David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'Show me more routes to the house,' said Parmenion softly.

'For what reason?'

The Spartan grinned. 'So that I can lead them on a chase. Trust me, Epaminondas. Much of my early life was spent in this way, being hunted, chased, beaten. But not this time, my friend. Now show me the alleys and back roads.'

For almost an hour the two men wandered through the twisting alleys between the houses until Parmenion had memorized various landmarks. Then they returned to the opening at the rear of the house.

'Wait here,' said Parmenion, 'until they have left. Then you can get your sword. And mine too.'

The Spartan ran back into the maze of buildings, emerging from an alley some forty paces to the left of the waiting group. One of them looked up and nudged the man beside him. The group stood.

'Are you the man Parmenion?' asked a stocky, redheaded warrior.

'Indeed I am.'

'Take him!' the man yelled, drawing a sword and rushing forward.

Parmenion turned on his heel and sprinted for the alley, the four attackers in pursuit.

Epaminondas darted across the open ground to the rear of the house and hammered on the door. A servant opened it and the Theban moved through to the andron, gathering up his sword. He sent the servant to Parmenion's room to fetch the Sword of Leonidas and, armed with two blades, ran back towards the street.

'Where are you going, master?' called the servant fearfully.

Epaminondas ignored him.

All was quiet at the rear of the house and Epaminondas waited, his mind calm, his body ready.

There would be little point in entering the maze of alleys — better to wait until Parmenion brought the pursuers to him. Finding his mouth to be dry, he allowed himself a wry smile. It was always this way before a battle: a dry mouth and a full bladder. Then he heard the pounding of feet and saw Parmenion race into view with the four men just behind him. The young Spartan sprinted forward, holding out his hand. Epaminondas tossed him his sword — Parmenion caught it deftly and swung to face the attackers.

The men halted their charge and stood back, uncertain.

'We have no quarrel with you,' the red-bearded leader told Epaminondas. The Theban cast his eyes over the man, taking in his grease-stained tunic and his matted beard. The man's forearms were criss-crossed with scars.

'You have been a soldier, I see,' said Epaminondas. 'You have fallen a long way since then.'

The man reddened. 'I fought for Thebes — precious good it did me. Now stand aside, Epaminondas, and let us deal with the trickster.'

'In what way have you been tricked?' Epaminondas asked.

'He ran under the name Leon — when in fact he is the Spartan racer, Parmenion.'

'Did you lose money?' asked the Theban.

'No, I had no money to bet. But now I have been paid, and I will honour the agreement. Stand aside!'

'I think not,' said the Theban. 'And it is an ill day when a Theban soldier takes blood-money from a Spartan.'

'Needs must,' shrugged the man and suddenly he ran forward with sword raised. Parmenion moved in to meet him, blocking the blow and hammering his left fist into his attacker's face. His opponent staggered back. Parmenion leapt into the air, his right foot cracking into the man's nose and hurling him from his feet. The other three men remained where they were as the red-bearded leader snatched up his fallen sword and rose unsteadily.

'There is no reason for you to die,' Parmenion told him.

'I took the money,' said the man wearily and moved in to attack once more, stabbing out his sword for a belly lunge. Parmenion blocked it with ease, his left fist lancing into the man's jaw and dropping him to the ground.

Epaminondas suddenly charged at the other three men, who broke and ran. Parmenion knelt by his unconscious opponent. 'Help me get him inside,' he told Epaminondas.

'Why?'

'I like him.'

'This is insane,' said Epaminondas, but together they hauled the body back into the house, laying him on one of the seven couches in the andron.

A servant brought wine and water and the two men waited for the red-bearded man to come round.

After several minutes he stirred.

'Why did you not kill me?' he asked, sitting up.

'I need a servant,' Parmenion answered.

The man's green eyes narrowed. 'Is this some jest?'

'Not at all,' the Spartan assured him. 'I will pay five obols a day, the payment to be made every month. You will also have a room and food.'

'This is madness,' said Epaminondas. 'The man came to kill you.'

'He took money and he tried to earn it. I like that,' said Parmenion. 'How much were you paid?'

'Ten drachms,' the man answered.

Parmenion opened the pouch at his side and counted out thirty-five silver drachms. 'Will you become my servant?' he asked. The man gazed down at the coins on the table; he swallowed, then nodded. 'And what is your name?'

'Mothac. And your friend is right — this is madness.'

Parmenion smiled and scooped up the coins, handing them to Mothac. 'You will return the ten drachms to the man who hired you; the rest is your first month's pay. Get a bath and buy a new tunic. Then gather what possessions you have and return here tonight.'

'You trust me to return? Why?'

'The answer is not difficult. Any man prepared to die for ten drachms ought to be prepared to live for twenty-five a month.'

Mothac said nothing. Turning on his heel, he left the room.

'You will never see him again,' said Epaminondas, shaking his head.

'Would you care to wager on that?'

'I take it the wager is thirty-five drachms. Correct?'

'Correct. Is it acceptable?'

'No,' conceded Epaminondas. 'I bow to your obviously superior understanding of the human species.

But he will make a terrible servant. Tell me, why did you do this?'

'He is not as those others. They were cowardly scum — he at least was prepared to fight. But more than that, when he knew he could not win he came forward to die rather than take money falsely.

That sort of man is rare.'

'We must agree to differ,' said Epaminondas. 'Men who would kill for ten drachms are not rare enough.'

The man called Mothac left the house. He felt dizzy and nauseous, but anger gave him the strength to keep going. He had not eaten in five days, and knew this was the reason the Spartan had defeated him so easily. Give back the ten drachms? He had paid that to the doctor, for the drugs that would nurse Elea back to strength. He wandered into an alley and leaned against a wall, trying to summon up the energy to return home. His legs started to give way, but he grabbed a jutting stone on the wall and hauled himself upright.

'Don't give in!' he told himself. Drawing in a great breath, he started to walk. It took almost half an hour to reach the market-place, where he purchased fruit and dried fish. He sat in the shade and ate, feeling strength soaking into his limbs.

The Spartan was a fool if he expected him to come back. 'I will be no man's servant. Not ever!'

He felt better for the food and pushed himself to his feet. The Spartan had shamed him, making him look weak and foolish. Three miserable blows and he had fallen. That was hard to take for a man who had stood against Arcadians and Thessalians, Chalcideans and Spartans. No man had ever laid him low. But lack of food and rest had conspired to see him humbled.

Still, now he had thirty-four drachms and three obols and with that he could buy food for two months. Surely in that time Elea would recover? Returning to the market-place, he bought provisions and began the long walk home, deep into the northern quarter where the houses were built of sun-dried brick, the floors of hard-packed earth. The stench of sewage flowing in the streets had long since ceased to cause him concern, nor the rats which ran across his path.