David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

They do not now. Was it you who told Epaminondas he would die at Man tinea? Was that another falsehood?'

'Yes, it was I. But that is between the great man and myself. Do you love Thetis?'

'I don't know why I am bothering to talk to you,' he said. 'I am weary. I need sleep.' He swung away from her and began to walk across the square.

'Do you love her?' she called softly. He stopped, the question echoing in his mind, then slowly he turned.

'Yes, I love her. Though not as I loved — and still love — Derae. Is there a reason for the question? Or are we playing another game?'

'I asked you once to ride from the city, to seek a destiny at the shrine to Hera in Troy. You did not heed me. You will not heed me now. But yet, I say it to you: Do not go home. Ride from Thebes tonight.'

'You know I will not.'

'I know,' she told him, and in her voice he heard a depth of sadness which struck him worse than a blow. He opened his mouth to speak, to find some gentle words of parting; but she moved away swiftly, pulling her hood over her head.

The sky was brightening with the pre-dawn as he arrived at the gate of his house. He yawned and raised his fist to rap at the wood, knowing that Mothac would awaken instantly and raise the bar.

Then he saw that the gate was ajar. Irritation flared. Ever since Clearchus had entered so easily, Parmenion had insisted that at night the gate should be both chained and barred; it was not like Mothac to forget such an order. Parmenion put his hand to the gate, then hesitated. The meeting with Tamis had unsettled him. In all probability Mothac had merely consumed too much wine and had fallen asleep waiting for him.

His unease remained and with a whispered curse he moved to his right until he stood beneath the lowest part of the wall. Hooking his fingers over the edge he hauled himself up, carefully avoiding the pots and jars he had placed along the top for an unwary intruder to send crashing.

Silently he moved two of them aside, making room to ease his body on to the wall. Scanning the courtyard below he saw two armed men waiting, one on either side of the gates. Lowering himself back to the alley, he drew his sword. His mouth was dry, his heart hammering, but taking several deep breaths he calmed himself and crept to the gates. He had one advantage, he knew: the assassins expected to surprise their victim. He crashed his shoulder into the left-hand gate, which flew open. The first assassin was smashed to the ground as Parmenion leapt to his right, his sword cleaving through the second man's neck. The first man rose groggily; his sword had been knocked from his hand, but he scrabbled for a knife. Parmenion's blade plunged into his chest.

The assassin sagged against Parmenion who ripped clear his sword, pushing him away. With a groan the man fell face first to the courtyard; his leg twitched and his bowels opened, the stench filling the air. Parmenion ran towards the andron, throwing open the door.

'Welcome,' said a tall Spartan. 'Put down your sword- or the woman dies.' His left hand was on Thetis' throat, but in his right was a short dagger, the point held to the woman's side.

Thetis stood very still. She had awoken in the night to hear a scuffle in the courtyard below.

Seizing a dagger, she had run down to find four men standing over the body of Mothac. Without thinking she hurled herself at them. One of them made a grab for her, but she twisted and rammed the dagger deep into his groin. A fist cracked against her cheek, spinning her to the ground; then they were on her, pinning her arms and tearing the dagger from her hand. The man she stabbed was lying very still, his blood spreading across the courtyard. One man dragged her back into the andron, while the others pulled the bodies into the kitchen.

'You slut!' stormed the man who held her. 'You killed him!' He back-handed a blow that knocked her from her feet, then advanced on her with her own dagger.

'Leave her!' commanded the leader, a tall man dressed in a dark green chiton and riding-boots.

'But she killed Cinon!' protested the other.

'Watch the gates! When he enters — kill him. Then you can do as you will with the woman.'

And the long night had begun. Thetis was determined that when she heard Parmenion she would shout a warning. But the first sound was of the gate crashing open, followed by the screams of the dying.

Now Parmenion stood in the doorway, blood upon his clothes, a terrible fury in his eyes.

'Put down your sword — or the woman dies.'

She saw the indecision in Parmenion, watched his sword hand slowly drop. 'Don't!' she cried. 'He will kill us both anyway.'

'Be silent, whore!' ordered the Spartan.

Parmenion's sword fell to the floor. 'Now kick it over here,' ordered the assassin, and Parmenion obeyed. The Spartan flung Thetis against a wall and advanced on Parmenion.

'Your time has come, traitor!' the man hissed.

Parmenion edged into the andron, circling away from the knifeman. 'Who sent you?' he asked, his voice calm.

'I serve the King and the cause of the just,' the man replied. Suddenly he leapt, the knife flashing for Par-menion's belly. Parmenion sidestepped to the left, throwing a punch which glanced from the man's chin. The knife slashed by his face, cutting the skin of his shoulder.

Thetis' head had cracked against the wall and a thin trickle of blood was flowing from a narrow gash in her temple. Her vision was blurred, but she crawled across the floor, gathering Parmenion's sword. Slowly she rose. Nausea swept through her. She saw Parmenion grappling with the assassin, whose back was to her. Running forward, she plunged the sword into the Spartan. . he tried to turn, but Parmenion held him by the knife wrist.

Thetis fell back against a couch, the room spinning round her madly. She saw the two men struggling, the gleaming sword jutting from the assassin's back. Parmenion threw his weight against the killer, hurling him at the wall. The sword-hilt hit the stone, driving the blade deeper into the Spartan's back. Blood bubbled from the man's mouth. Parmenion jumped aside as the assassin tried one last desperate lunge with his dagger. The man's eyes closed and he toppled to the floor.

Parmenion ran to Thetis, lifting her to the couch. 'Are you all right?' he asked, his hands cradling her face.

'Yes,' she answered weakly. 'Mothac… in the kitchen.'

Parmenion rose, dragging his sword clear of the dead Spartan. With the bloody blade in hand he moved through the house to the kitchen. Two bodies lay on the floor. Stepping over the first, he knelt by Mothac, touching his fingers to the man's throat. There was a pulse! Parmenion ripped away Mothac's blood-stained shirt to reveal two wounds, one high in the chest and the other over the left hip. The blood flow from the chest was slowing, but the bleeding from the hip showed no sign of abating. Parmenion had seen battlefield surgeons at work and he pinched the flesh over the cut, drawing the skin together and holding it tight. He sat for some minutes with blood seeping through his fingers, but at last it began to slow.

Mothac groaned. 'Lie still,' ordered Parmenion, gently releasing his hold. Blood still ran from the wound, but only as a trickle.

Returning to the andron, he found Thetis asleep. Leaving her he ran to the home of Dronicus, the physician who had replaced Argonas. The man was an Athenian and notoriously brusque, but his skill was without question and, like Argonas before him, he had little use for the practice of bleeding.

He was bald and beardless, and so short as to appear deformed.

The two men heaved Mothac on to his bed, then Dronicus plugged the wounds, using wool smeared with sap taken from fig-tree leaves. He covered the plugs with woollen pads soaked in red wine, holding them in place with bandages of white linen.