‘Can they be trusted, do you think? Why shoulcT they not slay us as soon as we … we. . . ?’ He could not bring himself to say the word ‘surrender’. ‘As soon as we leave,’ he said at last.
‘They have heard,’ said Parmenion, edging forward and lowering his voice, ‘that Cleombrotus has two regiments north of Corinth. He could be here in three days. I think they will let you go, rather than risk the King marching upon them.’
Arimanes groaned and doubled over. His mind reeled with pain, and nausea made him gag. The messenger picked up an empty bowl and held it while the officer vomited, then Arimanes wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘They will give us an antidote?’
‘I believe die man Calepios can be trusted,’ said Parmenion soothingly. ‘And, after all, there is no disgrace in leaving the city. Sparta was invited to have a garrison here, but now the city has changed its mind. It is for kings and councillors to work out a solution; soldiers merely obey the orders of the great, they do not create the policies.’
‘True,’ Arimanes agreed.
‘What shall I tell the Thebans?’
‘Tell them I agree. It will take us time to saw through the crossbar on the gate, but then I will march my men from the city.’
‘Sadly, sir, the gates are out of the question. In their excitement the mob have nailed them shut with timbers. Calepios suggests that you descend by ropes, twenty men at a time.’
‘Ropes!’ snapped Arimanes. ‘You want us to leave by rope?’
‘It shows how much the Thebans fear you,’ said Parmenion. ‘Even in your weakened state they know a Spartan force could crush them. It is a compliment of sorts.’
‘Curse them to the fires of Hades! But tell them I agree.’
‘A wise choice, sir. And one you will not regret, I am sure.’
Two hours later, as the last of the Spartans left the Cadmea, Parmenion waited as Norac and the others stripped the timbers from the gates, sawing through the crossbar beyond. The gates swung open.
Pelopidas ran into the courtyard, raising his fists hi the air. ‘They are beaten!’ he bellowed, and the crowd cheered. Turning to Parmenion, he grabbed the Spartan by the shoulders. ‘Now tell me where you hid our friends?’
‘They are in the dungeons still.’
‘But you said they were freed!’
‘No, I said they were safe. The Spartans were bound to search the Cadmea, but I hoped they would not consider such a bizarre hiding-place. I merely moved them to a cell at the far end of the corridor. Take a doctor with you – for Epaminondas has been harshly treated.’
As Pelopidas and a dozen men ran to the Governor’s house, Mothac approached Parmenion. ‘What will happen to the Spartan commander?’ he asked.
‘They will execute him,’ answered Parmenion. ‘Then they will march on Thebes. We still have much to do.’
That night, as the sound of riotous celebration filled the air, Parmenion opened the gates of his home, staggered into the courtyard and collapsed in the doorway of the andron. Mothac found him there in the early hours of the morning and carried him to the master bedroom.
Three times in the night Parmenion awoke, on the third occasion to find Horas the Physician looming over him. The
doctor cut into Parmenion’s arm with a small, curved knife. The Spartan tried to struggle free, but Mothac helped Horas to hold him down. Once more Parmenion passed out.
His dreams were many, but one returned again and again. In it he was climbing a winding stair, seeking Derae. As he struggled on, the stairs behind him disappeared, leaving a dark abyss. He walked on towards a room within which he knew Derae was waiting, but then he stopped. For the abyss was growing and he realized, with dawning horror, that he was drawing it with him. If he opened the door to the room, the abyss would swallow it. Not knowing what to do to save his love, he stepped from the stair and fell, plunging into the darkness of the pit.
*