Alexander staggered, then righted himself. There was no sound in the hall now, and the lamps flickered as a chill breeze swept through the open windows.
The prince looked down at the fallen man. ‘There he lies,’ he said, his voice deep and uncannily cold. ‘The man who would stride across the world cannot even cross a room.’
Alexander backed away towards the door, Ptolemy and Craterus following him. The prince spun on his heel and strode from the hall.
Parmenion did not hear the hammering on the main doors, for the feast had left him exhausted and he had slumped into a deep, dreamless sleep. The past days had been full of gloom and heartache, with the departure of Mothac and the arrival of the shrill Phaedra.
A servant silently entered his room, gently shaking the general’s shoulder. Parmenion awoke. ‘What is it?’ he mumbled, glancing through the open window at the still dark sky.
‘The King sends for you, sir. It is urgent.’
Parmenion sat up, rubbing his eyes. Swinging his legs from the bed, he waited while the servant brought him a clean chiton and a fur-lined hooded coat. The winter was drawing in and now there was a chill to the night air.
Dressed at last, he walked downstairs and saw Philotas, cloaked and ready to accompany him.
‘Do you know what’s happening?’ he asked his son.
‘Alexander has fled the city,’ answered Philo. ‘There were heated words after you left.’
Parmenion cursed inwardly and strode from the house, Philo following him. The younger man increased his pace and came alongside Parmenion.
‘There could be civil war,’ said Philo. Parmenion glanced at his son, but said nothing. ‘Craterus, Ptolemy and Cassander have all gone with Alexander,’ the younger man continued. ‘And that officer of yours, Hephaistion. I never trusted him. How much of the army do you think will desert to the prince?’
Parmenion paused and turned on his son. ‘There will be no civil war,’ he said, his voice colder than the night air. ‘No matter how hard you may push for it, Philo.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘The words are not hard to understand,’ snapped Parmenion. ‘You have carried your lies and your twisted half-truths to the King, and you - and whoever you serve - are responsible for tonight’s events. But there will be no war. Now get away from me!’
Parmenion swung away from his son and marched on towards the palace, but Philo ran alongside, grabbing his father’s arm.
‘How dare you treat me like a traitor!’ stormed the youth, his eyes blazing with anger. ‘I serve the King loyally.’
Parmenion looked into his son’s face and took a deep breath. ‘It is not your fault,’ he said at last, his voice echoing his sorrow. ‘Your mother was once a seeress, albeit not a good one. She became convinced you were to be a great King. And when you were too young to understand she filled your mind with thoughts of future glories. She was wrong. Listen to me now: she was wrong. Everything you strive for will only see you slain.’
Philo stepped back. ‘You have always hated me,’ he said. ‘Nothing I have ever done has earned your praise. But Mother’s vision was not wrong. I know it; I can feel it within me. I have a destiny that will dwarf all your achievements. Nothing will stop me!’ The younger man backed away still further, then stalked off into the night.
Parmenion sighed, the weight of his years seeming suddenly intolerable. He shivered and walked on to the palace. Despite the lateness of the hour servants and slaves still moved through the halls and corridors and he was led to the throne-room where Philip waited with Attalus. The swordsman was sober now. He nodded to the Spartan, but said nothing as Philip outlined the events of the evening.
‘You cast doubts on his legitimacy?’ asked Parmenion, swinging to face Attalus. ‘I can’t believe it!’
‘I don’t know why I said it. I swear to Zeus the words just leapt from my mouth. I was drunk. But if I could take them back, I would.’
‘This has all gone too far,’ said Parmenion, turning back to the King.
‘I know,’ said Philip softly, sitting slumped on his throne. ‘Suddenly I see everything differently: It is like the sun emerging following a storm. I cannot believe I have treated him so badly. He is my son! When I fell I struck my head and was dazed for a while. But when my senses returned it was as if I was looking through another man’s eyes. All my fears were gone and I felt free. I went looking for him to apologize, to beg his forgiveness. But he was gone.’
‘I will find him, sire,’ Parmenion promised. ‘All will be well again.’
‘He saved my life. Twice,’ whispered Philip. ‘How could I think he wanted me dead?’
‘I don’t know, sire. But I am glad you now see him for what he is, a fine young man who worships you.’
‘You must find him, Parmenion.’ Philip pushed himself to his feet and limped towards the taller man. ‘Return this to him, for I know it means much.’ Extending his hand, he opened his fingers.
The Spartan looked down - and felt as if a knife had been thrust into him, cold iron to the heart. The necklet glistened in the lamp-light and Parmenion took it with a trembling hand.
‘How... did you come by it?’
‘As I fell, I reached out. My fingers hooked into it.’
In that moment Parmenion realized just why the King’s paranoia had disappeared. The magic of the necklet prevented any evil from entering the heart or mind of the wearer.
But what had its loss meant to Alexander?
‘I will ride at once, sire,’ he said.
‘Do you know where he has gone?’
‘No, but I know where to look.’
‘I will come with you,’ said Attalus.
‘I do not think that would be wise,’ the Spartan told him.
‘Wise or not, I will apologize to his face.’
‘He may kill you - and I would not blame him.’
‘Then I will die,’ said Attalus. ‘Come, let us go.’
The River Axios, Winter 337 BC
Sleet had begun to fall, icy needles that penetrated the thickest cloak, and the waters of the nearby river - swollen by incessant rain over the last few weeks - surged angrily against the bank. Hephaistion built a fire against a fallen log and the Companions gathered around it, huddled into their cloaks.
‘Where shall we go?’ asked Ptolemy, holding out his slender hands to the flickering flames. Alexander did not reply. He seemed lost in thought.
‘West to Epirus,’ said Craterus. ‘We all have friends there.’
‘Why not north-west into Pelagonia?’ put in Cassander. ‘The army there are the men we rewarded after the Triballian campaign. They would rise in Alexander’s name.’
Hephaistion looked to the prince, but still Alexander gave no indication that he was listening. Hephaistion added fuel to the fire and leaned his back against a rock, closing his mind to the cold.
It had been a night like this when first he had met Parmenion ten years ago, with sleet turning to snow on the high ground. Only then there had been the sound of the hunting dogs howling in the night, the stamping of hooves as the hunters searched for the runaway boy. Hephaistion had been thirteen years old, living with his widowed mother on a small farm in the Kerkine Mountains. Early one morning Paionian tribesmen from the north had raided into Macedonia, sweeping down from the high passes, killing farmers and sacking two towns. Outriding scouts had come to their farm. They had tried to rape his mother, but she fought so hard that they had killed her, stabbing her through the heart. The young Hephaistion slew the killer with a hand-axe and then ran for his life into the woods. The scouts had war-dogs with them and these had raced after him. Despite the cold the boy had waded through swollen streams, throwing them off the scent for a while. But as midnight approached the dogs had closed in.
Hephaistion shivered as he recalled what had happened. He had picked up a sharp rock and was crouched waiting. The dogs, two huge beasts with slavering jaws, had bounded into the clearing, closely followed by the
six scouts on their painted ponies.
On a shouted command from the leader - a slim, wiry man wearing a yellow cloak - the dogs halted before the boy. Hephaistion had backed away to a boulder, the rock in his hand.
‘See the dogs, child,’ said the leader, his voice guttural and cruel. ‘In a few moments I will order them to rip you to pieces. See how they stand, as if leashed? They are well trained.’ Hephaistion could not keep his eyes from the hounds. Their lips were drawn back over heavy muzzles, showing long, sharp, rending fangs. In his terror the boy’s bladder had given way and the six riders had laughed aloud at his shame.
A tall man in bright armour stepped from behind the rocks, a short, stabbing sword in his hand. The dogs howled and charged but the warrior moved swiftly in front of the boy, his sword sweeping out and down, half decapitating the first hound and skewering the heart of the second.
The action had been so swift that the men had not moved. But the leader, seeing his war-dogs slain, dragged clear his sword and kicked his horse forward. Arrows sliced through the night air. The first shaft took the leader behind the ear, punching through to his brain. He toppled sideways from his mount. The other Paionians tried to escape, but the arrows came from all sides. Within a few heartbeats all six men and four of the horses were dead or dying.
Hephaistion dropped the rock and turned to the tall warrior, who was wiping blood from his blade.
‘Thank you, sir,’ he managed to say. The man sheathed his sword and knelt before him, his eyes seemingly grey in the moonlight.
‘You did well, boy,’ he said, reaching out to grip Hephaistion’s shoulders. ‘You stood your ground like a warrior.’
The boy shook his head, tears beginning to flow. ‘I wet myself in fear.’
‘And yet you neither ran, nor begged for your life. Do not be ashamed of a momentary weakness of the bladder. Come, let us go somewhere warm and find you some dry clothing.’
‘Who are you, sir?’
‘I am Parmenion,’ answered the man, rising to his feet.
‘The Lion of Macedon!’
‘The very same.’
‘You saved my life. I shall not forget it.’
The general had smiled and moved away into the centre of the clearing, where Macedonian archers were stripping the corpses. A young officer led Parmenion’s horse forward and the general smoothly vaulted to its back. Then he held out a hand to Hephaistion. ‘Come, ride with me!’
Hephaistion smiled at the memory.
‘He is coming,’ said Alexander suddenly.
‘Who?’ asked Ptolemy.
‘Parmenion. Attalus is with him.’
The youngster stood, staring south through the sleet. ‘I see no one, Alexander.’
‘They will be here within the hour,’ said Alexander, almost dreamily.
‘How do you know?’ asked Craterus.
‘A vision from the gods,’ the prince answered.
‘If it is a true vision, how could Parmenion know where to find us?’
‘How indeed?’ responded Alexander, his sea-green eyes gleaming as they focused on Hephaistion.
‘I left a message for him, telling him we had headed north,’ said the officer.
‘What?’ roared Craterus. ‘You are a traitor then!’
‘Be quiet, my friend,’ said Alexander, his voice soft and almost gentle. ‘Let Hephaistion speak.’
‘The general asked me to watch over the prince, to see that no harm befell him. I have done that. But Parmenion is Alexander’s only true friend among the elders. I felt it vital that he should know where to look for us.’
‘And yet he brings Attalus with him,’ put in Ptolemy. ‘How do you read that situation?’
Hephaistion slowly placed two thick branches on the guttering fire. ‘I trust Parmenion,’ he said at last.
‘As do I,’ said Alexander, moving across the fire to sit beside the officer. ‘But can I trust you, soldier?’
‘Yes,’ Hephaistion told him, meeting his gaze.
Alexander smiled. ‘Do you have dreams, Hephaistion? Ambitions?’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘My dreams will take us all across the world. Will you follow me to glory?’ His voice was soothing, almost seductive, and Hephaistion felt himself drifting, visions filling his head of great armies marching, tall cities burning, rivers of gold flowing before his eyes, rivers of blood swirling around his feet. ‘Will you follow me?’ asked Alexander again.
‘Yes, sire. To the ends of the earth.’
‘And maybe beyond?’ the prince whispered.
‘Wherever you command.’
‘Good,’ said Alexander, clapping the young man on the shoulder. ‘Now let us wait for our visitors.’
The sleet turned to snow, icy flakes that stung as they touched exposed skin. Craterus, Ptolemy and Cassander began to strip branches from surrounding trees, trying in vain to build a small shelter but being constantly thwarted by the gusting winds.
Alexander sat silently by the tiny fire, snow settling on his cloak and hair as his eyes gazed into the flickering flames. Hephaistion shivered, drawing his own woollen cloak more tightly about him. The prince’s mood worried him: Alexander seemed in an eldritch state, uncaring of danger, seemingly comfortable even within this sudden blizzard.
The cold seeped into Hephaistion’s bones and he rubbed his hands together, blowing hot air to his palms.
‘This is more to your liking, is it not?’ asked Alexander suddenly.
‘My lord?’
‘The cold, the naked sky, enemies at hand. You are a soldier - a warrior.’
‘I like it a little warmer than this,’ Hephaistion answered, forcing a smile.
‘You prowled my rooms like a caged lion, never at ease.’
‘I was doing as the lord Parmenion ordered.’
‘Yes, of course. You worship him.’
‘Not worship, my prince. I have much to thank him for. After my mother was killed I was forced to sell our farm at auction, in order to pay the fees at the military academy. When I came of age the deeds to the farm were returned to me. Parmenion had bought it.’
‘He is a kindly man - and I understand he saved you from Paionian raiders?’
‘Yes. How did you know of it? Did he tell you?’
‘No,’ said Alexander, ‘but I like to know all about the men who follow me. Why do you think Attalus is with him?’
Hephaistion spread his hands. ‘I am a soldier, not a strategos. How many men are with them? Did your vision show you?’
‘They are alone.’
Hephaistion was truly surprised. ‘That seems unlikely, sir. Attalus has many enemies and should rightly now judge you among them.’
Alexander leaned in close. ‘Where will you stand if I go against Attalus?’
‘By your side!’
‘And against Philip?’
‘The same answer. But do not ask me to fight Parmenion.’
‘You would be with him?’
‘No - that is why I do not want you to ask me.’
Alexander nodded, but said nothing. Swinging his head he saw his three Companions huddling under a rough-built shelter, but a sudden gust of wind toppled it over them. The prince’s laughter rippled out. ‘These are the men who would conquer the world for me,’ he said.
They struggled clear of the wreckage and gathered around the fire. ‘Do you not feel the cold?’ Ptolemy asked Alexander. The prince grinned. ‘It cannot touch me.’
The Companions began to joke about Alexander’s new-found powers and Hephaistion leaned back against the rock, closing his ears to their banter, letting it wash over him like the background noise of the river, blending in with the shrieking of the wind.
He was both amazed and angry at his exchange with the prince: amazed because of the surprising way he had pledged himself to follow him, angry at himself for his easy betrayal of Parmenion. That he had grown to like and respect Alexander was understandable: the prince was a man of honour and courage. But Heph
aistion had never guessed how deep this respect had become, and understood now that it bordered on love. Alexander was the sun and Hephaistion felt warm in his company. But do you not love Parmenion, he asked himself? The answer was swift in coming. Of course, but it was love born of debt, and debts can always be repaid.
The snow eased, the wind dying away. The fire crackled and grew, dancing tongues of flame licking at the wood. Hephaistion opened his cloak, allowing the warmth to bathe his upper body.
Alexander was looking at him. ‘Our guests are almost upon us,’ said the prince. ‘I want you to ride out behind them and scout for any larger force that might be following.’
Hephaistion’s mouth was suddenly dry as he stood and bowed. ‘As you command,’ he answered.
And here it was, the moment of betrayal. If the Companions slew Parmenion and Attalus, it would mean civil war. But Alexander had given Hephaistion a way out. He would not be present when the killing began. The officer felt nauseous as he strode to his mount.
But he rode away without a backward glance.
Parmenion saw the distant camp-fire and reined in his mount. The light appeared like a flickering candle and, at this distance, it was not possible to make out the men around it.
‘You think that’s them?’ asked Attalus, riding alongside.
‘It is likely,’ the general answered. ‘But it is possible they are a band of robbers.’
Attalus chuckled. ‘Would they be a match for the two greatest swordsmen in Macedonia?’
Parmenion smiled. ‘Once upon a time, my friend. I fear age has withered our skills a fraction.’
‘Speak for yourself, Spartan. I am as fast now as ever.’
Parmenion glanced at the white-haired swordsman, surprised at the conviction in his voice. He actually believed the words he spoke. The Spartan offered no argument, but heeled his horse forward.