Slowly time passed. The guards continued to pace outside the gates, and the laughter from within grew more raucous. Seven priestesses of Aphrodite arrived, dressed in colourful chitons and wearing veils beneath gilded and bejewelled combs. The guards stepped aside to allow them in. Parmenion closed his eyes against the pain in his skull; the plan was complex enough, without having to rely on men like Pelopidas.
A cool wind touched his face, bringing momentary relief from pain. He sat up – aware of a difference, a change. The guards still paced and all seemed to be as it was. Then he realized there was no sound, no music or laughter.
So, he thought, the orgy has begun.
But where in the name of Hades was Pelopidas?
An hour passed. Soon it would be time for Calepios to make his speech, to lift the crowd and set them marching on
the Cadmea. With a last muttered curse against unreliable Thebans, Parmenion stood and began the long walk to the agora. A noise from behind made him turn to see the gates of Alexandras’ home opening, the priestesses emerging into the sunlight. They began to walk towards Parmenion. Ignoring them he continued on his way, but as he turned a corner he heard the sound of running feet and a hand fell upon his shoulder.
‘Leave me be!’ snapped Parmenion.
‘Not even a word of greeting?’ came a male voice. Parmenion stared at the tall, veiled priestess, who pulled the veil clear and grinned at him. The face he saw was handsome and beardless, the lips stained red, the eyes painted.
‘Get away from me. I want nothing from you!’ said Parmenion, lifting a hand to push the man from him. Powerful fingers closed on his forearm with a grip of iron.
‘Do you not recognize me? It is I, Pelopidas!’ The warrior chuckled and used the veil to rub away the paint and the stain on his lips. ‘You are not the only strategos, my friend.’
Parmenion swung his gaze over the rest of the group as they divested themselves of female clothing. Each of them was armed with a hidden dagger, and only, now did the Spartan see the bloodstains on the brightly-coloured garments. ‘You did it!’ he cried.
‘They are dead,’ Pelopidas answered. ‘So is the poet, Alexandras -which, if you ask me, is no loss to anyone.’
Leaving their disguises in the alley, the group ran to the agora where a huge crowd was gathering. Pelopidas and his comrades moved in amongst the people, leaving Parmenion standing below the great steps leading to the Temple of Poseidon. The crowd was many thousands strong by the time Calepios appeared from within the temple to walk slowly down the steps. The crowd roared his name and he seemed genuinely surprised at the ovation. He raised his hands for silence. Parmenion realized he was dreading this moment, fearing the effect Calepios’ pompous speech would have on this excited mob.
The statesman stared down at the crowd for several
moments, then his voice boomed out. ‘It is a long time, my friends, since I spoke with you. But I have always believed that if a man has nothing good to say – then let him remain silent! Our friends and allies, the Spartans, were invited here three years ago by councillors and ephors of Thebes. I opposed that decision! I opposed it then. I oppose it now!’ A huge cheer went up, but Calepios waved his hands and stilled the crowd. ‘Why, asked the councillors, should the Spartans not occupy the Cadmea? Were they not our friends? Are they not the leaders of Greece? What harm is there in having guests within the city? What harm?’ he bellowed. ‘What harm? A Theban hero, praised by Agisaleus himself, now languishes in a cell -his body tortured, his flesh flayed. And why? Because he loves Thebes. Are these the actions of friends? Are they?’ he shouted.
‘No!’ roared the crowd.
Parmenion could scarce believe his ears. Gone was-the pomposity, and though he had heard the words before, they now seemed fresh and vibrant. And in that moment Parmenion learnt of the magic of the great orator. Timing and delivery alone were not enough; there was in Calepios a charisma, a power, which made his green eyes see not just a crowd but every single man, his voice touching every heart.