Lion of Macedon (24 page)

“Hera’s tits, boy! You are not asking much, are you! You’d better come inside.”

The smithy was deserted. Norac walked to the forge, adding tinder to the hot ashes inside and blowing the flames to life. “The spikes will be no problem,” he said. “But how do we hammer them home without the Spartans falling upon us?”

“Speed and skill. Once the crossbar is in place, six men
will run to the gates.” Parmenion walked to the far wall, lifting a spear haft from a stack awaiting iron heads. Standing the haft on its end, he drew his dagger, slashing two cuts into the wood. “That is the height and thickness of the crossbar. The gates are oak, old, weathered, and thick as the length of a man’s hand. Could you pierce one in six strikes?”

Norac flexed his prodigious muscles. “Aye, boy, I could. But most others will need seven or eight.”

Parmenion nodded. “You can double the speed by having four men with hammers at each gate. But the timing is vital. The moment of greatest danger will come when the crowd is marching upon the Cadmea—it is then that the commander will consider sending out an armed force.”

“I’ll see the deed done,” promised Norac, and Parmenion smiled.

“The gates are usually shut at dusk. Bring the spikes to the house of Calepios by midday, no later. And have eleven strong men with you.”

Parmenion left the smithy and walked slowly to Calepios’ home. The statesman was eating breakfast and asked Parmenion to join him, but the Spartan refused. “Have you heard from Pelopidas?” he asked.

“Not yet. You look dreadful, man; your face has lost all color. Are you ill?”

“I am fine. Merely tired. The word about your speech must be spread through the city. We need as many people as possible to hear it.”

“You said that last night. It is all in hand, my friend.”

“Yes, of course.” Parmenion filled a goblet with water and sipped it.

“Go inside and sleep for a while,” advised Calepios. “I will wake you when Pelopidas returns.”

“Later. How many men will be watching the city gates? No one must leave until Thebes is ours.”

“There will be ten men per gate. Have no fears; everything is as you planned it.”

“Some people will bring bows to the Cadmea, hoping for a
chance to loose an arrow at a Spartan. All but our own men must be disarmed. There must be no unplanned assault.”

Pelopidas and Mothac entered the courtyard, and Parmenion stood. “Well?” he asked.

“Mothac and I delivered the food. As you thought, we were left to ourselves in the storeroom. I salted the water barrels; there were ten of them. We ran out of salt for the last barrel, and I thought of urinating in it, but instead we tipped it over on the floor.”

“Good! Well done,” said Parmenion, sinking back to his seat. “Then we are ready. Have you planned your speech?” he asked Calepios.

“Yes,” answered the statesman, “and I will deliver it at the
agora
just before dusk. There will be a great crowd. Now will you get some rest?”

Parmenion ignored his plea and turned to Pelopidas. “What of the councillors?”

The warrior sat down on the bench seat alongside Parmenion. “The gods are with us, Parmenion. I am told they will all be at a celebration at the house of Alexandros. They are gathering there at midday; they will eat and drink and then send out for whores. We will kill them all save Calepios’ cousin, Cascus.”

“No!” snapped Parmenion. “All must die!”

“Cascus is no longer in the city,” said Pelopidas, swinging his eyes to Calepios. “By a strange stroke of luck he left two hours ago for his summer estate near Corinth.”

Parmenion’s fist slammed to the tabletop, and his eyes locked to Calepios’ face. “You warned him. You put everything in jeopardy.”

The statesman shrugged and spread his hands. “I do not deny asking him to leave the city, but I did not betray anyone. I told Cascus of a dream I had had for three nights, that he died. I told him I had been to the seeress about it and she had said he had to make a pilgrimage to the shrine of Hecate at Corinth. All men know how religious Cascus is. He left immediately.”

“It was foolish, Calepios,” Parmenion told him. “If we do retake the city, then Cascus will run to the Spartans and they will use him as a figurehead to march upon us. You may have doomed us all.”

The statesman nodded his head. “I have no defense to that. But Cascus is of my blood and very dear to me. And in his own way he cares for Thebes as much as any of us. But there is nothing I can do to change my actions, and if there were, I would refuse so to do.”

Parmenion’s head felt as if it were ready to explode. He drank more water and then walked into the house, seeking to escape the brightness of the courtyard.

Mothac followed him. “I have seen marble statues with more color than you,” said Mothac as Parmenion slumped onto a divan. “I think you need some wine.”

“No,” said Parmenion as his stomach surged. “Just leave me for a while. I’ll get some sleep.”

Fierce waves pounded at a jagged coastline while monsters of the deep with serrated teeth glided around the slender figure of the girl as she struggled to free her hands. Parmenion swam through the waves, battling to reach her before the dark sea dragged her down
.

A huge creature slid by him, so close that its dorsal fin rubbed against Parmenion’s leg, but a colossal wave caught the young man’s body, lifting him toward the heavens. At its tip, he almost screamed as he tumbled down into the trough. His head went under the water, and he found he could breathe there. Derae’s body was floating beneath him; he dived down and ripped the cords from her wrists, dragging her to the surface
.

“Live! Live!” he screamed. The monsters circled them, cold opal eyes staring at the lovers. Derae regained consciousness and clung to Parmenion
.

“You saved me,” she said. “You came for me!”

* * *

Mothac shook him awake, and Parmenion opened his eyes and groaned not just at the pain flaring within his skull but for the loss of Derae and his dream. He sat up. “Is it midday?”

“Yes,” answered Mothac. Parmenion rose. Pelopidas was still in the courtyard, and with him was the smith, Norac, and eleven burly men. Four had huge, long-handled hammers.

“Good enough for you,
strategos
?” asked Norac, lifting an iron spike the length of a short sword.

“You did well,” Parmenion told him, “but I would like to see your hammer men at work.”

“I brought extra spikes,” said the smith, “for just that purpose.” Two men hoisted a thick section of timber, standing it against the far wall, while a third man held a spike in place. Moving to one side, Norac gestured to one of the hammer men to take his place on the other. The smith hefted his hammer, then swung it viciously, the head thundering into the spike. As the hammer bounced clear, the second man swung; after the first strike the holder released his grip and ducked clear. Three strikes later, the spike was deeply embedded.

“Work on it,” said Parmenion. “It needs to be faster.”

Calling Pelopidas to him, he walked to the
andron
. “The celebration you mentioned at the house of Alexandros—will there be guards?”

“Yes. They are not popular men,” Pelopidas answered.

“How many guards?”

“Perhaps five, perhaps twenty. I don’t know.”

“Outside or inside the house?”

“Outside. It is a private orgy,” said Pelopidas with a wide grin.

“I will meet you at the house of Alexandros. We will make a plan when we have seen how many guards are present.”

After Pelopidas had gone, Calepios went to his room to rehearse his speech, leaving Parmenion in the
andron
. The Spartan was lost in thought for some time but then became aware that he was not alone. Turning his head, he saw the Spartan seeress, Tamis, standing by the table leaning on a staff.

Tamis gazed at the young Spartan, glorying in the power of his soul fire, sensing his pain, admiring the courage he showed in resisting its power.

For a moment he stared at her, disbelieving.

“Well,” she said, “will you offer me a seat, young Spartan?”

“Of course,” he answered, rising to guide her to the table, where he poured her a goblet of water. “How are you here, lady?”

“I go where I will. Are you set now upon leading this insurrection?”

“I am.”

“Give me your hand.”

Parmenion obeyed, and she covered his palm with her own. “With each heartbeat a man has two choices,” she whispered. “Yet each choice makes a pathway, and he must walk it wherever it takes him. You stand, Parmenion, at a crossroads. There is a road leading to sunlight and laughter and another road leading to pain and despair. The city of Thebes is in your hands, like a small toy. On the road to sunlight the city will grow, but on the other road it will be broken, crushed into dust and forgotten. These are the words I am ordered to speak.”

“Which road, then?” he asked. “How will I know it?”

“You will not until long after you have walked upon it.”

“Then what is the point of telling me?” he snapped, pulling his hand clear of hers.

“You are a chosen man. You are Parmenion, the Death of Nations. A hundred thousand souls will you send to the dark river, screaming and wailing, lamenting their fate. It is right and just that you should know your choices.”

“Then tell me how to walk the road to sunlight.”

“I will, but like Cassandra before me, my words will not alter your path.”

“Just tell me.”

“Walk from this house and bridle your mare. Ride from this city and journey across the sea to Asia. Seek out the shrine to Hera of the Book.”

“Ha! I see it now,” said Parmenion. “You witch! You are Spartan, and you serve them. I will not listen to your lies. I will free Thebes, and if a city is to fall to ashes, then it will be Sparta.”

“Of course,” she said, smiling, showing rotted teeth and blood-red gums. “The Death of Nations speaks, and his words will be heard by the gods. But you misjudge me, Parmenion. I care nothing for Sparta or her dreams, and I am happy with the path you have chosen. You are important to me—to the world.”

“Why should I be important to you?” he asked her, but she shook her head.

“All will be revealed in time. You have pleased me today; your mind is sharp, your wits keen. Soon you will become the man of iron, the man of destiny.” Her laughter was like wind through dead leaves.

Parmenion said nothing, but his fingers strayed toward the dagger at his side.

“You will not need that,” she told him softly. “I am no threat to you and will speak to no one of your plans.”

The Spartan did not reply. He was not about to risk the life of Epaminondas on the word of a Spartan witch! The dagger slid clear.…

“Parmenion!” called Calepios from the doorway. “I am torn over the conclusion to my speech. Will you listen to the ending?”

For a moment only, Parmenion’s attention was diverted. He glanced back to Tamis … but she had gone. Lurching to his feet with dagger in hand, he swung around. But of Tamis there was no sign. “Where did she go?” he asked Calepios.

“Who?”

“The old woman who was here a moment ago.”

“I saw no one; you were dreaming. Now, listen to this ending.…”

Parmenion ran to the door. Outside in the courtyard the smith and his men were hammering at the spikes, and the courtyard gates were locked.

* * *

Parmenion listened to Calepios’ speech, which sounded pompous and lacking in credibility. But he said nothing, his mind locked to the words of Tamis. Had she been real or an illusion born of pain? He had no way of knowing. Complimenting the statesman on his speech, he left the building and walked in the bright sunshine toward the house of Alexandros. The man was a poet and an actor. According to Calepios, he excelled at neither profession but made his name among the nobility for organizing exquisite orgies. His home was close to the Homoloides, the great north gate, and overlooked the hills leading to Thessaly. Parmenion found the house and sat on a wall some sixty paces from the front gates. From here he could see four guards in breastplates and helms, carrying lances, and could hear the sound of music and laughter from within. But there was no sign of Pelopidas. Leaning his back against a cool stone wall, he ran through the plans once more.

There is nothing more you can do, he told himself. It is out of your hands.

But this was advice he could not take. In the years since Derae had been taken from him, thoughts of vengeance against the Spartans had filled his mind. Now the day was here, and the beginning of his revenge was close. But where was Pelopidas?

If the councillors were not killed, they would flee to the Spartans and even if the Cadmea was taken, Agisaleus or Cleombrotus would lead an army to regain it. Silently he cursed the Theban warrior. Arrogant, stupid man!

Slowly time passed. The guards continued to pace outside the gates, and the laughter from within grew more raucous. Seven priestesses of Aphrodite arrived, dressed in colorful
chitons
and wearing veils beneath gilded and bejeweled combs. The guards stepped aside to allow them in. Parmenion closed his eyes against the pain in his skull; the plan was complex enough without having to rely on men like Pelopidas.

A cool wind touched his face, bringing momentary relief from pain. He sat up, aware of a difference, a change. The guards still paced, and all seemed to be as it was. Then he realized there was no sound, no music or laughter.

So, he thought, the orgy has begun.

But where in the name of Hades was Pelopidas?

An hour passed. Soon it would be time for Calepios to make his speech, to lift the crowd and set them marching on the Cadmea. With a last muttered curse against unreliable Thebans, Parmenion stood and began the long walk to the
agora
. A noise from behind made him turn to see the gates of Alexandros’ home opening, the priestesses emerging into the sunlight. They began to walk toward Parmenion. Ignoring them, he continued on his way, but as he turned a corner, he heard the sound of running feet and a hand fell upon his shoulder.

“Leave me be!” snapped Parmenion.