‘Then what is the point of telling me?’ he snapped, pulling his hand clear of hers.
‘You are a Chosen Man. You are Parmenion, the Death of Nations. A hundred thousand souls will you send to the dark river, screaming and wailing, lamenting their fate. It is right and just that you should know your choices.’
Then tell me how to walk the road to sunlight.’
‘I will, but like Cassandra before me my words will not alter your path.’
‘Just tell mev’
‘Walk from this house and bridle your mare. Ride from this city and journey across the sea to Asia. Seek out the Shrine to Hera of the Book.’
‘Ha! I see it now,’ said Parmenion. ‘You witch! You are Spartan and you serve them. I will not listen to your lies. I will free Thebes, and if a city is to fall to ashes then it will be Sparta.’
‘Of course,’ she said, smiling, showing rotted teeth and blood-red gums. ‘The Death of Nations speaks, and his words will be heard by the gods. But you misjudge me, Parmenion. I care nothing for Sparta or her dreams, and I
am happy with the path you have chosen. You are important to me – to the world.’
‘Why should I be important to you?’ he asked her, but she shook her head.
‘All will be revealed in time. You have pleased me today; your mind is sharp, your wits keen. Soon you will become the man of iron, the man of destiny.’ Her laughter was like wind through dead leaves.
Parmenion said nothing, but his fingers strayed towards the dagger at his side.
‘You will not need that,’ she told him softly. ‘I am no threat to you, and will speak to no one of your plans.’
The Spartan did not reply. He was not about to risk the life of Epaminondas on the word of a Spartan witch! The dagger slid clear. . . .
‘Parmenion!’ called Calepios from the doorway. ‘I am torn over the conclusion to my speech. Will you listen to the ending?’
For a moment only, Parmenion’s attention was diverted. He glanced back to Tamis . . . but she had gone. Lurching to his feet with dagger in hand, he swung round. But of Tamis there was no sign. ‘Where did she go?’ he asked Calepios.
‘Who?’
‘The old woman who was here a moment ago.’
‘I saw no one; you were dreaming. Now, listen to this ending …
Parmenion ran to the door. Outside in the courtyard the smith and his men were hammering at the spikes and the courtyard gates were locked.
*
Parmenion listened to Calepios’ speech, which sounded pompous and lacking in credibility. But he said nothing, his mind locked to the words of Tamis. Had she been real – or an illusion born of pain? He had no way of knowing. Complimenting the statesman on his speech, he left the building and walked in the bright sunshine towards the
house of Alexandras. The man was a poet and an actor. According to Calepios he excelled at neither profession, but made his name among the nobility for organizing exquisite orgies. His home was close to the Homoloides, the Great North Gate, and overlooked the hills leading to Thessaly. Parmenion found the house and sat on a wall some sixty paces from the front gates. From here he could see four guards in breastplates and helms, carrying lances, and could hear the sound of music and laughter from within. But there was no sign of Pelopidas. Leaning his back against a cool stone wall, he ran through the plans once more.
There is nothing more you can do, he told himself. It is out of your hands.
But this was advice he could not take. In the years since Derae had been taken from him, thoughts of vengeance against the Spartans had filled his mind. Now the day was here and the beginning of his revenge was close. But where was Pelopidas?
If the councillors were not killed, they would flee to the Spartans, and even if the Cadmea was taken Agisaleus or Cleombrotus would lead an army to regain it. Silently he cursed the Theban warrior. Arrogant, stupid man!