David Gemmell: Lion of Macedon

'May the blessings of Olympus be upon your home,' said the stranger cheerfully.

'You cannot enter,' said Leucion. 'Be on your way.'

Sweat dripped to his eyes and he blinked it away. The man did not seem to be armed, but this was small comfort to the warrior. If this stranger was a demon, he would need no sword to despatch a human opponent.

'I come seeking the Healer,' the man said. 'Is she here?'

'There is no one here but me. Now go — or work your sorcery and be damned to you!'

'Ah,' said the man, smiling, 'I see you observed my arrival. I am no threat to you or the lady who dwells here. You could say I am a friend. An ally.'

Leucion's face darkened. 'Friend, you are hard of hearing. If you do not turn away, I will be forced to fight you.'

The stranger backed off a step. 'How can I convince you? Wait! I have it.' Lifting his hand to his breast, he closed his eyes. Leucion felt a weight in his right hand, and glancing down saw that he now held a gleaming short sword. 'There,' said the man. 'Is that more comfortable?'

'Who are you?'

'My name is Aristotle. And think on this, friend, had I wished to harm you I could have made the sword appear — not in your hand — but in your heart. Yes? And another point to consider, the last time someone came here intent on bringing harm to the Healer, she needed no help, did she, Leucion? When you and your friends sought to rape and kill her? You remember?'

Leucion dropped the sword and staggered back. 'I… I have tried to atone for that day.'

'And you have done well,' the man said, walking through the gateway. 'Now show me to her, there's a good fellow. Ah, I see there is no need.'

Leucion swung to see Derae standing on the pathway. Wearing a new gown of glimmering green, her hair shining gold and silver in the sunlight, she looked to Leucion indescribably beautiful.

'What do you want here?' she asked the stranger.

'I wish to talk of times of peril, my dear.'

'You are not of the Source,' she said, her voice cold.

'Neither am I of Chaos. I am my own man.'

'That is not possible,' she told him.

'All things are possible, but let us say that I dwell upon the borders of both lands, serving neither. Yet we have a common purpose, Derae. I have no wish to see Kadmilos take on the mantle of flesh.'

'Why come to me?'

Aristotle chuckled. 'Enough of games, Healer! An old friend asked me to visit you, to help where I could. Her name is… was?. . Cassandra. Now may we go inside? I am hot and thirsty and my journey has been long.'

Derae was silent for a moment. Closing her eyes her spirit leapt free, merging instantaneously with the soul of the stranger. Yet, fast as she was, the man was faster still, closing vast areas of memory, locking them away from her, allowing her only to glimpse bright fragments of his life.

She withdrew from him and turned to Leucion.

'Aristotle is to be our guest for a little while, my friend. I would be grateful if you would treat him with courtesy.'

Leucion bowed. 'As you wish, lady. I will prepare a room for him.'

After Leucion had gone Derae moved to stand by the sword Aristotle had created. 'A small though clever example of power,' he said.

'Not small,' she told him, 'and let us see it for what it is.' Kneeling, she held her hand over the blade, which shimmered and changed, becoming a long black snake, its head hooded. 'Had he tried to stab you with this, the snake would have reared back and killed him.'

'But he did not,' said Aristotle lamely.

'Understand this, and understand it well. Had he died I would have sent your soul screaming into Hades.'

'The point is well taken,' he assured her.

'See that it is.'

'I will build him an empire," said Philip as they lay on the broad bed, his hand resting gently on Olympias' distended belly. 'He will have everything he needs.'

'You were magnificent on that first night,' she said.

'I remember nothing of it, more's the pity. But I remember the morning after. You have been a fire in my blood for two years — ever since the dream. Only the gods will know how I have missed you these last seven months. Why did you have to spend so long in Epirus?'

'I suffered problems with the pregnancy. To have travelled might have meant losing your son.'

'Then you were wise to wait. Everything I have built has been for you — and for him.'

'He will be your heir?" she asked, whispering the question.

'My only heir, I promise you.'

'What of your sons from future wives?'

'They will not take his place.'

'Then I am content, Philip. Truly content. Will you attack the Olynthians?'

Philip chuckled and sat up. 'Parmenion told me you were a student of strategy. I did not believe him. Why do you concern yourself with such matters?'

Her green eyes hardened. 'My father was a King, from a line of Kings. You think I should learn to weave and grow flowers? No, Philip, that is no life for Olympias. Now tell me about the Olynthians.'

'No,' he said, rolling from the bed.

'Why? Do you think me stupid? I want to help you. I want to be a part of your plans.'

'You are a part of my plans,' he said, swinging to face her. 'You are the mother of my son. Can you not be content with that? I have many advisers, but few are those with whom I share my private thoughts. Can you understand that? No one can betray my plans, if no one knows the full extent of them.'

'You think I would betray you?' she snapped.

'I never met a woman yet who knew when to hold her tongue!' he roared, 'and you are proving no exception.' Philip threw a cloak around his shoulders and strode from the room.

It was close to midnight and the corridor beyond was deserted, only two of the seven lanterns still flickering. The King marched to the end of the corridor, wrenching open the doors. The two guards beyond snapped to attention. Ignoring them, Philip stepped out into the moonlit gardens.

The guards glanced at one another, then followed him.

'Leave me be!' he thundered.

'We cannot, sire. The Lord Attalus. .'

'Who is the King here?' he bellowed, glaring at them. They shifted uneasily, and his anger passed.

He knew their problem. If the King walked away into the night to be murdered, their own lives would be forfeit; they were in an impossible situation. 'I am sorry, lads. A burst of temper, no more than that.' He sighed. 'Women! They bring out the worst and the best in any man.' The men grinned. 'All right, follow me to the home of Parmenion.'

The half-naked King and the two black-cloaked guards crossed the gardens to the western wing of the palace. Lantern-light could be seen from Parmenion's quarters and the King did not bother to knock on the narrow side door. Opening it, he stepped inside.

Parmenion was sitting with his servant and friend, the Theban Mothac. Both men were poring over maps. The Spartan glanced up, showing no surprise at the King's entrance.

'And what are we studying?' asked Philip, striding across the room to stare down at the maps.

'The upper reaches of the River Axios, north of the Bora mountains,' said Parmenion. 'The maps came today. I commissioned them last year.'

'You are anticipating problems in that area?' Philip enquired.

'There is a new Illyrian leader named Grabus who is trying to organize a league with the Paionians. They could prove troublesome.'

Philip sat on a couch and swung to Mothac. 'Pour me some wine, Theban,' he commanded.

'Why?' responded Mothac, eyes blazing. 'Have you lost the use of your arms?'

'What?' shouted Philip, his face reddening, his earlier anger returning with redoubled force.

'I am no Macedonian — and not your servant,' Mothac told him. Philip lurched to his feet.