‘I like you, Parmenion, and I ask you to consider this: Sparta is the only city to retain a regular army, magnificently trained, superbly disciplined. Could that be the reason they win battles?’
‘Perhaps it is both.’
‘Spoken like an ambassador,’ said the Theban, with a broad smile. He led Parmenion to an open square where seats and tables had been placed beneath canvas awnings to block the sun. They sat at an empty table and a young boy wandered over and bowed.
‘Bring us some water and a few honeycakes,’ ordered Epaminondas. As they ate, he questioned Parmenion about his life in Sparta and the full story behind his departure. He listened in silence as the Spartan talked of his life and of his love for Derae.
‘Falling in love is like gripping a sword by the blade,’ said the Theban. ‘You have it in your hand, but at great cost. We stopped sending victims for Cassandra more than thirty years ago. Athens abandoned the vile practice ten years since. It makes no sense.’
‘It placates the gods,’ said Parmenion, with the ghost of a smile.
‘I’ll not worship any being who demands the blood of innocence,’ responded the Theban. He gazed up at the
citadel on the acropolis; it was surrounded by a high wall on which Parmenion could see sentries walking. ‘So, young strategos, merely for the sake of debate, how would you retake the Cadmea – if you were a Theban?’
‘I would not bother. I would take the city.’
‘You would conquer Thebes in order to save it?’
‘How many citizens live in or around this city? Twenty thousand? Thirty?’ asked Parmenion.
‘More, but I do not know the exact number,’ replied the Theban, leaning forward and lowering his voice.
‘And how many Spartans in the garrison?’
‘Eight hundred.’
Parmenion lifted his goblet and drained his water. ‘Is there a well there?’
‘No.’
‘Then I would encourage the citizens to rise up and besiege the Cadmea – starve the Spartans into submission.’
‘And what would happen when the Spartans drew their swords and opened the gates? There would be panic, the crowd would flee.’
‘If they could open the gates,’ Parmenion agreed. ‘But what if they were secured from the outside? Then there would be no way out, unless the soldiers lowered themselves by ropes. I don’t think I can recall a battle where a phalanx advanced by dropping down on the enemy.’
‘Interesting,’ said Epaminondas, ‘merely as a theoretical strategy, of course. But I like you, young man, and I think it likely that we shall become friends. Now let us move on, there are many things to see.’
*
‘It is a wonderful city,’ said Parmenion later as the two men returned to Epaminondas’ white-walled home. A servant brought them platters of cheese and bread and they sat on a first-floor balcony, enjoying the cool of the shade below the towering Cadmea.
‘You have not seen one tenth of it,’ Epaminondas told him. ‘Originally the Cadmea was the city, and Thebes grew
up around its base. Tomorrow we will see the Theatre, and I will show you the grave of Hector and the Great North Gate.’
‘With respect, I would sooner see the training ground. My muscles ache from the ride and I would like to run.’
‘Then it shall be as you say.’
That night Parmenion slept in a room at the top of the house, and a cool easterly wind blew in through the open window. He dreamt of an ancient temple with huge, broken columns. An old woman was there, lying on a pallet bed beside an altar; he took her hand and gazed down into her blind eyes. It was a curious dream, and he awoke in the depths of the night feeling calm and strangely refreshed.
Lying back, he thought of Nestus and the terrible fear in the man’s eyes, and remembered with sorrow the look on Hermias’ face as he had swung round with the bloody sword in his hands. Hermias was his friend no longer – worse, Parmenion had seen in him the beginnings of hate.
Through all the years of his childhood Hermias had been his one ally, loyal and steadfast. It hurt the young Spartan that such a gulf should have come between them. But that is yet another price I must pay, he thought, to achieve my revenge.