Lion of Macedon

by David Gemmell

  ‘Did you love her?’ asked Phaedra.

  ‘Are you jealous, sister of my heart?’

  ‘Yes, jealous of all who touch you - or even look upon you.’

  ‘You should take a man. I will arrange it for you, if you desire it.’

  ‘I can think of nothing worse,’ said the seeress, snuggling close to her friend.

  At that moment there came the sound of music from the camp-fire of the soldiers, soft and mournful. A voice was raised in song - not a battle hymn but a love song of surprising gentleness, accompanied by the high, sweet tones of a shepherd’s pipes. Olympias stood and walked through the trees to where the soldiers sat in a great circle around the piper and the singer. She shivered as she gazed upon the scene: men of war, in breastplates and greaves, their swords beside them, were listening to a tale of two lovers. The singer was Nicanor. He saw the two women approach and faded to silence, the soldiers standing as the new Queen walked among them.

  ‘No, please,’ said Olympias, ‘do not stop, Nicanor. It is beautiful.’ He smiled and bowed; the piper began to play and Nicanor’s voice once more rang out. Olympias settled down in the circle with Phaedra close beside her. The seeress shivered and Olympias opened her shawl, the girl once more snuggling in close with her head on the Queen’s shoulder. Nicanor sang for more than an hour. The soldiers did not cheer or whistle as each song ended, yet there was tremendous warmth in the air and Olympias felt like a child again, safe and comfortable with these tough riders. Phaedra was asleep, her head a weight on Olympias’ shoulder.

  Parmenion appeared and crouched down beside her. ‘I will carry her back for you,’ he said, his voice soft so as not to wake the sleeping seeress.

  ‘Thank you,’ answered Olympias. When Parmenion knelt and lifted Phaedra to his arms, she murmured but did not seem to wake. The soldiers banked up the fires and drifted to their blankets as the general led the way back to the carriage. Nicanor opened the door and Parmenion laid the seeress on the cushions within, covering her with two woollen cloaks.

  ‘Your singing was beautiful, Nicanor,’ said Olympias. ‘I shall treasure the memory.’

  He blushed. ‘The men like to hear the songs; it reminds them of home and family. I cannot tell you how much your pleasure means to me.’ Bowing, he backed away. Parmenion followed, but Olympias called him back.

  ‘Will you sit with me a little while, general?’ she asked.

  ‘As you wish,’ he answered. Her fire had died low and he added fuel, building the blaze. The first cold winds of winter were sweeping across the plain and already there was snow in the mountains. ‘What is it you fear?’ he whispered.

  ‘Why should I fear anything?’ she responded, sitting close to him.

  ‘You are young, lady. I am not. You hide it well, but it is there.’

  ‘I fear for my son,’ she said, her voice so low he could barely hear her. ‘He will be a great King - if he lives. He must live!’

  ‘I am a soldier, Olympias. I can make no promises as to his safety. But, for what it is worth, I will protect him as best I can.’

  ‘Why?’

  It was such a simple question, yet it ripped at Parmenion’s mind with a whip of fire. He could not answer it directly and turned to the blaze, idly stoking it with a branch. ‘I serve Philip. He is Philip’s son,’ he said at last.

  ‘Then I am content. They say in Epirus that Macedonia will soon move against the cities of the Chalcidice. They say that Philip seeks to rule Greece.’

  ‘I do not discuss the King’s plans, lady, nor am I always party to his thoughts. As far as I am aware, Philip seeks to secure Macedonia. For too long the country has been ruled by others, its security resting on the whims of politicians in Athens, Thebes or Sparta.’

  ‘Yet Philip took Amphipolis - an independent city?’

  ‘No one is independent. It was an Athenian enclave, giving them a foothold into Macedonia,’ he told her, uncomfortable with her direct line of questioning.

  ‘But then what of the Chalcidean League and Olynthus? Are they not a threat? Olynthus has close ties with Athens -as have the cities of Pydna and Methone.’

  ‘I see you are a thinker, and wiser than your years. Yet you are not wise enough to hold your tongue on matters best not discussed in the open. Do not trust me overmuch, Olympias. I am the King’s man.’

  ‘That is why I do trust you,’ she answered him. ‘I am Philip’s woman. My son’s life rests on his survival. If a King dies, is it not the Macedonian way for the new King to kill his precedessor’s heirs?’

  ‘It has been, lady, though you will be aware that Philip did not kill his brother’s son. But what I am saying to you is that you should trust no one. Not me... not Nicanor... not anyone. Direct your questions to Philip.’

  ‘Very well, Parmenion. I am chastened. Will you forgive me?’ Her smile was an enchantment, but Parmenion fought to remain untouched by its magic.

  ‘Now that is a weapon you should use,’ he said.

  ‘Ah, how wise you are. Will I have no secrets from you, Parmenion?’

  ‘As many as you wish, lady. You are very beautiful and yet intelligent. I think you will continue to captivate the King. But, make no mistake, he is also a man of wit and discernment.’

  ‘Is that a warning, general?’

  ‘It is the advice of a friend.’

  ‘Do you have many friends?’

  ‘Two. One is Mothac, the other Bernios. Friendship is not a gift I give lightly,’ he said, holding her gaze.

  Reaching out, she touched his arm. ‘Then I am honoured. But, is not Philip a friend?’

  ‘Kings have no friends, lady. They have loyal servants and bitter enemies. Sometimes the two can be interchangeable; it is the mark of the man how well he recognizes this.’

  ‘You are a fine teacher,’ said Olympias. ‘But one last question, if I may?’

  ‘As long as it does not touch upon strategy,’ he answered, smiling. For a moment she was silent. The smile had changed his face, making him almost boyish.

  ‘No, not strategy - at least, not directly. I was wondering about you, Parmenion. What ambitions are there for a man with your reputation?’

  ‘What indeed?’ he said, rising. Bowing to her, he turned and strolled back to the soldier’s camp-fire, checking on the sentries before allowing himself the luxury of sleep.

  Back in the carriage Phaedra lay awake, her heart pounding. When Parmenion lifted her she had been jerked from sleep by the power of his spirit. It was too strong to read and she had felt swept away by a sea of images of enormous intensity. But through them all was one overriding vision. It was this which made her heart beat so, which left her mouth dry and her hands trembling.

  All her life Phaedra had known of the one way to lose the curse of seeing. Her mother had told her of it.

  ‘When you give yourself to a man, the powers will wither and die like a winter rose.’

  The thought had been so disgusting that Phaedra would sooner keep the curse than surrender it in that way. In truth, the thought was still disgusting - but the rewards! She summoned the vision from memory, watching again the glories of the future.

  How could she not take the risk?

  Sitting up, she wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stared at the stars shining bright beyond the carriage window. She could hear Parmenion and Olympias talking by the fire. His voice was soft, almost gentle, yet his words were confident and born of an inner strength.

  ‘I could grow to love him,’ Phaedra assured herself. ‘I could will it so.’ But she did not believe it. ‘It does not matter anyway,’ she whispered. ‘I do not need to love him.’

  She waited until Parmenion had gone, and pretended sleep when Olympias climbed into the carriage. Slowly the hours passed. Steeling herself, Phaedra slipped from the carriage and moved stealthily through the camp seeking out where Parmenion lay; he had made his bed away from the soldiers in a sheltered hollow. As she gazed down on his sleeping form her courage almost fled from her but,
steeling herself, she slipped from her dress and lay down beside him, carefully lifting the single blanket over her slender body. For some time she lay still, unable to summon the courage to wake him. But again the vision came to her - more powerfully than before. Gently her fingers touched the skin of his chest. He was still impossible to read, random scenes pouring over her like a wave and engulfing her senses.

  Her hand slid lower, stroking his belly. He groaned in his sleep, but did not wake. Her fingers touched his penis and -for a moment only - she recoiled. Gathering her courage she touched him again, fingers circling him, feeling him swelling under her touch. He awoke then and turned towards her. His right arm moved over her, his hand touching her shoulder, sliding down over her breast.

  ‘I have you!’ she thought. ‘You are mine! And our son will be the god-King. He will rule the world!’

  And she saw again the vision of a Battle King leading his troops across the world.

  Parmenion’s first-born.

  My son!

  The Temple, Asia Minor, Winter, 356 BC

  Derae lay on her bed and loosed the chains of her soul, floating free of the temple and soaring into the blue winter sky. In the distance clouds were bunching for a storm, but here by the sea the day was fine. Gulls arced and dived around her invisible form and she gloried in their freedom.

  Swiftly she sped across the sea, crossing the trident-shaped land mass of the Chalcidice and on to Pella -seeking, as always, the lover fate had denied her. She found him in the throne-room . .. and wished she had chosen another day for the journey. For beside him stood Olympias.

  Sadness struck Derae like a blow.

  The mother of the Dark God!

  The mother of Parmenion’s child.

  Hatred touched her and her vision swam. ‘Help me, Lord of All Harmony,’ she prayed.

  She watched Olympias walk forward into Philip’s embrace, saw the momentary spasm of jealousy on Parmenion’s face.

  ‘What did we do to you, my love?’ she thought, remembering her years with Tamis as they had battled to prevent the conception of the Dark God. According to the old seeress, Parmenion was the Sword of the Source, the one man capable of preventing Kadmilos from being born in the flesh. How vain they were... and how stupid. Tamis had secretly manipulated events in Parmenion’s life, creating in him a warrior like no other in the civilized world: a fighter, a killer, a strategist beyond compare. All this so that he would be ready to destroy the Dark God’s plans. Instead, the opposite had been achieved.

  Derae’s anger grew. For a moment she wanted nothing more than to use her power to obliterate the babe in the belly of the new Queen. Frightened by the impulse, she fled back to the temple.

  And here her anger turned to sadness, for she floated above her own body, staring down at the careworn face and the silver-streaked hair. Once she had been a beauty like Olympias. Once Parmenion had loved her. Not any more. No, she thought, if he could see you now he would turn away, his eyes drawn to the youthful skin and the earthly joys of girls like Olympias.

  Returning to her body, she slept for two hours.

  Leucion awoke her. ‘I have prepared a bath for you,’ he told her. ‘And I bought three new gowns for you at the market.’

  ‘I need no gowns. And I have no coin.’

  ‘The clothes you have are theadbare, Derae. You are beginning to look like a beggar. Anyway, I have my own money.’

  For a moment only she considered rebuking him, but dismissed the thought. Leucion was a warrior who had chosen to travel to the Temple to serve her. He asked for nothing in return.

  ‘Why do you stay?’ she asked him, her spirit eyes scanning his hawk-like face, so stern and strong.

  ‘Because I love you,’ he answered. ‘You know that. I have said it often enough.’

  ‘It is my vanity that makes me continue to ask,’ she admitted, ‘but I feel guilty, for there will never be any more than we have. We are brother and sister, now and always.’

  ‘It is more than I deserve.’

  She traced a line on his cheek, her finger running the length of his jaw. ‘You deserve far more. You must not let your mind drift back to our first meeting- that was not you. There are forces in the world which use us, abuse us, discard us. You were possessed, Leucion.’

  ‘I know,’ said the silver-haired warrior. ‘I too have studied the Mysteries. But the Dark One can only enhance what is already there. I almost raped you, Derae, and I would have killed you. I did not know there was such darkness in my soul.’

  ‘Hush! There is Darkness in every soul, and Light also. For you the Light was - ultimately - stronger. Be proud. You have saved my life, and remain my only friend.’

  Leucion sighed, then smiled. ‘It is enough for me,’ he lied.

  The warrior prepared a fire and left Derae sitting before it, her thoughts distant, her spirit eyes watching the dancing flames.

  ‘I need help,’ she whispered. ‘Where are you, Tamis?’

  The fire surged to life, the flames dancing high, twirling in on themselves to form a woman’s face. Derae lifted her hands, soft light spilling from her fingers and surrounding her with a shield of brightness.

  ‘You do not need protection against me,’ said the face in the fire. ‘And you can no longer call upon Tamis. I am Cassandra.’

  The face became more solid, framed by hair of flickering flames. Warily Derae let the spell of protection fall.

  ‘You are the Trojan priestess?’

  ‘Once upon a distant day,’ answered Cassandra, ‘I warned Tamis of her folly. But she did not listen. When Parmenion sired the Dark God, Tamis was filled with despair. Her soul is far from us now, broken like crystal, fragmented like the moon on water.’

  ‘Can you help her?’

  ‘No. Though all others forgive her, she cannot forgive herself. Perhaps in time she will return to the Light. For myself I doubt it. But what of you, young Spartan? How can I help you?’

  ‘Tell me how to fight the evil that is coming?’

  ‘My gift in life - if a gift it can be called - was to speak the truth and never to be believed. That was hard, Derae. But I obeyed the Source in all things. Tamis was corrupted by pride. She believed she alone was the instrument to bring down Kadmilos. Pride is not a gift of the Source. In teaching you the ways of the Mysteries, Tamis instilled in you a sense of that same pride. My advice is to do nothing. Continue to heal, to work with those in pain, to love much.’

  ‘I cannot do that,’ Derae admitted. ‘I was as much to blame as Tamis. I must at least try to make it right.’

  ‘I know,’ said Cassandra sadly. ‘Then use your mind. You have seen Aida and her wickedness. Do you not think she also has seen you? If she is prepared to destroy a Persian child, will she not - even more powerfully - seek to destroy you?’

  ‘She and I have met twice,’ said Derae. ‘She has not the power to overcome me.’

  ‘There speaks pride,’ answered the face in the fire. ‘But Aida has many servants and can call upon spirits, demons if you will. They have the power. Believe that, Derae!’

  The fear returned and Derae felt the cold breeze from the curtained window behind her. ‘What can I do?’ she whispered.

  ‘All that a human can do. Fight and pray, pray and fight. Yet if you fight, Aida wins, for to fight successfully you must kill, and in killing there is the joy of the Dark, touching, corrupting, changing.’

  ‘Then I should let her kill me?’

  ‘That is not what I am saying. The battle between Light and Dark is not without complexity. Follow your instincts, Derae. But I advised you to use your mind. Think of what Aida must do in order for her dream to be fulfilled. There is one great enemy she must kill.’

  ‘Parmenion?’

  ‘There speaks the voice of love,’ said Cassandra. ‘Not Parmenion. Who is the great enemy, Derae?’

  ‘I don’t know. How many men and women are in the world? How can I see them all, follow all their futures?’

  ‘Think of a fo
rtress, with high walls. Impregnable. Where would the enemy most wish to be?’

  ‘Inside,’ answered Derae.

  ‘Yes,’ Cassandra agreed. ‘Now use your mind.’

  ‘The child!’ whispered Derae.

  ‘The golden child,’ Cassandra confirmed. ‘Two souls in one body, the Dark and the Light. As long as the spirit of the child lives, Kadmilos can never truly conquer. There is a bird, Derae, that builds no nest. It lays its egg in the nest of another, alongside other eggs. When it hatches it is larger than the other chicks, and one by one it pushes them from the nest to fall to their deaths on the ground below. It does this until it is the only survivor.’

  ‘And Kadmilos will push out the child’s soul? Where will it go? How can I protect it?’

  ‘You cannot, my dear; you have no link to it. When the birth is close the child’s spirit will be thrown into the Underworld, the Caverns of Hades, the Void. There it will burn like a bright flame - for a little while.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Its brightness will summon the creatures of the Dark and they will destroy it.’

  ‘There must be a way!’ protested Derae, pushing herself to her feet. ‘I cannot believe it can end like this!’ Walking to the window, she felt the breeze on her face and struggled for calm.

  ‘You say I have no link,’ she said at last, turning back to the face in the fire. ‘Who does?’

  ‘Who else, my dear, but his father?’

  ‘And how can Parmenion travel to the Underworld?’

  ‘By dying, Derae,’ said Cassandra simply.

  The Temple, Spring, 356 BC

  For weeks the words of Cassandra returned to haunt and torment Derae, but no matter how hard she tried she could not summon the fire woman again.

  ‘Perhaps she was a demon,’ offered Leucion, after Derae had finally confided in him.

  ‘Would that she were,’ said Derae, ‘for then I would be able to dismiss her words. No, Leucion, she was no demon. I would have sensed any evil. What am I to do?’

  The warrior shrugged. ‘All the world’s problems are not yours, Derae. Let others take up the battle. I know very little of the ways of the gods. They do not - thankfully -take too much interest in me, and for my part I avoid them utterly. But surely it is they who must concern themselves with the coming of this... Chaos Spirit?’