely pointed out — when pushed — that patience was needed when besieging fortified towns.

'Attalus believes,' said Philip, 'that my life is in danger. Do you agree with him?'

'Hard to say with certainty, sire. But I detect a great jealousy over your recent marriage. All things are possible.'

'Thank you,' said the King. 'Your loyalty does you credit-1 shall not forget it.'

Hephaistion slipped deeper into the shadows and knelt behind a thick bush as the man reappeared. He waited there for some minutes then rose and walked out into the night, making his way past the Guards Barracks to Parmenion's house. There was a single lantern burning in the lower study, thin lines of golden light showing through the wooden shutters of the small window.

The soldier tapped at the wood and Parmenion pushed open the shutter, saw him and gestured him to the side door.

Once inside the general offered him wine but Hephaistion refused, accepting instead a cup of water.

'Is it Philo?' Parmenion asked.

Hephaistion nodded. There was no expression on the general's face as he returned to the wide leather-covered chair behind the desk. 'I thought so. Tell me all.'

The soldier did so, reporting the twisted facts Philotas had relayed to the King. 'What does he gain, sir? The prince is his friend and the heir to the throne. Surely his future success would be assured under Alexander?'

'That is not how he views it. You have done well, Hephaistion. I am pleased with you.'

'I am sorry that the information I gained should bring you grief.'

Parmenion shook his head. 'I knew it anyway — deep in my heart.' The Spartan rubbed at his eyes, then lifted a full wine-cup to his lips, draining it at a single swallow.

'May I now return to my regiment, sir?' asked the soldier. 'I am not suited to palace life.'

'No, I am sorry. I think Alexander is in danger and I want you close to him for a little while longer. Will you do this for me?'

Hephaistion sighed. 'You know I will refuse you nothing, sir. But please let it not be too long.'

'No more than a month. Now you should get some rest. I understand Alexander rides on a hunt tomorrow. . today

… at dawn.'

Hephaistion chuckled. 'That will come as a welcome relief.' His smile faded. 'What will you do about Philotas?'

'What I must,' Parmenion answered.

Parmenion awoke soon after dawn, but he was not refreshed by his sleep. His dreams had been full of anxiety and despair, and on waking he felt no better.

Rising from the bed, he opened the shutters of his bedroom window and stared out over the city. When men looked at him they saw Macedonia's greatest general, a conqueror, a man of power. Yet today he felt old, weary and lost.

One son, Alexander, was being betrayed by another, Philotas, while the King Parmenion loved was fast convincing himself of the necessity of murdering his heir.

This was no battlefield where the strategos could work one of his many miracles. This was like a web of poisoned thread, weaving its way through the city and the kingdom, corrupting where it touched. But who was the spider?

Attalus?

The man was cold-hearted and ambitious, but Parmenion did not believe him capable of manipulating Philip. Yet who else stood to gain?

He summoned two of his manservants, ordering them to prepare him a bath. Only a few years before he would have first left the house for a morning run, loosening his muscles and refreshing his mind. But now his limbs were too stiff for such reckless release of energy. There was a tray of apples by the window and he bit into one. It was sweet and overripe and he threw the remainder from the window.

Who was the spider?

There were no easy answers. The King was middle-aged now and it was natural for young men to turn their eyes to a successor. There were many who favoured Alexander, but others would be happier with the half-wit Arridaeus, while still more remembered that Amyntas was the son of Perdiccas, the King before Philip.

But Parmenion pushed such thoughts from his mind. He knew Amyntas well; the boy had no desire for the crown, and less aptitude. He was easygoing and friendly, a capable officer, but with little imagination or initiative.

No, the answer lay with Philip and his increasing mistrust of Alexander. Philotas was feeding him lies and half-truths, but he had neither the wit nor the natural cunning to build such a web.

Parmenion lazed in the deep bath for an hour, wrestling with the problem, but was no nearer a solution when Mothac arrived to discuss the messages from agents in Asia Minor.

'The Great King has strengthened his forces in the west and sent troops to the Greek cities of the coast. But not many.

Maybe three thousand. Curious,' said the old Theban.

'Persia is vast,' said Parmenion. 'He could gather an immense army in little more than a month. No, he is just letting us know that he knows. What news from Thebes?'

'There's been the usual unrest. No one likes having a foreign garrison in the Cadmea. You should remember that!'

'I do,' Parmenion agreed, remembering his days in the city, when a Spartan force occupied the fortress at the centre of Thebes.

'There is some talk in the city of Persian gold for the hiring of a mercenary army to retake the Cadmea.'

'I don't doubt the money is there,' said Parmenion. 'The Great King will be throwing gold in every direction: Sparta, Athens, Corinth, Pherae. But this time the Persians will fail. There will be no revolt behind us.'

'Do not be too sure,' muttered Mothac. 'Thebes has freed herself of conquerors before.'

'There was Epaminondas then, and Pelopidas. And Sparta was the enemy. The situation is different now. Sparta was forced to tread warily for fear of starting another war with Athens. Now Thebes would stand alone, and she is no match for even one-fifth of the Macedonian army.'

Mothac grunted and shook his head angrily. 'Spoken like a Macedonian! Well, I am Theban and I do not agree. The Sacred Band is being re-formed. The city will be free again.'

Parmenion rose from the bath, wrapping a thick towel around his waist. The old days are gone, Mothac; you know that. Thebes will be free — but only when Philip decides he can trust the Thebans.'

'Such arrogance,' hissed Mothac. 'You were the man who freed Thebes. Not Epaminondas. You! You helped us retake the Cadmea and then came up with the plan to crush the Spartan army. Don't you remember? Why is it so different now? How do you know there is not a young Parmenion even now in Thebes, plotting and planning?'

'I am sure that there is,' answered Parmenion with a sigh. 'But the Spartan army was never more than five thousand strong, and they were spread thin. Philip can call upon forty-five thousand Macedonians, and half again that number of mercenaries. He has a forest of siege-engines, catapults, moving towers. It is not the same.'