0451472004 by Stephanie Thornton Read Free Book Online Page A

me of a certain sister of yours,” I said. “Two actually.”
    Alexander chuckled. “Cynnane has the courage of an Amazon.”
    “And Thessalonike is a little beast. It seems a shame to see such courage put to the sword.”
    “I agree, and I shall reward your bravery.” He nodded to Timoclea. “I grant you and your children your freedom, as a gift to my sisters.”
    Somehow I doubted this Theban’s freedom was a fair trade for Cynnane’s dead husband, but it was too late to save Amyntas. The poor, doomed fool had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, married into the wrong family. Amyntas was lost, but the entire city of Thebes trembled with fear as she waited for the rest of Alexander’s swords to fall.
    “It seems to me,” I said, halting Alexander’s departure, “that other Thebans might possess similar courage. The city is taken and the Sacred Band of Thebes is no more. Perhaps the inhabitants would serve you better alive than rotting in the streets.”
    “Your heart is too tender, Hephaestion,” Alexander said, but his face softened. He surveyed the terra-cotta roofs spread before us, occasional screams making Timoclea’s daughters cower like mice. “I am victorious,” he said. “And thus I can afford to be merciful.” He beckoned to an approaching guard as he remounted Bucephalus. “Cease the slaughter,” he said. “The remainder of the city shall be taken as slaves. Spare the priests and the house of Timoclea.”
    Tears welled in Timoclea’s eyes, the blatant gratitude shining there making me turn away. “Alexander,” I called. “One more thing?”
    “I do have a battle to manage, Hephaestion,” he said, but he smiled at me from atop his horse. “What is it?”
    “Spare the family of Pindar?”
    “You and your precious Pindar.” He sighed, but his eyes sparkled with mirth. “I’ll save them, on one condition.”
    “And what might that be?”
    “That they promise to produce no more bad poetry.”
    “Pindar’s poetry rivals Homer’s and you well know it.”
    “Sacrilege!” Alexander shouted over his shoulder, laughing as he nudged Bucephalus’ ribs and galloped toward the citadel. Ptolemy followed behind him, but not before casting a lingering look at Timoclea, dark as a shadow and just as fast.
    I watched them go, satisfied that I’d done all I could. Alexander was a man of extremes, burning bright as the sun over the rest of us mere mortals so that it often fell to me to rein him in, as pleasant a task as curbing Zeus’ temper. I’d been scorched by his changeable moods, but I was pleased enough with today’s outcome to promise myself a cask of my favorite burgundy Lesbos wine before falling onto my bedroll tonight.
    And speaking of my bedroll . . .
    I turned to Timoclea. “Now what shall you do?”
    She rubbed her eyes, the first sign of weakness I’d seen from her. The vulnerability there made me want to cup her delicate cheekbone in my hand.
    “Encourage my city to cooperate with your men.”
    “To send us on our way as soon as possible, you mean.”
    She offered me a wan smile. “Is it not one and the same? You seem a decent man, Hephaestion of Macedon, despite the company you keep.”
    Beneath her ragged hair and ruined attire, there was beauty there, a touch of Aphrodite if the goddess ever found herself past the first flush of youth. After a day of killing and saving Thebes from being only a memory sung in the song of bards, I wouldn’t mind sharing that cask of burgundy wine, and perhaps more, with a woman like Timoclea.
    I gave her the grin that never failed to make kitchen slaves eager to shed their chitons . “I’m so far from decent that I’d offer you more than just temporary protection, Timoclea of Thebes. A woman alone, needing a strong arm to protect her?”
    “And you, a man in need of a woman in his bed?”
    “Well, when you say it like that . . .”
    But Timoclea of Thebes was no kitchen slave, and a piece of me would have been