David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'I am negotiating, general,' answered Parmenion, meeting the other man's eyes and holding his gaze. 'You want me gone? I wish to go. But there is the matter of my mess fees. Three days ago I paid over 140 drachms to this barracks. My mother sold a one-third share in our landholding to raise that money.'

'That is not a problem of mine,' said the old man.

'But it is,' Parmenion told him. 'Since I have paid, then I will stay. You have no right to request me to leave. I have broken no rule.'

'Broken. .? You murdered a boy!' snarled the old man, pushing himself to his feet.

'Not according to the ephors,' answered Parmenion calmly. 'Now if you wish me to leave you will supply me with 200 drachms. Is that clear enough for you. . sir?'

For almost a minute the general stared at Parmenion, his face deep crimson. Then he smiled and relaxed. 'So, the Macedonian blood finally rises to the surface. There's not a man in that whole country who wouldn't sell his wife to buy a sheep. Very well, peasant, I will give you your two hundred — much good will it do you. You may stay on in any barracks, but when you reach Manhood you will find no one willing to endure you in any Soldiers' Hall. You will never be a Spartan, Parmenion. Never!'

The youngster chuckled. 'You mean that as an insult? I do not take it so. I know what I am, general, as I know what you are. I would be obliged if the money could be sent to my home before sunset.'

Parmenion stood and bowed.

Within the hour he was standing before another old man, fierce-eyed and grim-lipped. Leaning back in his chair, Agenor linked his arms behind his bald head and observed the young man. 'I want no deaths here,' stated the officer.

'Nor I, sir.'

'But I want fighters — and I want thinkers. I understand you run well?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Good. Find yourself a bed in the western dormitory, and then report to Solon at the training field.' As Parmenion prepared to leave, the man rose and waved him back. 'Lepidus spoke well of you, boy. He says you have had a tough time and that you bore it well. Know this, that here you will be judged only by what we see — not by what we have heard.'

'That is all I ask, sir. Thank you.'

Parmenion hoisted his blanket roll to his shoulder and walked to the western wing. All the rush beds bar two had blankets upon them. Parmenion chose the empty bed farthest from the door and lay down. For a while he watched dust-motes dancing in shafts of sunlight coming through a broken shutter. Then he closed his eyes.

A hand touched his shoulder and he was instantly awake. There were stars in the sky and the room was filling up with young men. He looked up at the boy who had touched him.

It was Hermias.

'What are you doing here?' asked Parmenion, rolling to his feet and embracing his friend.

'I transferred here this morning,' Hermias answered. 'I wouldn't want you to feel lonely.'

Parmenion was truly moved. Lycurgus Barracks was where the rich sent their youngsters; it was for the elite Spartiates. Parmenion had been the only poor boy enrolled there — as the son of a hero, part of the cost of his education was being paid by his father's battalion. For Hermias to leave the elite to join Menelaus, the smallest of barracks, was something Parmenion could hardly believe. 'You should not have done this, Hermias, my friend. But I am glad you did. I cannot tell you how glad.'

'It is a new beginning, Savra. A chance to forget the past.'

Parmenion nodded. 'You are right,' he said.

But he would not forget. He would make them pay. He would live for the day when his enemies lay in the dust at his feet, staring up at him, begging forgiveness.

'That's better, Savra! I like to see you smile,' said Hermias.

Parmenion settled swiftly into life at Menelaus and during the next three years, though never popular, found few of the problems which had beset him at Lycurgus. Every year he and Hermias represented their barracks in the short- and middle-distance races, but in other spheres they remained merely good students, neither excelling nor falling short of the required standard in throwing the javelin or the discus, in sword work or wrestling. Parmenion enjoyed working with the short sword, for he was fast and strong, but only when angry did his skill become lethal.

Understanding this instinctively, it did not concern him that some youths could best him in practice. Deep in his heart he knew the outcome would be different if the battles were to the death.

But as a runner Parmenion was the finest athlete in Sparta. Twice, in inter-barracks competitions, he bested Leonidas in the four-mile race, but was himself narrowly beaten in the third year when Leonidas was chosen to represent Sparta in the coming Olympics.

It was a bitter disappointment to Parmenion, who had trained hard during his time at Menelaus.

'I understand your anger,' said Xenophon, as they sat in his courtyard one evening, 'but you did the best you could. No man can ask more of himself than that.'

Parmenion nodded. 'But I made a tactical mistake. I tried to beat him with 200 paces left. He was waiting for my move and hung on to me. He beat me with three strides to go.'

'You beat him in the Games three years ago and he endured his shame well. Allow him his moment of glory.' In his fiftieth year, the Athenian was still a handsome man, though his hair was now totally silver and thinning at the crown. He poured a goblet of wine, added water and sipped the drink. Parmenion lived for the hours they spent together, discussing tactics and strategy, formations and battles. The youth learned when to wheel a phalanx, when to fight with a thinned line, when to extend, when to draw back, how to choose the anchor warriors who held the line together. Xenophon loved to talk and Parmenion was happy to listen. At times he would disagree with an analysis and the two men would argue long into the night. Parmenion always had the good sense — ultimately — to allow Xenophon to convince him, and their relationship grew. Gryllus had been sent to friends in Athens and often Parmenion would stay with the Athenian general for days at a time, taking Gryllus' place on summer journeys to Xenophon's second home in Olympia, near the sea.

As the years passed Xenophon took to discussing modern strategy and politics with his student, and Parmenion detected a growing cynicism in the Athenian.

'Have you heard the news from Thebes?' Xenophon asked him one day.

'Yes,' answered Parmenion. 'At first I could not believe it. We have made a bad mistake and I think we will rue it.'

'I tend to agree,' said Xenophon. Three months earlier the Macedonian King, Amyntas, had appealed to the Spartans for aid against Chalkidian warriors who had invaded Macedonia and sacked the capital of Pella. Agisaleus sent three Spartan battalions to Macedonia's aid, crushing the Chalkidians. But on their journey north one Spartan division, under the command of a general named Phoebidas, seized the Cadmea — the fortress at the centre of Thebes. Since there was no war declared against Thebes and they were unconnected with the Chalkidian invaders, the action was seen by many Greeks as underhand.

'Agisaleus should return the city to the Thebans,' said Parmenion.

'He cannot,' answered Xenophon. 'Spartan pride would not allow it. But I fear the result. Athens has spoken out against Sparta, and I think it will not be long before we suffer another war.'

'You are disappointed, my friend,' said Parmenion. 'Sparta has not proved a good leader for Greece.'

'Hush!' said Xenophon swiftly. He lowered his voice. 'You should not speak this way in public. My servants are loyal — but they are loyal to me, not to you. If one should speak against you there would be a trial for treason. You would not survive.'