‘You make me sick! Where is your loyalty? Your sense of honour?’
‘Honour? Loyalty? Why, I think that was thrashed out of me by good Spartan gentlemen like yourself, who pointed out that I was a Macedonian – not a Spartan at all. For whom should I express my loyalty?’ His voice hardened. ‘To the people who killed the woman I loved? To the city that made me an outcast? No, Asiron. I left you alive for a simple reason. I want you to tell Leonidas that it was I who organized the retaking of the Cadmea – and I who set Sparta at war with Athens. And more, my old, dear friend. It will be I who will see Sparta destroyed, her buildings razed, her power at an end.’
‘Who do you think you are?’ Asiron asked, with a dry, humourless laugh.
‘I’ll tell you who I am,’ answered Parmenion, the words of Tamis echoing in his mind. ‘I am Parmenion, the Death of Nations.’
*
Soon after dawn Parmenion released Asiron and rode for Thebes. The cuts on his face and arm were healing fast, but his right foot was burned and blistered, leaving his mood grim as he cantered to the city gates. An arrow flashed by him, then another. Swinging the gelding’s head, he galloped out of range. Several horsemen rode out towards him, swords drawn. Parmenion wrenched off the Spartan helmet and waited for them.
‘It is I,’ he yelled, ‘Parmenion!’ The horsemen surrounded him and he recognized two of the men as members of the Sacred Band. They began to question him, but he
waved them away and steered his mount into the city to report to Epaminondas.
Four days later Parmenion was awakened at midnight by shouting outside his home. Rising from his bed, disgruntled and annoyed, he threw a cloak around his naked frame and moved down the stairs, meeting Mothac as he emerged to the courtyard. ‘I’ll crack his skull, whoever he is,’ muttered the Theban as the pounding on the gate began. Mothac pulled open the gate and Pelopidas ran in, followed by Epaminondas. The drunken Theban warrior grabbed Parmenion round the waist, hoisting him into the air and swinging him round.
‘You did it!’ yelled Pelopidas. ‘Damn your eyes, you did it!’
‘Put me down, you oaf! You’re breaking my ribs.’
Pelopidas released him and turned to Mothac. ‘Well, don’t just stand there gaping, man. Get some wine. This is a celebration!’
Mothac stood his ground. ‘Shall I break his face?’ he asked Parmenion.
The Spartan laughed. ‘I think not. Better fetch the wine.’ He turned his gaze to Epaminondas. ‘What is going on?’
‘A messenger arrived an hour ago from Calepios in Athens. Sphodrias and his army appeared to the north of the city at dawn three days ago. They ravaged some villages and advanced on the Piraeus. An Athenian force went out to meet them, the Spartan ambassador with them, and Sphodrias was forced to withdraw. By all the gods, I wish I’d seen it,’ said Epaminondas.
‘But what happened then?’ snapped Parmenion.
‘Let me tell him,’ urged Pelopidas. His face sported a lop-sided grin, and his joy was almost childlike.
Epaminondas bowed to him. ‘Continue,’ he said, ‘noble Pelopidas!’
‘The Athenians were not happy. Oh, no! Their council met and they have decided to send – Sweet Zeus, I love this – they have decided to send 5,000 hoplites and 600 cavalry for the defence of Thebes. Five thousand!’ he repeated.
‘It is wonderful news,’ said Epaminondas, accepting the
goblet of wine from Mothac. Pelopidas staggered into the andron and stretched himself out on a couch.
‘It is not an end in itself,’ said Parmenion quietly, ‘but it is a good beginning. What has happened to Sphodrias?’
‘He has been summoned back to Sparta – with his army. Boeotia is free – except for the garrisons.’
‘So,’ whispered Parmenion, ‘Sparta and Athens are now at war. We should be safe – at least until next spring.’
Epaminondas nodded. ‘And now other cities in Boeotia will seek to rid themselves of Spartan garrisons. Pelopidas is leading his Sacred Band out into the countryside tomorrow, to aid the Tanagra rebels. I think we could win, Parmenion. I really do.’