David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'I'll have a home like that,' he said. 'Even the gods will be glad to live there. I'll have it all one day, Parmenion.'

'Is that all you want, sire?'

'No. What does any man want? Excitement. Power. I think of Bardylis often — old, withered, as good as dead. I look at myself and I see a strong, young body. But I am not fooled, Parmenion. Bardylis is only a reflection of the Philip to be. I want to live life to the full. I want not a single regret to haunt my dotage.'

'You are asking a great deal, Philip,' said Parmenion softly. 'All men have regrets — even Kings.'

Philip looked at Parmenion and smiled. 'For two years I have asked you to call me Philip when we are alone — yet you wait till now. Why is that?'

The Spartan shrugged. 'These are strange days. Yesterday you spoke to me like a father. Then I met a woman and I felt excitement such as I have not known in a decade. Today I feel. . different -

like a man again.'

'Did you bed her?'

Parmenion chuckled. 'Sometimes, Philip, your predictability dazzles me. No, I did not bed her.

But, in truth, I wanted to. And that sensation has been a stranger to me for too long. By the way, how many women did you have in your rooms last night? By the sounds it must have been a troupe of dancers.'

'A mere twenty or thirty,' answered Philip. 'So what was this woman's name?'

'I don't know.'

'Where does she live?'

'I don't know that either.'

'I see. You don't think it might be a little difficult to further this relationship? What did she look like?'

'She wore a veil.'

'So, the general Parmenion has fallen for a woman whose face he has not seen and whose name he does not know. I am at a loss to understand the nature of your arousal. Did she have nice feet?'

Parmenion's laughter rippled out. He lay back on the grass and stared at the sky. 'I did not see her feet,' he said. Then the laughter came again; it was infectious and Philip began to chuckle, his dark mood evaporating.

After a while both men returned to the palace where the King ate a second breakfast. The dark-haired girl came to him just after noon. 'The Lady Aida will see you now, lord,' she said. Philip followed her down a long corridor to a high-ceilinged room where statues of young women lined the walls. A woman was waiting by the southern window and she turned as Philip entered. She was dressed in a dark, hooded robe, her face pale as ivory. Philip swallowed hard as he recognized her from his first dream.

'At last we meet,' she said.

'Where is my bride?' whispered Philip.

'She will be waiting for you,' said the hooded woman. 'Tomorrow, on the night of the Third Mystery, she will be brought to your rooms. But there is something you must do, King of Macedon.'

'Name it.'

'You will not go to her until the third hour after midnight; you will not see her before then. At that appointed hour she will conceive your son — not a moment before, not a minute after. You will lie together in the third hour. If this is not done, there will be no marriage.'

Philip laughed. 'You believe I will have a problem in that area?'

'I hope not, Philip,' she answered coldly. 'Much depends on it. This son will be greater than any warrior before him. . but only if he is conceived in the third hour.'

'As I said, I see no reason to fear failure.'

'Then I will give you two. If you fail, all your dreams of greatness will come to nothing; the gods will desert you. And, secondly, you already have a son: Arrhidaeus. He is simple-minded, his limbs weak; your wife Phila died in giving birth to him. Apart from this one chance, Philip, all you will sire are daughters. What I offer you now is a chance — your only chance — to sire a perfect heir.'

'How did you know of Arrhidaeus?' whispered Philip.

'I know all your secrets. I know the secrets of the world. Be prepared, King of Macedon. Olympias will await you.'

Aida watched the Macedonian turn and stalk from the room. As the door closed behind him she returned to her high-backed chair and sat, her thoughts uneasy, her emotions confused.

Philip was a powerful man, his personal magnetism compelling, yet something was wrong and Aida's tension grew. So much depended on this union, so many plans laid over so many years.

Aida had been a child when her mother first told her of the Dream of the Dark Birth, and of the many failures which had followed. Only once in each fifty-year cycle did the harmony of the universe falter, giving rise to a unique moment of planetary confusion.

When the last alignment took place in Mesopotamia, Aida was fourteen. Her mother had bewitched the Great King and prepared an acolyte of exceptional beauty. The wedding night had proceeded as planned but the girl — her mind dazed by the drugs — had wandered from the balcony, falling to her death on the marble stone of the courtyard. Aida's mother had been desolated, and for two months she refused to speak; then just when it seemed she would recover, she slashed her throat with a bronze knife.

Now the moment was here once more. There would be no balcony for Olympias, no danger to the princess. Philip was a ram who would need no assistance to fulfil his… necessary. . task.

So what could go wrong? Aida did not know. But she felt the icy touch of fear.

She closed her eyes and soared, her spirit rising high above the palace, moving over the green hills — seeking, ever seeking, without knowing what she sought.

The assassins sent from the city of Olynthus were dead, their boat destroyed in a sudden storm.

Only one had reached the Samothracian shore, and his head had been crushed by a heavy rock wielded by two of Aida's acolytes. There was no danger from assassins. Aida would know.

But she could not dismiss her fears. She trusted her Talents and her intuition. Although she could not walk the paths of the Past and Future, still Aida was powerful, reading the hearts and minds of men, anticipating events. The rulers of the city of Olynthus feared Philip. It was not difficult to second-guess their intentions, especially now that the King's former favourite, Nicanor, entertained an Olynthian lover at his home in Pella.

The storm had been costly — two of Aida's acolytes sacrificed, their hearts torn from their bodies. But it was worth more than even those to ensure that the Lord of Fire could be born in the flesh. Aida would sacrifice a nation for such a holy miracle.

Returning to her body, she opened her eyes.

Where is the peril?

Think, Aida! Use your mind! She had searched the island, the seventeen villages and four ports.

Nothing. She thought of Tamis, almost wishing her alive so that she could focus her hatred once more.

Would that I could have killed you a dozen, dozen times! The old priestess had been a constant sore for decades. Curiously, her death had done little to ease Aida's hatred. All that power wasted on the whore, she thought, remembering — with exquisite distaste — Tamis' lovers.

The other priestess had worried her at first, but she also was flawed.

Where then the danger?

Closing her eyes once more she flew across the seas, hovering over the Temple. A tall man was tending the garden and there were no supplicants waiting in the meadows. Swiftly Aida armoured herself with protective spells, then entered the temple. It was empty.

Where are you, my dove? she thought.

Returning to Samothrace she searched the island once more — carefully, thoroughly, each hill and wood.

At last, weary and almost spent, she returned to the palace and walked to the kennels below the outer wall. The black hounds began to bay as she entered. Pulling open the wooden gate she moved in among them, crouching down as they surged around her. Summoning the image of Derae she cast the picture into the mind of each hound, imprinting it, holding it until the baying stopped. Then lifting her arm, she pointed to the open gate.