David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'It was I!' hissed Tamis. 'I!'

And you were wrong! said a small voice deep in her mind. You are wrong now. Parmenion has his own life to live. It is not for you to alter his destiny.

'I am not altering it,' she said aloud. 'I am helping him to fulfil it.'

He must be allowed choices.

'I will give him choices. At the cusp moments of his life, I will go to him. I will offer him choices.'

And what if you are wrong, Tamis?

'I am not wrong. The Dark God must be stopped. He will be stopped. Leave me be!'

In the silence that followed Tamis glared around the squalid room, heavy of heart. With her powers she could have ensured a palace of riches, a life of splendour. Instead she had chosen this.

'I have made my gifts to the Source,' she told the room, 'and the Light is with me in all that I do.'

There was no one to argue, but Tamis was still unsure. She pointed to the blaze and called out a name. A man's face appeared.

'Play for me, Orpheus. Let the music ease my heart.'

As the sweet notes of the lyre sounded in the room Tamis moved to her bed, lying back and thinking of the futures she had seen. In three of them the Dark God had been born in Sparta, the ruling city of Greece.

Three possible fathers. Learchus, who could rise to greatness. Nestus, related to the royal family. And Cleombrotus, who would be King.

Tamis closed her eyes. 'Now we will see your destiny, Parmenion,' she whispered. 'Now we will see.'

Parmenion lay on a hillside to the east of the city, watching the young girls run and play. His interest in their activities surprised him, for this was not a pastime he would have considered before last summer. He recalled the day when a new kind of joy entered his life. He had been running up and down the hillside when a voice as sweet as the birth of morning spoke to him.

'What are you doing?'

Parmenion turned to see a young girl, perhaps fourteen years of age. She was wearing a simple white tunic, through which he could see not just the exquisite shape of her small breasts but also the nipples, pressing against the linen. Her legs were tanned and smooth, her waist narrow, her hips rounded. He glanced up guiltily, aware that he was reddening — and found himself gazing into wide, grey eyes set in a face of surpassing beauty.

'I was. . running,' he answered.

'I saw that,' she said, lifting a hand and pushing her fingers through her red-gold hair. It seemed to Parmenion that sunlight became trapped in her curls, glinting like jewels. 'But tell me why?' she went on. 'You run up the hill. Then you run down the hill. Then up again. There is no sense to it.'

'Lepidus — my barrack master — says that it will strengthen my legs. I am fast.'

'And I am Derae,' she told him.

'No, my name is not Fast.'

'I know that. I was joking with you.'

'I see. I… I must be going.' He turned and fled up the hill. Surprisingly, considering his previous exertions, he moved at a pace he had not considered possible.

For almost a year since this meeting he had come to the hills and the fields beyond the lake to watch the girls run. Lepidus had told him that only in Sparta were women allowed to develop their bodies. Other city states considered such exercise indecent, claiming that it incited men to commit grave crimes. Parmenion felt this could well be true, as he lay on his belly in acutely pleasurable discomfort, his eyes following Derae.

He saw the girls line up for the short race. Derae was on the outside. She won easily, her long legs stretching out, her feet scarcely seeming to make contact with the grass.

Only twice in the year had he found the courage to speak to her as she approached the field. But always she greeted him with a cheerful smile and a wave, then was away and running before a conversation could develop. Parmenion did not mind. It was enough that he could gaze on her every week. Besides, there would be little point in getting to know her, since no Spartan man was allowed to marry before he reached Manhood at twenty.

Four years. An eternity.

After an hour the girls finished their exercise and prepared to return to their homes. Parmenion rolled on to his back, closing his eyes against the harsh glare of the sun.

He thought of many things as he rested there, his hands behind his neck. He thought of the battle with Leonidas, k and the endless torment of the barracks, and of Xenophon, I and of Hermias, and of Derae. He tried not to think too much about his mother, for the wound was too fresh, and when her face floated before his mind he felt himself unmanned, out of control.

A shadow fell across him.

'Why do you watch me?' asked Derae. Parmenion jerked up to a sitting position. She was kneeling on the grass beside him.

'I did not hear you approach.'

'That does not answer my question, young Fast.'

'I like to watch you,' he answered, grinning. 'You run well, but I think you pump your arms too much.'

'So, you watch me because you like to criticize my running?'

'No, that is not what I meant.' Parmenion took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. 'I think you know that. I believe you are joking with me again.'

She nodded. 'Only a little, Parmenion.'

He was exultant. She knew his name. It could only mean that she had asked about him, that she was interested in him.

'How is it you know me?'

'I saw your battle with Leonidas.'

'Oh,' he said, disappointed. 'How so, since no women were allowed to spectate?'

'My father is a close friend of Xenophon's and the general allowed the three girls to watch from an upstairs window. We had to take turns, because we were not to be seen. You played an interesting game.'

'I won,' said Parmenion defensively.

'I know. I have just told you I was there.'

'I'm sorry. I thought you were criticizing me. Everyone else has.'

She nodded solemnly. 'You didn't even need the Sciritai. Had you advanced in Sixteen formation you would still have broken through Leonidas' lines, since he reduced his strength to four.'

'I know that too.' He shrugged. 'But I cannot take back the move.'

'Do you still have the sword?'

'Of course. Why would I not?'

'It is very valuable. You might have sold it.'

'Never! It is one of the seven swords. I will treasure it all my life.'

'That is a pity,' she said, moving smoothly to her feet. 'For I would like to have bought it.'

'What need would you have of a sword?' he asked, rising to stand before her.

'I would give it to my brother,' she answered.

'It would be a handsome gift. Do you object to my watching you run?'

'Should I?" she countered, smiling.

'Are you betrothed?'

'Not yet, though my father talks of it. Is this a proposal, Parmenion?'

Before he could answer a hand grabbed his shoulder, dragging him back. Instantly he spun, his fist cracking into Leonidas' jaw and staggering him. The golden-haired Spartan rubbed his chin, then advanced.

'Stop it!' shouted Derae but the youths ignored her, their eyes locked together, their concentration total. Leonidas leapt forward, feinting a hook before thundering a straight right to Parmenion's face. The smaller man rolled with the blow, grabbing Leonidas' tunic and hammering his knee into his opponent's groin. Leonidas grunted with pain and doubled over. Parmenion's forehead crashed against Leonidas' face and he sagged and half-fell. Parmenion pushed him away, then saw a large jagged stone jutting from the grass. Tearing it clear he advanced on the dazed Leonidas, wanting nothing more than to smash open his skull.

Derae leapt into his path, her open hand connecting with his cheek like a thunderclap. His fingers circled her throat and the stone came up… he froze as he saw the terror in her eyes.