Three hours later, with dusk approaching, a Spartan rider cantered into the Theban camp.
Leonidas was led to a tent where Parmenion waited.
‘I knew it was your plan,’ said Leonidas. ‘How does it feel to have defeated the army of your homeland?’
‘You are here to concede defeat,’ Parmenion told him coldly, ‘and to ask permission to remove your dead. I give you that permission.’
. ‘You do not wish to gloat?’ Leonidas asked. ‘I am here, Parmenion. Mock me if you will. Tell me how you promised this. Tell me how fine it makes you feel.’
‘I cannot. And if I could, I would not. You almost held us. With a mere twelve ranks you almost turned the battle.
Had Cleombrotus fallen back to link with you, you could have held. There has never been an army so disciplined, or so brave, as that of Sparta. I salute your dead, as I salute the memory of all that was great in Spartan history.’ He poured two goblets of wine, passing one to the stunned Spartan. ‘A long time ago,’ he continued, ‘your sister wanted to buy you a gift. I would not sell it. But now is the time for it to be returned.’ Unbuckling his sword-belt he passed the legendary blade to Leonidas, who stared down at it disbelievingly.
Then Leonidas sat on the pallet bed and drained his wine at a single swallow. ‘What is it that we do to one another?’ asked the Spartan. ‘You won the Games fairly. I said it then, and I will say it now. I never asked those boys to beat you. Indeed, I did not know it was happening. And I wish that you had married Derae. But events propel us, Par-menion. Our souls are but leaves in a storm, and only the gods know where we will come to rest. We are enemies, you and I; the Fates have decreed that. But you are a man of courage – and you fight like a Spartan. I salute your victory.’ He stood and returned the empty goblet. ‘What will you do now?’
‘I shall leaves Thebes and travel. I will see the world, Leonidas.’
‘As a soldier?’
‘It is all that I have – all that I know.’
‘Farewell then, Parmenion. If we meet again, I will do my utmost to kill you.’
‘I know. May the gods walk with you, Leonidas.’
‘And with you . . . strategos.’
*
Tamis was confused as her spirit eyes watched Parmenion return the legendary sword. That was not how it was meant to happen. The hatred between the two men should have been strengthened — all the futures showed it so. For a moment only her confusion threatened to become panic, but she brushed her doubts aside. What did it matter? Three of the Chosen were dead. Only one remained.
And with him there was time. All kinds of accidents could befall a fourteen-year-old hostage living in Thebes.
Surely he would prove less of a threat than Cleombrotus, the mighty Battle King of the Spartans? The boy was not even from a civilized city, born and bred as he was in the forests and hills of Macedonia.
He would probably be murdered like his father. Such was the fate of those close to the throne in backward nations, the King eliminating all possible rivals.
No, Tamis decided, there was nothing to fear from Philip of Macedon.
Book Three
Thebesj Autumn, 371 BC
Philip of Macedon watched the cheering crowds as the flower-garlanded heroes of Leuctra marched through the streets. It had been an unbelievable victory. Never before had the Spartan army been defeated in such a manner. It was both impossible and somehow wonderful – even to a Macedonian. Philip could understand the irrepressible joy of the multitudes, for they were celebrating an event few of them had believed credible – the Spartans crushed by a smaller force.
There was music from the streets, and Philip longed to leave the silent house and join them, to dance and forget his own private torments.
But Pammenes had told him to wait for a visitor.
The Theban had been unable to meet his eyes, shifting nervously as he spoke. Fear and anger had flared in Philip at that moment, but he masked both emotions until Pammenes had left. Moving back from the window, Philip poured himself a goblet of water and considered the problem.