Gemmell, David – Lion of Macedon 01

‘There is obviously some mistake here,’ he said, smiling.

‘No,’ said Asiron. ‘I’d stake my life on it.’

‘Yes, you have,’ replied Parmenion, drawing his sword and slashing it swiftly across Asiron’s throat. The man hurled himself back from the gleaming blade, but blood was already gouting from the wound in his neck.

The Sciritai leapt to his left, drawing his own sword and grinning wolfishly. ‘Never killed a Spartan yet,’ he hissed, ‘but I always wanted to.’

The Sciritai attacked with blinding speed. Parmenion parried and jumped back, his right forearm stinging. Glancing down, he saw a line of blood oozing from a narrow cut. ‘I think I’ll take you a slice at a time,’ said the Sciritai. ‘Unless you’d like to surrender and throw yourself on my mercy?’

‘You are very skilful,’ Parmenion told him as they circled one another. The Sciritai smiled, but said nothing. He launched an attack, feinted with a belly thrust and then slashed his sword towards Parmenion’s face. The blade sliced agonizingly close to Parmenion’s throat, the tip opening the skin of his cheek.

‘A slice at a time,’ repeated the Sciritai. Parmenion moved to his left, putting the fire between them, then sliding his foot forward into the blaze he flicked burning branches into the Sciritai’s face. His opponent stumbled back, oiled beard aflame. Parmenion ran in close, slamming his sword into the man’s groin. The Sciritai screamed and lashed out, but Parmenion ducked and wrenched his blade clear. As bright arterial blood gushed from the wound, drenching the Sciritai’s leg, Parmenion moved back, waiting for him to fall. Instead, the Sciritai charged him. Parmenion blocked a vicious cut, but the man’s fist cracked into his chin, sprawling him to the cave floor; he rolled as the man’s iron blade clanged next to his head, sending a

shower of sparks into the air. The Sciritai staggered, his blood pooling on the floor by his feet.

‘By the gods,’ he muttered thickly. ‘I think you’ve killed me, boy.’

He sank to his knees, dropping his sword.

Parmenion sheathed his own blade and caught the man as he toppled sideways. Lowering him to the ground, he sat beside the warrior as his face grew ever more pale.

‘Never … got to … kill a … Spa . . .’ His eyes closed, his last breath rattling from his throat. Parmenion rose and walked to Asiron. The man had hit his head on the cave wall as he jumped back from Parmenion’s wild cut. His throat was bleeding, but the cut was not deep and already the blood was clotting. Removing the man’s sword-belt, he bound his hands behind him and then rebuilt the fire. His right foot was blistered from the flames and he removed his sandals, hurling them across the cave. It took more than an hour for Asiron to wake: at first he struggled against his bonds, then he sat back and stared at Parmenion.

‘You treacherous dog!’ he hissed.

‘Yes, yes,’ said Parmenion wearily. ‘Let us have all the insults first – then we can talk.’

‘I have nothing to say to you,’ answered Asiron, his eyes flicking to the body of the Sciritai and widening in shock. ‘Gods, I never believed he could be bested with a blade!’

‘All men can be bested,’ said Parmenion. ‘What did Leonidas say to you?’

‘He thought he recognized you, but could not be sure. He sent me – and Damasias – to intercept you.’

Parmenion nodded. ‘Not sure . . . that is good. Then even now the Spartan army is marching upon its old enemy. I wonder if they are singing battle songs of glory. What do you think, Asiron?’

‘I think you are a misbegotten and vile creature.’

‘Is that any way to speak to an old friend who has decided not to kill you?’

‘You’ll get no thanks from me.’

Parmenion chuckled. ‘Do you remember the night

before the General’s Games, when you and Learchus and Gryllus attacked me? I spent that night hiding upon the acropolis, dreaming of the day when I could repay you all. But then children are like that, aren’t they, full of fantasies? As you sit here I have sent the Spartan army to invade Athens. My heart is glowing.’