Free Orion and the Conqueror by Ben Bova

Philip's other wives out of the court, although she resolutely refused to sleep with him, according to the palace gossip. She wanted to make certain that her son, Alexandros, would be the only possible heir to Philip's throne. That meant that there must be no new marriages and no new legitimate sons. I knew that all the tales about her powers of witchcraft were more than true, and that she could somehow command me at her whim. What she planned for me I did not know, and after that first wild night of lovemaking she did not so much as glance at me.
    For his part, Philip was also scheming. A marriage into the house of Attalos would benefit the throne. So would an advantageous marriage of his daughter by Olympias, who was also named Kleopatra. Even younger than Attalos' niece, and painfully shy, Philip's daughter was a very valuable pawn in the game of nations.
    And that game went on without cease. Ambassadors and couriers arrived at the court almost every day. From my post as one of the king's guards I saw that Philip could be tactful, generous, flexible, patient, a good host, a firm friend, a reasonable enemy ready to make peace even when he had the upper hand. Especially when he had the upper hand.
    But I began to see, also, that he was implacable in his pursuit of one goal. No matter how generous or flexible or reasonable he was, each agreement he made, each objective he sought, was aimed at making Macedonia supreme, not merely over the surrounding tribes and the port cities along the coast; Philip wanted supremacy over the major city-states to the south—Thebes, Corinth, Sparta, and especially Athens.
    "Demosthenes rouses the rabble down there against us time and again," Philip complained to a visiting Athenian merchant. "I have no reason to fight against Athens. I revere the city of Perikles and Sokrates; I honor its ancient traditions. But the Athenians think they are the lords of the earth; they are trying to strangle us by cutting us off from the sea."
    The merchant had been sent to negotiate for the year's grain harvest that we had seized. Philip wanted Athens to cede control of Perinthos and the other port cities along the Bosporus.
    "All the port cities?" gasped the Athenian. "But that, most honored king, would put your mighty hands at the throat of our people. Macedonia would be able to shut off the grain supply whenever you chose to."
    Leaning an elbow on the withered thigh of his crippled leg, Philip looked down at the white-robed merchant from his throne. "It would make us friends, Athenian," he said. "Friends trust one another. And they do not rouse their people to make war against one another."
    "You speak of Demosthenes."
    "None other."
    The merchant tugged at his beard for a moment, then smoothed the front of his robe. At last he replied, "Athens, sir, is a democracy. In the past, our city was ruled by an oligarchy. Even earlier, by tyrants. We prefer democracy."
    Patiently, Philip said, "I have no intention of ruling Athens. All I want is for Athens to stop making war on us."
    "I shall so inform the Assembly when I return."
    "Very well."
    Philip traded the grain for a promise that Athens would no longer support Perinthos against him. Nothing was said about Byzantion.
    Philip saw the merchant off with full diplomatic honors. The royal guard was lined up at the palace gate for him. Unfortunately, it was in the middle of an autumn storm, and cold driving rain made everything gray and miserable. Philip limped back to his rooms with me and three other picked guardsmen following close behind him. The cold raw weather must have bothered his bad leg intensely.
    His three chief generals were waiting for him in his work room, together with slaves bearing pitchers of strong red wine. It was a smallish room, dominated by a heavy trestle table on which a large map of the Aegean coast was held down by heavy iron paperweights.
    "The agreement means nothing," Parmenio grumbled as he put down his first goblet on the edge of