As the years passed Xenophon took to discussing modern strategy and politics with his student, and Parmenion detected a growing cynicism in the Athenian.
‘Have you heard the news from Thebes?’ Xenophon asked him one day.
‘Yes,’ answered Parmenion. ‘At first I could not believe it. We have made a bad mistake and I think we will rue it.’
‘I tend to agree,’ said Xenophon. Three months earlier the Macedonian King, Amyntas, had appealed to the Spartans for aid against Chalkidian warriors who had invaded Macedonia and sacked the capital of Pella. Agisaleus sent three Spartan battalions to Macedonia’s aid, crushing the Chalkidians. But on their journey north one Spartan division, under the command of a general named Phoebidas, seized the Cadmea – the fortress at the centre of Thebes. Since there was no war declared against Thebes and they were unconnected with the Chalkidian invaders, the action was seen by many Greeks as underhand.
‘Agisaleus should return the city to the Thebans,’ said Parmenion.
‘He cannot,’ answered Xenophon. ‘Spartan pride would not allow it. But I fear the result. Athens has spoken out against Sparta, and I think it will not be long before we suffer another war.’
‘You are disappointed, my friend,’ said Parmenion. ‘Sparta has not proved a good leader for Greece.’
‘Hush!’ said Xenophon swiftly. He lowered his voice. ‘You should not speak this way in public. My servants are loyal – but they are loyal to me, not to you. If one should speak against you there would be a trial for treason. You would not survive.’
‘Have I spoken anything but the truth? countered Parmenion, keeping his voice low.
‘What has that to do with anything? If Sparta could govern with half the skill she displays in battle, then all of Greece would rejoice. But she cannot. That is the truth of the matter – and saying it will get you killed.’
‘Other people are saying it,’ Parmenion told him. ‘The talk at the barracks is of little else. There have been some bitter herbs for Spartans to swallow. They cling to power now only because the Persians support them. The descendants of the Sword King playing lick-spittles to the sons of Xerxes!’
‘The politics of expediency,’ Xenophon whispered. ‘But let us leave this conversation for another few days. Then, when we are back in Olympia, we can ride and talk with only the land to listen to our idle treasons.’ The two men rose and walked to the gate. ‘How are your finances?’ asked Xenophon.
‘Not good. I sold the last share in the landholding – it will pay my mess bills until the spring.’
‘And then?’
Parmenion shrugged. ‘And then I will leave Sparta. No Soldiers’ Hall would have me anyway, I know that. I will probably join a mercenary regiment and see the world.’
‘You could sell the Sword of Leonidas,’ Xenophon pointed out.
‘Maybe I will,’ replied Parmenion. ‘I will see you in two days.’
The two men shook hands and Parmenion walked out into the night. Despite the closeness of midnight he felt no fatigue, and he walked to the acropolis and sat by the bronze statue of Zeus, staring at the sky and the diamond stars. The wind was chill now and his light woollen chiton offered little protection. Closing his mind to the cold, he cast his, eyes over the mountains.
The last three years had been good to him. He had grown tall and, though slender, was lean and powerful. His face had slimmed down, losing its boyish qualities, and his deep-set blue eyes now had a brooding look. Yet it was not, he knew, a friendly face, nor even a handsome one. The nose was too prominent and the lips too thin, making him appear older than his nineteen years.
At last, as the cold grew too much even for Parmenion, he rose to leave. Just then he saw a cloaked and hooded figure move from the Bronze House and walk towards him.
‘Good evening,’ he said. Moonlight glanced from the dagger-blade which leapt into the figure’s hand.
‘Who is there?’ came a woman’s voice.
‘It is Parmenion and I am no danger to you, lady,’ he answered, holding out his hands and showing empty palms.