Read Online Greek Series 02 - Dark Prince by David Gemmell - Free Book Online
Authors: David Gemmell
Ads: Link
hill. It had been impossible to run during the months of the Phocian campaign, and now his body complained bitterly. Ignoring the discomfort he increased his pace, sweat gleaming on his face as the miles flowed by beneath him.
He had never understood the miracle of his healing, the tightening of his skin, the strength of youth once more surging through his body, but he did not need to understand it to glory in it. He had never found any activity to match the constant joy of running - the perfect communion, between mind and body, the freeing of inhibition, the cleansing of spirit. When he ran his mind was free and he could think through his problems, finding solutions with an ease that still surprised him.
Today he was considering the Thracian stallion, Titan. He had cost a great deal of money and yet he was - by Persian standards - cheap. His pedigree was incredible, sired by the finest prize stallion in Persia and born to the fastest mare ever to win the Olympics. Two of his brothers had been sold for fortunes beyond the reach of all but the richest kings, yet Parmenion had acquired him for a mere 2,000 drachms.
Since then the stallion had killed two other horses and maimed one of his handlers, and now was kept apart from the main herd in a pasture ringed by a fence the height of a tall man.
Parmenion knew how foolhardy it was to boast of riding him, but all other methods had failed. The Thessalians did not believe in 'breaking' their horses in the Thracian manner, loading them with heavy weights and running them until they were near exhaustion before putting a rider on their backs. This method, said his men, could break a horse's spirit. It was always important, the Thessalians believed, to establish a bond between mount and man. But for a war-horse and his rider such a bond was vital. When trust was strong, most horses would willingly allow riders upon their backs.
Not so with Titan. Three handlers had been hurt by him, jagged bites or kicks cracking limbs. But on the last occasion he had thrown and then stomped the legs and back of a young Thessalian, who now had no feeling below the waist and was confined to his bed in the communal barracks. There, before long, according to Bernios, he would die.
Parmenion loped on along the line of the hills, his mind concentrating on the day ahead. The Thessalians believed Titan to be demon-possessed. Perhaps he was, but Parmenion doubted it. Wild, yes; untamed, certainly. But possessed? What profit would there be for a demon trapped inside a horse at pasture? No. There had to be a better explanation - even if he had not yet discovered it.
He ran until the dawn streaked the sky with crimson, then halted to watch the transient splendour of diamond stars shining in a blue sky, slowly fading until only the North Star remained, tiny and defiant against the arrival of the sun.
Then that too was gone.
The breeze was cool upon the hilltop and his sweat-drenched body shivered. Narrowing his eyes he gazed over the lands that were now his, hundreds of miles of the Emathian plain, grassland, woods, hills and streams. No man could see it all from one place, but from this hilltop he looked down on the seven pastures where his herds grazed. Six hundred horses were kept here, and beyond the line of the eastern hills there were cattle and goats, five villages, two towns and a small forest that surrendered fine timber which was eagerly sought by the shipbuilders of Rhodes and Crete.
'You are a rich man now,' he said aloud, remembering the days of poverty back in Sparta when his tunic was threadbare, his sandals as thin as parchment. Swinging round he stared back at the great house with its high pillars, its twenty large guest-rooms. From here he could see the statues adorning the landscaped gardens and the score of smaller buildings housing slaves and servants.
A man ought to be happy with all this, he admonished himself, but his heart sank with the thought.
Picking up his pace again, he
He had never understood the miracle of his healing, the tightening of his skin, the strength of youth once more surging through his body, but he did not need to understand it to glory in it. He had never found any activity to match the constant joy of running - the perfect communion, between mind and body, the freeing of inhibition, the cleansing of spirit. When he ran his mind was free and he could think through his problems, finding solutions with an ease that still surprised him.
Today he was considering the Thracian stallion, Titan. He had cost a great deal of money and yet he was - by Persian standards - cheap. His pedigree was incredible, sired by the finest prize stallion in Persia and born to the fastest mare ever to win the Olympics. Two of his brothers had been sold for fortunes beyond the reach of all but the richest kings, yet Parmenion had acquired him for a mere 2,000 drachms.
Since then the stallion had killed two other horses and maimed one of his handlers, and now was kept apart from the main herd in a pasture ringed by a fence the height of a tall man.
Parmenion knew how foolhardy it was to boast of riding him, but all other methods had failed. The Thessalians did not believe in 'breaking' their horses in the Thracian manner, loading them with heavy weights and running them until they were near exhaustion before putting a rider on their backs. This method, said his men, could break a horse's spirit. It was always important, the Thessalians believed, to establish a bond between mount and man. But for a war-horse and his rider such a bond was vital. When trust was strong, most horses would willingly allow riders upon their backs.
Not so with Titan. Three handlers had been hurt by him, jagged bites or kicks cracking limbs. But on the last occasion he had thrown and then stomped the legs and back of a young Thessalian, who now had no feeling below the waist and was confined to his bed in the communal barracks. There, before long, according to Bernios, he would die.
Parmenion loped on along the line of the hills, his mind concentrating on the day ahead. The Thessalians believed Titan to be demon-possessed. Perhaps he was, but Parmenion doubted it. Wild, yes; untamed, certainly. But possessed? What profit would there be for a demon trapped inside a horse at pasture? No. There had to be a better explanation - even if he had not yet discovered it.
He ran until the dawn streaked the sky with crimson, then halted to watch the transient splendour of diamond stars shining in a blue sky, slowly fading until only the North Star remained, tiny and defiant against the arrival of the sun.
Then that too was gone.
The breeze was cool upon the hilltop and his sweat-drenched body shivered. Narrowing his eyes he gazed over the lands that were now his, hundreds of miles of the Emathian plain, grassland, woods, hills and streams. No man could see it all from one place, but from this hilltop he looked down on the seven pastures where his herds grazed. Six hundred horses were kept here, and beyond the line of the eastern hills there were cattle and goats, five villages, two towns and a small forest that surrendered fine timber which was eagerly sought by the shipbuilders of Rhodes and Crete.
'You are a rich man now,' he said aloud, remembering the days of poverty back in Sparta when his tunic was threadbare, his sandals as thin as parchment. Swinging round he stared back at the great house with its high pillars, its twenty large guest-rooms. From here he could see the statues adorning the landscaped gardens and the score of smaller buildings housing slaves and servants.
A man ought to be happy with all this, he admonished himself, but his heart sank with the thought.
Picking up his pace again, he
Similar Books
