The old man’s eyes scanned the ranks. ‘Many of you already know,’ he roared, ‘of the death of our comrade, Learchus. The ephors here,’ he added, gesturing at the councillors, ‘have investigated fully and have, in their wisdom, declared the incident closed. So be it. Today the body of our departed friend is being laid out. Tomorrow we will all attend the cremation. The lament will be sung by Leonidas. That is all!’ He stepped back, spun on his heel and stalked away.
Lepidus ordered the boys to stand down and then spoke for a moment or two with the ephors before making his way to Parmenion and leading him to one side. ‘That was hard on you, and you did well to be here. But there is something else . . . after today you will no longer be part of Lycurgus Barracks. Next week you will join the Menelaus group.’
‘What about my mess bill here? I have just paid for the year ahead -I have no more money.’
‘I will loan you the sum,’ said Lepidus. ‘I wish I could give it to you, but I am not a rich man.’
‘No! I will not leave,’ argued Parmenion, fighting to control his temper. ‘There are no grounds. I will refuse to go-‘
‘Life will be unbearable for you here, boy! Surely you can see that? Your presence would wreck morale. And the barracks system depends on morale – you understand that, don’t you?’
‘Yes, I do,’ answered Parmenion softly. ‘I would like to see the Barrack Senior to discuss the move.’
‘He does not want to talk to you,’ said Lepidus, aware of a change in Parmenion but unable to pin down the exact nature of it.
‘His wants are immaterial. If he does not see me, then I stay. Tell him that, Lepidus!’ And Parmenion walked away without a word.
That afternoon he was summoned to the Senior’s rooms. The old man did not look up from his desk as Parmenion entered. ‘Make this swift,’ he snapped. Then he heard the rasp of a chair-leg against the floor, and looked up shocked to see Parmenion seated before him. ‘What do you think you are doing?’ he asked.
‘I am negotiating, general,’ answered Parmenion, meeting the other man’s eyes and holding his gaze. ‘You want me gone? I wish to go. But there is the matter of my mess fees. Three days ago I paid over 140 drachms to this barracks. My mother sold a one-third share in our landholding to raise that money.’
‘That is not a problem of mine,’ said the old man.
‘But it is,’ Parmenion told him. ‘Since I have paid, then I will stay. You have no right to request me to leave. I have broken no rule.’
‘Broken. . . ? You murdered a boy!’ snarled the old man, pushing himself to his feet.
‘Not according to the ephors,’ answered Parmenion calmly. ‘Now if you wish me to leave you will supply me with 200 drachms. Is that clear enough for you . . . sir?’
For almost a minute the general stared at Parmenion, his
face deep crimson. Then he smiled and relaxed. ‘So, the Macedonian blood finally rises to the surface. There’s not a man in that whole country who wouldn’t sell his wife to buy a sheep. Very well, peasant, I will give you your two hundred – much good will it do you. You may stay on in any barracks, but when you reach Manhood you will find no one willing to endure you in any Soldiers’ Hall. You will never be a Spartan, Parmenion. Never!’
The youngster chuckled. ‘You mean that as an insult? I do not take it so. I know what I am, general, as I know what you are. I would be obliged if the money could be sent to my home before sunset.’
Parmenion stood and bowed.
Within the hour he was standing before another old man, fierce-eyed and grim-lipped. Leaning back in his chair, Agenor linked his arms behind his bald head and observed the young man. ‘I want no deaths here,’ stated the officer.
‘Nor I, sir.’
‘But I want fighters – and I want thinkers. I understand you run well?’