David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

The man muttered an obscenity and Parmenion heard his chair scrape back across the stone floor.

Mentar reached the stairs and started to run up them two at a time, but Parmenion reared up before him, smashing his fist into the man's chin. Grabbing the soldier by the hair, Parmenion rammed his head into the wall. Mentar sagged in his arms.

Lowering the unconscious soldier to the steps, Parmenion moved back to the dungeon corridor. The second man was sitting with his back to the stairs, whistling tunelessly and rolling dice. Moving behind him, Parmenion hammered a blow to the man's neck; the guard fell forward, his head bouncing against the table-top.

The dungeon doors were thick oak, locked by the simplest means — a wooden bar that slid across the frame. Only two of the doors were locked in this way: Polysper-chon was in the first. Parmenion entered the dungeon to find the Theban asleep; his face was bruised and bloody and the room stank of vomit and excrement. The Theban was small and Parmenion hauled him to his feet, pulling him out to the corridor.

'No more,' he pleaded.

'I am here to rescue you,' whispered Parmenion. 'Take heart!'

'Rescue? Have we taken the Cadmea?'

'Not yet,' Parmenion answered, opening the second door. Epaminondas was awake, but in an even worse state than Polysperchon. His eyes were mere slits, his face swollen almost beyond recognition.

Parmenion helped him to the corridor, but the Theban sank to the floor, his legs unable to take his weight. In the torchlight Parmenion gazed down at his friend's swollen limbs: the calves had been beaten with sticks.

'You'll not be able to climb,' said Parmenion. 'I'll have to hide you.'

They'll search everywhere,' muttered Polysperchon.

'Let us hope not,' Parmenion snapped.

Within the hour the Spartan was once more running alone through the deserted streets. Climbing the rampart steps, he tied his rope to a marble seat and then clambered to the wall.

'You there!' shouted a sentry. 'Stop!'

Parmenion leapt over the ramparts and slid down the rope, his hands burning. Above him the sentry ran to the rope, hacking at it with his sword. It parted and sailed over the wall.

Far below Parmenion grabbed for a handhold, his fingers hooking into a crack just as the rope went slack. Carefully he climbed down and returned to the tent of Calepios.

'Well?' asked the orator.

'They are safe,' whispered Parmenion.

At dawn inside the citadel Arimanes sat doubled over, clutching his belly. He had lost count of the number of times he had vomited during the night, and now only yellow bile filled the bowl at his side. Of more than 780 men under his command, 500 were so stricken they could not walk, and the rest moved around like walking wounded — their faces grey, their eyes lifeless. If the Thebans decided to attack today, he realized, his force would be overpowered within minutes.

An aide knocked at his door and Arimanes struggled to his feet, stifling a groan. 'Come in,' he said, the effort of speaking making his stomach tremble.

A young officer entered; he too looked white. 'We have searched the entire Cadmea. The prisoners must have escaped.'

'Impossible!' shouted Arimanes. 'Epaminondas could hardly walk — let alone climb. And only one man was seen going over the wall.'

'There is nowhere left to search, sir,' the man told him.

Arimanes sank back to his couch. Surely the gods had damned him? He had planned to execute the traitors as a warning to the mob that Sparta would not be threatened. Now he had no prisoners, and commanded a force too weak to defend the walls.

A second officer entered the room. 'Sir, the Thebans want to send a man in to discuss. . the situation.'

Arimanes tried to think, but logical thought was difficult when bowels and belly were in revolt.

'Tell them yes,' he ordered, staggering back into the latrine and squatting over the open pipe.

He felt a little better then, and returned to his couch, stretching himself out on his side with knees drawn up. He had not wanted this commission, hating Thebes and all its depravities, but his father had insisted that it was an honour to command a Spartan garrison — no matter where it was stationed. Arimanes ran a slender hand through his thinning blond hair. What he would not give for a drink of cool, clean water. Damn those Thebans to Hades and the fires therein!

Minutes later the officer returned, ushering in a tall young man with dark hair and close-set blue eyes. Arimanes recognized him as the runner, Leon the Macedonian, by all accounts a mix-blood Spartan. 'Sit down,' he whispered.

The man stepped forward, holding out a stone flagon. 'The water is clean,' said the messenger.

Arimanes took it and drank. 'Why did they pick you?' he asked, holding on to the flagon.

'I am half-Spartan by birth, sir, as perhaps you know,' said Parmenion smoothly, 'but I live in Thebes now. They thought that, perhaps, I could be trusted.'

'And can you?'

The man shrugged. 'It seems an easy task. There is no need for deceit.'

'What are their plans, man? Will they attack?'

'I do not know, sir. But they have killed all pro-Spartan councillors.'

'What did they tell you to say?'

'That they will promise safe conduct for you and your men to the edge of the city. They have set tents there, with fresh food, and a physician who has an antidote to the poison you have taken.'

'Poison?' whispered Arimanes. 'Poison, you say?'

'Yes. It is a disgusting ploy — typical of Thebans,' said Parmenion. 'It is slow-acting but will kill within five days. That is why, I suspect, they have not attacked beforenow.'

'Can they be trusted, do you think? Why shoulcT they not slay us as soon as we… we. .?' He could not bring himself to say the word 'surrender'. 'As soon as we leave,' he said at last.

'They have heard,' said Parmenion, edging forward and lowering his voice, 'that Cleombrotus has two regiments north of Corinth. He could be here in three days. I think they will let you go, rather than risk the King marching upon them.'

Arimanes groaned and doubled over. His mind reeled with pain, and nausea made him gag. The messenger picked up an empty bowl and held it while the officer vomited, then Arimanes wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 'They will give us an antidote?'

'I believe die man Calepios can be trusted,' said Parmenion soothingly. 'And, after all, there is no disgrace in leaving the city. Sparta was invited to have a garrison here, but now the city has changed its mind. It is for kings and councillors to work out a solution; soldiers merely obey the orders of the great, they do not create the policies.'

'True,' Arimanes agreed.

'What shall I tell the Thebans?'

'Tell them I agree. It will take us time to saw through the crossbar on the gate, but then I will march my men from the city.'

'Sadly, sir, the gates are out of the question. In their excitement the mob have nailed them shut with timbers. Calepios suggests that you descend by ropes, twenty men at a time.'

'Ropes!' snapped Arimanes. 'You want us to leave by rope?'

'It shows how much the Thebans fear you,' said Parmenion. 'Even in your weakened state they know a Spartan force could crush them. It is a compliment of sorts.'

'Curse them to the fires of Hades! But tell them I agree.'

'A wise choice, sir. And one you will not regret, I am sure.'

Two hours later, as the last of the Spartans left the Cadmea, Parmenion waited as Norac and the others stripped the timbers from the gates, sawing through the crossbar beyond. The gates swung open.

Pelopidas ran into the courtyard, raising his fists hi the air. 'They are beaten!' he bellowed, and the crowd cheered. Turning to Parmenion, he grabbed the Spartan by the shoulders. 'Now tell me where you hid our friends?'