David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

For a while he dozed, then was woken by a roar from the crowd as the final boxing match ended with an ear-splitting knockout. Parmenion rose and went in search of Epami-nondas, finding the Theban at the northern end of the ground watching the javelin throwers.

'It is a good day for running,' said Epaminondas, pointing up at the sky. 'The clouds will make it cooler. How do you feel?'

'There's some tightness in the neck,' admitted Par-menion, 'but I am ready.' Epaminondas pointed to a spot some thirty paces away, where a tall, clean-shaven man was Umbering up. 'That is Meleager,' he said, 'and beyond him is his friend — I believe he is called Cletus.'

Parmenion watched them closely. Meleager was stretching his hamstring by lifting his leg to a bench and bending forward. Then he eased the muscles on both sides of the groin. Cletus was loping up and down, swinging his arms over his head. Meleager, Parmenion saw, was tall and lean, ideally built for distance running. He watched the man for some time; his preparation was careful and exact, his concentration total.

'I think it is time you began your own preparations,' said Epaminondas softly and Parmenion came to with a jerk. He had been so engrossed with Meleager that he had almost forgotten he was to race him. He smiled guiltily and ran down to the start. Stripping off his chiton and sandals, he put himself through a short stretching routine, then ran gently for several minutes until he felt the stiffness leave his muscles.

The runners were called to the start by an elderly man with a short-cropped white beard. Then, one by one, the twelve racers were introduced to the crowd. There were seven Thebans running, and they received the loudest cheers. Meleager and Cletus were given shouts of encouragement by a small Spartan contingent. But Leon, the Macedonian, was greeted only by polite applause.

Once more in line, the runners watched the starter. He raised his hand.

'Go!' he yelled. The Thebans were the first to sprint to the front, the line of runners drawing out behind them. Meleager settled down alongside Cletus in fourth place, Parmenion easing up behind them. The first five of the twenty laps saw no change in the leadership. Then Parmenion made his move. Coming smoothly on the outside, he ran to the front and increased the pace with a short punishing burst of half a lap, opening a gap of some fifteen paces between himself and the second man. At a bend he risked a glance behind him, and saw Meleager closing on him. Parmenion held to a steady pace, then put in a second burst. His lungs were hot now, and his bare feet felt scorched by the baked clay. The clouds parted, brilliant sunshine bathing the runners. Sweat coursed down Parmenion's body. By lap eleven Meleager was still with him, despite four bursts of speed which had carried Parmenion clear. Slowly, inexorably, the Spartan had reeled him back.

Parmenion did not panic. Twice more he pushed ahead, twice more Meleager came back at him.

Parmenion was beginning to suffer — but, he reasoned, so too was Meleager. On lap sixteen Parmenion produced another effort, holding the increased pace for almost three-quarters of a lap, and this time Meleager was left some twenty paces adrift. He had misread the surge and expected Parmenion to falter. Now he began to close the gap. By the nineteenth — and last — circuit, Meleager was only six paces behind.

Parmenion dared not look back, for it would break his stride pattern, and late in the race that could cost him. He was coming up now to the back markers, ready to lap them. Two were Thebans, but ahead he saw Cletus. The man kept glancing back, and Parmenion sensed what was coming. The Spartan would fall in front of him, dragging him down, or would block him as Meleager swept past.

He could hear panting breath just behind him and, as Parmenion closed on Cletus, he guessed Meleager's plan. The Spartan racer was trying to move alongside him, boxing him in and forcing him into the back of the man ahead. Anger swept through Parmenion, feeding strength to his limbs.

He injected more speed until he was just behind Cletus.

'Make way on the outside!' he yelled, and at the same moment he cut inside to his left. The Spartan tripped and fell to his right, crashing into Meleager. Both men tumbled to the ground and Parmenion was clear, racing into the final lap. The crowd were on their feet now as he ran to the finishing line.

It didn't matter to them that he was Leon, an unknown Macedonian. What mattered was that two Spartans had rolled in the dust by his feet.

Epaminondas rushed to his side. 'The first victory for the Lion of Macedon,' he said.

And it seemed to Parmenion that a dark cloud obscured the sun.

Parmenion set out his winnings on the stone courtyard table, building columns of coin and staring at them with undisguised pleasure. There were 512 drachms, a king's ransom to a Spartan who had never before seen such an amount in one place, let alone owned it.

There were five gold coins, each worth twenty-four drachms. He hefted them, closing his fist around them, feeling the weight and the warmth that spread through the metal. The four hundred silver drachms he had built into twenty columns like a miniature temple.

He was rich! Spreading the gold coins on the table he stared down at the handsome, bearded head adorning each of them. They were Persian coins, showing the ruler Artaxerxes with a bow in his hand. On the reverse was a woman holding a sheaf of corn and a sword.

'Will you stare at them all day?' Epaminondas asked.

'Yes,' replied Parmenion gleefully. 'And tomorrow!'

The Theban chuckled. 'You ran well, and I took great pleasure over the way you tricked Cletus. How they must be suffering now. Meleager will have beggared himself to settle his debts.'

'I don't care about him,' said Parmenion. 'Now I can afford to rent a home, and perhaps even hire a servant. And today I shall go to the market-place and buy myself a cloak, and several tunics -

and a pair of fine sandals. And a bow. I must have a bow. And a hat! Perhaps one of Thracian felt.'

'I have rarely seen a man so happy with his fortune,' Epaminondas told him.

'But then have you ever been poor?' Parmenion countered.

'Happily that is a state I know little of.'

The two men spent the afternoon in the main marketplace, where Parmenion bought a cloak of sky-blue wool, two tunics of fine linen and a pah* of calf-length sandals. He also allowed himself one extravagance — a head-band of black leather, finely woven with gold wire.

Towards dusk, as they were making their way back to Epaminondas' house, the Theban suddenly cut off to the left down an alley. Parmenion touched his friend's sleeve. 'Where are we going?'

'Home!' answered Epaminondas.

'Why this way?'

'I think we are being followed. Do not look back!' he snapped, as Parmenion started to turn. 'I do not want them to know we have spotted them.'

'Why would we be followed?'

'I do not know. But when we turn the next corner — run!'

The alley twisted to the right and as soon as they were out of sight the two men ran along the path, cutting left and right through the narrow streets until they reached an alley at the back of Epaminondas' home. The Theban halted at the mouth of the alley and glanced out. Four men were sitting on a low wall at the rear of the house. They were armed with daggers and swords, whereas Parmenion and the Theban were without weapons. Swiftly the Theban ducked back out of sight.

Epaminondas took another circuitous route to the front of the house. Here, too, a group of armed men waited.

'What do we do?' queried Parmenion.

'We have two choices; either we brazen it out, or we go elsewhere.'

'Who are they?' the Spartan asked.

'Scum, by the look of them. If I had my sword, I would not hesitate to confront them. But who do they want? You or me?' Epaminondas leaned against a wall. There were only two reasons why the men could be waiting. One, the authorities had found out about the small group of rebels who met at the home of Polysperchon; or two, Meleager had learned of Parmenion's true identity and had paid these rogues to exact revenge. Neither thought was comforting, but on the whole Epaminondas hoped it was the latter.