Wiping his sweating palms on his tunic, he forced such thoughts from his mind and stared at the tree-line. Several minutes later the first of the scouts came into view. The man was sun-bronzed and dark-bearded, wearing a Phrygian helm with a metal crest and a red eye painted upon the brow. He was carrying a lance. Beside him rode a warrior wearing a wide Boeotian helm of beaten iron; he was carrying a bow in his left hand, with an arrow ready notched.
Parmenion crouched down behind a rock and waited, listening to the steady, rhythmic sound of hooves on stone. Then, risking a glance, he saw the main group, numbering more than thirty, riding out behind the scouts. He could see Derae, her hands tied behind her. There was a rope around her neck, being held by a warrior on a tall grey stallion. The man was wearing silver armour and a white cloak. To Parmenion, he looked like a prince from legend.
*
Laris rode his stallion clear of the trees and tugged on the rope. The girl almost stumbled. He glanced back at her and smiled. What a beauty! There had been no chance yet to hear her screams, to enjoy her writhing beneath him, but that would come once they had thrown off their pursuers. Spartans! The weak-livered councillors of Corinth had all but wet themselves when he talked of invading Spartan lands. Could they not see that the Spartans could be taken? If Thebes, Corinth and Athens joined forces, they could destroy Sparta once and for all. But no. Ancient fears held sway. Remember Thermopylae, they said. Remember the defeat of Athens twenty years ago. Who cared about events a lifetime in the past? At best the Spartans could put 15,000 men in the field. Corinth alone could match half that number, and Athens make up the rest. Thebes and the Boeotian League could double the force.
Dismissed! The shame of it burned at Laris. But now he had shown them: with a mere forty men he had raided deep into Spartan lands. True, they had found little gold and the men were unhappy, but he had proved a point. If forty could ride into the home of warriors and emerge unscathed, what would be the result when 40,000 marched in?
He looked up to see the scouts riding into the pass.
Suddenly an arrow Sashed through the air to strike Xanthias in the throat, and with a terrible cry he pitched from his mount. Instantly all was chaos. Men leapt from their horses, taking shelter behind the rocks. Laris slid to the ground, dragging Derae down beside him.
A young Spartan stood in full view of the men.
‘Release the woman!’ he called, ‘and there will be no further killing.’
‘Who speaks?’ yelled Laris.
‘A man with a bow,’ answered the warrior.
‘And why should we trust your word, man-with-a-bow?’
‘Look behind you,’ shouted the archer. ‘Can you see the dust-cloud? You are trapped. If you wait, you will die. If you advance, you will die. List your choices, if you will.’
‘I see no one up there with you,’ said Laris, rising and drawing his sword.
‘Do you not? Then it must be that I am alone. Attack me and find out!’
‘Show us your men!’
‘Your time is running out, along with my patience. If you do not have the wit to save your comrades, perhaps another man among them will make the choice for you.’
The warrior’s words stung Laris. Already his men were far from happy, and now this lone archer was questioning his leadership.
A man rose from behind a rock. ‘For Athena’s sake, Laris! Let the woman go, and let us get away from here!’
The leader turned to Derae. His knife slashed the thongs binding her hands, then he lifted the noose from around her neck. He turned to see the Spartan riding towards him, his bow looped over his shoulder. Laris scanned the rocks but could see no one. He licked his lips, convinced the bowman was alone; longing to plunge his blade into the Spartan, to see his life-blood draining from him.
The warrior smiled at him. ‘I have told the others to let you pass and you can trust my word. But I should ride fast. I do not speak for those who follow.’