‘You run well,’ said the Theban, ‘but I saw no evidence of great speed. Meleager is faster.’
Parmenion smiled. ‘I don’t doubt that he is. But speed comes from strength, and the middle distance is a fine race for robbing a man of that. Will you wager on me?’
‘Of course, you are my guest. It would be impolite not to do so. However, do not put all your money on yourself, Parmenion.’ The Spartan laughed.
‘When can I race him?’
‘There will be Games in three weeks. I will put your name forward. What shall we call you?’
‘I was known as Savra in Sparta.’
‘Lizard?’ queried Epaminondas. ‘No, I don’t think so. We need something Macedonian.’ He looked up and there,
through the trees, was the stone lion dedicated by Heracles. ‘There,’ said the Theban. ‘We will keep it simple and call you Leon. You run like a lion, with your short bursts of speed.’
‘Why not keep to Parmenion? This smacks of trickery.’
‘Smacks of? It is trickery, my friend. Or perhaps it would soothe our consciences if we called it strategy. You almost won a place in the Spartan team for the coming Olympics. If we let that be known, no one will bet against you . . . and then you will earn no money. As it is – if you win – the gold you gather will be mostly Spartan.’
‘I need money,’ Parmenion agreed, grinning.
‘And there you have it,’ replied Epaminondas. ‘The victory of expediency over principles. And long may it remain so.’
‘You are very cynical,’ Parmenion observed.
The Theban nodded. ‘Indeed I am. But then that is the lesson life teaches to those with eyes to see. No one is above price, be it money, or fame, or power.’
‘You think you have a price?’
‘Of course. To free Thebes, I would sacrifice anything.’
‘There is no dishonour in that,’ argued Parmenion.
‘If you truly believe that, then you have a lot to learn,’ the Theban answered.
*
During the weeks leading up to the race, Parmenion had run hard for two hours every day, building strength and stamina. Now, with only a day left, he had eased up on his training, merely loping around the track, gently stretching his muscles. He had no wish to start the race feeling tired. As Lepidus used to say, ‘Never leave your strength on the training ground, gentlemen.’ Finishing his run, he bathed in the fountain by the shrine to Artemis. As usual he wandered through the city during the afternoon. Thebes continued to fascinate him with her complexity and colour, and he was dazzled by the skills shown in her construction -she made Sparta seem like a collection of peasant houses thrown together during a storm.
The public buildings here were awesome, colossal pillars and beautiful statues, but even the private homes were well built, not of sun-dried brick but of stone, shaped into polygons for close fitting. The windows were large, allowing greater light, and the inner walls were decorated with paintings, or hangings of brightly coloured wool. Even the poorer homes in the northern quarter were handsomely roofed with terracotta tiles and had skilfully carved shutters, while many courtyards boasted their own fountains.
His own home in Sparta had been modest, but not more so than many other dwellings: the floors of hard-packed earth, the walls of clay and rushes covered with lime mortar. But even Xenophon’s home, which Parmenion had seen as splendid, had nothing to rival the house of Epaminondas. Every floor of the eight-roomed building was stone-studded, decorated with mosaics of white and black stone set in circles or squares. The main room, the andron, was split-levelled with seven couches for the guests. And there was a bathroom, with a water cistern inside the house!
Thebes was quite simply the most exciting place Parmenion had ever seen.
Towards dusk he would find a table at one of the many dining areas near the square, and order a meal. Servants would carry food to him on flat wooden trays – a fresh loaf, a dish of soured cream, herbs and olive oil, followed by spiced fish. He would sit out under the starlight, ending his meal with sweet honeycakes and feeling as if the gods themselves had invited him to Olympus.