‘I’ll race you to that grove of trees,’ said Philip, suddenly sprinting away. The morning breeze felt good in his face and the contest made him feel alive, his headache disappearing. He could hear Parmenion just behind him and he powered on up the hillside. It mattered nothing to him that the Spartan had already run for more than an hour. The contest was everything. He hurdled a low boulder and raced for the trees a hundred paces ahead. His breathing was more ragged now, and he could feel the burning in his
calves, but also he could hear the Spartan just behind him. He slowed in his run. Parmenion came alongside. Philip thrust out his arm, pushing Parmenion off balance. The Spartan half stumbled and lost ground, giving Philip just the edge to reach the first tree and slap his palm against it.
‘Unfair tactics!’ Parmenion shouted.
‘Victory,’ answered Philip weakly, sinking to the ground and raising his arm, his face red, his breathing fast and shallow. Within minutes he had recovered and the two men sat in the shade gazing out over the fields and mountains, but again and again Philip’s eyes were drawn to the white marble palace.
‘I’ll have a home like that,’ he said. ‘Even the gods will be glad to live there. I’ll have it all one day, Parmenion.’
‘Is that all you want, sire?’
‘No. What does any man want? Excitement. Power. I think of Bardylis often – old, withered, as good as dead. I look at myself and I see a strong, young body. But I am not fooled, Parmenion. Bardylis is only a reflection of the Philip to be. I want to live life to the full. I want not a single regret to haunt my dotage.’
‘You are asking a great deal, Philip,’ said Parmenion softly. ‘All men have regrets – even Kings.’
Philip looked at Parmenion and smiled. ‘For two years I have asked you to call me Philip when we are alone – yet you wait till now. Why is that?’
The Spartan shrugged. ‘These are strange days. Yesterday you spoke to me like a father. Then I met a woman and I felt excitement such as I have not known in a decade. Today I feel . . . different – like a man again.’
‘Did you bed her?’
Parmenion chuckled. ‘Sometimes, Philip, your predictability dazzles me. No, I did not bed her. But, in truth, I wanted to. And that sensation has been a stranger to me for too long. By the way, how many women did you have in your rooms last night? By the sounds it must have been a troupe of dancers.’
‘A mere twenty or thirty,’ answered Philip. ‘So what was this woman’s name?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Where does she live?’
‘I don’t know that either.’
‘I see. You don’t think it might be a little difficult to further this relationship? What did she look like?’
‘She wore a veil.’
‘So, the general Parmenion has fallen for a woman whose face he has not seen and whose name he does not know. I am at a loss to understand the nature of your arousal. Did she have nice feet?’
Parmenion’s laughter rippled out. He lay back on the grass and stared at the sky. ‘I did not see her feet,’ he said. Then the laughter came again; it was infectious and Philip began to chuckle, his dark mood evaporating.
After a while both men returned to the palace where the King ate a second breakfast. The dark-haired girl came to him just after noon. ‘The Lady Aida will see you now, lord,’ she said. Philip followed her down a long corridor to a high-ceilinged room where statues of young women lined the walls. A woman was waiting by the southern window and she turned as Philip entered. She was dressed in a dark, hooded robe, her face pale as ivory. Philip swallowed hard as he recognized her from his first dream.
‘At last we meet,’ she said.
‘Where is my bride?’ whispered Philip.
‘She will be waiting for you,’ said the hooded woman. ‘Tomorrow, on the night of the Third Mystery, she will be brought to your rooms. But there is something you must do, King of Macedon.’