Parmenion shook his head. ‘I am not ready for dotage, Mothac my friend. I want . . .’ He shrugged. ‘I don’t know what I want. But I cannot sit idle. What are the latest offers?’
‘The Satrap of Egypt requests your services to counter tribal attacks in the south.’
‘Too hot,’ said Parmenion.
‘The Olynthians are hiring mercenaries. They would like you to lead their forces into Macedonia.’
‘Macedonia again. Tempting. What else?’
‘The King of the Illyrians, Bardylis, offers you employment, as does Cotys of Thrace. The Thracian offer is a good one: two talents of gold.’
‘What of the Macedonian King . . . Perdiccas?’
‘We have heard nothing from him.’
Parmenion sat silently for a while. ‘I am not anxious to return to Greece. Not yet.’
Mothac nodded, remaining silent. He knew Parmenion’s thoughts had turned again to Epaminondas. The Theban hero had crushed the Spartans, taking the Theban army to the outskirts of Sparta itself where the Spartan King, Agisaleus, had barricaded the streets, refusing all challenges.
Glory days had followed for Thebes, but the Athenians -fearing Theban ambition – had allied themselves with Sparta, and bloody battle followed bloody battle for seven years.
Then, while Parmenion was at the Great Court in Susa, came news of a battle near Mantinea. The Spartans and the Athenians together had come against Epaminondas. The Theban tried to repeat the tactics of Leuctra: the massed charge. But it was only partially successful and a contingent of Athenian cavalry smashed a path to Epaminondas. The general died at the point of victory, and the man who killed him was said to be an Athenian captain named Gryllus, the son of Xenophon.
‘He was a great man,’ whispered Mothac.
‘What? Yes. How is it you always know my thoughts?’
‘We are friends, Parmenion. I fear for Thebes now: Pelopidas dead in Thessaly, Epaminondas gone. Who is there to fight for Thebes?’
‘I don’t know, but I’ll take no part in it. Xenophon was right. Greece will never be united and the constant battles only weaken her further.’
A slave girl ran from the house, bowing before Parmenion and then turning to Mothac. ‘There is a messenger, sir. He wishes to see the general.’
‘From whom does this messenger come?’
‘He is a Greek, sir.’ The girl bowed her head and waited.
‘See that he is given wine. I shall speak to him presently,’ Mothac told her.
Parmenion waited in the sunshine until Mothac returned.
‘Well, what was it?’
‘He was an Illyrian. Bardylis has withdrawn his offer to you. It seems that without you he crushed the Macedonian army and killed Perdiccas. It might be a good time for you to take the offer of Cotys. Thrace and Illyria will now fight over the spoils. Macedonia is finished.’
‘Who succeeded Perdiccas?’
‘One of the princes . . . Philip, I think he said.’
‘I knew him in Thebes. I liked him.’
‘Oh no,’ said Mothac. ‘Don’t even think it.’
Think what?’
‘I see that look in your eye, Parmenion. They have no army and the wolves are gathering – it is folly to even think of it. Anyway, this Philip has made no offer.’
Parmenion chuckled. ‘No army, and strong enemies all around him. It is very appealing, Mothac.’
‘There is nothing appealing about death!’ snapped the Theban.
*
Archelaos was murdered as he crossed the river Axios to the north-west of Pella, and with his death opposition to Philip from within Macedonia was ended. But it did not end his problems. The Illyrians had crushed the Macedonian army in the north-west, and now the Paionian tribes of the north had invaded, sacking two cities and thirty villages. Worse was to follow for the new King. In the east the Thracians were massing to invade – ready to install a distant cousin of Philip’s, Pausanias, as a puppet ruler. And from the south came word that the Athenians were sponsoring yet another cousin, Argaios, and he was marching with an army to contest the throne.
‘What surprises me,’ Philip confided to Nicanor, his closest friend, ‘is why anyone should wish to take over the kingdom now. There’s precious little left that isn’t already in enemy hands.’