‘Agisaleus cannot abide the Thebans and makes public his disdain. It is unwise. I love the man, but he is blind to the dangers. He cannot forget that it was Thebes’ actions which brought him back from military successes in Persia. He cannot forgive.’
‘And yet,’ said Parmenion, ‘his return from Persia brought him great credit. He crushed the Thebans and restored Sparta’s position.’
‘That is a popular Spartan view,’ Xenophon agreed, ‘but in reality the only victor was Persia.’
‘But they had no part in the revolt, did they?’
Xenophon laughed aloud. ‘Politics, Parmenion. Do not think merely of swords and campaigns. Agisaleus had invaded Persia and he was winning. Persian gold – of which there is an unlimited supply – was sent to Thebes and Athens. With that gold they raised their armies; that is why Agisaleus was forced to come home. There was only one way he could win – he sent ambassadors to Persia, agreeing to be her vassal. Persia then abandoned Thebes and Athens and supervised the peace negotiations.’
‘Good strategy,’ said Parmenion. ‘No wonder the empire has ruled for so long. With a little gold, they halted an invasion.’
‘Better than that: the Greek cities of Asia were all given over to the Persians.’
‘I did not know that,’ Parmenion said.
‘It is not taught to Spartan youngsters, it would be bad for morale. But it is a canker within Agisaleus. He knows he can never march on Persia again, for Thebes and Athens would rise against Sparta in his absence.’
‘Surely he could meet with their leaders? Then he could lead a joint expedition into Persia.’
Xenophon nodded. ‘Exactly. But he never will. His hatred has blinded him. Do not misunderstand me, Parmenion. Agisaleus is a good King and a fine man, cultured and wise.
‘I find it hard to understand,’ said Parmenion.
‘Do you now? Love and hate are very similar. Think of your own madness with Derae – did you take time to consider the perils? No. Agisaleus is the same – mention Thebes and his face changes, and you can see his hand reaching for a sword-hilt.’
Servants brought them their evening meal of fish and cheese. They ate in silence for a while, but Xenophon’s appetite was not good and he pushed away his plate, pouring a goblet of wine and adding a little water. He drank it swiftly and poured another.
‘Perhaps Cleombrotus will make a difference,’ Parmenion suggested. The Spartans had always boasted two Kings on the principle that one could lead the warriors into battle while the other stayed home and guided the fortunes of the city. Agisaleus had shared the kingship with his cousin, Agesopolis, but he was simple-minded and rarely appeared in public. Agesopolis’ death, four months before, had seen the rise to power of Cleombrotus, a fine warrior and athlete.
‘I doubt he will change the mind of Agisaleus,’ said Xenophon. ‘Cleombrotus is sound enough, but he lacks intellect. I fear for Sparta. Those whom the gods would destroy, they first make proud,’ he quoted.
‘Surely pride is Sparta’s great strength?’ said Parmenion, watching with concern as Xenophon refilled his goblet without bothering to add water.
‘Indeed it is, but do you know how many true Spartiates are left in the city? Fewer than 2,000. For the mess bills have risen and the poorer Spartans can no longer afford to send their children. Think of yourself. Your mother had a good holding but it has gone to pay for your education. It is nonsense. In ten years the number of Spartiates will halve again – how then will Sparta remain pre-eminent? And how long will it be before we see your strategy from the Games used in reality?’
‘Do not let it sadden you, Xenophon. None of it is within your power to change.’
‘That is what saddens me,’ the general admitted.
*
Not for the first time Tamis found her doubts growing. Events were moving swiftly now, and she sensed the power of the Dark God’s acolytes seeking her, searching for a way to attack and destroy the one who could disrupt their plans.
But Tamis was not without power of her own and she cloaked her soul, avoiding the spirit eyes of those who hunted, slipping by them like the unseen breeze that whispers through moonlit branches.