She laughed then. ‘You will think of something. What is it that you need most?’
‘Time,’ he answered, without hesitation.
‘Who is the greatest enemy?’
‘The old wolf, Bardylis. His Illyrians have already crushed the army. If he marches on Pella, there is nothing I can do to stop him.’
‘It is said he has a daughter of surpassing ugliness,’ said Simiche softly. ‘Her name is Audata and he has tried -unsuccessfully – to arrange marriages for her with lowly princes. I daresay he has given up thinking of a King for her.’
‘A bride of surpassing ugliness? Something I have always wanted,’ replied Philip, and their laughter filled the room.
*
The days passed with an ominous lack of movement from his enemies, and Philip worked long into the nights, preparing despatches for Athens, to friends in Thessaly to the south and Amphipolis in the east. He sent Nicanor to Bardylis in Illyria, formally requesting the hand of his daughter Audata in marriage, and promising to pay a tribute of 500 talents a year from the day of the wedding. To the Thracian King, Cotys, he sent a long letter assuring him of friendship; but carrying the assurance was the cold-eyed Attalus.
Philip gave him two small metal phials, each marked with different letters. ‘This one,’ said Philip, ‘contains a deadly poison, but it is slow-acting. The other is an antidote. You must find a way to poison the King – without suspicion falling on you. Cotys has three sons, and they hate each other. Once the old man is dead they will never unite to threaten us.’
Attalus smiled. ‘You are taking to this business rather well, my friend. I thought you had no desire to be King?’
‘A man takes what the gods thrust upon him,’ Philip answered. ‘But it is vital that Cotys dies. Before the deed is done, seek out the pretender Pausanias and tell him you are
disenchanted with me. Tell him you wish to serve him against me. I leave it to you how you kill him . . . but do it.’
‘I do not wish to sound like a Cretan mercenary, sire, but it would be pleasant to know that I will return to some honoured position in your service.’
Philip nodded and took the tall warrior by the arm, leading him to a couch by an indoor pool of marble. ‘You do not need to call me sire when there is no one else present. You are my friend, Attalus, and I trust you as I trust no other. You are the King’s right hand, and as I prosper so will you. Do you trust me?’
‘Of course.’
‘Then do my bidding.’
Attalus chuckled. ‘Already you sound like a King. Very well, Philip.’
The door opened and a servant entered and bowed. ‘My lord, the Athenian ambassador is seeking an audience.’
Philip rose and took a deep breath. ‘Tell him I shall be with him presently.’ The King bade farewell to Attalus and then walked through to his bedchamber where he changed his clothes, dressing himself in a long pale blue tunic and a Persian cloak of fine dark blue wool.
Then he sat, allowing his thoughts to drift over his problems, identifying each and preparing himself for the meeting. To remove Athens from the fray was an urgent priority – but it would prove costly. Once again the city was struggling to be the leader of all Greece. Since Parmenion had crushed the Spartans the real power struggle had developed between Thebes and Athens, both forming alliances in bids to secure supremacy. Perdiccas had favoured the Thebans, sending Macedonian troops to the independent city of Amphipolis in the east to aid them against Athenian aggression. Understandably this infuriated the Athenians, who had ruled Amphipolis. It was an important settlement, controlling all trade routes down the great River Strymon, but its people wanted nothing to do with Athens and had been fighting for independence for more than fifty years.
But now the Athenians had despatched an army to
remove Philip from the throne, and he had no force to oppose them. If they succeeded, Amphipolis would fall anyway.
Placing a slender gold circlet on his brow, he walked out into the throne-room to meet Aischines. The man was short and stout, his face the unhealthy crimson of the weak of heart.