the death of the king (historical fic. the death of Phillip of Macedonia)

This was to be the day, a mark on history, the death of a king. The very thought made her smile. To most, she was simply a hooded woman in the middle of the crowd. The focus of most of the people was on the parade, the spectacle that Phillip had concocted under the ruse of celebrating his daughters' wedding. No one seemed bothered that it was queen Cleopatra by Phillips side and not the brides' own mother. That thought chased the smile from her face, her brief flicker of triumph trampled by her desperate hatred.

‘It matters not.’ she thought to herself, ‘all he stands for shall soon be dead.’ and with a fierce gleam in her evergreen eyes, she turned away from the kings' sacrilege. For thirteen golden statues were now passing by, born on the shoulders of slaves. Twelve were the gods of Olympus she muttered their names as they passed one by one.

“Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Demeter, Hera, Athena, Apollo, Artemis, Aphrodite, Aries, Hephaestus, and Hermes.” She did not say the name of the thirteenth statue, nor did she look it in the face. She knew who it was and the thought of him seated among the gods made her sick to her stomach. She began slipping through the crowd, trying to hide her face lest someone recognize her as the absent queen. Not that anyone cared about Olympias when Cleopatra was up there with Phillip shining in all her stolen glory.

Nobody even knew Olympias was here, the official story was that she was back under her fathers care in his house. Hiding from the betrayal of her husband. Everyone knew that not so long ago it was Olympias that stood by her kings’ side. Olympias who knew the king's hopes and dreams and fears, and now nobody even recognized her as she walked among Phillips people. She shook off her sullen mood and focused on the task at hand. At the back of the crowd stood her target, one of Phillips bodyguards, Pausanias, he was keeping an eye on the crowd here keeping his king safe. At least that’s what he was supposed to be doing, what he was actually doing was taking long heavy swigs off a wineskin and trying to keep the enraged revolted look from his face.

Pausanias was doing his job, at least he thought he was. It was so very difficult to do these days and only his sense of duty had kept him in position at the traitor kings side. He took another drink, only the wine kept him on his feet when the thought of the violence that had been done to him crossed his mind. He had been violated and Phillip, his king, had done nothing. Pausanias grimaced, what did he care if this crowd suddenly surged forward and beheaded Phillip. He took another drink as the grim thought sunk to the bottom of his mind, He didn’t care.

Suddenly there was a cloaked and hooded figure standing quite near him, and it seemed familiar somehow. Something in the way it moved reminded him of someone. She looked at him and his heart began to thud rapidly in his chest. Now Pausanias was by no means in love with Olympias, but her eyes alone were enough to shock any man out of his wits. They were the softest shade of evergreen and he knew that under her hood was hair the color of embers, just like her son. She was extremely beautiful and on top of that amazingly clever, for a woman Pausanias thought.

“My dear Pausanias, Isn’t it a bit early in the festivities to be drinking quite so much?” the queen asked the bodyguard.

“If you’ll forgive me, your highness, I am of a sour disposition, I was hoping the wine may liven my spirits,” he replied as he tied his wineskin to his belt.

“Has it?” She asked, her voice soft and clear as a bell. Pausanias wondered if she had kept the kings' ear by her voice alone, but he shook the thought off and gave Olympias the honest reply, “no”

“I know of something that might turn your mood to triumph far quicker than wine.” She said taking her eyes off him to watch the parade. He felt the loss of her gaze immediately and consoled himself by asking the question she expected to hear.

“And what pray tell would that be your majesty?” Was his voice normally as deep as this? He couldn't remember.

“The death of the king.” She said quietly. For a moment neither of them moved or breathed. The act of speaking such treason aloud froze them both to the spot.

“One can only wish my queen,” Pausanias said softly.

“If you kill him I shall have a large pile of gold and a place for you at my fathers' court. You will be more than a bodyguard and in a place to get retribution.” She looked at him again, “But you must do it today.”

Unbeknownst to Phillip, Cleopatra, and all of the people in the crowd Pausanias nodded to his queen and just like that the fate of the jovial king swaggering down the streets, was set.