‘They say he was vomiting in the night,’ said fat Pausias. ‘Then he passed out. His colour is terrible. The surgeon has bled him, but to no avail.’
‘He is strong,’ said Nestus. ‘I am sure he will be all right.’ The sword champion glanced at Parmenion, then walked across to where he waited.
‘What happened last night?’ Nestus asked. ‘All I have heard is rumour.’
‘Hermias was attacked,’ answered Parmenion. ‘He was struck on the head by a club. He was dazed and groggy when I brought him home.’
‘It is said you killed Learchus. Is it true?’
‘I did not know it was Learchus,’ lied Parmenion. ‘He was merely one of a group attacking Hermias.’
Nestus sighed. ‘This is bad, Savra. Very bad. I cannot say I have ever liked you, but you know that I have never had any part in the attacks on you.’
‘I know that.’
‘If Hermias dies, the others will be arraigned for his murder.’
‘He will not die!’ Parmenion snapped.
A movement by the gates caught Parmenion’s eye and he turned to see Derae and two of her friends enter the courtyard. She saw him but made no sign of recognition as she walked slowly to the open doors of the andron.
Tamis entered the main building, drawn by the girl’s soul-fire which blazed like concentrated starlight.
The father of Hermias was sitting in the andron talking to the surgeon, Astion. He looked up as Derae entered, then stood, his face drawn and haggard. He kissed her cheek, offering her watered wine.
‘Can I see him?’ she asked.
‘He is dying, my dear,’ said Parnas, his voice breaking.
‘He is my friend – my dearest friend,’ Derae told him. ‘Let me go to him.’
Parnas shrugged and led her to the bedroom where Hermias lay, his face as pale as the linen sheet which covered his body. Derae sat beside him, her hand moving to stroke his brow.
‘No!’ shouted Tamis, though none could hear her. Derae’s soul-fire flared, bathing Hermias in blinding light. Tamis could not believe what she was seeing: at the boy’s temple the light turned gold, then red, the blood clot beneath the bone dispersing. Hermias groaned and opened his eyes.
‘Derae?’ he whispered. ‘What are you doing here? It is most unseemly.’
‘They told me you were dying,’ she answered, smiling. ‘But I can see that is not the case.’
‘I had the most terrible dreams,’ he told her. ‘I was in a place of darkness where nothing grew and no birds sang. But even now the memory fades . . .’
‘So it should, for the sun is shining outside and all your friends are gathered here.’
‘Parmenion?’
‘He also,’ she said, her smile fading. ‘Now I will leave you to your rest.’
Standing, she returned to the andron. ‘He is awake,’ she told Parnas, ‘and his colour is good.’
Parnas ran to the bedroom, embracing his bewildered son.
The surgeon seized Derae’s arm. ‘What did you do?’ he asked.
‘I did nothing. As soon as I sat down, he awoke.’
Tamis listened to the words, her anger rising. You do not know, you stupid child! You have the Gift and you do not realize it!
Furious, the seer returned to her body. The fire was dead, the room in darkness. Derae’s power was a new element, and Tamis gathered her strength to walk the paths of this new future.
*
It was dusk when Leonidas was summoned to the rooms of the Barrack Senior. He had been riding along the banks of the Eurotas River for most of the day, and had learned of the previous night’s tragedy only upon his return when he found Lepidus waiting for him at the stables.
The soldier had said little as they walked to the barracks, mounting the stairs to the general’s rooms. Inside, seated with the Senior, were two of the city’s ephors – councillors responsible for the day-to-day organization of Sparta’s rigid social, legal and economic structure. Leonidas bowed to them both. One he recognized as Memnas, a friend of his father’s. Memnas was the chief magistrate, and he headed the night-watch and the militia.
The Senior stood. ‘Your friend Learchus lies murdered, he said.