Dark Prince by David Gemmell Page B

the gelding’s reins.
    Parmenion leapt to the ground. “Well met, Peris. Does nothing escape your attention?” he asked, smiling.
    The servant bowed. “I saw you this afternoon, lord, on the hilltop. I have been waiting for you. There is cold meat and cheese in the
andron
, and some pomegranates. Eissa made cakes this afternoon. I will have some brought to you if you desire it.”
    “Thank you. How is the arm?”
    Peris lifted the leather-covered stump at the end of his right arm. “It is healing well, lord. There is little pain now, but whatthere is seems to come from the fingers—as if they are still there. But as you said, I am becoming more skillful with my left.”
    Parmenion patted the man’s shoulder. “I missed you at the Crocus Field. I felt almost unsafe.”
    Peris nodded, his dark eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “I would like to have been there, lord.” Then he smiled and glanced down at his swelling belly. “But even had I the use of both hands, I fear no horse would carry me.”
    “Too many of Eissa’s honey cakes,” said the general. “It was good of you to wait up for me.”
    “It was less than nothing, lord,” replied Peris, bowing, his plump face reddening.
    Parmenion walked on into the house. In the
andron
at the rear two lanterns were burning, casting a soft glow over the room. It was large, boasting twenty couches and thirty chairs, and L-shaped. When Parmenion entertained guests the full room was used, but now the lanterns glowed only in the alcove by the large doorway to the west-facing gardens. The general moved out onto the patio, breathing in the scent of the honeysuckle growing by the wall. The house was peaceful, and only at times like this did he enjoy being there. The thought was depressing.
    He heard a movement behind him and turned, expecting to see the crippled Peris.
    “Welcome home, Husband,” said Phaedra. He bowed stiffly. His wife was wearing a robe of shimmering blue that clung to her slender frame, her golden hair pulled back from her face and bound with silver wire into a ponytail that hung to her narrow waist. Parmenion looked into her cold blue eyes and stiffened.
    “I will not be here for long, lady,” he told her.
    “Long enough to see your son, I would hope.”
    “Sons,” he corrected her.
    “There is only one for me,” she said, her face expressionless. “Philotas—he who will be great, the greatest of all.”
    “Do not say that!” he hissed. “It is not true! You hear me?”
    She laughed then, the sound chilling. “I lost my powerswhen I gave myself to you, General, but I will never forget the vision I saw when first you touched me. Your firstborn will rule the world. I
know
it. And he is Philotas.”
    Parmenion felt his mouth go dry. “You are a fool, woman,” he said at last. “A fool to believe it and doubly foolish to say it aloud. Think on this: if Philip or Olympias hears of your vision, will they not seek to have the child slain?”
    All color drained from her face. “How would they hear?” she whispered.
    “Who is listening now?” he asked. “How do you know which servant may be walking in the gardens or sitting within earshot?”
    “You are just trying to frighten me.”
    “Indeed I am, Phaedra. For they would kill not only the babe but the mother, brothers, and father. And who would blame them?”
    “You will protect him. You are the Lion of Macedon, the most powerful man in the kingdom,” she said brightly.
    “Go to bed, woman,” he told her, his voice weary.
    “Will you be joining me, Husband?”
    He wanted to tell her no, but always the sight of her body aroused him.
    “Yes. Soon.” Her smile was triumphant, and he swung away from it, listening to the soft sound of her footfalls as she left the room. For some time he sat in silence, his heart heavy, then he rose and moved through to the upper nursery where his children slept. Hector was lying on his side in his crib, sucking his tiny thumb. Nicci, as always, had