David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'You are Mothac?' came a voice from behind him. Mothac dropped the package and whirled, scrabbling for his sword. Cold iron touched his throat.

'I am,' he replied. 'And you?'

'I? I am none of your concern. Pick up the package and let us awaken our friend.'

The gate was not locked and the tall warrior eased it open, then the two men crept across the courtyard and into the house beyond. All was in darkness, but moonlight was shining through an open window and they could make out the staircase by the eastern wall. Mothac followed his nameless companion up into the second storey to a bedroom facing east, where the man opened the door and stepped inside. In a broad bed on a raised platform lay a fat man, snoring heavily. The warrior moved alongside him and laid a hand on his shoulder. The snoring ceased and Mothac saw Amta's eyes flick open. The warrior's knife rested on the fat man's quivering jowls. 'Good morning,' said the warrior, with a smile. 'It will be a fine day.'

'What do you want?'

'I want you to show that you love Thebes.'

'I do. All men know that.'

'And yet you supply food to the Spartan garrison?' 'I am a merchant. I cannot refuse to sell my merchandise. I would be arrested, called a traitor.'

'It is all a question of perspectives, dear Amta. You see, we are going to free Thebes. And then we will call you a traitor.'

The fat man eased himself to a sitting position, trying not to look at the knife poised above his throat. 'That would be unfair,' he protested, his voice regaining composure. 'You could not accuse every man who deals with Spartans, or all shop-owners and merchants — yes, and even whores would be under sentence. Who are you?' 'I am Pelopidas.'

'What do you require of me?' the fat man asked, fear returning with the sweat that suddenly appeared on his face.

'What time do you prepare the meat for the garrison?' 'An hour before dawn. Then my lads pull it up to the Cadmea on a cart.'

'Then let us be about our business,' said Pelopidas, sheathing his dagger.

'What has my meat to do with freeing Thebes?' 'We have some herbs with us, to add to the flavour.'

'But if you poison them I'll get the blame. You can't!' 'It is not poison, fool!' hissed Pelopidas. 'Would that it were! Now get out of that bed and take us to your storeroom.'

Three hours after dawn Parmenion still had not slept. He waited at the entrance to the smithy, his mind whirling with thoughts which became problems and problems which became fears.

What if?

What if the Spartans saw that the meat was doctored? What if Pelopidas was caught salting the water? What if the news of the plot leaked out?

Parmenion's head was pounding, and the early-morning sunshine hurt his eyes; feeling nauseous and unsteady, he sat down in the roadside. Ever since the day he had rescued Derae he had suffered periodic head pain, but during the last two years the bouts had increased — in both regularity and intensity. At times even his Spartan training could not help him overcome the agony, and he had taken to drinking poppy juice when the attacks became unbearable. But today there was no time for the sleep of opium and he tried to ignore the pain.

The smith, Norac, came walking into the street minutes later. He was a huge man, wide-shouldered and bull-necked. Parmenion rose to greet him. 'You're early, young man,' said Norac, 'but if you think to arrange speedy work, forget it. I have a full order book.'

'I need twenty iron spikes by midday, each one the length of a man's forearm,' Parmenion told him.

'You are not listening, my young friend. I cannot take any more work for this week.'

Parmenion stared into the man's deep-set brown eyes. 'Listen to me, Norac, you are said to be a man who can be trusted. I am sent by Pelopidas. You understand? The watchword is Heracles.'

The smith's eyes narrowed. 'For what purpose do you need the spikes?'

'To nail shut the Cadmea gates. We also need men to wield the hammers.'

'Hera's tits, boy! You are not asking much, are you! You'd better come inside.'

The smithy was deserted. Norac walked to the forge, adding tinder to the hot ashes inside and blowing the flames to life. 'The spikes will be no problem,' he said. 'But how do we hammer them home without the Spartans falling upon us?'

'Speed and skill. Once the crossbar is in place, six men will run to the gates.' Parmenion walked to the far wall, lifting a spear-haft from a stack awaiting iron heads. Standing the haft on its end he drew his dagger, slashing two cuts into the wood. 'That is the height and thickness of the crossbar. The gates are oak, old, weathered and thick as the length of a man's hand. Could you pierce one in six strikes?'

Norac flexed his prodigious muscles. 'Aye, boy, I could. But most others will need seven or eight.'

Parmenion nodded. 'You can double the speed by having four men with hammers at each gate. But the timing is vital. The moment of greatest danger will come when the crowd is marching upon the Cadmea — it is then that the commander will consider sending out an armed force.'

'I'll see the deed done,' promised Norac, and Parmenion smiled.

'The gates are usually shut at dusk. Bring the spikes to the house of Calepios by midday, no later. And have eleven strong men with you.'

Parmenion left the smithy and walked slowly to Calepios' home. The statesman was eating breakfast and asked Parmenion to join him, but the Spartan refused. 'Have you heard from Pelopidas?' he asked.

'Not yet. You look dreadful, man; your face has lost all colour. Are you ill?'

'I am fine. Merely tired. The word about your speech must be spread through the city. We need as many people as possible to hear it.'

'You said that last night. It is all in hand, my friend.'

'Yes, of course.' Parmenion filled a goblet with water and sipped it.

'Go inside and sleep for a while,' advised Calepios. 'I will wake you when Pelopidas returns.'

'Later. How many men will be watching the city gates? No one must leave until Thebes is ours.'

'There will be ten men per gate. Have no fears; everything is as you planned it.'

'Some people will bring bows to the Cadmea, hoping for a chance to loose an arrow at a Spartan.

All but our own men must be disarmed. There must be no unplanned assault.'

Pelopidas and Mothac entered the courtyard and Parmenion stood. 'Well?' he asked.

'Mothac and I delivered the food. As you thought, we were left to ourselves in the store-room. I salted the water barrels; there were ten of them. We ran out of salt for the last barrel and I thought of urinating in it, but instead we tipped it over the floor.'

'Good! Well done,' said Parmenion, sinking back to his seat. 'Then we are ready. Have you planned your speech?' he asked Calepios.

'Yes,' answered the statesman, 'and I will deliver it at the agora just before dusk. There will be a great crowd. Now will you get some rest?'

Parmenion ignored his plea and turned to Pelopidas. 'What of the councillors?'

The warrior sat down on the bench seat alongside Parmenion. 'The gods are with us, Parmenion. I am told they will all be at a celebration at the house of Alexandras. They are gathering there at midday; they will eat and drink

— and then send out for whores. We will kill them all — save Calepios' cousin, Cascus.'

'No!' snapped Parmenion. 'All must die!'

'Cascus is no longer in the city,' said Pelopidas, swinging his eyes to Calepios. 'By a strange stroke of luck, he left two hours ago for his summer estate near Corinth.'

Parmenion's fist slammed to the table-top and his eyes locked to Calepios' face. 'You warned him.

You put everything in jeopardy.'

The statesman shrugged and spread his hands. 'I do not deny asking him to leave the city, but I did not betray anyone. I told Cascus of a dream I had had for three nights, that he died. I told him I had been to the seeress about it, and she had said he had to make a pilgrimage to the Shrine of Hecate at Corinth. All men know how religious Cascus is