bleeding from the hip showed no sign of abating. Parmenion had seen battlefield surgeons at work and he pinched the flesh over the cut, drawing the skin together and holding it tight. He sat for some minutes with blood seeping through his fingers, but at last it began to slow.
Mothac groaned. ‘Lie still,’ ordered Parmenion, gently releasing his hold. Blood still ran from the wound, but only as a trickle.
Returning to the andron, he found Thetis asleep. Leaving her he ran to the home of Dronicus, the physician who had replaced Argonas. The man was an Athenian and notoriously brusque, but his skill was without question and, like Argonas before him, he had little use for the practice of bleeding. He was bald and beardless, and so short as to appear deformed.
The two men heaved Mothac on to his bed, then Dronicus plugged the wounds, using wool smeared with sap taken from fig-tree leaves. He covered the plugs with woollen pads soaked in red wine, holding them in place with bandages of white linen.
Parmenion returned to the andron and knelt beside Thetis, lifting her hand and kissing her fingers.
She awoke and smiled. ‘Why is it so dark?’ she asked him. ‘Can you not light a lantern?’
Sunlight was pouring in through the window, and Parmenion felt a touch like ice on his soul. He passed his hand across her face, but her eyes did not blink. He swallowed hard. ‘Dronicus!’ he called. ‘Come quickly!’
‘What is the matter?’ asked Thetis. ‘Light a lantern for me.’
‘In a moment, my love. In a moment.’
‘Is Mothac well?’
‘Yes. Dronicus!’
The doctor moved to Thetis’ side. Parmenion said nothing, but passed his hand once more over her face. Dronicus reached out and touched the wound at Thetis’ temple, gently pressing it. She groaned. ‘Is that you, Parmenion?’ Her voice was slurred now.
‘I am here,’ he whispered, holding her hand.
‘I thought we were going to die, that all our happiness would be ended. And then I thought, that is the price for the years we had. The gods do not like us to be happy for too long. I know this sounds strange, but I realized I had no regrets. You brought me back to life, you made me smile and laugh. But now … we have . . . won again. And there will be more years. Parmenion?’
‘Yes?’
‘I love you. Do you mind me saying that?’
‘I don’t mind,’ he whispered. He glanced at Dronicus but the man’s expression was unreadable. ‘What is wrong?’ Parmenion mouthed the words without a sound.
Dronicus rose, but gestured for Parmenion to remain. The doctor walked out into the courtyard and sat in the sunshine.
‘Do you love me?’ asked Thetis, her voice suddenly clear.
Parmenion found his throat swelling, tears burning at his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I can’t . . . hear . . . you. Parmenion? Par. . .’ Her breath sighed away.
‘Thetis!’ he shouted, but she did not stir. Her eyes stared at him. Dronicus returned silently and pressed closed her eyelids. Taking Parmenion by the arm, he led the dazed Spartan out into the sunlight.
‘Why? There was only a small wound?’
‘Her skull was crushed at the temple. I am sorry, Parmenion. I do not know what else to say. But take comfort that she did not suffer; she did not know she was dying. And try to remember what she said about your life together. Few people know such happiness.’
Parmenion ignored him. He sat down at the courtyard table and stared at the purple flowers growing by the wall. He did not stir even when Menidis and a squad of Theban soldiers arrived to clear away the bodies of the assassins. The elderly officer sat opposite him.
‘Tell me what happened?’ he asked.
Parmenion did so, calmly, mechanically. He did not even notice when Menidis stood and walked away.
Pelopidas found him there at dusk. The Theban general sat beside him.
‘I am sorry for your loss, he said. ‘Truly. But you must rouse yourself, Parmenion. I need you. Thebes needs you. Cleombrotus is in the north with 12,000 men. Chaireas and his men have been slaughtered and the road to Thebes is open.