David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

He looked into her painted eyes and took a deep breath. 'I want you to wash the lead and ochre from your face. I want you to bathe. Then we will go to the house.'

'It will cost you twenty drachms,' she said, holding out her hand.

He reached into his pouch and counted out ten drachms. 'The rest when you have completed the task,' he said.

An hour later, with the moon high over the city, Mothac and the priestess entered the house. She now wore a simple white ankle-length chiton, a blue chlamys around her shoulders. Her face was scrubbed clean, and to Mothac she looked almost pretty. He led her to the bedroom and took her hand. 'Do your best, woman,' he whispered, 'for he means much to me.'

'My name is Thetis,' she said. 'I prefer it to woman.'

'As you wish, Thetis.'

He closed the door behind him and Thetis walked to the bedside and let her chiton and shawl slip to the floor. Pulling back the sheet, she slid alongside the dying man. His body was cold.

Reaching up, she touched the pulse point at his neck; the heart was still beating, but the pulse was erratic and weak. She snuggled in close to him, lifting her right leg across his thighs, her hand stroking his chest. She felt warmth being drawn from her, but still he did not stir. Her lips touched his cheek and her hand moved further down his body, caressing his skin. Her fingers curled around his penis, but there was no response. She kissed his lips softly, touching them with her tongue.

There was little more she could do now. Thetis was weary after a long day and she considered dressing and claiming her ten drachms. But she gazed down once more at the pale, gaunt face, the hawk-nose and the sunken eyes. What had the servant said? That Parmenion had lost his love and could not forget her? You fool, she thought. We all suffer lost loves. But we learn to forget, we teach ourselves to ignore the pain.

What more could she do? '

Laying her head on the pillow, she put her mouth to his ear.

'I love you,' she whispered. For a moment there was no response, but then he sighed — a soft, almost inaudible escape of breath. Thetis tensed and began to rub her body against him, her fingers stroking the flesh of his inner thighs and loins. 'I love you,' she said, louder now. He groaned and she felt his penis swell in her hands.

'Come to me,' she called. 'Come to… Derae.'

His body arched suddenly. 'Derae?'

'I am here,' she told him. He rolled to his side, his arms drawing her to him, and kissed her with a passion Thetis had not experienced in a long time. It almost aroused her. His hands roamed across her body. . searching. . touching. She looked" into his eyes; they were open, yet unfocused, and tears were streaming from them.

'I missed you,' he said. 'As if they'd torn my heart from me.'

She drew him on to her-,-swinging her legs over his hips and guiding him home. He slid into her and stopped; there was no sudden thrust, no-pounding. Gently he dipped his head and kissed her, his tongue like moist silk upon her lips. Then he began to niove, slowly, rhythmically. Thetis lost all sense of time passing and, despite herself, arousal came to her like a long-lost friend.

Sweat bathed them both and she felt him building to a climax, but he slowed once more and slid from her. She felt his lips upon her breasts, then her belly, his hands on her thighs, his tongue sliding into her, soft and warm and probing. Her back arched, her eyes closed; she began to shudder and moan. Her hands reached down, holding his head to her. The climax came in a series of intense, almost painful spasms. She sank back to the bed and felt the heat of his body as he moved upon her — within her — once more. His lips touched hers, their tongues entwining, then he entered her. Unbelievably Thetis felt a second orgasm welling and her hands pulled at his back, feeling the tension in his muscles as he drove into her with increasing passion. The spasms were even more intense than before and she screamed, but did not hear the sound. She felt the warm rush of his climax, then he slumped over her.

For a moment Thetis lay still, his dead weight upon her. Gently she pushed him to his back, seeing that his eyes were now closed. For a moment only she wondered if he had died, but his breathing was regular. She felt the pulse at his neck, which was beating strongly.

Thetis lay quietly beside the sleeping man for some minutes before silently rising from the bed.

She dressed and returned to the courtyard where Mothac sat, nursing a goblet of wine.

'Drink?' he asked, not looking up.

'Yes,' she answered softly. Pouring herself a goblet of wine, she sat opposite the Theban. 'I think he will live,' she told him, forcing a smile.

'I guessed that from the noise,' he answered.

'He thought I was Derae,' she said. 'I wish I was.'

'But you are not,' he said harshly, rising and scattering the ten drachms on the table before her.

She scooped up the money and looked at the Theban. 'I did what you wanted. Why are you angry with me?'

'I don't know,' lied Mothac, forcing himself to be civil. 'But, thank you. I think you should go now.'

He opened the gate for her and then returned to his wine, which he downed swiftly, pouring another. Then another. But still Elea's face floated before him.

The priestess stared at the open gate and the lush green fields beyond, focusing on the roses which grew up and over the lintelled opening — red and white blooms that filled the air with heady scent.

This time I will escape, Derae told herself. This time I will concentrate as never before.

Steadying herself she walked slowly forward, her mind holding to a single thought.

Pass the gateway. Walk in the fields.

Each step was taken with care as her bare feet touched the paved path. Roses were growing on either side of her, beautiful blooms of yellow and pink.

Don't think of the flowers! The gate! Concentrate on the gateway.

Another step.

Birds flew above her and she glanced up to see their flight. They were eagles, flying together, banking and gliding on the thermal currents. Such grace. The priestess returned her gaze to the roses beneath the gate. Mindful of the thorns, she plucked a bloom and held it to her nose; she stared around the garden, seeing the old man who cared for the plants; he pushed himself wearily to his feet and approached her.

'That one is almost dead,' he told her. 'Take a bloom that is still to open. Then, if you put it in water it will fill your room with perfume.'

'Thank you, Naza,' she said, as he cut two blooms and placed them in her hand. She walked back up the path to the temple, pausing in the doorway.

Then, as she remembered, Derae closed her eyes and a single tear forced its way through closed lids, spilling to her cheek. There was no escape through the gateway. . just as there was no escape from the window of her room. She could lean out and enjoy the sunshine, or see the distant mountains, but as soon as she attempted to climb from the room she would find herself sitting at her bed, her thoughts confused.

It had been this way for three years, three lonely, soul-aching years.

She recalled the first day when she had opened her eyes and seen the old woman sitting by her bed.

'How do you feel, child?' the woman asked.

'I am well,' she had answered. 'Who are you?'

'I am Tamis. I am here to teach you.'

Derae had sat up, remembering the ship and her hands being bound behind her, men picking her up and throwing her over the side. . the sudden shock of the cold water, the terrible struggle to be free of her bonds as she sank beneath the waves. But then there was nothing — save a strange memory of floating high in the night sky towards a bright light.