“But—”
“I know, I know. There’s the Greek cities in Ionia. Dareios will tax them lightly, you’ll see. He has enough troubles holding his empire together without stirring up the Ionian cities.”
Alexandros rose to his feet. I realized that, short though he was, he was the same height as his father. Somehow Philip had always given the impression of being taller, even when his bad leg made him stoop.
“We are destined to conquer the Persian Empire. It’s my fate,” Alexandros said.
Philip grinned crookedly at him. “Perhaps it is your fate, young godling. But my fate is to rule a strong and secure Macedonia. When you’re king—if you are accepted as king after me—you can go off and conquer the whole world. If the army will follow you.”
I saw Alexandros’ hands tightening into fists. His face went red. Not trusting himself to speak another word, he brushed past his father and the two young women supporting him and strode out of the tent. I followed him into the cool night air.
Behind us, Philip lurched and staggered through the tent’s entrance, shouting, “We’ve won the peace, young fool! I’ve worked all my life for this and I’m not going to ruin it now. I’m not going to let anybody ruin it!”
Alexandros stalked off into the night, with me trailing dutifully behind him.
Among the spoils the soldiers collected from the battlefield was a large round shield, painted blue, with the word “With Fortune” lettered on it. When Alexandros heard of it, the morning after the battle, he ordered the shield brought to his tent—and the man who had found it, as well.
“Was the man whose shield this was also found on the battlefield?” he asked the young man. He was a Dardanian shepherd’s son who had joined the army as a slinger.
“No, sire,” said the youngster, clutching his felt cap in both hands, half bent over into a sort of bowing posture before the Little King. He might have been a year or so older than Alexandros, but he seemed much less sure of himself than the prince.
“The shield was found by itself?”
“Yes, sire. The man who owned it must have thrown it away as he fled from our phalanxes.”
“I will keep it,” said Alexandros. Turning to the servant at his left hand, he ordered, “Give this lad coins to make up for the value of the shield.”
The young Dardanian bowed and thanked his way out of the tent, beaming. He had never seen so much money in his life.
Alexandros called me from my post at his tent’s entrance and pointed to the shield, resting against his table.
“This is Demosthenes’ shield.”
“Yes,” I agreed.
An icy smile flickered across his lips. “I would enjoy returning it to him.”
“Assuming he survived the battle.”
“Oh, he survived, all right. He threw down his shield and ran for his life. He probably ran all the way back to Athens.”
Philip, merciless in battle, was generous in victory. He called Alexandros to his tent to discuss with his generals the peace terms he would exact.
“We will put a garrison of picked men into the acropolis of Thebes,” he said flatly. “That will keep the city under control.”
“That,” added Parmenio, “and the fact that their army no longer exists.”
“Their Sacred Band fought almost to the last men,” Antigonos said, a bit of awe still in his voice.
Philip gave a snort. “Yes, they’ll be celebrated in poems for all time to come. All we’ve got is the victory.”
Everyone laughed. Except Alexandros. I could see that he was still smoldering over his father’s pronouncement of the previous night.
“So what do you propose to do about Athens?” Parmenio asked.
“I want to send you, Alexandros,” Philip replied, “into Athens to give them my terms.”
“Which are?” asked Antigonos.
“They must sign a treaty that promises they will not make war against us again. They must recognize that we control the coastal cities up to and including Byzantion.”
“And?”
“That’s all.”
“That’s all?” Antigonos challenged. “Don’t you want to install your own men in their government? Don’t you want them to lay out their silver to pay for the cost of this war?”