What will you do, Parmenion? Where will you go? he asked himself.
He sat by the window until the dawn, watching the sun rise over the peaks of the Parnon mountains.
The door opened behind him and he turned to see the man Clearchus, his judge from the Games. Parmenion stood, and bowed.
‘No need to accord me your respect,’ said the man. ‘I am little more than a servant here. The master of the house invites you to break your fast with him.’
Parmenion nodded and the man made as if to leave, then turned. His hard face softened. ‘It probably means nothing, boy, but I am sorry about your mother. Aline died when I was eleven; it is not a loss that you forget.’
‘Thank you,’ said Parmenion. Tears welled, but he forced his face to remain set, and followed Clearchus to the courtyard where Xenophon sat waiting. The general rose and smiled. ‘I trust you slept well, young xtrategox?’
‘Yes, sir. Thank you.’
‘Be seated and take some food. There is bread and honey. I found the benefits of it when campaigning in Persia; it makes a good start to the day.’
Parmenion cut several slices from the fresh loaf and smeared them with honey.
‘I have sent a message to the barracks,’ said Xenophon. ‘You do not have to attend muster today. So I thought we would ride out towards Ilias.’
‘I am not a good rider, sir,’ Parmenion admitted. ‘We cannot afford a horse.’
‘Then how can you know if you are a good rider or not? Enjoy your meal — and then we will see how good you are.’
They finished their breakfast and moved back through the house to the long stables at the rear, where there were six stalls and five horses.
‘Choose,’ said Xenophon. ‘Examine them all and select a mount.’
Parmenion entered each stall, making a show of examining the horses. Not knowing what to look for, he stroked each mount, running his hand over their broad backs. There was a grey, with a fine curved neck and strong back, but he looked at Parmenion with a jaundiced eye which seemed to promise pain. Finally the youngster chose a chestnut mare of fifteen hands.
‘Explain the choice,’ said Xenophon, slipping a bridle over the mare’s head and leading her out into the yard.
‘When I stroked her she nuzzled me. The others merely stood – except for the grey. I think he wanted to bite off my hand.’
‘He would have,’ Xenophon admitted, ‘but you made a fine choice. The mare is sweet-natured and swift to obey. Nothing shakes her.’ The general laid a goatskin chabraque on the mare’s back. ‘It will not slip,’ he told Parmenion, ‘but remember to grip her with your thighs, not your calves.’ On the back of the grey he placed a magnificent leopard-skin shabraque. ‘In Persia,’ he said, ‘many of the barbarians use hardened leather seats, strapped to the horse’s back. But that is for barbarians, Parmenion. A gentleman uses only a blanket, or at best an animal skin.’
The air was fresh, the early morning sun lacking the strength-sapping power it would show within a few hours. They walked the horses across the Planes and out to the rolling hills north of the city. Here Xenophon cupped his hands and helped Parmenion to mount; then the general took hold of the grey’s mane and vaulted to the gelding’s back. The move was smooth, sure and graceful, and Parmenion found himself envying the older man’s style.
‘We will start by walking the horses,’ said Xenophon, ‘allowing them to adjust to the weight.’ He leaned forward, patting his mount’s long neck.
‘You care for them,’ said Parmenion. ‘You treat them like friends.’
‘They are friends. There are so many fools abroad, who believe that a whip will subdue a horse and make it obey. They will subdue it – no doubt of that. But a horse without spirit is a worthless beast. Answer me this, strategos – who would you rather depend on in battle, a man who loves you or one you have tormented and beaten?’
‘The answer is obvious, sir. I would rather have a friend beside me.’