Olympias, the Forgotten Warrior

By Wanda Covington Belmont

Olympias, the mother of Alexander the great

Olympias suffered malicious slander casting her as a snake charmer and her brilliant warrior husband, Philip, as a fumbling drunk. Not true!

Philip knew Greece must unite into one country for their survival from Persia and other enemies. The Athenian orator, Demosthenes, opposed Philip’s efforts. Philip lost only two battles to one general, then Philip made a better stone-thrower and drove that army into the sea? Busy Olympias won the hearts of the Macedonians as she entertained the many visitors from many lands.

Demosthenes efforts to bring together the the best armies of Greece could produce to conquer Philip, was beaten by Philip in one day.

But, Philip chose a new queen. The consequences were severe.

Olympias in the last chapter, tells all!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Dec 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781480883802

Wanda Covington Belmont

Wanda Covington Belmont conducted extensive research, that included travels to Greece, while writing her debut novel, Olympias The Forgotten Warrior. She resides in San Diego, California.

Book preview

OLYMPIAS

THE FORGOTTEN

WARRIOR

WANDA COVINGTON BELMONT

57847.png

Copyright © 2019 Wanda Covington Belmont.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8379-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8378-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8380-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019917136

Archway Publishing rev. date: 11/4/2019

57872.png

CONTENTS

Chapter 1     Epirus Princess

Chapter 2     Shimmering Nights

Chapter 3     At Home In Macedonia

Chapter 4     Philip’s Triple Triumph

Chapter 5     My Son, My Heir

Chapter 6     Price For An Eye

Chapter 7     Duty

Chapter 8     Run Away

Chapter 9     Bucephalus

Chapter 10   Peace?

Chapter 11   End Of A Song

Chapter 12   Ornament

Chapter 13   The New Queen

Chapter 14   The Gods’ Choice

Chapter 15   Finality

GettyImages184297903.jpg

CHAPTER ONE

EPIRUS PRINCESS

The western mountains of Greece, in the country of Epirus, 357 BC.

Faster, Bucephalus, faster! Princess Myrtale shrieked to her majestic stallion as they burst forth from the palace grounds. She must escape. Never would she marry her father’s choice, that weak prince whose hand lost the sword from her own thrust. She would marry a warrior prince or none at all.

Myrtale did not heed the children running to the safety of their homes or the amazement in the eyes of her countrymen as her powerful horse pounded past. Never before had they seen the princess careless of the children.

Racing from Dodona, the capital of Epirus, located in mountainous western Greece, she descended into the dense forest shading a rough mountain trail. Snow lingered under the tall evergreens defying the return of spring, but the furious Myrtale ignored the cold.

Long golden hair whipped about her face, obstructing her view. She barely noticed. Nor did the howl of a wolf give her concern. Myrtale could feel only one danger, the danger that would ruin her life, the catastrophe of being sacrificed for the good of her country because of her born duty to marry the king’s choice.

Her teeth clenched as the words of her father, King Neoptolemus, thundered in her ears, Princess Myrtale of Epirus, my daughter, the time has come for you to marry. After much deliberation and extensive searching, I have chosen our neighboring prince, Temenos, to be your husband. The union will preserve peace for Epirus and ensure a long, pleasant life for you.

The prospect of a long life with the timid Temenos shattered every dream of marriage to a brave warrior, a man who would never need to plead for peace for his country but one who commanded peace because he was too powerful to oppose.

Only Illyria is a threat to us! she remembered screaming. Choose one of their sly thieves as my husband. At least he would know how to protect himself. Why couldn’t I have been born a boy? Why should my little brother become king and I an object to be traded?

Oh, why couldn’t I have lived when there were real Greek warriors? she cried out to the forest. Warriors are all old or dead. Why doesn’t Athens give Plato hemlock like Socrates drank? He deserves to die for turning the kings into talkers instead of warriors. I will never marry a prince who is a lackey to Plato. Never!

The girl on her dark brown horse raced onward over the twisting mountain trail, while dancing rays of sunlight exposed rabbits running for cover. Bucephalus slowed for a sharp turn in the trail. The narrow path clung to the edge of a steep precipice where even trees did not grow. The stallion rounded the bend.

Suddenly his forefeet reared into the air. A lioness lunged into view. Myrtale clung to Bucephalus’s mane. The cat crouched twenty feet ahead. Her sharp white teeth parted, and thunder rolled from her throat.

An enemy! A real live enemy! Myrtale’s anger took focus. She threw her head back and yelled an undulating command to the lioness. This path belongs to Myrtale. The cat must back off. A softer cry to her rear warned she was between mother and baby. She knew the big cat would not give way. Myrtale turned her powerful horse, giving another defiant shout while freeing Bucephalus’s reins, racing past the crying cub. Desperately she wished for her sword as her horse raced over the hazardous path with the lioness’s menacing growls closing the gap. The leaping lioness barely paused as she passed her frightened cub. Myrtale leaned against her horse as he heeded the imminent danger.

A whizzing sound zipped through the air. The cat shrieked with pain. Myrtale trembled as she realized the cat was only a horse’s length behind her. Turning, she saw the lioness struggling helplessly, desperately trying to stand. From the thick evergreens along the winding path came voices. Myrtale breathed a sigh of relief that hunters were in the forest. She slowed her horse as she heard, Great shot, Philip.

Philip, you got her with one arrow.

That is all it should ever take.

Three men rode from the steep hill into view. Their shields and swords told her they were soldiers from another country.

What are you men doing here? she demanded, alarmed at their approach.

The tallest man gazed at her in amazement. What are you, a mere girl, doing in this forest? he asked. His voice showed concern, but his eyes watched the struggling lioness.

Myrtale held Bucephalus steady as her blue eyes glared defiantly at the sun-darkened young man. She absorbed the handsome sight of his strong face framed by a curly black beard, the powerful, thick neck matched by muscular arms and legs. His soiled chiton partially concealed the robust torso. Though she perceived him to be kind, she also felt a strong determination equal to her own, and she knew he must be the most handsome man in all of Greece.

The lioness gave a pitiful cry.

Go around the bend so we can stop her pain, the magnetic man said as he dismounted.

Myrtale felt amused by the direction, for she could have relieved the suffering of the lioness herself, if she had brought her sword. A glance into the tall man’s steady, dark eyes, and she left obediently. I’ll find the kitten, she called back.

Myrtale shortly returned with the kitten tucked in her arm. The mother no longer moved. She sat tall on her horse as she clutched the cub.

Girl, leave that lion here. He will make a better meal for the wolves than one of your lambs becoming a meal for it, the chubby man called while seated on his horse, towering above the two standing men.

The baby will have a chance to live. Now, tell me where you men are from and why you are here, she demanded, seated on her prancing stallion.

The lean, older man kicked the dead cat to the side of the path and watched as it plunged down the rocky edge. Sarcastically he asked, Did we save that girl’s life or did we kill her pet?

The majestic warrior stepped toward her and smiled. I am Philip of Macedonia, and this serious fellow is my adviser, Antipater. Antipater glanced in her direction, as though she were as unimportant as a leaf falling in the forest. Myrtale glared at Antipater, but because he was with Philip, she checked her temper, knowing one day he would not regard her as a falling leaf but as a rising star.

My other companion is Attalus. Philip waved his hand toward the chubby person, who immediately bowed his head graciously, but his eyes smirked. Philip saw only Myrtale and continued, We are here to see King Neoptolemus.

Why do you wish to see the king?

Philip blinked in surprise at the question, but Attalus laughed, moving his horse near Myrtale. We are looking for pretty girls to dance at our celebration party. His eyes leered at her as he extended his hand. Bucephalus instantly pranced backward, his snarling head pounding near the aggressor, who hastily retreated. Myrtale felt repulsion from the insult, resolving that someday she would teach him to respect Myrtale, princess of Epirus.

Easy, Attalus, Philip cautioned. Can’t you see this is not a common girl? Those beautiful, flashing blue eyes and hair of gold assure she is a lady of consequence. Her horse could only belong to an important family. Philip mounted and cautiously rode closer to Myrtale. My business concerns the Illyrians. Do you know about the Illyrians? His voice carried a hint of doubt that irritated her.

Of course, she scoffed, remembering her offer to marry one of their thieves.

I have come from Illyria after we defeated their army.

You defeated the Illyrian army? You defeated Bardylis? she asked with awe.

Yes, I have driven them from my Macedonia. Pride glittered in his eyes.

I heard the Illyrians wiped out the Macedonian army and killed their King Perdiccas, Myrtale challenged.

Her knowledge surprised him as he offered further information. Last year, they killed my brother Perdiccas and destroyed his army. They expected to complete their wide swath of land through our Macedonia. This week I gained revenge. Now their King Bardylis is dead, the survivors back in Illyria. Philip smiled grimly. Myrtale delighted in the power flashing in his dark eyes. Equally, she liked his royal connection.

You defeated the Illyrian army, she said with awe. Myrtale had found a warrior, and what a warrior to have defeated the wily Illyrians so soon after his brother’s tragic defeat. Now, she looked at him with expectation.

Follow me. I will take you to my father, King Neoptolemus.

Zeus be praised, I have met the king’s daughter. Are you called Myrtale?

Yes, she said, delighted that he knew her name.

The four rode to the top of the hill, pausing to take in the view. Rising from the Ionian Sea to the heights of Dodona, the billowing white clouds embellished the azure sky, lingering to reflect their beauty in the sparkling lake abutting the capitol of Epirus, land of Achilles. Towering above the highest peak, the misty clouds nearly obscured the temple of Zeus that stood dwarfed by a great oak tree.

Birds sang their songs of happiness as children played in the streets, fishermen carried their catch to their wives, farmers tilled their gardens, and sheep devoured the fresh meadow grass. Near the palace, a group of boys wrestled, while others engaged in sword play. Myrtale loved to challenge a youth with her own sword. Long ago, the king gave up restricting Myrtale from her sword, for the defiant girl believed if a boy could do it, she could do it.

To the north, great snowcapped mountains rose in the distance, separating Epirus from Illyria. Nearby, flowered meadows waved their brilliant spring blooms as they encroached into the maze of narrow streets lined by small, square houses. Standing on a knoll, the sprawling palace dominated the scene. Oak pillars stood at attention, defining the extensive portico. Two life-sized lions, sculptured by a traveling artisan many years ago, decorated the sides of the stairs leading to the main entrance. Grand pillared balconies dotted the imposing building.

Dodona is beautiful. Philip smiled.

As they approached, King Neoptolemus emerged from a group of soldiers standing on the portico. He stood tall, lean, firm of muscle, and browned by the elements. He approached the riders as they dismounted. A brief frown crossed his face.

Why do you come with my daughter? The king spoke in a puzzled, deep, resonant voice. His steady eyes searched Philip, the obvious leader of the men.

Your daughter has been my guide, Philip answered, as his men bowed their respect. I am Philip, commander general of Macedonia.

The king nodded a smile to the men but turned to his daughter.

Where did you get that lion cub? he asked.

The poor thing was crying for its dead mother that someone killed. She hoped the visitors would not elaborate. She noticed Philip smile.

I will talk to you later. Leave us, he directed. Myrtale reluctantly sauntered to the side of the portico, out of sight, where she paused to listen.

Welcome to my kingdom, Philip. I am honored to have you visit.

King Neoptolemus, permit me to present my two traveling companions, Attalus and Antipater. Attalus and his family are my most devoted supporters, and Antipater remembers every detail I need to recall. They are my most trusted advisers.

I am pleased to meet your companions, he said. Directions were given to an officer to make the companions comfortable. Myrtale heard some men leave, and then her father said, I was told your brother King Perdiccas was killed in a battle against the Illyrians.

It is a tragic loss to my country, Philip replied earnestly.

You are the last of three brothers. That is sad. You must feel a great burden to keep your country together. Come—let us go inside where we can speak in comfort.

Myrtale quickly deposited the kitten with a servant and rushed to hide herself behind the drapery covering a seldom-used entrance to the throne room. She would not be left out of this conversation between her father and Philip.

Philip, she heard her father say as she silently seated herself on a stool, I congratulate you. The Illyrians are the shrewdest thieves on land and the most dreaded pirates of the sea.

One of their leaders and several officers escaped through your country. Several of my best warriors followed them.

I received a report of a small band of men looting a farm, the king remembered. My soldiers are after them.

I appreciate your help in capturing the Illyrians, King Neoptolemus. Working together, we will eliminate that Illyrians problem quickly.

Philip, this mission gives me pleasure. Now, tell me about your victory, because we have lived with fear of Illyria for many years.

Myrtale heard Philip take a deep breath before saying, Along with my brother Perdiccas, four thousand of our best troops were killed last year. After that defeat, I studied every report of the battle before I made my plans. When I arrived in Illyria, it was as I expected. The Illyrians were perched on a mountain, waiting for us to come to them. So, I sent my cavalry into the open with my infantry positioned out of sight on both sides below. The cavalry engaged the Illyrians but soon began to fall back. The Illyrians came off their mountain into the valley to chase us down for the kill, but my phalanx of infantry surrounded the Illyrians. Their defeat was quick and a joyous revenge for me.

Phalanx? she wondered.

I hear rumors that you train your men better than Spartans. The king’s voice carried concern. Myrtale, behind the drapery, found the words inspiring.

It’s true that my men train every day, building their bodies and improving their fighting skills, except for time to return home to care for their family and farms.

Why are you building such a strong army? the king probed, knowing that Philip’s Macedonian army neighboring Epirus could be a threat to his country.

We are Greek, with many enemies, yet we fight amongst ourselves. From the landowning families, I have requested their young men to be the King’s Companions, my cavalry. The young citizens of their lands make up my foot Companions. Their warlike needs are satisfied with military competition every day. But more important is the need to protect our borders, not just from Persia but even from our own belligerent Greeks, who should be one peaceful country.

How do you finance your army? King Neoptolemus queried.

So far, the generosity of the Macedonian citizens and the king’s wealth have been sufficient.

Armies are expensive to maintain, the king persisted.

I have loyal countrymen. The Persian invasion lives in their minds. Too well we remember their harsh dominance. My countrymen will give me their complete support, but our wealth is limited. What I really need is a gold mine. Philip’s words came slowly, thoughtfully.

Are you looking at the mines neighboring you in Thrace and claimed by Athens? the anxious king asked.

King Neoptolemus, I don’t know. Of course, the Persians have more wealth than the whole of Greece. I need allies, friendly neighbors, because I intend to stop the wars that kill our Greeks while Persia grows stronger. Zeus be praised that Greece was not conquered while Athens, Sparta, and Thebes orchestrated devastation upon each other and upon every Greek city beautifying the Aegean Sea.

Do you propose to stop the Greeks from fighting by conquering the city-states yourself? King Neoptolemus asked, obviously puzzled by Philip.

Apollo forbid! Philip exclaimed. My Macedonia is not to destroy but to preserve the grand culture of Pericles and our forefathers. What greater tragedy than the destruction of Athens, that theater of glory? Our Greek states must unite for their own protection.

What about my country, Epirus?

Epirus is not an aggressive country. You are fortunate to be protected by your mountains, the young man stated, but the enemies are gaining power in the west, and Persia in the east. A united Greece is necessary.

The men were momentarily quiet before Myrtale heard the shuffle of sandals near the curtain. The steps retreated to the thick carpet. Myrtale wanted to push the curtain aside and take one quick glance at the handsome Philip, but she noticed her foot against the drapery, her foot that always jiggled when she sat with her legs crossed.

Oh, Hera, help me. Has my foot moved the curtain? she wondered as the footsteps again moved near.

Suddenly the drapes were open. Philip’s sword dropped to his side as he looked in amazement at Myrtale exposed from behind the drapery.

Myrtale jumped from her comfortable passiveness to stand alert and arrogant. What good is it to be a princess if I am to be packed away from all the important conversations?

What a woman we have here. Philip laughed.

Woman, indeed. Her father’s voice was stern. Go, child. For this behavior, you shall be a servant and bring us food and drink. Go!

Myrtale strolled from the room, but a determination welled within her. She knew a woman was packed away to a woman’s duty: bear babies; care for her husband’s needs; supervise the cooking, cleaning, and sewing; stay close within the walls of her house; and at all times be polite and gracious.

The woman’s place was not for Myrtale. She had heard stories of Greek women who did not hide behind the walls of their homes but had worked intrigue, even turning the tide of battle. These tales inspired her, especially the tales of women fighting with swords.

She went to the kitchen and ordered food and drink for the men. She called to her personal slave, Lanice, and they hurried to Myrtale’s chambers for a quick change of clothing to impress the fantastic Prince Philip.

Lanice was devoted to the princess. She had served her since Myrtale was five years old, when the princess slipped away from the palace and lost her way in the forest. Weary and scared, she ran stumbling over a rock and fell into a mud puddle. Lanice, a few years older than Myrtale, heard her cries and took the dirty girl to a nearby spring and washed the dirt from her ivory skin. Myrtale had tried to wash the dark skin from Lanice. Lanice had smiled and showed the youngster that her skin was dark and would not wash white.

Lanice took the girl to her home, and her mother recognized Myrtale as the missing princess and rushed her to the palace, more than three miles away. Myrtale held onto Lanice, and when they reached the palace, the king was so pleased that his daughter had found a friend, he requested Lanice to stay and look after his little princess.

You are very excited, Lanice said, helping Myrtale bathe quickly and slip into a fresh blue chiton decorated with embroidered flowers and clasped at the shoulders with tiny angels. It hung just below her knees. It was not a garment that Myrtale found useful before, being much too decorative for an active girl.

Oh, did you see him, Lanice? Myrtale asked dreamily.

See who?

The most handsome man in the world.

Why, Myrtale, I have never seen you so excited about a man.

Lanice, I am going to marry Philip.

Philip? Has your father arranged this? Lanice asked doubtfully.

No, I am going to. With a toss of her head, she posed before her slave. How do I look?

Beautiful, Lanice assured her, obviously puzzled at the young princess.

Oh, Lanice, he is a prince from Macedonia, and he is a marvelous warrior. He is so handsome, she babbled. His brother is dead, killed in a war, so wouldn’t that make Philip the king? Like suddenly sighting a rainbow, Myrtale recognized he should not be just a prince but should be King Philip.

I don’t know about such things, my princess. But look in the mirror. Isn’t your chiton pretty?

Yes, it is pretty. She smiled, admiring her reflection in the polished copper mirror. Lanice draped a fine linen scarf over the chiton and secured it with a matching belt.

Myrtale immediately raced away to the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of wine, and slowed her pace as she entered the throne room to announce, I have brought your wine, Father.

King Neoptolemus looked gravely at his daughter wearing her fine clothing. He and Philip were seated, sharing fruit, cheese, bread, and wine. As you know, the servants brought us wine and food. He sighed with exasperation. Why are children so difficult?

Philip smiled his pleasure to Myrtale and said, I think she is a young woman with spirit. Perhaps my own mother had such spirit when she was young.

Philip, the king said, you are not only a man with a dream, you are a man with a heart.

My dream is a carefully thought-out plan that started years ago when I was a hostage in Thebes. Philip spoke sincerely, turning his attention to King Neoptolemus. Their generals were the best, and I was just a boy. They made sport of my curiosity. For willingness to play the fool, I was rewarded with their military strategies, which kept me awake nights as I planned my improvements. When I was released to return home, my brother could not understand my plans for the military, but he gave me my own territory and told me to develop it according to my plan. While I was training my men, he left to drive back the Illyrians. Philip frowned, turning uneasily in his chair.

We must learn to live with death, the king counseled.

Philip restlessly tossed his head, but his eyes lingered on Myrtale. Was your queen as beautiful as your daughter? he asked.

She was beautiful, a perfect woman. Unfortunately, she died when Myrtale’s brother, Alexander, was born, the king answered. But my daughter, I suspect, does not understand being a woman. She thinks like a man, rides horses better than most of my cavalry, and can knock swords from the hands of the young students. Sometimes, I think all her beauty is a facade for a daring warrior.

Philip and Myrtale shared a smile.

Tomorrow is our festival in honor of my ancestor, Achilles. Can you stay? King Neoptolemus asked Philip.

I have pressing business with my neighbor Thrace that hopefully will save a battle. Regretfully, I need to leave early tomorrow. Will you remember my need for soldiers for the protection of Greece?

My soldiers are farmers. They plow the soil and tend their sheep. We can provide food for your army, but our men are needed at home.

But, Father, we have so many young men, Myrtale interjected, believing every man must be a warrior.

There are many because we keep our soldiers home, the king stated, pacing about the room. Philip and Myrtale exchanged glances that promised each other a common goal would be achieved.

The king turned his eyes to meet the dark depth of Philip’s steady stare. He spoke softly. Without coercion, you may ask my men to join you. More, I cannot do. I cannot pronounce war upon my country, not even for a cause as good as yours seems to be.

Not a flicker of disappointment crossed Philip’s face. Would you accept reinforcements from me to help your infantry guard the Illyrian border?

The king was caught off guard. Philip seemed to be giving, instead of taking. We will welcome your aid. His words were edged with wonder.

Then it is settled. You help feed my troops; I will help guard your northern border.

Agreed, the king said, turning to his daughter. Myrtale, take word to the actors. I request they perform the drama of Odysseus and Ajax fighting for the armor of Achilles for our dinner enjoyment.

Aware the king used her as a messenger to get her away, she felt resentment at leaving Philip but left quickly. She ran for her horse. Come on, Bucephalus, she whispered, tossing a blanket over his back. Help me think. I must find a way to make Philip fall in love with me, she said, fitting the reins in place. She sprang onto the blanket and pointed her horse toward the town.

Myrtale knew the actors would be at the city hall, which was a short distance around the hill. They would be there waiting for the free meals served to students, soldiers, and other privileged citizens such as actors.

Myrtale spotted the actors dressed in long blue chitons, reading scrolls beneath an oak tree. She pulled her horse near them. You are blessed by Dionysus, you fortunate fellows.

The actors looked from Myrtale to one another, then back to the princess. Indeed! Dionysus, our god of wine and revelry, is most generous to send to us Princess Myrtale, a beauty beyond compare. The younger actor smiled.

Myrtale giggled slightly and then, gathering her composure, spoke. A bigger surprise awaits you, my fine fellows. We have a guest at the palace.

She cannot be more beautiful than you, said the older man, pulling at his graying beard.

With that, I can agree. Myrtale smiled impishly. However, he is a trifle stronger.

"A he? And we are more blessed? Come now. Your riddle baffles us. Who could this he be that has more importance than this she?"

Myrtale dismounted and spoke earnestly. What do you know of Philip of Macedonia?

The man with the phalanx of spears?

What is a phalanx of spears? she asked.

Here, we will pretend. The young actor with darting black eyes jumped behind the other actor. Now, pretend there are fifteen men standing beside me. And behind each man stands fifteen others, so we have sixteen men across and sixteen men deep. Now, give every man a spear. Here, see my spear. He held up an imaginary spear. My spear is longer than the man’s spear in front of me. See, the tip reaches just above the point of his spear. It is so long that I balance it on the man’s shoulder standing in front of me.

The older actor turned to the actor behind him. Really now, must you leave that spear in the hot sun before you lean it across my bare shoulder? he asked in mock irritation.

The spear on my shoulder is just as hot, and I am not crying.

The older actor smiled. You see, Princess Myrtale, the soldiers in several of the front rows have spears so long that they reach to the front of the line. The men in the back rows may hold their spears above their heads, protecting the phalanx from attack by arrows.

The younger actor jumped from his position and said, See, I am a courageous mercenary soldier. I have a spear, and I think I am exceedingly brave. I run out to confront the savage Macedonians who threaten my meal ticket; me and my one spear, we attack. Oh, Ares, god of war, what kind of trick is this? I am one man with one spear, and that man has many, many. Hermes, help me run. Come to the aid of a mere mortal. Ouch, they are after me, he cried, prancing about.

I understand the phalanx. Myrtale laughed. Now, prepare yourself for your best performance. Tonight, you are to be Odysseus and Ajax fighting over the armor and shield of the slain Achilles.

Will Philip see our play? the younger actor asked in awe.

"He will not want to see the whole Iliad, just that one scene."

Oh, yes, he is the warrior who wants wine, women, and song.

What do you mean? Myrtale asked, disappointment rushing in.

The actors exchanged quick glances. "Just making a small jest. We will give our best effort to the Iliad."

Is he married? she asked, hoping her interest was not overly obvious.

No.

Why not?

Hmmm, now that is a tough question.

You have been to Macedonia. What did they say there? Myrtale demanded.

Some say one thing, some another. The older actor pulled at his beard.

Tell me, she demanded.

The younger actor looked to the sky before he shrugged. Oh, Princess, it is pretty much the usual kind of gossip. Some say he was to be married, but Philip never seemed to keep the date, so the girl’s father insisted she marry someone else. I think she was from Thebes, and some thought Philip feared he might eventually have to go to war with his children’s relatives, and Philip did not much like that idea. Others say she had a face that would make Dionysus think he had surely consumed too much wine. Others say Philip’s mother didn’t really think Thebes would release him and never bothered to plan a wife for him. After all, she was rather, a, a … busy with other events.

What events? Myrtale shot back.

That one you better ask your father.

The older actor shifted uneasily, announcing, I fear it is time for us to prepare for our very special audience. Would you excuse us, Princess? We must hasten to eat and drink so our performance will not growl from hunger.

So, this is your way to evade my questions? There will be another time. She smiled her farewell and mounted her horse.

In Myrtale’s lifetime, she had seen many attractive men, men whose physical appeal and athletic vigor had drawn her to smile wistfully their way, but a barrier separated them from her, a barrier stronger than any her father could have secured. This barrier banished every handsome idol with a conception of better yet to come.

Talk of marriage for Myrtale always left her feeling troubled, but Philip, this handsome warrior with his dark, curly beard, bulging muscles, his accomplishments and dreams, for this man Myrtale felt no barriers. He solidified her scattered hopes and created a desire that Myrtale had never before felt.

Aphrodite, goddess of love, inspire me. How can I accomplish my one desire? How can I become his wife? she whispered her prayer.

Myrtale kicked her horse into a fast run as she made her plans. Perfumed oil for the female guests was kept at the palace. She would bathe in it. Her hair would be piled high into curls encircled by a crown. She would adorn herself with gold.

Her father kept a large chest in his bedroom that contained her mother’s jewelry. There would be no problem for her to get them, the same as she did once when she was ill and could not abide her bed. She had tried on every piece, only to discover they were heavy and uncomfortable. She wondered why women liked the heavy stuff and until this day had avoided wearing any.

Myrtale pushed Bucephalus faster as they neared the palace. The sun was setting, and great shadows stretched from the trees. She drew her horse to a stop and handed the reins to a servant.

Two men were watching her. It was Philip walking with her father. What a horse, Philip exclaimed, signaling the servant to bring him near.

Myrtale claimed Bucephalus when he was a colt, the king said proudly. He is now the fastest horse in Epirus.

Philip patted the horse’s neck, but the powerful head jerked back. Bucephalus snorted. Philip flinched.

It’s all right, Bucephalus, Myrtale reassured her horse. The horse nudged Philip.

By Zeus, that horse understands you. Philip expressed his amazement.

Did you see his colt? she asked.

I saw him. I would love to enter Bucephalus in the Olympics. I think he could win. Philip’s hand moved along Bucephalus’s neck muscles, his eyes admiring the slim, strong legs.

Myrtale smiled. Bucephalus will not let anyone but me on his back, and females are not permitted to ride at the Olympics.

With your power over him, couldn’t you persuade your horse to let only one other person ride him?

On this, he has never compromised. The last person who tried was badly injured. He is my horse alone.

Philip’s eyes narrowed, and Myrtale saw the calculating. Philip, believe me, the colt would be easier. He has the same legs, the same body. He will be a runner. My Bucephalus is too stubborn to learn a new master. Anyway, I could never part with him.

A woman servant announced dinner. Philip and the king departed. Myrtale hastened to her quarters. She instructed Lanice to rush preparations for a perfumed bath. Her father’s bedroom was down the hall from her own, so she darted to his room and selected elegant jewelry from her mother’s chest.

She chose gold hoop earrings with fierce lion heads, a double snake bracelet with their tails tied in a Hercules knot, a short necklace of gold filament, and a diadem with colored stones forming flowers.

Back to her room, she selected a pleated, white linen chiton embroidered with bright flowers and birds, a special gift she had never worn. A dress for special occasions, too delicate for her before, but now with Philip present, she would wear it.

The bathing and dressing, though expeditiously performed, seemed endlessly prolonged to Myrtale. When the last curl was secured and the heavy gold jewelry placed, she smoothed her dress and knew she was beautiful. Pulling her muscles tight and holding her head high, she walked slowly, taking small steps, mimicking the fine ladies. Her face took on a cool, expressionless pose, for tonight she would be the royal princess.

My princess, you are beautiful. Lanice expressed genuine surprise. You walk like a queen, and you look like a queen.

I will be a queen. Myrtale smiled faintly. Continuing her small steps, she confidently entered the dining hall.

Many guests, including Philip’s Companions, the Epirote generals, and important citizens, were assembled in the great hall. A few women were seated also. Myrtale knew they would not stay long. Food was being served, and the wine flowed freely.

Myrtale heard Philip’s thundering laughter above the others’ jovial clamor. She quickly ascertained Philip was the center of attention, a real leader, a man others watched and followed.

Old Zeus himself must have gotten a kick out of that story. That was a good one, Philip said. Then tossing his head, he saw Myrtale. He smiled his wonderment and locked her in his gaze.

All heads turned toward Myrtale. Soft whispers of Myrtale, our beautiful princess swept through the hall.

Holding her head regally high on a stiff neck, she went to the table where her father was seated. A place for her was set next to him. On the other side of her father lounged Philip, with his traveling companions, Attalus and Antipater. Immediately, a salad turned in oil was served to her with a large piece of hot bread. A tiny glass of wine was offered. A young man served her a slice of beef.

King Neoptolemus gave the signal, and music from a lyre hushed the diners. A man sang a merry tune as several young ladies danced into the room. Loud approval welcomed the entertainers as they danced, whirling in rhythm to the music, together executing dance steps forming a circle. The singer began a sad song of a young maiden waiting for her soldier to return home. The dancers moved in appropriate responses, displaying deep sadness.

Next, the actors came into the room to perform the ancient play written by Homer about Achilles, the ancestor of King Neoptolemus. Everyone knew the story of Achilles’s death, followed by the debate over his armor. A familiar story was good to hear; a new lesson could be learned from these brave men of old, a new insight perceived that had been overlooked before. The ancients had learned the hard way that the present age could benefit from reflecting upon the past to make better choices for their actions.

Myrtale found her mind wandering from the words of the play to the handsome Philip. She leaned back and rested her eyes on his lean, dark face. He was flushed from the wine, his body relaxed, but his eyes were alert, tense, catching the scenes of the actors with their changing of the masks as the characters changed.

Myrtale knew the oil lamps and fire in the fireplace cast no light on her face, so she was free to examine her guest. She grew excited, for she felt certain she would share the rest of her life with this man. His victories would be her glory, his wounds would be her pain, his fame her grandeur, his heir her son.

The actors completed their dramatic presentation and bowed to the cheers. King Neoptolemus turned to Philip, who was shouting his appreciation of the entertainment. Seeing them together, Myrtale knew her father and Philip could be great friends.

The musicians and dancers returned with an exuberant tune, and the men received wine while the ladies began their departure.

Myrtale, the king said, "you