David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'I have already convinced Bachylides of Megara. With you, that makes three of the Seven. We could carry the vote, I am sure of it.'

'Such a tactic has never been tried," argued Epaminondas.

'Oh, but it has,' said Pelopidas, straight-faced. 'Parmenion told me he once won a game with it in Sparta.'

For a moment Epaminondas stood and stared at his lifelong friend, then he began to laugh.

Pelopidas joined in and the sounds of their merriment echoed through the silent camp.

It was close to noon before the Spartans and their allies marched out into the centre of the plain, taking up their battle formation, challenging the Boeotians to confront them.

Epaminondas looked to his right and watched his army preparing to march. On the extreme right were the Thespians under Ictinus, forming their phalanx behind Parmenion and the 400 horsemen. At the centre the Sacred Band, and behind them javeliners and archers. Epaminondas himself stood in the fifth rank of the Theban contingent, 4,000 strong, well-armoured with breastplates and helms, metal-edged leather kilts and bronze greaves to protect the shins. Each man carried a large, bronze-rimmed shield of leather-covered wood. Epaminondas drew his short stabbing sword and hitched up his shield, his voice ringing out.

'Forward! For Thebes and Glory!'

The army began to move.

The Theban general tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. He could feel his heart beating like a ragged drum, and such was his tension that his legs trembled as he sought to keep pace with the men at either side. From here there was no going back.

The arguments had raged long into the night, not helped by a curious accident. As Epaminondas sat down in the tent to address the Seven generals his chair had collapsed beneath him, sprawling him to the floor. At first only nervous laughter greeted him, but then Ictinus said, 'It is a bad omen, Epaminondas. Very bad.' The other Boeotarchs had looked nervous.

'Yes, it is an omen,' snapped Epaminondas, rising. 'We are commanded not to sit idle, but to stand like men.' Then he had outlined the battle plan.

'You cannot have thought this through,' said Ictinus. 'The Spartans are deadly. If we must attack, then let us hit their left, where the Orchomenans stand. Smash their allies and isolate Cleombrotus.'

'And what do you think Cleombrotus will be doing while we march upon his left?' Epaminondas asked.

'I'll tell you, he will wheel the regiments and crush us. No, I propose to strike at the head of the snake.'

The debate had continued until just before dawn. Bachylides of Megara and Pelopidas had supported him, but it was not until they convinced Ganeus of Plataea that they won a majority.

Now as he marched down the long slope to the plain, Epaminondas could not help but worry at the decision. For many years he had plotted and planned, risking his life to free the city he loved.

But now, if he was wrong, the city would be destroyed — the statues broken, the homes razed — the dust of history-would blow over the deserted Cadmea. His hand was sweating as he gripped his sword, and he could feel rivulets of perspiration running down his back.

A quarter of a mile ahead the Spartans waited silently, their forces spread out in a great crescent. To the right the Spartan Battle King, Cleombrotus, in gold-embossed armour, could be clearly seen surrounded by his bodyguard.

Slowly the distance between the armies closed, until at 200 paces Epaminondas called a halt. The Spartan right was facing him, while in the centre the enemy archers and slingers were preparing their weapons. Glancing nervously to the enemy left, he saw 600 Spartan cavalry galloping along the enemy front to take up a position at the centre, in front of the archers.

Now everything depended on Parmenion. Epaminondas lifted his sword high into the air.

Led by Parmenion, the Theban cavalry kicked their horses into a gallop, heading straight for the enemy left. Dust swirled around them and the thunder of hooves filled the air. But behind the cavalry the Thespians, led by Ictinus, turned and fled from the field. 'Curse you, coward!'

screamed Epaminondas.

'We'll do it without them, general,' said the man alongside him.

'That we will,' Epaminondas agreed, tearing his gaze from the fleeing men and switching it to Parmenion as he galloped at the head of the Theban cavalry.

Parmenion's mind was strangely calm as he led the 400 horsemen. Dust rose in a choking cloud, but he was ahead of it, the black stallion moving at ferocious speed towards the enemy. He had no thought of victory or defeat. In the night he had dreamt of Thetis, and of Derae; and in his haunted sleep had seen Leonidas and endured his mocking laughter. All he desired now was to come face to face with the Spartan, to cleave and cut, to crush and kill.

With the enemy left locking shields and preparing to withstand the charge, Parmenion dragged on the left-hand rein, turning the stallion. Behind him the Theban cavalry also swerved, angling now towards the Spartan horsemen waiting at the centre of the line. Parmenion dipped the point of his lance and located his target, an officer in a long red cloak sitting upon a grey horse.

Too late the Spartan cavalry realized they were to bear the brunt of the first charge. Their officers yelled orders and tried to counter-charge, but the Thebans were upon them — screaming battle-cries, lances smashing men from their mounts. Parmenion's spear glanced from the officer's breastplate to plunge into his jaw and on through his brain. The man was lifted from his horse's back, the weight of his dead body snapping the spear-shaft. Parmenion threw the broken weapon aside and drew the Sword of Leonidas.

All was milling chaos now, the Spartan cavalry forced back into the ranks of archers, slingers and javeliners. Unarmoured men fell beneath the hooves of panicked mounts and the enemy centre fell back in confusion.

A cavalryman slashed his sabre towards Parmenion's head. Parmenion swayed away from the cut and plunged his own sword into the man's neck.

An enormous dust-cloud obscured the front of the battle-lines now, and the air was thick and choking.

At the rear of the Spartan ranks on the right, Leonidas watched the attacking cavalry swerve and strike the centre. At first he was unconcerned, for the javeliners and archers were hardly significant; as always, the battle would be won by the Spartan phalanx. But something stirred deep in his memory, a cold, whispering thought which he could not quite grasp. In some strange way, he felt as if he had fought in this battle before, the enemy cavalry striking the centre. He swung his gaze to the front, and the swirling dust-cloud.

And remembered. .

At that moment the Battle King Cleombrotus saw moving shapes within the dust, and realized that the Thebans were advancing upon him. He was exultant. He had expected the Boeotians to fortify the ridge and dare him to attack them, but for them to have the temerity to advance upon him was a gift he had not anticipated.

'Rear four ranks right spear, right flank!' he bellowed. The warriors, Leonidas among them, moved smoothly to the right, thinning the Spartan line to twelve deep and preparing to encircle the advancing enemy.

In a moment of icy terror Leonidas saw again the sand-pit at the home of Xenophon, the massed ranks of the enemy smashing the thinned Spartan line. 'No!' he screamed. 'Sire!' But his voice was lost as the Theban battle-cry went up, the sound like rolling thunder.

Inside the dust-cloud Pelopidas and the Sacred Band ran in front of the advancing Thebans, taking up a position at the head of the charge. 'Death to the Spartans!' shouted Pelopidas.

'Death! Death! Death!' roared the army, and they began to run.

Eighty shields across and fifty ranks deep, the Thebans smote the Spartan front line like an axe-blade against timber. The first two Spartan ranks buckled and fell beneath the stabbing swords, the phalanx sliced open by the weight of the charge.