‘I’ll see him dead,’ snarled Philip.
‘Calm yourself, sire. Here, let me pour your wine. Sit for a while.’
‘Do not seek to soothe me, Parmenion,’ muttered Philip, but he sank back to the couch, accepting the silver cup. ‘I’ve had my fill of people today.’
‘A problem between you and the Queen?’ asked Parmenion, seeking to change the subject.
‘She is inside my mind. When I look at the sky, her face is there. I cannot eat, I cannot sleep. She has bewitched me. Now she wants to hear all my plans. I’ll not have it!’
Parmenion kept his expression even. ‘She is very young, Philip. But she is the daughter of a King; she has been well trained, and has a fine mind.’
‘It is not her mind that interests me. I am surrounded by men with fine minds. A woman should have a fine body and a sweet temperament. Do you know that she raised her voice to me? Argued with me! Can you believe that?’
‘In Sparta women are encouraged to speak their minds. In all matters — save war — they are considered the equal of men.’
‘You think I should explain myself? Never! This is not Sparta. This is a man’s kingdom, ruled by men, for men.’
‘The kingdom,’ said Parmenion softly, ‘is yours. It will be ruled as you say.’
‘And never forget that!’
‘Why would I forget?’
‘Will you discipline your servant?’
‘No, sire – for he is not a servant. But I apologize on his behalf. Mothac is a lonely man, a man of sorrows and sudden tempers. He has never taken well to being treated with scorn.’
‘You take his part? Against me?
‘I will take no man’s part against you, Philip. But listen to me; you came in here full of anger. And, in anger, you treated him like a slave. He reacted. True, he reacted in a manner unworthy of him, but still it was a reaction. Mothac is loyal, trustworthy and the finest of friends.’
‘You do not need to speak for me,’ said Mothac, from the doorway. He walked across to Philip and knelt. ‘I ask your pardon . . . sir. It was ill-mannered of me. And I am sorry to have brought such shame to the house of my friend.’
Philip looked down at the kneeling man, his anger still great. But he forced a laugh. ‘Maybe it was as well.’ Standing, he raised Mothac to his feet. ‘Sometimes, my friend, a crown can make a man too arrogant, too swift to react in the name of pride. Tonight is a lesson learned well. Now . . . let me pour .you a cup of wine. And then I shall bid you good night.’
Philip filled a cup, passing it to the astonished Theban.
Then he bowed and left the house. Parmenion watched him walk away in the moonlight, flanked by his guards.
*
‘He is a great man,’ said Mothac, ‘but I do not like him.’
Parmenion pushed shut the door and looked into his friend’s eyes. ‘Most Kings would have had you killed, Mothac. At best they would have seen you whipped or banished.’
‘Oh, he is clever all right,’ the Theban responded. ‘He values you and your talents. And he has the strength to overcome his baser desires. But what is he, Parmenion? What does he want? Macedonia is strong – no one can doubt that. Yet still the army grows, the recruiting officers moving from village to village.’ Mothac sipped his wine, then drained it in a single gulp. Sinking back to the couch, he pointed at the maps spread on the wide table. ‘You asked me to co-ordinate information from lands surrounding Macedonia. We now have a constant stream of news from merchants, soldiers, travellers, wandering actors, builders and poets. Do you know what is happening in Upper Macedonia?’
‘Of course,’ answered Parmenion. ‘Philip is building a line of fortress towns against any future Illyrian invasion.’
‘True. But he is also forcibly expelling any of Illyrian blood from lands they have held for centuries. Vast tracts of timberland, valleys and pastures – all stolen from their owners. Some of the men expelled are former soldiers in the Macedonian army.’