David Gemmell - Lion of Macedon

'You are a soldier then?'

'Is it so obvious?' he asked, for he was dressed in only a pale blue chiton and sandals.

'Your shins are lighter in colour than your thighs, and I would guess they are normally shielded by greaves. Similarly, your brow is not the deep brown of your face.'

'You are very observant.' He tried to focus on the face below the veil, but gave up. The eyes as he saw them seemed to be opaque, like opals. 'Will you sit with me awhile?' he asked her suddenly, surprising himself.

'It is pleasant here,' she said softly. 'I will bide with you for a little while. What brings you to Samothrace?'

'I have a friend — he is here to meet his bride. Where are you from?'

'I live across the sea in Asia, but I travel often^ It is long since I was in Sparta. When was it you lived there?'

'Through my childhood.'

'Is your wife a Spartan?'

'I have no wife.'

'Do you not like women?'

'Of course,' he answered swiftly. 'I have no male lovers either. I… had a wife. Her name was Thetis. She died.'

'Was she your great love?' the woman enquired.

'No,' he admitted, 'but she was a good woman — loyal, loving, brave. But why must we speak of me?

Are you in mourning? Or can you remove your veil?'

'I am in mourning. What is your name, soldier?'

'My friends call me Savra,' he said, unwilling for her to hear the name being whispered in cities across the world.

'Be happy, Savra,' she said, rising gracefully.

'Must you go? I… I am enjoying our conversation,' he said lamely.

'Yes, I must go.'

He stood and reached out his hand. For a moment she hung back, then touched his fingers. Parmenion felt his pulse racing, and longed to reach up and draw aside the veil. Lifting her hand to his lips he kissed it, then reluctantly released her.

She walked away without a word and Parmenion slumped back to sit on the ground, amazed by his response to the stranger. Perhaps the conversation with Philip had touched a deep chord in him, he thought. She had disappeared now beyond the hillside. Swiftly he ran to catch a final glimpse of her.

She was walking towards the distant woods, and as the sunlight touched her it seemed once more that her hair was red-gold.

The beginnings of cramp in his left arm awoke Philip an hour after dawn. He glanced down at the blonde acolyte whose head rested on his bicep and gently eased his arm loose. Someone stirred to his right. A second girl, dark-haired and pretty, opened her eyes and smiled up at him.

'Did you sleep well, my lord?' she asked, her fingers sliding slowly over his belly.

'Wonderfully,' he told her, his hand seizing her wrist. 'But now I would like the answers to some questions.'

'Can the questions not wait?' she whispered, rolling to face him.

'They cannot,' he told her sternly. 'Who owns this palace?'

'The Lady Aida.'

'I do not know the name.'

'She is the High Priestess of the Mysteries,' said the girl.

'Well, darling one, tell her I wish to see her.'

'Yes, lord.' The girl threw back the sheet and stood. Philip gazed at her long back and slim waist, his eyes drawn to her rounded hips and perfect buttocks.

'Now!' he said, more powerfully than he intended. 'Go nowl'

The blonde girl awoke and yawned. 'Out!' roared Philip. 'And get someone to send in a pitcher of cool water.' After they had gone the King rose, squeezed his eyes shut against the hammering in his head and dragged open the curtains on the wide window.

Sunlight lanced his brain and he turned away from it, cursing. The wine had been strong, but it was the dark seeds that he remembered so vividly. The girls carried them in small silver boxes, and had offered them to Philip after the first bout of love-making. They dried the tongue, but fired the mind and body. Colours seemed impossibly bright while touch, taste and hearing were all enhanced. Philip's strength had surged — along with his appetites.

But now his head pounded, his body feeling weak. The latter sensation was not one he enjoyed.

Dressing in a clean chiton of dark green, he sat on a couch and waited for the water. The dark-haired girl brought it and he drank greedily. She offered him the silver box, opening the hinged lid to display the dark, shrivelled seeds.

'They will restore your strength,' she promised.

He was sorely tempted, but waved her away. 'What of the High Priestess?' he asked.

'She will be here at noon, lord. I will tell her of your request.'

'How many other guests are there in the palace?'

'Only one at the moment, the Lady Olympias.'

'Olympias? Where is she from?'

'Epirus, lord. She is the daughter of the King.'

'I'll see her then,' said Philip.

The girl looked shocked — and then frightened. 'No, lord, that is forbidden. She is undergoing the Rite of Union. No man may see her before the appointed night — especially her betrothed. The gods would strike him blind!'

'Send Parmenion to me.'

'He is not in the palace, lord. He was seen running in the hills just after dawn.'

'Then tell him when he returns,' snapped Philip. 'Now leave me alone!'

After she had gone the King felt momentary regret for treating her shabbily, but so great was his irritation that the feeling soon passed.

He paced the room for an hour, then ate a breakfast of pears and goat's cheese and wandered out to the meadows beyond the palace. His mood was not lightened by seeing the horses there, thin-legged and weak. He sat on a wide gate and scanned the hills where sheep and goats were grazing, tended by a slim boy.

What is the matter with you, Philip? The women were wonderfully willing and endlessly creative.

Normally, after a night of love-making, he awoke feeling like a young Heracles. Those cursed seeds, he thought. Never again! He saw Parmenion running down the hillside and shouted to him. The Spartan slowed his run.

'Good morning, sire. You are awake early.'

'I have been up for hours,' said Philip. Parmenion leaned against the fence, stretching the muscles of his calves. 'You are still fast, Leon. I think you could beat them all even now.'

'Would that it were true, sire. But I do not fool myself. What is wrong?'

'Is it so plain?'

'You look like thunder.'

'It is the waiting, Parmenion. Two years I've longed for this day, and now I can bear it no longer. She is here. Her name is Olympias. . and I am not allowed to see her. Gods, man! I am Philip! I take what I want!'

Parmenion nodded. 'We have been here but a day, sire. Be patient. As you said, this was ordained by the gods, so let it take its own course. Why don't you run for a while? It will clear your head.'

'I'll race you to that grove of trees,' said Philip, suddenly sprinting away. The morning breeze felt good in his face and the contest made him feel alive, his headache disappearing. He could hear Parmenion just behind him and he powered on up the hillside. It mattered nothing to him that the Spartan had already run for more than an hour. The contest was everything. He hurdled a low boulder and raced for the trees a hundred paces ahead. His breathing was more ragged now, and he could feel the burning in his calves, but also he could hear the Spartan just behind him. He slowed in his run. Parmenion came alongside. Philip thrust out his arm, pushing Parmenion off balance. The Spartan half stumbled and lost ground, giving Philip just the edge to reach the first tree and slap his palm against it.

'Unfair tactics!' Parmenion shouted.

'Victory,' answered Philip weakly, sinking to the ground and raising his arm, his face red, his breathing fast and shallow. Within minutes he had recovered and the two men sat in the shade gazing out over the fields and mountains, but again and again Philip's eyes were drawn to the white marble palace.