Lion of Macedon Read Online Free PDF Page B

still they were handsome. Reaching down, he picked up the first gold
hoplite
line; it had been carved in white wood, but the years had stained it yellow. There were only ten figures pinned to the small support plank, but these represented a hundred heavily armored warriors bearing round shields, spears, and short swords. They had been carved with care, even down to the leather kilts and bronze greaves. Only the helms were now outdated; full-faced and plumed, they had been discontinued thirty years before. But these carvings were old and almost sacred. The great Leonidas of legend had used them when he won the eleventh games.
    Parmenion replaced the Spartan file and moved to the Sciritai. These were less well carved and not as old. The men here carried no spears and wore round leather caps.
    A shadow fell across Parmenion, and he glanced up to see a tall man wearing a yellow tunic edged with gold. He had rarely seen a more fine-looking warrior: his hair was golden, streaked with silver, his eyes the blue of a summer sky.
    The man smiled at him. “You would be Parmenion. Welcome to my house, young general.”
    “Thank you, sir. It is an honor to be here.”
    “Yes, it is,” Xenophon agreed, “but you have earned that honor. Walk with me.”
    Parmenion followed Xenophon into a shaded alcove decorated with a magnificent display of purple flowers that draped the wall like the cloak of a king.
    “The straws have been drawn, and you will make the first move. Now, tell me the first three orders you will give,” said Xenophon. Parmenion took a deep breath. For the first time his nerves seemed to fail him, and he found himself staring back at the crowd in the courtyard. In a real battle, once the fighting started, it was almost impossible to change the strategy swiftly, not when thousands of men were struggling together with swords and shields clashing. That was why, in the game, the first three orders were given to the judges so that no competitor could suddenly change his mind if faced by a superior move from his opponent.
    “I am waiting, young man,” whispered Xenophon. Parmenion turned his pale blue eyes on the handsome Athenian. Then he told him, watching the older man’s reaction.
    Xenophon listened without expression, then he sighed and shook his head. “It is not for the senior judge to offer advice; therefore, I will say only that if Leonidas chooses any of four—perhaps five—options, you will be routed catastrophically. You have considered this, of course?”
    “I have, sir.”
    “Have you also considered the question of tradition and of Spartan pride?”
    “I merely wish to win the battle.”
    Xenophon hesitated. Already he had exceeded his duties. Finally he nodded and returned to the ritual. “May the gods favor you, Sparta,” he said, bowing. Parmenion returned the bow and watched the Athenian stride across to where Leonidas waited. He swallowed hard. If the general was a friend to Leonidas and should impart even a clue as to Parmenion’s battle plan …
    Do not even think it! Xenophon is a great general, Parmenionchided himself, and would never stoop to anything so base. This was the man who, after the defeat at Cunaxa, had seen his friends brutally assassinated and had taken command of a demoralized Greek army and fought his way across Persia’s vast empire to the sea. Xenophon would not betray him.
    But he is also the father of Gryllus, thought Parmenion, and a friend to the family of Leonidas.
    The crowd rose, and Parmenion watched as Agisaleus entered, flanked by his generals and two of his lovers. The king bowed as the crowd applauded him, then limped to his seat at the center of the first row, directly beside the sand pit. Parmenion’s mouth was dry as he walked to where Hermias stood, averting his eyes from the cloak.
    Xenophon called the other two judges to him. For some minutes he spoke to them, then took his seat beside the king. The first of the judges—an elderly man with short-cropped