Read Online Greek Series 01 - Lion of Macedon by David Gemmell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Gemmell
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close. 'The mix-blood is staying at my father's house today,' he whispered. 'But tonight he will go home for the burial night.'
'So?'
'So he cannot run in the Olympiad trials if his legs are injured.'
'I don't know
'He humbled our friend!' hissed Gryllus.
'What if your father finds out?'
'It will be dark. And Savra will not name us.'
'Tonight then,' Learchus agreed.
*
The body, wrapped in white linen, was lifted from the bed and laid on a length of stout canvas hung between two poles. Parmenion watched as the women carried his mother from the House of Death towards the burial hill. There were four bearers, dressed in white, and plump Rhea followed behind as the Mother of Mourning. Behind her came Parmenion, and beside him the Athenian general Xenophon.
The burial ground was beyond the Theatre of Marble in the east of the city, and the small procession made its way through the teeming market-place and on past the Monument to Pausanius and Leonidas.
They reached the cavemouth, where an old woman sat waiting, her white hair fluttering in the slight breeze.
'Who seeks to walk with the dead?' she asked.
Rhea stepped forward. 'My friend Artema,' she answered.
'Who carries the river price?'
'I, Parmenion.' He dropped a silver tetradrachma into her outstretched palm. She cocked her head to one side, her pale eyes turned towards him. For a moment she sat as still as death, then her eyes swung to where Xenophon stood silently.
'The One Who Is and the One Who Is To Be,' whispered the old woman. 'Invite me to your home, general.'
The departure from ritual shocked Xenophon. He took a deep breath. 'As you wish, old mother.'
'Bring the dead to rest,' she said. Rhea ordered the bearers forward and the darkness of the cave mouth swallowed them. The two men stood at the entrance.
'I could not afford mourners,' said Parmenion. 'Will the gods look unkindly on her for that?'
'An interesting debating point,' answered Xenophon. 'Are the gods swayed because of faked tears and wailing? I would doubt it. Good men have died unmourned and unnoticed, while some of consummate evil have had thousands of mourners at their funerals. It is pleasant to believe that the gods are a little more discerning than men.'
'Do you believe that?'
'I believe there are powers that govern our lives. We give them many names.'
'She will live again then, you think?'
'I like to believe so. Come, we will walk awhile. The day is not too hot.'
Together they strolled back to the Monument to Pausanius and Leonidas. It was a huge marble cube, topped with a statue of a Spartan hoplite, the base engraved with the story of the mighty battle at Plataea, where the invading Persian army had been crushed by the power of the Spartan phalanx.
Xenophon removed his white cloak and sat in the shade. An elderly widow approached them, offering fresh pomegranates. Xenophon dropped a coin in her palm and bought three. He tossed one to Parmenion.
'What was the lesson of Plataea?' asked Xenophon, taking a dagger from his belt and quartering his fruit.
'The lesson?' queried Parmenion. He shrugged. 'They advanced on the Persian centre, which broke and ran. What should we learn?'
'Why did they run?'
Parmenion sat beside the general. Peeling the skin from his fruit he ate swiftly, spitting the pips to the ground. 'I don't know. They were frightened?'
'Of course they were frightened,' snapped Xenophon. Think!'
Parmenion felt embarrassed, his face reddening. 'I do not know enough of the battle,' he admitted.
'I can't answer you.'
Xenophon seemed to relax. He finished the pomegranate and leaned back against the cool marble.
'Examine the evidence, Parmenion.'
'I don't know what you want!'
'If you can answer me this question, then I will do what you asked of me -I will teach you. If not. . . there would be no point. Think about it, and come to me this evening.' Xenophon rose and walked away.
Parmenion sat for a long time, puzzling at the question, but the answer eluded
'So?'
'So he cannot run in the Olympiad trials if his legs are injured.'
'I don't know
'He humbled our friend!' hissed Gryllus.
'What if your father finds out?'
'It will be dark. And Savra will not name us.'
'Tonight then,' Learchus agreed.
*
The body, wrapped in white linen, was lifted from the bed and laid on a length of stout canvas hung between two poles. Parmenion watched as the women carried his mother from the House of Death towards the burial hill. There were four bearers, dressed in white, and plump Rhea followed behind as the Mother of Mourning. Behind her came Parmenion, and beside him the Athenian general Xenophon.
The burial ground was beyond the Theatre of Marble in the east of the city, and the small procession made its way through the teeming market-place and on past the Monument to Pausanius and Leonidas.
They reached the cavemouth, where an old woman sat waiting, her white hair fluttering in the slight breeze.
'Who seeks to walk with the dead?' she asked.
Rhea stepped forward. 'My friend Artema,' she answered.
'Who carries the river price?'
'I, Parmenion.' He dropped a silver tetradrachma into her outstretched palm. She cocked her head to one side, her pale eyes turned towards him. For a moment she sat as still as death, then her eyes swung to where Xenophon stood silently.
'The One Who Is and the One Who Is To Be,' whispered the old woman. 'Invite me to your home, general.'
The departure from ritual shocked Xenophon. He took a deep breath. 'As you wish, old mother.'
'Bring the dead to rest,' she said. Rhea ordered the bearers forward and the darkness of the cave mouth swallowed them. The two men stood at the entrance.
'I could not afford mourners,' said Parmenion. 'Will the gods look unkindly on her for that?'
'An interesting debating point,' answered Xenophon. 'Are the gods swayed because of faked tears and wailing? I would doubt it. Good men have died unmourned and unnoticed, while some of consummate evil have had thousands of mourners at their funerals. It is pleasant to believe that the gods are a little more discerning than men.'
'Do you believe that?'
'I believe there are powers that govern our lives. We give them many names.'
'She will live again then, you think?'
'I like to believe so. Come, we will walk awhile. The day is not too hot.'
Together they strolled back to the Monument to Pausanius and Leonidas. It was a huge marble cube, topped with a statue of a Spartan hoplite, the base engraved with the story of the mighty battle at Plataea, where the invading Persian army had been crushed by the power of the Spartan phalanx.
Xenophon removed his white cloak and sat in the shade. An elderly widow approached them, offering fresh pomegranates. Xenophon dropped a coin in her palm and bought three. He tossed one to Parmenion.
'What was the lesson of Plataea?' asked Xenophon, taking a dagger from his belt and quartering his fruit.
'The lesson?' queried Parmenion. He shrugged. 'They advanced on the Persian centre, which broke and ran. What should we learn?'
'Why did they run?'
Parmenion sat beside the general. Peeling the skin from his fruit he ate swiftly, spitting the pips to the ground. 'I don't know. They were frightened?'
'Of course they were frightened,' snapped Xenophon. Think!'
Parmenion felt embarrassed, his face reddening. 'I do not know enough of the battle,' he admitted.
'I can't answer you.'
Xenophon seemed to relax. He finished the pomegranate and leaned back against the cool marble.
'Examine the evidence, Parmenion.'
'I don't know what you want!'
'If you can answer me this question, then I will do what you asked of me -I will teach you. If not. . . there would be no point. Think about it, and come to me this evening.' Xenophon rose and walked away.
Parmenion sat for a long time, puzzling at the question, but the answer eluded
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