David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'I will be there at sunset,' he told the undertaker. 'Make sure the mourners wail loudly.'

'They are the best,' the man promised him.

Mothac returned home and changed into an old chiton: it had once been red, but had faded to the pink of a dawn sky. He waited for an hour before the women arrived. There were three of them, all dressed in mourning grey. He left them to prepare Elea, then strapped on his sword-belt and dagger and strolled back to the square.

Elea was gone. Nothing could bring her back now, but he hoped she would find happiness on the other side, reunited with her parents. But he would miss her — and would never forget her. Some men, he knew, married several times when their wives died. But not Mothac.

Never again, he decided, as he sat waiting for the night. When I travel to the other side it will be to find Elea, and to enjoy eternity beside her.

The sun sank in splendour and the stars illuminated the sky. Torches were lit and placed in brackets set on the walls. Lanterns were hung from ropes and servants began to carry tables out into the square, ready for the diners. Mothac stood and faded back into the shadows, waiting patiently. The hours passed and it was approaching midnight before the Spartan, Cletus, made his way to a table and sat down to eat. Mothac knew the cause of Cletus' hatred of Parmenion. The racer Meleager had been unable to settle all his debts, and had been sent home in disgrace.

Without Meleager to help him, Cletus would soon run short of money and be forced to give up the life of pleasure he now enjoyed.

All Cletus now wanted — desired above all else — was to revenge himself on the Spartan traitor who had tricked them.

Mothac could understand his desire for revenge.

He waited until the Spartan had finished his meal, then followed him on the long walk to the Cadmea steps. As the Spartan began to climb the winding path Mothac glanced around. There was no one in sight. Softly he called Cletus by name and then ran up alongside him.

'Have you good news for me, man?" the Spartan asked.

'No,' answered Mothac, ramming his dagger into the man's neck, driving it deep above the collar-bone. Cletus fell back, scrabbling for his sword. Mothac struck him viciously in the face, then wrenched his knife clear, severing the jugular. Blood spouted from the wound but still Cletus tried to attack, swinging his sword desperately. Mothac leapt back. The Spartan fell and began to writhe in his death throes.

Mothac ran from the pathway and back to his home, removing his bloodstained chiton and washing himself clean. Dressed once more in the new tunic bought for him by Parmenion, he returned to the house of Epaminondas.

It would not take long for the hired killers to find out that their paymaster was dead.

When he entered the house he found Parmenion lounging on a couch in the andron.

The Spartan looked up at him. 'You concluded your business?'

'I did… sir.'

'To your satisfaction?'

'I would not call it satisfaction, sir. Merely a necessary chore.'

When Epaminondas brought the news of Cletus' murder to Parmenion, the Theban seemed genuinely distressed by the killing.

'I thought you had no love for Spartans,' said Parmenion, as they strolled through the gardens at the base of the great statue to Heracles.

Epaminondas glanced around. There were few people in the gardens, and none within earshot. 'No, I have not; but that is not the issue. I trust you, Parmenion, but there are plans in progress which must not be thwarted. The Spartan officer commanding the Cadmea has called for an investigation.

He is also said to be requesting more troops from Sparta, for he fears the murder may be the opening move in a revolt.'

'Which it was not,' said Parmenion, 'for if it was you would know of it.'

Epaminondas looked at him sharply and a blush spread over his pockmarked features. Then he smiled.

'You have a keen mind — thankfully it is allied to a curbed tongue. Yes, I am one who seeks to free Thebes. But it will take time and when it is close I will seek your advice. I have not forgotten the plan you outlined.'

They halted by a fountain which spouted from the arms of a statue of Poseidon, the sea god.

Parmenion drank from the pool below it, then both men sat on a marble seat beneath a canvas awning.

'You must be more careful,' advised Parmenion. 'Even the servants know you are engaged in secret meetings.'

'My servants can be trusted, but I take your point. I have no choice, however. We must meet to plan.'

'Then meet in daylight,' Parmenion suggested.

The two friends walked back along the avenue by Electra's Gates but Epaminondas, instead of walking on to his house, turned left down a shaded alley, stopping by an iron gate. He pushed it open and beckoned Parmenion inside. There was a narrow courtyard with high walls festooned with purple blooms. Beyond this was a paved section, roofed by climbing plants growing between crisscrossed twine. Epaminondas led the Spartan into the house beyond. There was a small, split-level andron containing six couches and with two doors, one leading to a kitchen and bathroom, the other to a corridor with three bedrooms.

'Whose house is this?' asked Parmenion.

'Yours,' the Theban answered with a broad grin. 'I placed 3,000 drachms on your race. This house was a mere 900 — I felt it would suit you.'

'Indeed it does — but such a gift? I cannot accept it.'

'Of course you can — and you must. I won ten times what this building cost me. Also,' he added, his smile fading, 'these are dangerous times. If I am arrested, and you are still my house guest, then they will take you also.'

Parmenion lounged on a couch, enjoying the breeze from the main window and the scent of flowers growing in the courtyard. 'I accept,' he said, 'but only as a loan. You must allow me to pay for the house — as and when I can.'

'If that is what you desire, then I agree,' said Epaminondas.

Parmenion and Mothac moved in the following morning. The Theban bought provisions in the market and the two men sat in the courtyard, enjoying the early morning sunshine.

'Were you seen when you killed Cletus?' asked Parmenion suddenly.

Mothac looked into his master's blue eyes and considered lying. Then he shook his head. 'There was no one nearby.'

'Good — but you will never again take such an action without speaking to me first. Is that understood?'

'Yes. . sir.'

'And I do not require you to call me that. My name is Parmenion.'

'It was necessary, Parmenion. He ordered your death. As long as he lived you were in danger.'

'I accept that — and do not take my criticism as ingratitude. But I am the master of my own fate.

I neither want — nor expect — any man to act for me.'

'It will not happen again.'

During the next eight months Parmenion raced twice and won both times, once against the Corinthian champion, the second time against a runner from Athens. He still competed under the name Leon, and few wagered against him, which meant that his winnings were not huge. For his last race he had wagered 200 drachms to win SO.

That night, as usual after a tough race, Parmenion stretched his tired legs with a gentle midnight run on the moonlit race-track. As well as easing his muscles he found, in this quiet time, a sense of peace — almost contentment. His hatred of Sparta was no less powerful now but it was controlled, held in chains. The day of his vengeance was coming closer, and he had no wish to hurry it.

As he passed the Grave of Hector a shadow moved from the trees. Parmenion leapt back, his hand clawing for the dagger in the sheath by his side.

'It is I, Parmenion,' called Epaminondas. The Theban stepped back into the shadows of the trees.