‘You bled me then,’ said Parmenion, touching the bandage on his arm.
‘I did. It is well known that this relieves the pressure. If you feel faint, I will repeat the process.’
‘No, I feel fine.’
‘Good. I will tell the general you are well. But you ought to be purged, young man; it would be safer.’
‘Truly, I am well. The pain has gone. I commend your skill.’
The little man smiled. ‘In truth I am better with wounds, but I study,’ he confided.
‘Will this happen to me whenever I face danger?’
‘It is unlikely. I have known many men to suffer such head pain, but the attacks are usually rare and only accompany times of undue stress. It is common also among clerics who complain of blurred vision and dancing lights before their eyes. Opium is the best cure for this, processed to the Egyptian formula. I will leave some with Xenophon, in case your pain returns.’
Parmenion lay back. He fell asleep once more, and when he awoke Xenophon was sitting beside him.
‘You gave us a scare, strategos. The good doctor wanted to drill a hole in your skull to release the bad humours, but I dissuaded him.’
‘Where are we?’
‘Olympia.’
‘You mean I have slept for a full day?’
‘More than that,’ replied Xenophon. ‘It is now almost noon on the second day. I had hoped to take you hunting, but as it is the doctor says you should rest for today.’
‘I am well enough to ride,’ Parmenion argued.
‘I am sure you are,’ agreed Xenophon soothingly, ‘but I will not allow it. The doctor has spoken and we will follow his advice. Anyway, there is a guest to see you and I am sure you will not object to spending time with her while I ride out to hunt with her father.’
‘Derae? Here?’
‘Waiting in the gardens. Now remember, my boy, to appear feeble and wan. Elicit her sympathy.’
‘I need to bathe – and shave.’
‘And to dress, let us not forget that,’ said Xenophon as the naked Parmenion threw back his sheet and rose from the bed.
The gardens were constructed around a shallow stream
flowing from the eastern hills. White boulders had been carefully polished and placed in circles, half-buried in the soil. Around them, brightly coloured flowers had been planted after the fashion of the Persians. Stone pathways had been designed to meander through groves of oak trees, and stone benches were placed in shaded hollows. There were statues from Corinth and Thebes, mostly showing the goddess Athena in full armour, and one of Artemis carrying a bow. By a small man-made lake there was a series of statues portraying the twelve labours of Heracles. Usually Parmenion would sit by them, enjoying the cool breeze across the water, but not today. He found Derae sitting by the stream under the shade of a willow. She was dressed in an ankle-length chiton of white, edged with green and gold. Around her waist and looped over her shoulders was a sea-green chlamys – a long, rectangular strip of fine linen, delicately embroidered. As she saw him, she stood and smiled. ‘Are you now well, hero?’ she asked.
‘Indeed I am. You are looking beautiful; your clothes are very fine.’
‘Thank you. But you are pale – perhaps you should rest for a while.’ They sat together in uncomfortable silence for several minutes until Derae laid her hand on his arm. ‘I wanted to thank you. I was terrified. You have no idea how I felt when you stood upon that rock and demanded my release. It was as if you were sent by the gods.’
‘Perhaps I was,’ he whispered, covering her hand with his own.
‘My father was very impressed by your courage – and your initiative. I was really convinced there were men with you.’
Parmenion grinned. ‘Xenophon taught me that victory is achieved by putting the thought of defeat into the heart of your enemy. To him goes the honour.’
‘But to you the glory. I like to see you smile, Savra; it makes you handsome. You do not smile enough.’
Her hand was warm beneath his, and he could feel her closeness and smell the heavy scent of the perfumed oil on her hair. Her head was tilted towards him, and he could not