‘But a son should honour his new father,’ replied Philip, rising to his feet.
‘A good point,’ agreed the Illyrian, waving Grigery away. ‘Come and sit with me, there is much we have to discuss.’
*
Parmenion added the sylphium leaves to the boiling water, stirring it with his dagger-blade. ‘What is it?’ asked the Illyrian servant who had brought the water.
‘Herbs from Macedonia. It makes a refreshing drink. My thanks to you.’
Parmenion moved to a couch and sat down, waiting for the infusion to cool. Mothac had been furious when he heard he was being left behind, and had fussed around
Parmenion like an old woman. ‘You will take the sylphium before going to bed each evening? You will not forget?’
‘Of course I will not forget.’
‘You forgot in Egypt that time. Three days it was, when I was sick with a fever.’
‘I had other matters to worry about. We were being besieged at the time.’
Mothac grunted, remaining unconvinced. ‘You have enough for five days – six at the very outside.’
‘I will be careful, Mother. I promise you.’
‘That’s right! Mock! We are talking about your life, Parmenion. Just remember.’
Parmenion swung his legs to the couch and relaxed, sipping the cooling drink. Like many of the southern Greeks, the Illyrians drank from shallow dishes. Only in Thebes had the Persian goblets found a natural second home. He finished the sylphium and settled back, his muscles weary from the long ride. The King had left his 200 Companions near Mount Babouna in the south, promising to return within five days. They had been met by the man Grigery and 100 Illyrian cavalrymen. It was a tense ride to the Palace of Bardylis, and Parmenion was weary hours before they sighted the long, single-storeyed building. It was unadorned by statues and there were no gardens, merely stables for the King’s horses; but the rooms they had been given were comfortable, and each man had been assigned a servant.
Parmenion was just settling down to sleep when he heard the sound of knuckles rapping at his door. ‘Who is it?’ he called.
‘Grigery, sir. The King has requested your presence.’
Parmenion sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He glanced to his cuirass and helm where they lay on the floor alongside his sword, then stood and walked to the door, pulling it open. Grigery bowed. Parmenion stepped from the room and followed the warrior along the wide corridor to the King’s apartments. The man walked well, perfectly balanced, moving on the balls of his feet. He was an athlete, Parmenion knew – and more than that, a warrior to watch.
Grigery ushered him in to an anteroom and announced him to Bardylis. To the Spartan’s surprise the King was alone. He did not rise from his couch when Parmenion entered, but acknowledged the Spartan’s bow with a wave of his hand.
‘Welcome to my home, Parmenion. It is an honour to have such a famous general in Illyria.’
‘It hardly matches the honour for me, your majesty. It is rare to be invited to a private audience with a King of such renown.’
‘You speak well, Spartan, but let us put aside such niceties,’ snapped the old man. ‘Come and sit beside me, and tell me what you are doing in Macedonia.’
Parmenion sat alongside the King. ‘A general moves where there is employment. I fear I almost outstayed my welcome in Asia. King Philip was kind enough to offer me a temporary commission.’
‘Temporary?’
‘I am to train a few hundred warriors in order that he may guard his borders with Paionia. And also to supply him with a royal guard.’
The King smiled, showing badly discoloured teeth. ‘And what of Illyria? How does he feel about those borders?’
Parmenion thought swiftly. ‘He does not like the current situation -but then, would you? But I have told him there is little he can do. It would take considerable resources, an army of mercenaries, and even then he would face a less than even chance of success.’
‘You are extremely forthright,’ said the King, surprised.
‘I am speaking no secrets, your majesty. And I sense it would be … inappropriate to lie to you.’