Why had the King taken such a terrible risk? Why not
delay until the result was more sure? Philip had changed since the dream-woman had come to him, becoming at times more moody and intense.
The following morning Parmenion called his main under-officers to him and walked with them on the training field outside Pella. There were twelve men in the group, but foremost of these were Achillas and Theoparlis – two of his first recruits.
‘Today we begin a new series of training routines,’ he told them, ‘and the men will work as never before.’
‘Is there something we should know?’ Theo asked.
‘An army is like a sword,’ Parmenion told him. ‘Only in battle can you judge its worth. And now ask no further questions. Concentrate on the men under your command — find the weak ones and remove them. Better to be undermanned than to carry a coward into battle.’
Slowly he looked around the group, meeting each man’s eyes.
‘Sharpen the sword,’ he told them softly.
The Lyncestian Plain, Summer, 358 BC
The two armies were drawn up in battle order on a dusty plain a day’s ride into Upper Macedonia. The Illyrians, with 10,000 infantry and 1,000 cavalry, outnumbered the Macedonians by almost two to one.
Philip dismounted and walked to the Foot Guards, who sent up a cheer as he hefted his shield and took his place at the centre of their ranks. Parmenion remained mounted with Attalus and Nicanor beside him, 400 cavalrymen waiting patiently behind. The Spartan looked beyond the three phalanxes to where Antipater commanded 300 Macedonian horsemen on the right flank; the black-bearded warrior was issuing last-minute instructions to his men.
‘By Hecate,’ whispered Attalus, gazing at the Illyrian lines, ‘there are enough of the whoresons.’
‘There will be fewer later,’ Parmenion assured him. The Spartan tied the chin-straps of his white-crested helm and glanced once more at the enemy ranks less than a half-mile distant.
Bardylis had drawn up his men in a fighting square with the cavalry to his right. The old wolf had gained the first advantage, Parmenion knew, for the square would be hard to break and, in the first stages of the battle, this could damage Macedonian morale beyond repair.
‘Forward!’ bellowed Philip, and the Guards lifted their sarissas and marched towards the enemy, the phalanxes of Theo and Achillas close behind. Parmenion lifted his arm and touched heels to his stallion; the cavalry followed, angling out to the left of the marching men.
Dust billowed but a strong wind dispersed it, leaving a clear field of vision. Parmenion watched the Guards break into a run, his heart beating faster now as he studied their formation. It was still tight, compact. He willed it to remain so.
‘Here they come!’ shouted Attalus. Parmenion wrenched his eyes from the infantry to see the Illyrian cavalry charging across the plain.
‘Remember the wedge!’ yelled Parmenion, raising his spear and kicking the stallion into a gallop.
The Macedonians streamed after him.
Closer and closer came the horsemen, their lances levelled. Parmenion raised his buckler, chose his opponent and then risked a glance to left and right. Attalus and Nicanor were beside – and just behind – him, the cavalry forming a giant spear-point. Parmenion looked to the front, where bearing down on him was a yellow-cloaked rider on a chestnut gelding. Parmenion’s eyes moved to the man’s lance, which was resting across his mount’s neck; as the point flashed up, he kneed his stallion to the left and his opponent’s lance slashed the air by Parmenion’s face. At the same time the Spartan stabbed his own weapon into the warrior’s throat, hurling him to the ground. Blocking a thrust from another spear, he plunged his lance into the unprotected belly of an Illyrian rider. As the man fell, Parmenion’s lance snapped. The Spartan drew his sword and hacked and cut his way deep into the enemy ranks.
The Macedonian wedge split the Illyrians, who tried in vain to gallop clear and re-form. But as they did so Antipater came from the right, thundering into their flanks. Caught now in a pincer, the Illyrians battled for survival.
A sword clanged against Parmenion’s helm and a spear thudded against his breastplate, dropping to open a narrow