‘None – save myself.’
‘Then it did not happen.’
‘It would be pleasant were life that simple,’ said Parmenion.
‘Why complicate it? You expect too much of yourself, my friend. I have some bad news for you: you are not perfect. Now get some rest.’
*
‘Walk with me,’ Olympias commanded Parmenion as they made camp on the second night in a hollow on the Emathian Plain. The Spartan followed the Queen as they strolled towards the small camp-fire set by Phaedra. The Queen saw that he was ill at ease and took his arm, enjoying the sudden tension in his muscles. So, she thought, he is not impervious to my beauty. ‘Why have you avoided me, general?’ she asked sweetly.
‘It is not a matter of avoiding you, your highness. But my duty is to see you safely to your husband in Pella. That priority engages my mind, and I fear I am not good company.
She sat down on her cushions, a gold-embroidered woollen shawl around her shoulders.
‘Tell me about Philip,’ she said. ‘There is so much I do not know. Is he kind to his servants? Does he beat his wives?’
Parmenion settled himself beside the fire. ‘Where would I start, lady? He is a King and he behaves like one. No, he does not beat his wives – or his servants – but neither is he soft or weak. There is only one other wife, Audata, the daughter of King Bardylis. But she dwells now in Pelagonia – by choice.
‘She has a child by Philip, I understand,’ she said, her hand unconsciously moving to her own swollen belly.
‘She has a daughter – a beautiful child.’
‘Strange from so ugly a mother,’ snapped Olympias before she could stop herself.
‘There are many kinds of beauty, my lady, and not all
of them fade as swiftly as the flesh,’ he told her, his voice cool.
‘Forgive me,’ she said swiftly. ‘It is hard not to be jealous. And I wish us to be friends. Will we be friends?’ she asked suddenly, her green eyes holding to his own.
‘All the days of our lives,’ he told her simply.
After he had gone Phaedra moved close alongside the Queen. ‘You should not flirt, Olympias, not among these Macedonians.’
‘I was not flirting – though he is a handsome man, save for that hawk nose. Philip is a warrior King and he will take many wives. I need to ensure that my son remains the true heir to the throne and it is never too early to win allies. Parmenion destroyed the power of the Spartans, raising Thebes to greatness. Last year he crushed the Illyrians. Before that he fought for the Great King. He has never been defeated in battle. A good friend to have, do you not think?’
‘You have learned much,’ Phaedra whispered.
‘Oh, there is more that I know. The King has three advisers he trusts above all others. First is Parmenion, preeminent in strategy, then comes Attalus, cold and deadly, the King’s assassin. Lastly there is Antipater, the Second General, a tough, worthy warrior.’
‘What of the women?’
‘Philip thinks little of women – save for Simiche, his brother’s widow. He trusts her, confides in her. I will win her friendship also.’
‘Your plans seem well laid,’ commented Phaedra.
‘They were set in Samothrace by the Lady Aida. She knows all things, past and future. I was chosen – and I will not disappoint her.’
‘Did you love her?’ asked Phaedra.
‘Are you jealous, sister of my heart?’
‘Yes, jealous of all who touch you – or even look upon you.’
‘You should take a man. I will arrange it for you, if you desire it.’
‘I can think of nothing worse,’ said the seeress, snuggling close to her friend.
At that moment there came the sound of music from the camp-fire of the soldiers, soft and mournful. A voice was raised in song – not a battle hymn but a love song of surprising gentleness, accompanied by the high, sweet tones of a shepherd’s pipes. Olympias stood and walked through the trees to where the soldiers sat in a great circle around the piper and the singer. She shivered as she gazed upon the scene: men of war, in breastplates and greaves, their swords beside them, were listening to a tale of two lovers. The singer was Nicanor. He saw the two women approach and faded to silence, the soldiers standing as the new Queen walked among them.