Dark Prince (38 page)

The bath was a delight, the heat easing his tired muscles. Priastes poured watered wine into a golden wine cup, first sipping it before passing it to his king.

“Thank you, Priastes, that will be all,” said Parmenion, lounging down into the bath. The man bowed and left. The new king scrubbed the dust of his travels from his skin and then rose from the bath. Leonidas handed him a towel, which Parmenion wrapped around his waist before strolling out to the balcony beyond the main windows. A cool breeze whispered across his wet frame, and he shivered. “That feels good,” he told the Spartan warrior.

“It is always wise to remove the smell of stale sweat and horses before greeting your wife,” said Leonidas carefully.

“Wife? What wife?”

Leonidas took a deep breath. When the seeress Thena had allowed him to see Parmenion’s life in the other world of Greece, he had observed with sorrow the loss of his love. “This will not be easy for you, Parmenion. In this world you married my sister, Derae.”

“She is here? In the palace?”

“Of course. But know this: she does not love you. She was to have wed Nestus, but duty came first, and she married you to give you a link to the throne.”

Parmenion looked down at his hands; they were trembling. “I don’t think I can do this,” he whispered. “You cannot know …”

“I know,” whispered Leonidas. “Believe me, I know. But we have embarked on a course from which there is no turning back. Be strong, my friend. She will not wish to spend time with you. You will be able to avoid her. Tell yourself that she is not the woman you loved. This is a different world. Now,” he said gently, changing the subject, “what are your battle plans?”

Parmenion shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to force thoughts of Derae from his mind. “We will not discuss them
in detail. Without Thena here I cannot know whether we are being observed.”

“We have our own seeress. She is old, but once her powers were very strong. Shall I order her here?”

“Not yet. If she is gifted, she will know of my … deception. No. First summon the
ephors
. I will see them today. Bring Tamis here in the morning. Now tell me, which of the
ephor
s spoke against the battle with Philippos?”

“Chirisophus and Soteridas. They are very much the leaders of the council. Chirisophus is rich, and many men live under his patronage, but Soteridas is also the chief priest at the temple of Apollo, and it was his reading of the omens that prevented the full army from marching with us.”

“Can you find ten men with open minds and closed mouths?”

“Of course,” answered Leonidas. “But why?”

“During the meeting I want you to have the houses of Chirisophus and Soteridas searched.”

“What do you expect them to find?”

“I hope to find nothing. But we must consider the possibility that one—or both—may be in the pay of Philippos. You and your men must seek links with the Makedones—letters, Makedones gold … anything.”

“It shall be as you say.”

“And send out riders to watch for the Makedones army.”

“Yes … sire.” The handsome Spartan bowed and backed away. “Leonidas!”

“Sire?”

“I will do my utmost to be worthy of … him.”

“I do not doubt that, my friend. And I will be beside you.”

After Leonidas had gone, Parmenion refilled his wine cup and stood staring out over the eastern quarters of the city. From here he could see the marketplace, where the food-sellers were already setting up their stalls. Several messengers were running along the narrow streets, carrying news of trade convoys or shipments to the merchants. Beyond the palace, street cleaners were sweeping away the debris of the previous day,
the sewage that flowed to the streets from the open clay pipes in every house, while high above the city, on the acropolis hill, the statue of Zeus gazed out over the mountains—stern, proud, and forbidding.

Just under forty thousand people dwelt here, Leonidas had said, more than half of them slaves or servants. Parmenion’s spirits were not high as he considered the coming battle.

It was not enough, he knew, to match the Makedones manpower. His twin had almost done that. No. Quality was the key … and surprise. But how did one surprise a man who knew what one intended? Was Philippos even now reading his mind?

The thought was not comforting.

The Makedones were coming, but how long before they reached the city? They had fought one battle a few days earlier. It was likely that Philippos would let his troops rest to enjoy the fruits of victory, the spoils and the plunder. Five days? Three?

He would not consider the Spartans a major threat—not with only five thousand men. And the addition of a slave army would concern him not at all.

The door behind him opened, and the scent of sweet perfume filled the air. He knew instantly who had entered and turned slowly, his heart palpitating, his mouth suddenly dry.

Derae stood before him, dressed in a gown of white bordered with gold. Her red hair was long, drawn back from her face in intricate braids. Her eyes were green, her skin burnished gold. His breath caught in his throat as she approached him. After all these years he was once more face to face with the woman he had loved and lost.

“Derae!” he whispered.

“You shamed Nestus,” she said, her eyes showing her fury, “and I will hate you for as long as you live!”

Parmenion could not speak; the shock was too great. He felt his legs trembling and backed away from the balcony. For more than thirty years he had loved this woman. No, he tried to tell himself, not
this
Derae. But logic was useless against
the vision before him. Her face and form had lived in his memory for three decades, and the sight of her now unmanned him.

“Well, speak!” she demanded.

He shook his head and lifted the wine cup, pulling his gaze from her, trying to break the spell. “Have you nothing to say?”

Anger touched him then, flaring swiftly. “Nestus is fortunate to be among the living,” he told her. “And as for your hatred, lady, it will be short-lived. It is likely that we all have but five days to live. If you wish to spend those days with Nestus, go to him; you have my blessing.”

“Your blessing? That is something I have never had. I served your purpose: you wed me to become king, you stole my happiness—and now you give me your blessing. Well, a curse upon it! I do not need it.”

“Tell me what you need,” he said, “and if it is within my power, you shall have it.”

“There is nothing you can give me,” she answered, spinning on her heel and striding toward the door.

“Derae!” he called, and she stopped but did not turn. “I have always loved you,” he said. “Always.”

She faced him then, cheeks crimson and eyes blazing, but her anger died as she saw his expression. Without replying, she backed away and fled the room.

Parmenion moved to a couch and sat, his thoughts somber.

Soon the old servant, Priastes, returned to the king’s quarters and bowed.

“What will you wear today, sire?” he asked.

“I will be garbed for battle,” answered Parmenion.

“Which breastplate do you desire?”

“I do not care,” he snapped. “You choose, Priastes. Just bring it.”

“Yes, sire. Are you well?” the old man asked.

“Fine.”

“Ah,” said Priastes knowingly, “but the queen is angry. The world is falling apart, but the queen is angry. She is always so. Why do you not take another wife, boy? Many kings have
several wives … and she has given you no sons.” The old man obviously had a warm relationship with the king, and Parmenion found the open friendliness comforting. He answered without thinking.

“I love the woman,” he said.

“You do?” responded Priastes, astonished. “Since when? And why? I’ll grant she has a fine body and good childbearing hips. But by Zeus, she has the foulest temper.”

“How long have you been with me, Priastes?”

“Sire?”

“How long? Exactly?”

“Exactly? You gave me my freedom after the battle at Orchomenus. When was that … the year of the griffin? The time has sped by since.”

“Yes, it has,” agreed Parmenion, none the wiser. “Have I changed much in that time?”

“No,” said the old man, chuckling, “you are still the same—shy and yet arrogant, both a poet and a warrior. This war has been hard on you, boy; you look older. Tired. Defeat does that to a man.”

“I’ll try to see that it doesn’t happen again.”

“And you’ll succeed,” said Priastes, chuckling. “All the oracles said you’d die in that battle, but I didn’t believe them. That’s my Parmenion, I said. There’s no one alive who can beat him. And I know you would have won but for those Kadmians. I hear you dealt with Nestus. About time. How long have I been telling you to do just that? Hmm?”

“Too long. Now fetch my armor and then let me know when the
ephors
arrive.”

Priastes wandered away into a back room, emerging with a cuirass of baked black leather, edged with gold, and a kilt of bronze-reinforced leather strips. “Will these suffice?”

“Yes. Bring me some food while I dress.”

“May I ask a favor, boy?”

“Of course.”

“Leonidas says you are asking every able-bodied man—including slaves—to take up swords in defense of the city.
Well, what about me? I’m only seventy-three, and I am still strong. I’ll stand beside you.”

“No,” answered Parmenion. “The older men will be left to defend the city.”

Priastes stood his ground, his expression hardening. “I would like to be with you … on the last day.”

Parmenion looked into the old man’s gray eyes. “You think I will die?” he asked softly.

“No, no,” answered Priastes, but he would not meet the king’s gaze. “I would just like to be there to share the glory of victory. I never had a son, Parmenion, but I’ve looked after you for nearly fifteen years. And I love you, boy. You know that?”

“I know. Then it will be as you say: you will come with me.”

“Thank you. Now I’ll find some food for you. Cakes and honey? Or would you prefer some salted meat?”

While Priastes fetched the food, Parmenion dressed, then wandered to the balcony. The Parmenion of this world had been a good man, he realized, caring and patient. Why else would he allow his servants to address him so informally? Why else would he have tolerated the insubordination of Nestus? Now an old man wanted nothing more than to die beside the man he loved. Parmenion sighed. “You were a better man than I,” he whispered, staring up at the cloud-streaked sky.

Below the balcony and beyond the palace walls Sparta was beginning to stir. Slaves were moving toward the marketplace, and shops were opening, merchants displaying their wares on trestle tables.

So like his own city, he thought. But here there was no Xenophon and no Hermias, he realized suddenly. His only friend in the Sparta of his own world, Hermias had stood by him when all others had felt only hatred and contempt for the mix-blood. Hermias, who had died at Leuctra, fighting on the opposite side.

“The
ephors
are ready, sire,” said Leonidas.

“Let him eat first,” snapped Priastes, moving in behind the Spartan officer.

Leonidas grinned. “Like a she-wolf with her young,” he commented.

“Watch your tongue, boy, lest this old man cut it out for you,” retorted Priastes, setting a silver tray down before the king. Parmenion ate swiftly, washing down the honey cakes with heavily watered wine. Dismissing Priastes, he turned to Leonidas.

“I will not know the
ephors,”
he said, “so I want you to greet them by name.”

“I will. And the men I have chosen are already on their way to the homes of Chirisophus and Soteridas. I will join them once the meeting is under way.”

“If you find anything incriminating, return to the palace and the discussions. Do not say anything, merely point at the guilty.”

“It will be as you say.”

“Good. Now lead me to the meeting.”

The two men walked from the king’s quarters and down the statue-lined staircase to a long corridor. Servants bowed as they passed, and the sentries in the royal gardens stood at attention as the two men strolled across the grounds. They came at last to a set of double doors before which stood two soldiers, armed with spear and shield. Both warriors saluted, then laid aside their spears and pushed open the doors.

Parmenion stepped through into a huge
andron
. Couches were set around the walls, and the floor was decorated with a magnificent mosaic showing the god Apollo riding an enormous leopard. The god’s eyes were sapphires, the leopard’s orbs fashioned from emeralds. Twelve columns on each side supported the roof, and the furniture was inlaid with gold. The six
ephors
rose as Parmenion entered. Leonidas moved among them, and Parmenion listened as he spoke their names.

“Dexipus, I swear you are getting fatter day by day. How long since you attended the training ground, eh? … Ah, Cleander, any news yet of the shipment? I am relying on it to pay
my gambling debts … What’s that, Lycon? Nonsense, I was just unlucky with the dice. I will win it back.”

Parmenion said nothing but moved to the large couch at the northern wall, stretching himself out and listening intently to the conversation. A man approached him, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a simple blue tunic and a belt of black leather edged with silver thread. His hair was iron-gray, his eyes astonishingly blue.

“I am pleased to see you alive, sire,” he said, his voice deep and cold.

Leonidas moved alongside the man. “We were also more than thankful, Soteridas,” he said. “For had the king not caused the avalanche, none of us would be here.”

“I heard of it,” said Soteridas, “but it was such a small victory to set against so vast a defeat.”

“Indeed it was,” agreed Parmenion softly, locking his gaze to the man’s eyes. “But then, defeat was assured, was it not, Soteridas?”

“What do you mean, sire?”

“Did you not predict it? Did you not claim the omens were against us? Now, enough idle talk, let us begin!”

Parmenion looked around the room, and Soteridas moved back to sit alongside Chirisophus, a dark-haired man with a powerful, jutting jaw. He wore robes of shimmering green, and a golden torque gleamed at his throat.