It didn’t matter to them that he was Leon, an unknown Macedonian. What mattered was that two Spartans had rolled in the dust by his feet.
Epaminondas rushed to his side. ‘The first victory for the Lion of Macedon,’ he said.
And it seemed to Parmenion that a dark cloud obscured the sun.
*
Parmenion set out his winnings on the stone courtyard table, building columns of coin and staring at them with undisguised pleasure. There were 512 drachms, a king’s ransom to a Spartan who had never before seen such an amount in one place, let alone owned it.
There were five gold coins, each worth twenty-four drachms. He hefted them, closing his fist around them, feeling the weight and the warmth that spread through the metal. The four hundred silver drachms he had built into twenty columns like a miniature temple.
He was rich! Spreading the gold coins on the table he stared down at the handsome, bearded head adorning each of them. They were Persian coins, showing the ruler Artaxerxes with a bow in his hand. On the reverse was a woman holding a sheaf of corn and a sword.
‘Will you stare at them all day?’ Epaminondas asked.
‘Yes,’ replied Parmenion gleefully. ‘And tomorrow!’
The Theban chuckled. ‘You ran well, and I took great pleasure over the way you tricked Cletus. How they must be suffering now. Meleager will have beggared himself to settle his debts.’
‘I don’t care about him,’ said Parmenion. ‘Now I can afford to rent a home, and perhaps even hire a servant. And today I shall go to the market-place and buy myself a cloak, and several tunics – and a pair of fine sandals. And a bow. I must have a bow. And a hat! Perhaps one of Thracian felt.’
‘I have rarely seen a man so happy with his fortune,’ Epaminondas told him.
‘But then have you ever been poor?’ Parmenion countered.
‘Happily that is a state I know little of.’
The two men spent the afternoon in the main marketplace, where Parmenion bought a cloak of sky-blue wool, two tunics of fine linen and a pah* of calf-length sandals. He also allowed himself one extravagance – a head-band of black leather, finely woven with gold wire.
Towards dusk, as they were making their way back to Epaminondas’ house, the Theban suddenly cut off to the left down an alley. Parmenion touched his friend’s sleeve. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Home!’ answered Epaminondas.
‘Why this way?’
‘I think we are being followed. Do not look back!’ he snapped, as Parmenion started to turn. ‘I do not want them to know we have spotted them.’
‘Why would we be followed?’
‘I do not know. But when we turn the next corner – run!’
The alley twisted to the right and as soon as they were out of sight the two men ran along the path, cutting left and right through the narrow streets until they reached an alley at the back of Epaminondas’ home. The Theban halted at the mouth of the alley and glanced out. Four men were sitting on a low wall at the rear of the house. They were armed with daggers and swords, whereas Parmenion and the Theban were without weapons. Swiftly the Theban ducked back out of sight.
Epaminondas took another circuitous route to the front of the house. Here, too, a group of armed men waited.
‘What do we do?’ queried Parmenion.
‘We have two choices; either we brazen it out, or we go elsewhere.’
‘Who are they?’ the Spartan asked.
‘Scum, by the look of them. If I had my sword, I would not hesitate to confront them. But who do they want? You or me?’ Epaminondas leaned against a wall. There were only two reasons why the men could be waiting. One, the authorities had found out about the small group of rebels who met at the home of Polysperchon; or two, Meleager had learned of Parmenion’s true identity and had paid these
rogues to exact revenge. Neither thought was comforting, but on the whole Epaminondas hoped it was the latter.
‘Show me more routes to the house,’ said Parmenion softly.
‘For what reason?’