Gemmell, David – Lion of Macedon 01

But as the dawn was breaking and he rode from the estate, he thought of Derae’s dream and of Thebes, and the Spartan garrison there. A hostile force, hated and feared, dwelling at the centre of a city of 30,000 Thebans.

Drawing his sword, he gazed down at the gleaming blade. ‘I pledge you to the destruction of Sparta,’ he

whispered. Raising the weapon high he pointed it to the south-east and, though the city was far beyond his range of vision, he pictured the sword poised above it with the sun’s harsh light turning it to fire.

‘I carry the seeds of your hatred,’ he shouted, hurling his words to the winds, ‘and I know where to plant them.’

Yes, he thought, Thebes is the right destination for the Lion of Macedon.

Thebes, Autumn, 382 BC

‘I care nothing about omens,’ said the warrior, his voice shaking. ‘Let us gather an army and drive the cursed Spartans from the city.’

The tall man at the window turned to the speaker and smiled. Allowing the silence to grow, his dark eyes raked the room. ‘We three,’ he said at last, ‘hold the hopes of our city in our hearts. We must not be rash.’ Ignoring the warrior, he locked his gaze to the sea-green eyes of the orator Calepios. ‘The Spartans seized Thebes because they knew we had not the force to oppose them. What we must consider is what they want from us.’

‘How do we do that?’ Calepios asked.

‘What they want is sharp swords in their bellies!’ roared the warrior, surging to his feet.

The tall man moved swiftly to him, dropping his voice. ‘Why not get closer to the window, Pelopidas? For then you could let the whole city hear you!’

‘I’m sick of this constant talk,’ Pelopidas replied, but he lowered his voice. ‘It offends me that we allow the Spartans to strut around Thebes.’

‘You think you are the only man who finds it so?’ the tall man asked him.

Their eyes met. ‘I am sorry, my friend,’ said the warrior, ‘but it knots my belly and clouds my mind. Speak on.’

‘We must decide what the Spartans desire – and do the opposite. But we must use stealth and cunning, and we must learn patience.’

The tall man moved back to the window, staring out over the city and the hill upon which the Cadmea stood, its high walls patrolled by Spartan soldiers.

‘It seems to me,’ said Calepios, ‘that the Spartans desire what they have always desired – conquest. They want to rule. Agisaleus hates Thebes. Now he has us.’

‘But does he have what he wants’}’ queried the tall man. ‘I think they are hoping we will rise against them and attack the Cadmea. If we do that, spilling Spartan blood, they will descend upon us with a full army. They will sack the city -maybe even destroy it. And we have no force with which to oppose them.’

‘There are other cities,’ said Pelopidas. ‘We could ask for help.’

‘Cities full of spies and loose mouths,’ snapped the tall man. ‘No, I suggest we organize ourselves. You, Pelopidas, should leave the city. Take to the open country. Gather to yourself warriors and move north, selling your services as mercenaries in Thessaly or Illyria or Macedonia – it does not matter where. Build a force. Prepare for the day when you are summoned back to Thebes.’

‘And what of me?’ Calepios asked.

‘The pro-Spartan councillors now lord it over the city -you must become part of their ruling elite.’

‘I will be hated by the people,’ the orator protested.

‘No! You will never speak about the Spartans in public, neither to criticize nor praise. You will devote yourself to working among Thebans, helping and advising. You will invite no Spartans to your home. Trust me, Calepios; we need a strong man at the centre, and your abilities are respected by all. They will need you – even as we need you.’

‘And what of you, Epaminondas?’ asked the warrior.

‘I will stay in the city, and slowly I will gather supporters for the cause. But remember this: it is vital that the Spartans find no excuse to send an army into our lands – not until we are ready.’