Parmenion moved on to the next man, but he had bled to death. The general covered the dead man’s face with a cloak and moved on.
The surgeon, Bernios, rose to greet him as he finished his rounds. ‘We did well,’ said Bernios, wiping the sweat from his bald head with a blood-stained towel.
‘Had we been an hour earlier, there would have been no battle,’ replied Parmenion. ‘That would have been better, my friend.’
‘Indeed it would, general. But,’ the man shrugged and spread his hands, ‘it could have been considerably worse. We might have been an hour later – and then the King’s new bride would have been stolen from him. I believe Philip would have been mildly aggrieved.’
Parmenion smiled. Slapping the surgeon on the shoulder, he returned to the main camp. The women’s quarters had been set back into the trees, where they could enjoy privacy, while the fifty-one surviving soldiers sat around four camp-fires. Parmenion called to Nicanor, signalling the young man to follow him.
‘Are there scouts out?’ asked the general.
‘Yes, sir. Six men patrolling the hills. Three others are stationed north, west and east of the woods.’
‘Good. You fought well today. The King will be proud of you.’
‘The King long since ceased to care about me,’ answered Nicanor with a shy smile. ‘But I truly do not mind, Parmenion. Do not concern yourself for me. I was his favourite for a time. Now there are others. I am getting old, you see. I am twenty-seven now.’ Nicanor shrugged. ‘But Olympias is very beautiful, don’t you think?’
‘Yes,’ answered Parmenion, too abruptly. Nicanor looked up sharply, but Parmenion turned away. ‘See to their needs,’ he said over his shoulder as he walked to his blankets.
The younger man took up a wineskin which he carried back to the Queen’s camp-fire. Olympias was sitting on some cushions brought from the carriage; the girl he took to be her maid was tending the blaze.
‘I have some wine for you, ladies,’ said Nicanor, bowing deeply.
Olympias flashed him a dazzling smile. ‘And you are, sir?’ she asked.
‘Nicanor. I am Parmenion’s First Captain.’
‘Join us, Nicanor,’ ordered the Queen. He filled their wine cups, added water, then folded his cloak to make a seat. ‘Why is Parmenion not here?’ Olympias asked.
‘He is … er… weary, my lady. He did not sleep much last night. He was concerned to be here on time. He feared . . . well, he feared the Illyrians might raid and he was right. He usually is; it is most galling.’
‘And yet you like him?’
‘Oh, yes, my lady. He is a fine general – the best in the
world. He has built Philip’s army into a force to strike fear into the hearts of all our enemies.’
‘But he is not Macedonian,’ Olympias pointed out.
‘Half Macedonian,’ replied Nicanor. ‘He was raised in Sparta.’
‘Perhaps then we should forgive his bad manners in not attending us. Spartans are not renowned for their courtesies.’
‘I do not believe he meant to be discourteous,’ Nicanor said. ‘Far from it. He ordered me to see to your needs. I believe he felt you would sooner rest and recover from your ordeal than endure his company.’
Olympias smiled and, reaching out, touched Nicanor’s arm. ‘You are a good friend to your general, and a powerful advocate. I shall forgive him instantly. And now, Nicanor, I would like to rest.’
The young man rose and bowed once more before gathering up his cloak and walking back through the trees.
‘You are shameless,’ said Phaedra. ‘You quite dazzled the poor man.’
Olympias let the smile fade from her face. ‘This is a foreign land,’ she said softly. ‘I will need friends here. Why did Parmenion not come?’
‘Perhaps it was as the officer said, that he was weary.’
‘No. He would not meet my eyes when he rode up. Still, what does it matter? We are safe. The future is bright.’
‘Do you love Philip?’ asked Phaedra suddenly.
‘Love? He is my husband – the father of the child I carry. What has love to do with it? And, anyway, I have met him only once – on the night of the wedding in Samothrace seven months ago.’