Lion of Macedon by David Gemmell
The warrior smiled at him. ‘I have told the others to let you pass and you can trust my word. But I should ride fast. I do not speak for those who follow.’
The men ran for their horses. Laris suppressed the urge to strike out; he could hear the hoofbeats of the Spartan force. Grabbing his stallion’s mane, he leapt to the beast’s back and galloped through the pass. As he had expected there was no one there - no archers, no hoplites, no slingers. Just rock and shale. He could feel the eyes of his men upon him. He had been tricked by one Spartan. One man had made him surrender his prize.
What now would they say in Corinth?
Parmenion leaned out, taking Derae’s hand and swinging her up behind him. Then he touched heels to the mare and walked the beast back into the trees.
Within minutes Patroclian came galloping towards them, followed by Leonidas and the others. Parmenion raised his hand and the red-bearded Spartiate drew rein as Derae eased herself to the ground.
‘What happened here?’ Leonidas demanded, pushing his way to the front.
‘Parmenion and the others blocked the pass,’ said Derae. ‘He killed one of their scouts, then negotiated to allow them through if they gave me up.’
‘What others?’ asked Patroclian.
‘Archers, I suppose,’ said Derae. ‘He threatened to kill all the raiders unless they released me.’
‘Where are these other men?’ Patroclian enquired of Parmenion. ‘I would like to thank them.’
‘There are no others,’ Parmenion told him. Edging his mount forward, he rode through the group and back down the scree slope to where the wagon was waiting. Tossing the quiver and bow to Tinus, he lifted a waterskin from the seat beside the servant and drank deeply.
Xenophon rode alongside. ‘You did well, strategos. We found where the trail swung east, but we would have been too late had you not blocked the pass. I am proud of you.’ He tossed a blood-covered arrow to Tinus. ‘It was a fine strike at the base of the throat, severing the windpipe and lodging in the spine. A fine strike!’
‘I was aiming for the chest or belly, but I over-compensated for the gradient.’
Xenophon was about to speak when he noticed Par-menion’s hands begin to tremble. He glanced at the young man’s face, which showed no expression, though the blood had drained from it.
‘Are you well?’ asked the Athenian.
‘My head is pounding, and there are lights flashing in my eyes.’
‘We will camp here,’ said Xenophon. Parmenion dismounted and staggered several paces before falling to his knees and vomiting. Then he stood and sucked in great gulps of air. Xenophon brought him the waterskin and he rinsed his mouth. ‘You feel better?’
‘I am shaking like a leaf in a storm - I can’t believe it. Back there I was so calm, but now I am acting like a frightened child.’
‘Back there was the work of a man, a cool man. A man of iron nerve,’ Xenophon assured him. ‘This takes nothing from it.’
‘I feel as if there are hot lances inside my head. I have never known pain like it.’ Parmenion sat down, resting his back against the wagon wheel. ‘And the light is burning my eyes.’ Tinus climbed down from the wagon, holding a wide hat of straw over Parmenion’s head to shade him. The pain grew - and Parmenion slipped into darkness.
Parmenion awoke several times in the night, but his head seemed filled with searing light, bringing agony and nausea. With an effort of will he slipped back into the sanctuary of sleep. When finally he opened his eyes, the absence of pain was almost blissful. He was lying in a cool room with the shutters closed, and he could hear the low hum of conversation beyond the whitewashed walls. He sat up and saw that his left forearm was bandaged, but he could not remember being wounded.
Someone stirred in a chair across the room, and a man rose and walked over to him. He was short and slender, with wispy grey hair. He smiled.
‘The pain is gone, yes?’ enquired the man, his voice deep and faintly comical coming from so frail a body.
‘Yes,’ agreed Parmenion. ‘What happened to me?’
‘The world,’ said the man, sitting on the bed beside him, ‘is made up of four elements: earth, air, fire and water. But it is held in harmony by the will of the gods. As I understand it, you displayed an act of rare courage. You put yourself under severe stress. This caused an excess of fire in your system, heating your blood and destroying your harmony. Hot blood coursed in your brain, causing intense pain and nausea.’
‘You bled me then,’ said Parmenion, touching the bandage on his arm.
‘I did. It is well known that this relieves the pressure. If you feel faint, I will repeat the process.’
‘No, I feel fine.’
‘Good. I will tell the general you are well. But you ought to be purged, young man; it would be safer.’
‘Truly, I am well. The pain has gone. I commend your skill.’
The little man smiled. ‘In truth I am better with wounds, but I study,’ he confided.
‘Will this happen to me whenever I face danger?’
‘It is unlikely. I have known many men to suffer such head pain, but the attacks are usually rare and only accompany times of undue stress. It is common also among clerics who complain of blurred vision and dancing lights before their eyes. Opium is the best cure for this, processed to the Egyptian formula. I will leave some with Xenophon, in case your pain returns.’
Parmenion lay back. He fell asleep once more, and when he awoke Xenophon was sitting beside him.
‘You gave us a scare, strategos. The good doctor wanted to drill a hole in your skull to release the bad humours, but I dissuaded him.’
‘Where are we?’
‘Olympia.’
‘You mean I have slept for a full day?’
‘More than that,’ replied Xenophon. ‘It is now almost noon on the second day. I had hoped to take you hunting, but as it is the doctor says you should rest for today.’
‘I am well enough to ride,’ Parmenion argued.
‘I am sure you are,’ agreed Xenophon soothingly, ‘but I will not allow it. The doctor has spoken and we will follow his advice. Anyway, there is a guest to see you and I am sure you will not object to spending time with her while I ride out to hunt with her father.’
‘Derae? Here?’
‘Waiting in the gardens. Now remember, my boy, to appear feeble and wan. Elicit her sympathy.’
‘I need to bathe - and shave.’
‘And to dress, let us not forget that,’ said Xenophon as the naked Parmenion threw back his sheet and rose from the bed.
The gardens were constructed around a shallow stream flowing from the eastern hills. White boulders had been carefully polished and placed in circles, half-buried in the soil. Around them, brightly coloured flowers had been planted after the fashion of the Persians. Stone pathways had been designed to meander through groves of oak trees, and stone benches were placed in shaded hollows. There were statues from Corinth and Thebes, mostly showing the goddess Athena in full armour, and one of Artemis carrying a bow. By a small man-made lake there was a series of statues portraying the twelve labours of Heracles. Usually Parmenion would sit by them, enjoying the cool breeze across the water, but not today. He found Derae sitting by the stream under the shade of a willow. She was dressed in an ankle-length chiton of white, edged with green and gold. Around her waist and looped over her shoulders was a sea-green chlamys - a long, rectangular strip of fine linen, delicately embroidered. As she saw him, she stood and smiled. ‘Are you now well, hero?’ she asked.
‘Indeed I am. You are looking beautiful; your clothes are very fine.’
‘Thank you. But you are pale - perhaps you should rest for a while.’ They sat together in uncomfortable silence for several minutes until Derae laid her hand on his arm. ‘I wanted to thank you. I was terrified. You have no idea how I felt when you stood upon that rock and demanded my release. It was as if you were sent by the gods.’
‘Perhaps I was,’ he whispered, covering he
‘My father was very impressed by your courage - and your initiative. I was really convinced there were men with you.’
Parmenion grinned. ‘Xenophon taught me that victory is achieved by putting the thought of defeat into the heart of your enemy. To him goes the honour.’
‘But to you the glory. I like to see you smile, Savra; it makes you handsome. You do not smile enough.’
Her hand was warm beneath his, and he could feel her closeness and smell the heavy scent of the perfumed oil on her hair. Her head was tilted towards him, and he could not read her eyes; the pupils were wide, her face flushed, her lips slightly parted. He found himself leaning closer towards her. She did not draw back, and his lips touched hers. Her arms encircled his neck, her body pressed in to him and he could feel her breasts against his chest. He felt dizzy, yet exhilarated. His hand slid along her shoulder and down her arm. Her hand came up to close over his fingers. For a moment only he felt disappointment, then she drew his hand down to her breast.
Then, as swiftly as it began, Derae ended the embrace, pulling back sharply.
‘Not here! Not now,’ she pleaded.
‘When?’ asked Parmenion, battling to control his surging emotions.
‘When they have gone. We will hear the horses.’
‘Yes... the horses.’
They sat in unnatural silence, waiting, listening as the grooms beyond the garden wall brought out the mounts, hearing the laughter of the hunters, men boasting of their skills and others mocking with gentle humour. Then came the thunder of hooves and quiet descended on the garden. Parmenion stood, reached out and took Derae’s hand, drawing her up to him. He kissed her again and they walked back through the garden gate and on to the house. Back in his room Parmenion gently untied the thongs at Derae’s shoulder, the white and green chiton falling to the floor.
Stepping back, he gazed at her upper body. Her arms and face were bronzed, but her breasts and waist were white as marble. Tentatively he reached out to touch her breast, his palm stroking gently across the raised nipple. She unfastened the brooch that held his chiton and, naked now, they moved to the bed.
For a while they kissed and touched, but then Derae lay back drawing Parmenion on to her. He groaned as he entered her and felt her legs slide up over his hips. In all his life he had never known such pleasure, nor dreamt of scaling such a peak of joy. It was madness, he knew, but he had no control - wished for none. Even the thought of death could not stop him now.
His passion made him want to power into her, yet he did not wish the moment to end and forced himself to move slowly, rhythmically, his eyes open, watching her face. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks flushed. He brushed his lips against hers and her mouth opened, her tongue darting against his own. He felt himself building to a climax and slid from her.
‘No,’ she said, pulling at him. He knelt by the side of the bed, running his tongue across her flat belly, then lifted her thigh across his shoulder. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, struggling to sit. He pushed her back and lowered his head between her legs. Her hair was soft, pelt-like, and his tongue caressed her. She began to moan, softly at first and then louder. She shuddered against him, her hands tugging at his hair. Climbing to the bed, he entered her once more. Derae’s arms circled his neck, and she clung to him with fierce strength until he too reached a climax.
Bathed in sweat they lay together with arms entwined. Now it was over, the passion spent, all Parmenion’s fear came rushing back. What they had done was against the law. What if the servants had seen them walking hand in hand from the garden? And could they have failed to hear her cries, or the creaking of the bed? Raising himself on his elbow, he looked down at the girl. Her eyes were closed, her face wondrous in its beauty.
He knew then that she was worth the risk, worth any risk.
‘I love you,’ he whispered.
Her eyes opened. ‘I had a dream,’ she said. ‘Three days ago. I went to a seeress with it. She told me that it meant I would love only one man in my life, and that he would stand and defy an army for me.’
‘What was your dream?’
‘I dreamt I was in a temple, and all was darkness. And I said, ‘Where is the Lion of Macedon?’ The sun shone then and I saw a general in a white plumed helmet. He was tall and proud, and walking with the light at his back. He saw me, and opened his arms. He called me his love. That’s all I remember.’
‘Why was there darkness? You said the sun was shining.’
‘I don’t know. But the dream disturbed me. I should have thought of you, for you are half Macedonian. You are the Lion of Macedon from my dream.’
He chuckled. ‘I am told Macedon has few lions,’ he said. ‘And it is not a country renowned for producing generals.’
‘You don’t believe in my dream?’
‘I believe we are destined to be together,’ he told her. ‘And I would defy an army for you.’
‘You already have.’
‘That wasn’t an army, that was a rabble. But I could bless them now for bringing us together.’
Leaning down, he kissed her - and his passion returned.
For five days the lovers met in secret, riding out into the hills high above the land. They saw only a few shepherd girls and spent their days wandering through the woods and making love in sheltered hollows.
For Parmenion it was a time of bliss beyond imagining. His bitterness fled from him and he revelled in the glory of the summer sun, the clear blue skies and the beauty of the land. The cruelties of his life seemed distant now, like the memory of winter snow. He could picture them, but could not feel the icy cold of their reality.
On the morning of the sixth day his world changed. He led the chestnut mare from her stall at the rear of the white-walled house and bridled her.
Xenophon walked to him, laying a hand on his arm. ‘Do not ride today,’ he said softly.
‘I need to feel the wind in my face. I will be back soon.’
‘I said no!’ Xenophon snapped. ‘And if you need reminding, the mare belongs to me.’
‘Then I shall walk!’ responded Parmenion, his face flushed with anger.
‘You fool! When will you start using your mind?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know exactly what I am saying. My servants know where you are going. I know where you are going. Patroclian knows where you are going. You have conducted this affair with all the subtlety of a rutting bull.’
‘How dare you?’ stormed Parmenion. ‘You have spied on me.’
‘What need was there for spies? You took her to your room on the first day, and her cries echoed around the house. You meet her on hillsides and walk hand in hand, where you can be observed for miles. Patroclian would be within his rights to have you arrested and executed, but he is a man of honour and feels he owes you for your courage.’
‘I intend to marry her,’ declared Parmenion. ‘It is not as you think.’
‘As I said, Parmenion, you are a fool! Now return the mare to her stall.’
‘Allow me to ride out to Derae. I need to talk to her,’ begged Parmenion.
‘She will not be there; she has been sent back to Sparta.’
Parmenion’s throat was dry, his belly knotted. ‘Sent back? I will go to see Patroclian.’
Xenophon swung and lashed his open palm across Parmenion’s face. The blow stung him and he staggered. ‘Maybe the doctor purged you of brains,’ hissed Xenophon. ‘Will you think, man? You have violated a virgin. What will you say to her father? ‘I want to marry her’? What do you have to offer? What dowry do you bring? You are a penniless student without a landholding, or a farm. You have no income. All you have done is ruin the girl for anyone else.’
‘You make it sound vile,’ said Parmenion, ‘but it isn’t.’
‘You don’t understand, do you?’ said the general sadly. ‘You cannot see it. Derae is pledged to Nestus and they were to have been wed in the spring. When he hears of the shame to hi
‘I will save her. She loves me, Xenophon. She is a gift from the gods to me; I know it. They will not let any harm come to her. Do not hate me for this!’
The Athenian laid his hands on Paimenion’s shoulders. ‘I do not hate you for it, my young friend. Your life has not been particularly blessed. But listen to me, and try to use that part of your mind which we have trained. Do not think of Derae. Pull your thoughts away from what you call love and think of life as it has to be lived. You have brought great shame to Patroclian and to his whole family. You have shamed me and you have shamed yourself. Love? Love is born of caring, of compassion, of understanding. Do not talk of love but speak openly and honestly of desire. You put Derae in a position of great danger - that is not the act of a lover. You have destroyed her reputation and blighted the name of a noble line. Tell me where love appears in this scene?’
Parmenion could not reply but he led the mare back into her stall and removed the bridle. The events of the last five days seemed suddenly dreamlike and unreal. He saw now that Xenophon was right: he had shamed his friend and tarnished Derae.
He walked back out into the sunlight, but Xenophon had gone.
Parmenion wandered out into the garden, stopping by the bench where Derae had first kissed him. There had to be a way to resolve the dilemma, a way in which he and Derae could live together. He had decided months before to leave Sparta when he reached Manhood, but Derae had changed all that. Now he just wanted to have enough money to marry and to raise a family, to pay for his own boys to attend barracks.
For most of the day he wrestled with the problem, seeing only one solution. At last, with the sun setting, he made his way back to the house. Xenophon was sitting in the courtyard, eating a supper of figs and cheese, as Parmenion stood before him.
‘I am sorry, sir. Deeply sorry for the shame I have brought you. It is a terrible way to repay the friendship you have shown me.’
Xenophon shrugged. ‘That is life, Parmenion. Sit down and eat. Tomorrow we will ride to the sea, feel the fresh winds upon our faces.’