‘Well met, brother,’ shouted Parmenion, running forward to embrace him.
Hermias pulled back from the hug. ‘I have bad news, Savra. Nestus, believing the lies about you, is on his way here now. He means to kill you.’
Parmenion sighed, turning to stare at the distant hills. ‘You must ride away,’ urged Hermias. ‘Do not be here when he comes. Tell me the truth of it and I will try to convince him.’
‘The truth of it?’ responded Parmenion. ‘What would you have me say? I love Derae. I want. . . need . . . her for my wife.’
‘I accept that,’ said Hermias, ‘but he believes that you ravished her. I know you would never consider such a vile act, but Nestus is blinded by rage. If you go to the hills for a while, I will speak to him.’
‘We made love,’ said Parmenion softly, ‘and we were foolish. He has every right to be angry.’
Hermias stood open-mouthed. ‘You . . . it is true, then?’
‘I did not ravish her! We are lovers, Hermias. Try to understand, my friend.’
‘What is there to understand? You behaved like . . . like the Macedonian you are.’ Parmenion stepped forward, reaching for his friend’s arm. ‘Don’t touch me! Nestus is a friend of mine, and has been since we were children. Now he carries a shame he does not warrant. I know why you did it, Savra: it was to revenge yourself on Leonidas. I despise you for it. Take a horse and ride from here. Go anywhere. But do not be here when Nestus arrives.’
Hermias strode to the gelding and vaulted to the beast’s back. ‘I gave up much for you, Parmenion. Now I rue the day I met you. What you have done is evil and much suffering will come of it. I loved you – as a friend and a brother. But your hate was . . . and is … too strong.’
‘It is not hate,’ protested Parmenion, but Hermias swung the gelding’s head and galloped away. ‘It is not hate!’ shouted the Spartan. Standing thunderstruck as Hermias rode back across the meadow, Parmenion heard footsteps behind him but did not turn. Instead he watched his friend riding into the distance.
‘That was sound advice,’ said Xenophon sadly. ‘Take the bay mare and ride for Corinth. I will give you enough money for the journey and a letter to a friend who resides there. He will be glad to make you a guest until you decide where you want to go.’
‘I cannot. It would mean giving up Derae.
‘She is lost to you anyway.
‘I will not accept that! He swung on Xenophon. ‘How can I accept it?’
‘Are you willing to die for your love?’
‘Of course. What would you expect me to say?’
‘And are you willing, also, to kill an innocent man for it?’
Parmenion took a deep breath, struggling for a calm that would not come. He did not know Nestus well, but the man had never been one of his enemies, had never tormented
him. Now he was seeking – as any Spartan would – to exorcize his shame with the blood of the man who had dishonoured him. He met Xenophon’s eyes. ‘I cannot run, Xenophon. My life would be nothing without Derae. I know that now.’
The general masked his disappointment. ‘How good are you with the sword?’
‘Capable.’
‘And Nestus?’
‘He was – and is – the sword champion of Lycurgus. He is powerful.’
‘Can you master him?’
Parmenion did not answer. ‘Am I evil?’ he asked.
‘No,’ answered Xenophon. ‘Action and reaction, my boy. I knew a man once in Persia who was asked to bring water to a dry area. He built a small dam which diverted a river, irrigating fields and saving a community. They were grateful for he had given them life, and there were feasts and banquets in his honour. He stayed with them for several months. When he left he came, after five days, to a deserted town, where there were corpses and a dry stream. He had saved one community and destroyed another. Was he evil? Intention is everything. You did not set out to shame either Nestus or Derae, but now you must suffer the consequences. One of you must die.’