Read Online Lion of Macedon by David Gemmell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Gemmell
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barracks. We are Spartans, gentlemen, and that means we understand discipline. It will not happen again. Third, the presentation of the victory rod …” His eyes moved to Leonidas, and a fleeting smile touched the boy’s face. He knows, then, thought Lepidus, and anger flared in him like a candle flame. “The presentation will not take place this year, and there will be no celebration.” To Lepidus’ amazement a great cheer went up, and his face darkened. “Gentlemen!” he yelled, raising his arms. Silence fell. “I do not understand the cause of this joy. Would someone explain it to me? You, sir,” he said, pointing to Learchus.
“Savra cheated,” Learchus answered, and Lepidus saw several heads nod in agreement.
“He did
not
cheat!” roared Lepidus. “He won! And that is what Spartans are supposed to do. And let me make something very clear to you all. Had Leonidas ordered his own cavalry forward, they would have intercepted the charge. Then, as Parmenion advanced, his right would have been exposed to javelins and arrows. Parmenion would have been annihilated. I do not excuse his use of the Sciritai, but when I see Spartans whining about defeat, I despair. You are dismissed!”
Spinning on his heels, he stalked from the training ground, leaving a stunned audience behind him.
“I didn’t think he liked Savra,” whispered Learchus.
“What he said was right,” Leonidas said.
“No, Savra cheated,” put in Gryllus.
Leonidas stood and turned to the others. “He was right! I took Savra lightly, and he humbled me. I should have worn the cloak of shame. There were a dozen ways I could have crushed him, had I guessed at his plan, and three that could have won me the battle even though I failed to read his intent. I did not use them. Now let that be an end to it.”
Leonidas walked away, and Gryllus turned to Learchus, leaning in 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 toward 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 Theater of Marble in the east of the city, and the small procession made its way through the teeming marketplace and on past the monument to Pausanius and Leonidas.
They reached the cave mouth, 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 toward 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
“Savra cheated,” Learchus answered, and Lepidus saw several heads nod in agreement.
“He did
not
cheat!” roared Lepidus. “He won! And that is what Spartans are supposed to do. And let me make something very clear to you all. Had Leonidas ordered his own cavalry forward, they would have intercepted the charge. Then, as Parmenion advanced, his right would have been exposed to javelins and arrows. Parmenion would have been annihilated. I do not excuse his use of the Sciritai, but when I see Spartans whining about defeat, I despair. You are dismissed!”
Spinning on his heels, he stalked from the training ground, leaving a stunned audience behind him.
“I didn’t think he liked Savra,” whispered Learchus.
“What he said was right,” Leonidas said.
“No, Savra cheated,” put in Gryllus.
Leonidas stood and turned to the others. “He was right! I took Savra lightly, and he humbled me. I should have worn the cloak of shame. There were a dozen ways I could have crushed him, had I guessed at his plan, and three that could have won me the battle even though I failed to read his intent. I did not use them. Now let that be an end to it.”
Leonidas walked away, and Gryllus turned to Learchus, leaning in 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 toward 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 Theater of Marble in the east of the city, and the small procession made its way through the teeming marketplace and on past the monument to Pausanius and Leonidas.
They reached the cave mouth, 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 toward 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
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