‘We will not ride alone all the way,’ Philip assured him. ‘Only the last few miles in Illyria. There we will be met.’
‘But why only four, sire? Nicanor asked.
The King gave a cold smile. ‘Because I choose four. No man, not even Bardylis, tells Philip how many will accompany him.’
After the meeting Philip walked with Parmenion out into the palace gardens. ‘How is the training coming, strategos?
‘Better than I had hoped. Until the new armour arrives from Phrygia we are keeping the work simple – running, single combat and a few elementary unit exercises. What is heartening though, sire, is the quality of the men and their willingness to accept new ideas. I already have several under-officers of great potential.’
Philip nodded and the two men walked to a quiet area at the back of the gardens, sitting in the shade of a high wall. ‘I know it would be easier for you, Parmenion, if we could gather all the men in one place. But you know why I cannot. If word gets out that I am building an army, Bardylis will invade swiftly.’
‘Only if he believes he is the target,’ Parmenion pointed out. ‘When you see him, explain that you are planning to strike against the Paiones, that you are tired of their incursions into Macedonian territory.’
‘You don’t know Bardylis, he’s the wiliest wolf in all of Greece. He must be around eighty now – even the goddess of Death can’t seem to summon up the courage to claim him.’
‘How strong is his hold on Illyria?’
‘Strong enough,’ Philip answered. ‘There are three main tribes, but the Dardanoi of Bardylis are by far the strongest. And his army is well trained and disciplined. Better than that – they are used to victory. They won’t crack.’
‘We’ll see,’ said Parmenion.
Philip rose. ‘I am riding east to Crousia. The gold supplies have started again – but they are low. While I am gone, you will have charge of the army. All reports will come to you.’
‘How long do you plan to be away?’
‘No more than two weeks. Then we head for Illyria – and my marriage.’
*
Philip took 200 warriors with him on the ride north-east towards the towering Kercine mountains north of Crousia. He had never seen the mines, nor met the governor there, Elyphion. But reports of the man were not promising: he had close links with Cotys, the late King of Thrace, and was a second cousin to the murdered pretender, Pausanius. But still Philip was prepared to forgive these connections, if he could woo Elyphion to his cause.
They crossed the river Axios and rode across the great Emathian plain, passing through villages and towns, woods and forests. Game was plentiful here and they saw the tracks of bear and lion, boar and deer. It was said that to the north there were panthers with black pelts, but none had been seen in a hundred years.
Just before dusk on the third day Philip led his troop up a high hill, cresting it as the sun was sinking behind the western peaks of Mount Bermion. The sky was heavy with broken grey clouds, and beyond them sunlight turned the heavens to purple and crimson. Philip hauled on his reins and stared out over the rolling grasslands, the forests and the mountains, shading his eyes against the setting sun.
‘Why are we stopping, sire?’ asked Nicanor, but Philip ignored him, his keen gaze swinging to the east, past the proud, rearing peaks of Mount Messapion and on to the mighty Kercine mountains, stone giants with beards of snow and cloaks of timber.
Around the King the men waited. Philip dismounted and walked to the hill’s crest. The wind blew at his cloak, the
night cold whispering against his bare arms, but the beauty of the land was upon him and he felt nothing but the spell of the sunset.
Nicanor approached him, laying his hand on the King’s shoulder. ‘Are you well, Philip?’ he asked softly.
‘Look upon it, my friend,’ said Philip. ‘Long after we are dust the land will still be here, these mountains and forests, the plains and the hills.’