David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'They are in the dungeons still.'

'But you said they were freed!'

'No, I said they were safe. The Spartans were bound to search the Cadmea, but I hoped they would not consider such a bizarre hiding-place. I merely moved them to a cell at the far end of the corridor. Take a doctor with you — for Epaminondas has been harshly treated.'

As Pelopidas and a dozen men ran to the Governor's house, Mothac approached Parmenion. 'What will happen to the Spartan commander?' he asked.

'They will execute him,' answered Parmenion. 'Then they will march on Thebes. We still have much to do.'

That night, as the sound of riotous celebration filled the air, Parmenion opened the gates of his home, staggered into the courtyard and collapsed in the doorway of the andron. Mothac found him there in the early hours of the morning and carried him to the master bedroom.

Three times in the night Parmenion awoke, on the third occasion to find Horas the Physician looming over him. The doctor cut into Parmenion's arm with a small, curved knife. The Spartan tried to struggle free, but Mothac helped Horas to hold him down. Once more Parmenion passed out.

His dreams were many, but one returned again and again. In it he was climbing a winding stair, seeking Derae. As he struggled on, the stairs behind him disappeared, leaving a dark abyss. He walked on towards a room within which he knew Derae was waiting, but then he stopped. For the abyss was growing and he realized, with dawning horror, that he was drawing it with him. If he opened the door to the room, the abyss would swallow it. Not knowing what to do to save his love, he stepped from the stair and fell, plunging into the darkness of the pit.

Mothac sat beside the bed, looking down at the pale face of his unconscious master. Against the advice of the physician, the Theban had opened the shutters of the window to see Parmenion's features more clearly. The Spartan looked grey under his tan, his eyes sunken and his cheeks hollow. When Mothac placed his hand on Parmenion's chest, the heartbeat was fluttering and weak.

During the first two days that Parmenion had slept, Mothac was unconcerned. Each day he assisted the physician, Horas, to bleed the Spartan — trusting in Horas, who explained that the retaking of the Cadmea had drained Parmenion of strength and he was merely resting.

But now, on the fourth day, Mothac no longer believed it.

The flesh was melting away from Parmenion's face and there was no sign of a return to consciousness. Filling a goblet with cool water Mothac lifted Parmenion's head, holding the goblet to his lips. The water dribbled from the sleeping man's mouth and the Theban gave up.

Hearing the gate below creak open, he walked to the door. Horas entered the house, climbing the stairs to the bedroom where he unrolled his pack of knives. Mothac looked hard at the tall, thin physician; he did not like surgeons, but envied them their knowledge. Never would he hav& believed he would ever defy such a skilled and clever man. But today he knew there would be no further blood-letting, and he stepped over to the physician.

'Put away your knife,' he said.

'What's this?' enquired Horas. 'He needs bleeding. Without it he will die.'

'He's dying anyway,' said Mothac. 'Leave him be.'

'Nonsense,' said Horas, lifting a skeletal hand and attempting to push Mothac aside. But the servant stood his ground, his face reddening.

'I had a wife, master physician. She too was bled daily — until she died. I'll not see Parmenion follow her. You said he was resting, recovering his strength. But you were wrong. Now you can go.'

He glanced down at the doctor's hand, which still rested against his chest.

Horas hastily removed his hand, replaced his knife and rolled his pack. 'You are interfering in matters you do not understand,' he said. 'I shall go to the justices and have you forcibly removed from this room.'

Mothac grabbed the man's blue tunic, hauling him close. All colour drained from his face and his eyes shone like green fire — Horas blanched as he gazed into them.

'What you will do, doctor, is go away from here. If you take any action which results in the death of Parmenion, I will hunt you down and cut out your heart. Do you understand me?'

'You are insane,' Horas whispered.

'No, I am not. I am merely a man who keeps his promises. Now go!' And Mothac hurled the physician towards the door.

After the man had gone Mothac settled down in the chair beside the bed. He had no idea what to do, and a sense of rising panic set his hands trembling.

Surprised by his reaction, he looked down at Par-menion's face — aware for the first time how much he loved the man he served. How curious, he thought. Parmenion was in many ways a distant man, his thoughts and dreams a mystery to Mothac; they rarely talked of deep matters, never joked with one another, never discussed their secret longings. Mothac leaned back and gazed out of the window, remembering the first night he had come to the house of Epaminondas, the death of Elea like a hot knife in his heart. Parmenion had sat with him, silently, and he had felt his companionship, felt his caring without the need for words.

The three years he had served Parmenion had been happy ones, to his amazement. Thoughts of Elea remained, but the jagged sharp edges of hurt had rounded, allowing him at least to recall the times of joy.

The creaking gate cut through his thoughts and he rose, drawing his dagger. If the doctor had brought back officers of the watch, then he would see what it meant when Mothac made a promise!

The door opened and Epaminondas entered. The Theban's face was swollen, his eyes dark and bruised.

He walked slowly to the bedside and looked down at the sleeping man.

'No better?' he asked Mothac.

The servant sheathed his blade, 'No. I stopped the physician bleeding him; he has threatened to go to the justices.'

Epaminondas eased his tortured body into a chair. 'Calepios tells me that Parmenion suffered terrible pains in the head.'

'It happens sometimes,' Mothac told him, 'especially after races. The pain was intense, and on occasions he would almost lose his sight. Parmenion told me only a month ago that the attacks were increasing.'

Epaminondas nodded. 'I had a letter from a friend in Sparta; his name is Xenophon. He was Parmenion's mentor for several years and he witnessed the first attack. The physician then believed there was some growth in Parmenion's skull. I hope he does not die. I would like to thank him. I could not have taken much more. . punishment.'

'He won't die,' said Mothac.

Epaminondas said nothing for a while, then he looked up at the servant. 'I was wrong about you, my friend,' he admitted.

'It does not matter. Do you know of anyone who could help him?'

Epaminondas rose. 'There is a healer, a herbalist named Argonas. Last year the Guild of Physicians sought to have him expelled from the city; they say he is a fraud. But a friend of mine swears Argonas saved his life. And I know of a man, blinded in the right eye, who can now see again. I will send the physician here, tonight.'

'I have heard of the man,' said Mothac. 'His fees are huge. He is fat and wealthy, and treats his servants worse than slaves.'

'I did not say he was pleasant company. But let us be honest, Mothac. Parmenion is dying: I cannot see him lasting another night. But do not concern yourself with thoughts of fees; I will settle them. I owe him much — all of Thebes owes him more than we can repay.'

Mothac gave a dry, humourless laugh. 'Yes, I have noted how often Calepios and Pelopidas have come to see how he fares.'

'Calepios has obeyed Parmenion's last instruction,' Epaminondas told him. 'He has gone to Athens to seek their aid against Spartan vengeance. And Pelopidas is training hoplites, trying to build an army in case Cleombrotus comes against us. Stay here, with Parmenion. I will send Argonas. And, Mothac… get some food inside you and rest awhile. It will not help your master if you fall sick.'