Elea was gone. Nothing could bring her back now, but he hoped she would find happiness on the other side, reunited with her parents. But he would miss her – and would never forget her. Some men, he knew, married several times when their wives died. But not Mothac.
Never again, he decided, as he sat waiting for the night. When I travel to the other side it will be to find Elea, and to enjoy eternity beside her.
The sun sank in splendour and the stars illuminated the sky. Torches were lit and placed in brackets set on the walls. Lanterns were hung from ropes and servants began to carry tables out into the square, ready for the diners. Mothac stood and faded back into the shadows, waiting
patiently. The hours passed and it was approaching midnight before the Spartan, Cletus, made his way to a table and sat down to eat. Mothac knew the cause of Cletus’ hatred of Parmenion. The racer Meleager had been unable to settle all his debts, and had been sent home in disgrace. Without Meleager to help him, Cletus would soon run short of money and be forced to give up the life of pleasure he now enjoyed. .
All Cletus now wanted – desired above all else – was to revenge himself on the Spartan traitor who had tricked them.
Mothac could understand his desire for revenge.
He waited until the Spartan had finished his meal, then followed him on the long walk to the Cadmea steps. As the Spartan began to climb the winding path Mothac glanced around. There was no one in sight. Softly he called Cletus by name and then ran up alongside him.
‘Have you good news for me, man? the Spartan asked.
‘No,’ answered Mothac, ramming his dagger into the man’s neck, driving it deep above the collar-bone. Cletus fell back, scrabbling for his sword. Mothac struck him viciously in the face, then wrenched his knife clear, severing the jugular. Blood spouted from the wound but still Cletus tried to attack, swinging his sword desperately. Mothac leapt back. The Spartan fell and began to writhe in his death throes.
Mothac ran from the pathway and back to his home, removing his bloodstained chiton and washing himself clean. Dressed once more in the new tunic bought for him by Parmenion, he returned to the house of Epaminondas.
It would not take long for the hired killers to find out that their paymaster was dead.
When he entered the house he found Parmenion lounging on a couch in the andron.
The Spartan looked up at him. ‘You concluded your business?’
‘I did … sir.’
‘To your satisfaction?’
‘I would not call it satisfaction, sir. Merely a necessary chore.’
*
When Epaminondas brought the news of Cletus’ murder to Parmenion, the Theban seemed genuinely distressed by the killing.
‘I thought you had no love for Spartans,’ said Parmenion, as they strolled through the gardens at the base of the great statue to Heracles.
Epaminondas glanced around. There were few people in the gardens, and none within earshot. ‘No, I have not; but that is not the issue. I trust you, Parmenion, but there are plans in progress which must not be thwarted. The Spartan officer commanding the Cadmea has called for an investigation. He is also said to be requesting more troops from Sparta, for he fears the murder may be the opening move in a revolt.’
‘Which it was not,’ said Parmenion, ‘for if it was you would know of it.’
Epaminondas looked at him sharply and a blush spread over his pockmarked features. Then he smiled. ‘You have a keen mind – thankfully it is allied to a curbed tongue. Yes, I am one who seeks to free Thebes. But it will take time and when it is close I will seek your advice. I have not forgotten the plan you outlined.’
They halted by a fountain which spouted from the arms of a statue of Poseidon, the sea god. Parmenion drank from the pool below it, then both men sat on a marble seat beneath a canvas awning.
‘You must be more careful,’ advised Parmenion. ‘Even the servants know you are engaged in secret meetings.’