Pelopidas and the slender Callines advanced together. The opposing swordsman launched a sudden attack. Pelopidas blocked the blow with his shield and Callines lunged, but his strike cracked against the shield of his opponent. The warriors circled each other, but could find no openings. After several minutes the enemy pair dropped back for a whispered conference, then advanced once more – the swordsman suddenly moving to the right, seeking to outflank Pelopidas. Ignoring him, Pelopidas darted for the shield-bearer, hurling himself at the man. Their shields met with a clash and Pelopidas’ opponent was hurled from his feet. Callines ran forward, touching his sword to the fallen man’s throat. Pelopidas swung as the swordsman came up behind him and only the rim of his shield deflected the blow. Callines came to his aid. Pelopidas parried a thrust, then swung his shield into his opponent’s sword arm, pushing it back. Callines leapt, his blunt sword ramming into the man’s groin, and the warrior fell to the earth with a groan.
‘What you just saw,’ said Parmenion, moving to the centre of the circle and hauling the man to his feet, ‘was your worst swordsman killing two opponents. That, in essence, is the secret of the phalanx. Ordinary men, well trained, can prove magnificent in battle. But great warriors become invincible. You will be invincible!’
For two hours Parmenion worked the men, until Pelopidas called a halt and allowed the training to end. Taking Parmenion’s arm, he led him to the shade by the Grave of Hector. ‘You did well, my friend. Very well indeed,’ said the The ban. ‘You gave us a name- an inspired name. From today we are the Sacred Band.’
‘No,’ answered Parmenion, ‘the name was yours, you coined it when you spoke up for young Callines. But it is fitting and it does no harm for warriors to feel bonded. You are a fine leader.’
‘Enough compliments,’ said Pelopidas. ‘I feel uncomfortable with them. Now tell me why you asked the name of the first swordsman you saw?’
Parmenion smiled. ‘It is not I who should know his name – it is you. A general is like a craftsman, who knows the name and merits of each of the tools he possesses. The men look up to you, they admire you for your courage and your strength. As a general you cannot make a friend of every man, for that might lead to lax discipline. But speak to each by name and they will fight the better for you – and for Thebes.’
‘But will we beat the Spartans?’ asked Pelopidas.
‘If any man can – you will,’ Parmenion assured him.
*•
Derae opened her eyes . . . but the darkness was total. She could feel the warmth on the right side of her face and knew that the sun was up, and wept for her loss.
Blindness. The fear of humans from the dawn of time: helpless against the whims of nature, the cruelty of savage beasts.
Her last sight had been of Tamis looming above her, the
copper phial in her hand with steam rising from the bubbling contents within. Then the touch of fire on her open eyes and the scream of agony that followed the kiss of acid.
She heard the door open and felt the bed shift as Tamis sat beside her. ‘Lie still,’ said the old woman, ‘and listen to me. Hold your body still, and think of a blue sky and a long stem of gold. Can you do that?’
‘Yes,’ answered Derae weakly.
‘Picture the stem of gold against the blue and see the tip swell and grow – bending, twisting, becoming a loop joined back to the stem like a huge needle of gold. Do you have it in mind?’
‘I do. Gold against blue,’ Derae whispered.
‘Now, below the loop, like the cross-guard of a Persian sword, two further stems grow from the gold. Hold it in your mind, the blue and the gold. Tell me what you feel?’
‘I feel as if warm air is blowing inside my head.’
‘Good. Now soar!’ ordered Tamis. Derae felt all weight fall from her, as if chains of lead had parted. She floated – and opened her eyes. The ceiling was close and she rolled her spirit, looking down to see herself lying on the pallet bed with Tamis beside her. The old woman looked up. ‘Now you can see,’ Tamis told her, ‘and you have discovered one of the secrets of the Source. A gift to Him is returned manifold. You are free, Derae. Free to fly, and free to learn. Go! Travel like the eagle and see all that you desire. But look not to the future, my child, for you are not ready.’