Elric to Rescue Tanelorn - Michael Moorcock [58]
Instead of thanking him, the girl stared down at the corpses in terror.
“You fool,” she muttered.
“Fool?” Simon was taken aback.
“You have killed four of Queen Olympias’s retainers—did you not recognize the livery—or their kind?”
“I’m a stranger in Pela.”
“Then leave now—or be doomed.”
“No, I must see that you are safe. Quickly—I have a horse waiting in the street.” He supported her with one arm though she protested and helped her into the saddle.
He got up behind her.
“Where do you live?”
“Near the west wall—but hurry, by Hera, or they’ll find the corpses and give chase.”
Following her directions, Simon guided the horse through the evening half-light.
They came to a pleasant, large house, surrounded by a garden which in turn was enclosed in high walls. They rode through the gates and she dismounted, closing them behind her. An old man appeared in the doorway to the courtyard.
“Camilla? What’s happening?”
“Later, father. Have the servants stable the horse and make sure all the gates are locked—Olympias’s retainers attempted to kidnap me again. This man saved me from them—but four are dead.”
“Dead? Gods!” The old man pursed his lips. He was dressed in a loose toga and had a stern, patrician face. He was evidently a nobleman, though his black-haired daughter was most unlike him.
Quickly, Simon was ushered into the house. Servants were summoned bringing bread, cheese and fruit. He ate gratefully. As he ate he told as much of his personal story as he wished to divulge. The patrician, Merates, listened without commenting.
When Simon had finished, Merates made no direct remark but instead said, half to himself:
“If King Philip had not continued his line, there would be peace and achievement in this war-wrecked world. I curse the name of Alexander—and the she-snake who bore him. If Alexander had been left to his father’s teaching, he might well have carried on the great plan of Philip. But his warped mother put different ideas into his head—turned him against his father. Now there is evil on every wind, it blows east and west, south and north—and the hounds of darkness rend, slaver and howl in Alexander’s bloody wake.”
Camilla shuddered. She had changed her street robe into a loose, diaphanous gown of blue silk. Her long, black, unbound hair fell down her back, gleaming like dark wine.
She said: “Now, though Alexander’s off on his conquests, Olympias terrorizes Pela more than ever before. All comely youths and girls are sought out to take part in her ghastly rituals. For ten or more months she has tried to encourage me to join until, at last, her patience failed and she attempted to kidnap me. She will know that someone killed the servitors—but she need not know it was you, Simon.”
Simon nodded mutely. He found it difficult to speak as he breathed in the girl’s dark beauty, intoxicated by it as he had never before been.
They were troubled times. Times of high deeds and feats of learning; times of obscene evil and wild daring. Alexander mirrored his times. With one breath he would order a massacre, with another honour a conquered city for its courage in withstanding him. His great horse Bucephalus bore his bright-armoured master across the known world. Fire destroyed ancient seats of civilization, wise men were slain and innocents drowned in the flood tide of his conquests. Yet he caused new cities to be raised and libraries to be built. Men of learning followed in his train—this pupil of Aristotle—and he was an enigma to all. Greece, Persia, Babylonia, Assyria, Egypt, all fell to him. Four mighty races, four ancient civilizations bore Alexander’s yoke. People had speculated on whether he was a force for darkness or enlightenment—whether he would rend the world to fragments or unite it in lasting peace. An enigma.
But now the year was 323 BC and Alexander was aged thirty-two. He had ruled over twelve years—soon he would have reigned thirteen…
In the