David Gemmell: Lion of Macedon

'What happened to you?' asked the first, gripping Parmenion's shoulder.

'I fell.' Parmenion shook loose the helping hand and spat blood.

'And your friends were assisting you to rise, I suppose?' grunted the man. 'Why don't you walk with us for a while?'

'I need no escort,' Parmenion told them.

The soldier looked into the youth's pale blue eyes. 'They are still in the alley,' he said, keeping his voice low.

'I did not doubt it,' answered Parmenion, 'but they'll not take me unawares again.' As the soldiers moved away Parmenion sucked in a deep breath and began to run, ducking into alleys and cutting left and right towards the market-place. For a while he heard his pursuers, but then there was only the silence of the city night.

They would expect him to make either for the barracks or for the home of his mother. He would do neither. Instead he ran through the deserted market-place and on to the sanctuary hill above the city.

Back at the statue of Athena an old woman stepped out into the moonlight, leaning on a long staff.

She sighed and sat down on a marble seat — her body weary, her mind touched with sorrow.

'I am sorry, Parmenion,' she said. 'Strong though you are, I must make you iron. You are a man of destiny.' She thought then of the other boys in the barracks. How easy it was to make them hate the half-breed, such a simple enchantment. To heal a boil took more psychic energy than to encourage hatred. It was a disturbing thought and Tamis shivered.

Glancing up at the statue she saw the blind, marble eyes staring down at her. 'Do not be so haughty,' she whispered. 'I know your true name, woman of stone. I know your weaknesses and your desires, and I have more power than you.'

Tamis pushed herself to her feet.

A face came to her mind and she smiled. Despite the enchantment Parmenion had one friend, a boy impervious to the fuel of hatred. Although it went against her plans, yet still she found the thought comforting.

'Sweet Hermias,' she said. 'If all men were as you, then my work would not be necessary.'

Parmenion sat on a rock waiting for the dawn, his belly hungry but his jaw too bruised to chew on the stale bread he had saved from the previous day's breakfast. The sun rose slowly over the red hills of the Parnon range, and the water of the Eurotas River sparkled into life. The sun's warmth touched Parmenion's wiry body, causing him to shiver involuntarily. Spartan training taught a man to ignore pain, to close his mind to cold or heat. To a great degree he had mastered this, but the new warmth served only to remind him how cold he had been on this long night, hidden upon the sanctuary hill above the city.

The statue of Zeus, Father of Heaven — twelve feet tall, majestic and bearded — stared out over the lands to the west of the city, seeming to study the towering Mount Ilias. Parmenion shivered once more and took a tentative bite from the dark bread, stifling a groan as pain flamed from his jaw. The punch from Gryllus had been powerful and, held as he was, Parmenion could not roll with the blow. He lifted a finger to his mouth. A tooth was loose. Tearing the bread, he pushed a small piece to the right of his jaw, chewing gently. Having finished his meagre breakfast, he stood. His left side was tender. Lifting the chiton tunic, he examined the area; it was an angry purple, and there was blood above the hip.

He stretched — then froze as he heard movement on the Climbing Path. Swiftly he ran behind the marble Sanctuary to the Muses, crouching to wait for the newcomers, his heart pounding. He picked up a sharp shard of broken marble; it had an edge like an axe-blade. If they came at him again, someone would die!

A slender boy in a blue tunic walked into view. He had dark curly hair and thick brows. Parmenion recognized his friend, Hermias, and relief washed over him. Dropping the stone, he pushed himself wearily to his feet. Hermias saw him and ran forward, gripping him by the shoulders. 'Oh, Savra, my friend, how much more must you suffer?'

Parmenion forced a smile. 'Today will see the end of it. Maybe.'

'Only if you lose, Savra. And you must lose. They could kill you. I fear they will!' Hermias looked into his friend's pale blue eyes and saw no compromise there. 'You are not going to lose, though, are you?' he said sadly.

Parmenion shrugged. 'Perhaps — if Leonidas is more skilful, if the judges favour him.'

'Of course they will favour him. Gryllus says that Agisaleus is coming to watch — you think the judges will allow a nephew of the King to be humiliated?'

Parmenion laid a hand on Hermias' shoulder. 'Since that is the case, why are you worried? I will lose. So be it. But I will not play to lose.'

Hermias sat down at the foot of the statue of Zeus and took two apples from his hip-pouch. He passed one to Parmenion, who bit carefully into it. 'Why are you so stubborn?' Hermias asked. 'Is it your Macedonian blood?'

'Why not the Spartan blood, Hermias? Neither peoples are renowned for giving ground.'

'It was not meant as an insult, Savra. You know that.'

'Not from you, no,' said the taller youth, taking his friend's hand. 'But think on it, you all call me Savra — lizard — and you think of me as a half-breed barbarian.'

Hermias pulled away, his expression showing his hurt. 'You are my friend,' he protested.

'That is not at issue, Hermias, nor is it an answer. You cannot help what you are — you are a Spartan, pure-blooded, with a line of heroes that goes back far beyond Thermopylae. Your own father marched with Lysander and never knew defeat. Probably you have friends among the helots and the other slave classes. But you still see them as slaves.'

'You also had a Spartan father who came back on his shield, with all his wounds in front,'

insisted Hermias. 'You are Spartan too.'

'And I have a Macedonian mother.' Parmenion removed his tunic, wincing as his arms stretched over his head. His lean body was marked by bruises and cuts, and his right knee was swollen. His angular face was also bruised, the right eye almost closed. 'These are the marks I bear for my blood. When they took me from my mother's house, I was seven years old. From that day to this I have never known the sun to shine on a body that did not carry wounds.'

'I too have suffered bruises,' said Hermias. 'All Spartan boys must suffer — else there would be no Spartan men, and we would no longer be pre-eminent. But I hear what you say, Sav. .

Parmenion. It seems Leonidas hates you, and he is a powerful enemy. Yet you could go to him and ask to serve him. Then it would stop.'

'Never! He would laugh at me and throw me out into the street.'

'Yes he might. But, even so, the beatings would end.'

'Would you do that if you were me?'

'No.'

'Then why should I?' hissed Parmenion, his pale eyes locking to his friend's face.

Hermias sighed. 'You are hard on me, Parmenion. But you are right. I love you as a brother, and yet I do not see you as Spartan. I do inside my head — but my heart. .'

'Then why should the others — who are not my friends — accept me?'

'Give us time — give us all time. But know this: whatever you choose, I will stand beside you,'

said Hermias softly.

'That is something I never doubted. Now call me Savra — from you it has a good sound.'

'I shall be at your side for the contest, and I will pray to Athena of the Road for your victory,'

said Hermias, smiling. 'Now, would you like me to stay with you?'

'No — but thank you. I will remain here a while with Father Zeus, and I will think, and I will pray. I will see you at Xenophon's house three hours after noon for the contest.'

Hermias nodded and wandered away. Parmenion watched him go, then swung his attention to the awakening city.