Six weeks to the day since she had refused to say goodbye, he walked into the courtyard. She saw him from the upstairs window and stopped herself from running down to meet him. Instead she walked slowly, and they met on the stairs. His helmet was dented in two places, his breastplate gashed, the lion’s head showing a deep groove.
‘Did you miss me?’ he asked, untying the chin-strap and removing the helmet.
‘A little,’ she conceded. ‘Are you home for good?’
‘No, I ran out of sylphium. I ride back tomorrow.’
Back in their room she helped him to remove his breastplate and shirt. Only then did she see the vivid red scar on his upper right bicep. ‘It did not bleed much,’ he said, trying to reassure her. ‘It was a mercenary who got too close. Epaminondas killed him.’
‘I do not want to know the details,’ she snapped. ‘I will have a bath prepared.’
They had made love that night, but Thetis could not relax and Parmenion’s needs were too urgent. The following morning he was gone again.
As the months passed, Epaminondas, Calepios and others gradually re-formed the old Boeotian League, launching it in Thebes following a General Assembly attended by councillors from all the freed cities. The meeting was democratic, and hopes were high for the year ahead.
Parmenion, released for the autumn from military duties, was less sure of the future. On one of their rides he confided to Thetis his fears.
‘It is less democratic than it appears,’ he said, as they sat in the high meadow they had come to consider their own private place. ‘Thebes can veto any decision, and directly controls the votes of Thespiae, Plataea and Tanagra.’
‘Why is that a problem?’ countered Thetis. ‘Thebes is a great city, and all our councillors value freedom and care
about the rights of others. You heard Calepios’ speech. The new federal state of Boeotia will have no dictators.’
‘I heard it, and I hope it proves true. But an old friend once told me that society is like a spear-point – wide at the base, pointed at the tip. Democrats believe you can reshape it, removing the point. But, as if by magic, it will grow again. There will always be kings, Thetis, and if not kings then dictators. It is the nature of Man to strive to rise above others, to impose his will on all.’
‘There is no one like that in Thebes,’ she said. ‘Maybe in ancient times, yes, but this is the modern world, Par-menion. It does not have to be like that any more. Epaminondas will never be a dictator, nor Pelopidas. Nor you. I think you worry too much.’
And the years appeared to prove her right. Five years after the retaking of the Cadmea, a peace agreement was reached between Athens and Sparta which allowed Thebes and the Boeotian cities the right of self-government.
Thetis remembered that autumn well. Epaminondas had come to the house, accompanied by Calepios, to discuss with Parmenion the terms of the settlement. Against all tradition the Spartan had stopped Thetis as she was leaving the room and signalled for her to sit beside him.
The two Thebans had looked astonished. ‘It saves me going over everything twice,’ Parmenion told them. ‘She will only insist on hearing it all after you have gone.’
‘But . . .’ stuttered Calepios. ‘She … a woman . . .’
‘Is this the great orator?’ asked Parmenion, struggling to look serious. ‘Come now, Calepios, you have known Thetis for years. It should not be difficult to speak in front of her.’
‘It is not a question of difficulty,’ snapped Calepios, ‘but one of decorum. I know you Spartans have curious ideas about women, but here in Thebes we prefer to maintain civilized standards. Such matters as we are to discuss would both bore and confuse dear Thetis.’
‘I am sure Calepios is right,’ said Thetis, rising, ‘and I am grateful for his kindness in thinking of me.’ She had swallowed her anger and retired to her rooms. Later
Parmenion gave her a full account of the meeting, but not before his own anger had been unleashed.