David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'Who do you think you are?' Asiron asked, with a dry, humourless laugh.

'I'll tell you who I am,' answered Parmenion, the words of Tamis echoing in his mind. 'I am Parmenion, the Death of Nations.'

Soon after dawn Parmenion released Asiron and rode for Thebes. The cuts on his face and arm were healing fast, but his right foot was burned and blistered, leaving his mood grim as he cantered to the city gates. An arrow flashed by him, then another. Swinging the gelding's head, he galloped out of range. Several horsemen rode out towards him, swords drawn. Parmenion wrenched off the Spartan helmet and waited for them.

'It is I,' he yelled, 'Parmenion!' The horsemen surrounded him and he recognized two of the men as members of the Sacred Band. They began to question him, but he waved them away and steered his mount into the city to report to Epaminondas.

Four days later Parmenion was awakened at midnight by shouting outside his home. Rising from his bed, disgruntled and annoyed, he threw a cloak around his naked frame and moved down the stairs, meeting Mothac as he emerged to the courtyard. 'I'll crack his skull, whoever he is,' muttered the Theban as the pounding on the gate began. Mothac pulled open the gate and Pelopidas ran in, followed by Epaminondas. The drunken Theban warrior grabbed Parmenion round the waist, hoisting him into the air and swinging him round.

'You did it!' yelled Pelopidas. 'Damn your eyes, you did it!'

'Put me down, you oaf! You're breaking my ribs.'

Pelopidas released him and turned to Mothac. 'Well, don't just stand there gaping, man. Get some wine. This is a celebration!'

Mothac stood his ground. 'Shall I break his face?' he asked Parmenion.

The Spartan laughed. 'I think not. Better fetch the wine.' He turned his gaze to Epaminondas.

'What is going on?'

'A messenger arrived an hour ago from Calepios in Athens. Sphodrias and his army appeared to the north of the city at dawn three days ago. They ravaged some villages and advanced on the Piraeus.

An Athenian force went out to meet them, the Spartan ambassador with them, and Sphodrias was forced to withdraw. By all the gods, I wish I'd seen it,' said Epaminondas.

'But what happened then?' snapped Parmenion.

'Let me tell him,' urged Pelopidas. His face sported a lop-sided grin, and his joy was almost childlike.

Epaminondas bowed to him. 'Continue,' he said, 'noble Pelopidas!'

'The Athenians were not happy. Oh, no! Their council met and they have decided to send — Sweet Zeus, I love this — they have decided to send 5,000 hoplites and 600 cavalry for the defence of Thebes. Five thousand!' he repeated.

'It is wonderful news,' said Epaminondas, accepting the goblet of wine from Mothac. Pelopidas staggered into the andron and stretched himself out on a couch.

'It is not an end in itself,' said Parmenion quietly, 'but it is a good beginning. What has happened to Sphodrias?'

'He has been summoned back to Sparta — with his army. Boeotia is free — except for the garrisons.'

'So,' whispered Parmenion, 'Sparta and Athens are now at war. We should be safe — at least until next spring.'

Epaminondas nodded. 'And now other cities in Boeotia will seek to rid themselves of Spartan garrisons. Pelopidas is leading his Sacred Band out into the countryside tomorrow, to aid the Tanagra rebels. I think we could win, Parmenion. I really do.'

'Do not tempt the gods,' advised Mothac.

Epaminondas laughed aloud. 'A long time ago I was told I would die at a battle in Man tinea. This frightened me greatly, for the seer was the renowned Tamis and beloved of the gods. So you can imagine how I felt when, with Pelopidas, I found myself fighting at Mantinea against the Arcadians. We were surrounded and Pelopidas went down. I stood my ground, ready to die. But I did not die. And why? Because there are no gods, and all prophecies can be twisted to mean anything the hearer desires. Tempt the gods, Mothac? I defy them. And even if they do exist, they are far too interested in changing their shapes and rutting with anything that moves to care what a lonely mortal thinks of them. And now I think I should collect Pelopidas and guide him home.' He took Parmenion's arm suddenly, the smile fading from his face.

'Once more you are our saviour, my Spartan friend. I cannot tell you how grateful I am. One day I will find a way to repay you.'

Pelopidas was asleep on the couch but Epaminondas shook him, hauling him to his feet and steering him to the gates. Immediately the drunken Theban launched into a marching song and the two men walked off into the darkness.

During the months that followed Parmenion settled back into private life, spending his time training hoplites, running and reading. Occasionally he would attend parties or celebrations as a guest of Epaminondas, or Calepios who had returned in triumph from Athens. But mostly he kept to himself, taking his horse and riding into the countryside, exploring the hills and valleys surrounding Thebes.

By the spring of the following year hopes were high in the city that the Spartan menace had been overcome, and that the old Boeotian League could be reformed. Pelopidas and the Sacred Band had been instrumental in helping the rebels of Tanagra and Plataea to expel the Spartan garrisons, and there was even talk of the Great King of Persia granting the Theban request for autonomy from Sparta.

Then came fearful news. Agisaleus had gathered an army of 11,000 hoplites and 2,000 cavalry and was marching to crush the rebellion. The next night Mothac returned from visiting the grave of Elea, tending the flowers planted there. It was late and he walked home in darkness, his thoughts sombre. As he reached the narrow street before the house of Parmenion, he saw a figure in the shadows leap and scale the wall. He blinked and focused his eyes on the spot, but there was nothing to be seen. Then a second figure scrambled over the wall to Parmenion's home.

Mothac felt a chill sweep over him. Swiftly he ran for the gate, pushing it open. 'Parmenion!' he bellowed. As he raced across the courtyard a dark figure leapt from the shadows, cannoning into him. Moonlight glinted on a knife blade that slashed by his face. Mothac rolled and came to his feet, blocking a thrust and hammering his fist into the man's face. The assassin fell back. Mothac threw himself at the man, making a wild grab for the knife wrist. He missed, and the blade plunged home into his left shoulder. His knee jerked up into the man's groin, bringing a grunt of pain, then Mothac's hands were on the assassin's throat. Hurling himself forward, he cracked the man's skull against the courtyard wall. The assassin went limp, but three times more Mothac smashed the man's head to the stone. Blood and brains fell on to his hands and he let the corpse sink to the ground.

Tarmenion!' he shouted again.

The assassin Gleamus cursed softly as he heard the servant call out, then ran up the steps to the upper floor bedroom where the traitor slept. Pausing outside the door, he listened, but there was no sound from within. Was it possible that the Spartan had not heard the cry?

Perhaps, but Gleamus had practised his trade for almost twenty years, in Egypt and Persia, Athens and Illyria, and he had survived by always using his wits, leaving nothing to chance.

For days now he had watched the house, observing the movements of the traitor, gauging the man.

His prey was a warrior. He moved well, smoothly, his eyes alert. But the weakness was in the house. There was only one exit from the bedroom — unless the man wished to leap to the courtyard below, where he would surely break bones.

The plan had already gone awry, but there was still time to collect the bounty offered by Agisaleus. Gleamus considered his next move. The man beyond the door could be awake. If so, where would he be? Yesterday, while no one was present, Gleamus had searched the building, memorizing the details of the bedroom. There was nowhere to hide. The room was small. So then there were few options for the man within. If awake he would be standing either to the left of the door, or the right. Behind him Aris and Sturma were moving up the stairs. But he would not need them. This was a kill he could make alone. It would show them he was still the master.