Aristotle shook his head, brow furrowed with worry.
“But Athens is already at war with us,” Alexandros said.
Aeschines replied, “Technically, yes. But until now the Athenians have been content to let others do the fighting for them. They have sent silver against Philip, not Athenian troops.”
I recalled that I was one of the mercenaries that Athenian silver had bought.
“And ships,” added Ptolemaios. “Athens uses its navy against us.”
“To little avail,” Alexandros boasted. “Soon they won’t have a port to put into north of Attica.”
“There is talk,” said Aeschines gloomily, “of making an alliance with Thebes.”
“Thebes!” A stir went around the long table.
“They have the best army outside of Macedonia,” Hephaistion blurted.
“Their Sacred Band has never been defeated,” said dark-skinned Nearkos.
“Well, neither have we,” Alexandros countered.
Harpalos, sitting on Alexandros’ left, made a disappointed frown. “Maybe we haven’t been defeated in battle, but the king has walked us away from victories. Perinthos isn’t the first city that we’ve besieged without taking.”
Alexandros’ face started to turn red with anger. Aristotle spoke up. “Philip has gained more cities at the parley table than on the battlefield,” he said mildly. “That is the art of a true king: to win without bloodshed.”
“There will be blood between Athens and us,” Alexandros predicted, his anger barely under control.
“I fear you’re right,” Aeschines agreed. “Demosthenes will not stop until he has them marching against the barbarians.”
“Barbarians?”
“You,” he said directly to Alexandros. “He calls you barbarians. And worse.”
Again trying to ward off an explosion, Aristotle said, “To the Athenians, anyone not of their city is a barbarian. The word originally meant stranger, nothing more.”
“But that’s not how Demosthenes uses it now,” Aeschines said.
I could see Alexandros was struggling to control his temper. “I saw him once, years ago,” he muttered. “He came to Pella at the king’s invitation. He was so flustered he became completely tongue-tied. He couldn’t speak a complete sentence.”
“He speaks whole sentences now,” Aeschines said, somberly. “With devastating effect.”
“I must hear him for myself,” Alexandros said through tight lips.
But there was something else the prince wanted to see first. We were all quartered in one large room, all except Aristotle. After supper, as I was preparing for bed, I saw that Alexandros and his Companions were heading for the door, cloaks wrapped around their shoulders, swords at their sides.
“Where are you going?” I demanded.
“To the Acropolis,” Alexandros replied, smiling like a boy setting off on an adventure.
“It’s forbidden. The gates to the Sacred Street are locked.”
“There’s a trail up the cliff side. One of the servants told me of it.”
“You’re going to follow a servant?”
“Yes, why not? I want to see the temples up there.”
“Maybe we’ll raid their treasury.” Ptolemaios laughed.
“Perhaps it’s a trap,” I said.
“We are armed.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not necessary, Orion.”
“Your father commanded me to take good care of you. If you break your neck climbing the cliff in the moonlight, I’d better jump off and land beside you.”
He laughed as I grabbed my sword and cloak and went with them, thinking that his mother had also ordered me to protect him.
The climb was much easier than I had feared. The moon was bright, although the night wind cut like a razor. The servant turned out to be a young girl, no more than twelve, I guessed. Harpalos had spotted her in Aeschines’ household. I imagined that he intended to reward her by taking her virginity.
We reached the flat top of the cliff without trouble and stood gazing at the Parthenon and the other temples. The Parthenon was absolutely breathtaking: graceful fluted columns, perfect Pythagorean symmetry, wonderful friezes along the roof line so marvelously carved that the cold marble figures seemed almost to come alive. I had seen it before, I realized. It stood, in all its original harmonious balance, in the empty city of the Creators that I had visited in my dreams.
It was wondrously beautiful, especially in the soft silver radiance of the moonlight. And standing in front of it was the giant statue of Athena, warrior goddess and patroness of the city, goddess of wisdom whose sacred symbol is the owl.