David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'There is no one like that in Thebes,' she said. 'Maybe in ancient times, yes, but this is the modern world, Par-menion. It does not have to be like that any more. Epaminondas will never be a dictator, nor Pelopidas. Nor you. I think you worry too much.'

And the years appeared to prove her right. Five years after the retaking of the Cadmea, a peace agreement was reached between Athens and Sparta which allowed Thebes and the Boeotian cities the right of self-government.

Thetis remembered that autumn well. Epaminondas had come to the house, accompanied by Calepios, to discuss with Parmenion the terms of the settlement. Against all tradition the Spartan had stopped Thetis as she was leaving the room and signalled for her to sit beside him.

The two Thebans had looked astonished. 'It saves me going over everything twice,' Parmenion told them. 'She will only insist on hearing it all after you have gone.'

'But. .' stuttered Calepios. 'She… a woman. .'

'Is this the great orator?' asked Parmenion, struggling to look serious. 'Come now, Calepios, you have known Thetis for years. It should not be difficult to speak in front of her.'

'It is not a question of difficulty,' snapped Calepios, 'but one of decorum. I know you Spartans have curious ideas about women, but here in Thebes we prefer to maintain civilized standards. Such matters as we are to discuss would both bore and confuse dear Thetis.'

'I am sure Calepios is right,' said Thetis, rising, 'and I am grateful for his kindness in thinking of me.' She had swallowed her anger and retired to her rooms. Later Parmenion gave her a full account of the meeting, but not before his own anger had been unleashed.

'You should have stayed!' he stormed. 'Your advice would have been valuable.'

'You do not understand, strategos. The meeting would not have gone ahead; Calepios would have left. You cannot flout tradition — not in Thebes. Now tell me how.you view the peace talks.'

'Athens is short of money, and Sparta is all but bankrupt,' Parmenion told her. 'Therefore all we have won is a little breathing space. The war is not over, but we will use the time wisely.'

'How much time?'

He had shrugged. 'Two years, three. But this issue will not be decided without a battle — and that means Thebes against Sparta, for Athens is mainly a sea power.'

'The Spartans are only men, like other men,' she had pointed out.

'Perhaps, but they have never lost a major battle against a foe of equal numbers. And, whatever happens, we cannot yet match their strength.'

'You will think of something, my love; you are the strategos.' She said it lightly, but he had brightened, his smile returning.

Now Thetis shook her head clear of memories and rose from the bed. Parmenion moaned in his sleep, but did not wake as she dressed and moved downstairs where Mothac was preparing breakfast.

The Theban smiled as he saw her. 'Another fine day,' he said as she entered the kitchen. There were grey hairs in Mothac's red beard and his hair was thinning at the crown. Thetis shivered. It was all very well lying in bed reliving memories, but it had the effect of highlighting the passing of time.

Cleo had long since left, wedded to the son of Norac the Smith, and Thetis now helped Mothac in the work of the household.

'You should take a wife,' she said suddenly, as they sat in the courtyard enjoying the early-morning sunshine.

'I had a wife,' replied Mothac. 'I don't want another. But I would have liked a son.'

Thetis found her good mood evaporating and Mothac's hasty apology did nothing to alter the downward slide of her emotions. They finished their breakfast in silence and Mothac went back to the kitchen to prepare Parmenion's daily infusion of sylphium.

A son. The one gift she could never give to Parmenion.

She had long known she was barren, having never suffered the monthly periods of bleeding endured by all other women. But only since she had lived with Parmenion had the knowledge turned to bitterness. Parmenion never spoke of it and this cheered her, but she knew that all men reach a point in their lives where they desire an heir.

She heard Parmenion approaching, but did not turn. His hands touched her shoulders, his lips kissing the back of her neck.

'Good morning, lady,' he said.

She smiled. 'You sleep later and later,' she chided. 'I think you are becoming old and lazy.'

'I was with Calepios until almost dawn.'

She looked into his face. 'Is it war again?'

'I don't know. Epaminondas is going to Sparta to meet with Agisaleus.'

'Is that wise?' she asked.

There is to be a meeting of all the cities. Agisaleus has promised safe conducts and Athens will be represented. It may bring lasting peace.'

'But you do not think so?'

'I cannot make up my mind. My fear is that Athens and Sparta will reach agreement, leaving Thebes standing alone. If that is the case, then Agisaleus will feel free to lead his forces into Boeotia

— and this time we will have to face him.'

'Thebes against Sparta,' she whispered.

'To the death,' he said.

'And is that what you want?' she asked suddenly.

'What do you mean?'

'You hate the Spartans. Would you really desire peace?'

Parmenion smiled. 'You are an astute woman, Thetis. But you are right. I do not want peace. These years have been hard, but I am close now to my dream. One day the Spartans will come — and I will have my vengeance.'

'And then?' she pressed.

'What can I say? I have lived so long with no other dream; I can see nothing beyond the humbling of Sparta. They have taken so much from me, and they shall pay in blood and shame for every moment of it.'

'Either that — or you will die,' she pointed out.

'One or the other,' he agreed. it

Parmenion called a halt to the combat training and the warriors of the Sacred Band sheathed their swords. In full battle armour they were sweating heavily. Some sank to the hard-baked clay of the training ground, others wandering to the shade near the Grave of Hector.

'Do not be so swift to relax, gentlemen,' called Parmenion. 'Ten circuits should be enough to stretch those tired muscles."

A groan went up, but the men began to run. Parmenion was about to join them when he saw a young boy sitting beneath the trees watching the training intently. The youngster was around thirteen years of age, with dark, tightly curled hair and a face that given time would be exceedingly handsome. But it was his expression which touched a chord in Parmenion. The face was still, the emotions masked, and Parmenion remembered his own boyhood long ago, the trials and suffering he had endured in Sparta.

He strolled across to where the boy sat. 'You are studying the art of war?' he asked.

The boy stood and bowed. He was not tall, but sturdily built. His dark eyes fixed to Parmenion's face. 'It is good to study the ways of foreigners,' he said, his voice soft.

'Why is it good?'

'One day we may be enemies. If so, I will know how you fight. If we are friends or allies, I will know whether you can be relied upon.'

'I see,' said Parmenion. 'You are a wise young man. You are a prince, perhaps?'

'Indeed I am. A prince of Macedonia. My name is Philip.'

'I am Parmenion.'

'I know. I have seen you run. Why is it you compete under a Macedonian name?'

Parmenion sat down, beckoning the boy to join him. 'My mother was Macedonian," he told him. 'It is a tribute to her. You are a guest in our city?'

The boy laughed. 'You do not need to be coy, Parmenion. I am a hostage against the good behaviour of Macedonia. But life here is good and Pammenes takes fine care of me. It is better, I think, than being back in Macedonia. There I would probably be killed by an anxious relative.'

'Harsh words, young prince.'