‘And the walls?’ asked the King.
‘Infantry, sire. No army can hope to conquer without good infantry.’
‘Could you build me an army within a year?’
‘I could – but what would you do with it?’
Philip chuckled. ‘We are in a difficult position here, you and I. You are a mercenary – which means that at any time you could be standing alongside Cotys or Bardylis. I cannot tell you all my plans. And I would guess that, unless I do, you will not serve me. How do we resolve this problem?’
‘Tell me all you have done so far, sire, leaving nothing out. And that includes the murder of your stepbrother.’
‘Why not?’ answered Philip. For almost an hour the King spoke of his efforts to stave off disaster, of his wooing of Athens, his offer to Bardylis and his assurances to Cotys
in Thrace. At last he faded to silence and looked at Parmenion’s face in the moonlight. The Spartan was expressionless, his eyes locked to Philip’s.
‘And that is all?’ he asked finally.
Philip considered lying, but on impulse shook his head. ‘No, that is not all. Cotys may already be dead.’ He watched Parmenion relax.
‘Indeed he is, sire. But that still leaves the pretender Pausanius.’
‘Who also will soon be dead,’ said Philip, his voice barely above a whisper. ‘That is all I can tell you.’
‘How many men would you require within the year?’
‘Two thousand horsemen, and 10,000 infantry.’
‘Too many,’ said Parmenion. ‘They would be inadequately trained. Content yourself with 6,000 foot-soldiers – that should give you enough men to tackle Bardylis. How does your treasury stand?’
‘Almost empty,’ admitted Philip.
‘Then your first action must be to relieve the governor at Crousia and restore your fortunes. Then you must purchase armour and weapons. In Phrygia they make fine breastplates of baked leather, lined with thick cloth – not quite as effective as bronze, but lighter. The Phrygian helm is also highly regarded.’
‘You are giving me good advice, strategos, but you do not say whether you will join with me.’
‘I’ll stay for the year, sire. I’ll train your army. After that . . . we’ll see.’
Philip stood and gazed out over the lantern-lit city. ‘Normally it is the King who is petitioned, but here you have reversed the position. What did I say that made you decide to stay?’
‘It was nothing you said, sire. It was something you did.’
‘But you will not tell me?’
‘Exactly, sire. Now to the terms. Tomorrow I would like to meet those of your officers and friends who are presently in Pella. My position will be that of First General, answerable to no man but yourself. I will warrant no argument as to the methods I use in training the men,
nobles or peasant. You will give me your full backing in everything connected with training. Do you agree?’
‘I agree. But what will you be seeking to do first?’ asked Philip.
‘The formation of an elite force, the King’s Infantry Companions, the Royal Guard – 500 men, the best you have.’
‘Like the Sacred Band of Thebes?’
‘Better,’ said Parmenion. ‘For they will be Macedonian!’
*
With the trench foundation complete, the soldier workers made way for the stone-masons, carpenters and wall-builders. Idle now, the men gathered in small groups to dice and gamble and talk of going home. Rumours spread through the ranks. The King was preparing to invade Illyria, to win back their homelands, the Thebans were marching on Pella, the Thracians were massing an army.
Theo took little notice of the stories. He was more interested in events closer to the capital, and listened intently to the gossip about the pale-eyed Spartan now seen with the King and his officers. Only yesterday those same officers had been seen running in the hills, sweat shining on their bodies, their legs trembling. It had been a source of much amusement for the men. Horsemen did not take well to running. The Spartan had run with them, long loping strides that carried him far ahead, drawing them behind him like tired hounds in pursuit of a stag.
But, despite the amusement it offered, it set Theo to thinking. Why should they run? What point was there?