King of the Bosphorus t-4

by Christian Cameron

  Scopasis saluted. 'You are back, lord.'

  Coenus nodded. 'As a trooper, Scopasis. You are the captain now. Half these men barely know me, and frankly, if I have to tell Darax one more time how to do up his girth, I'll kill him.' Coenus grinned. 'You're the captain, lad. I'll cover the lady and give her advice. You run the troop.'

  Scopasis gave the Greek man a hug. 'You are like my second father.'

  Coenus didn't deny it.

  After that exchange, Melitta managed to corner Scopasis while he rolled his blankets. 'About last night,' she said, the best opening she could manage after an hour of furious thinking.

  He looked at her, puzzled. 'Last night?' he asked.

  'I was-' Melitta wanted to be clear about how much she valued the comfort he had offered, but that she was still his queen.

  'Darax!' Scopasis called past her. 'Look at the girth on that saddle-cloth. You are no use to the lady dangling under your horse! Get your arse over here and see to it. Now!' His level gaze came back to hers. 'I have no memory of last night, lady. Please do not embarrass me.'

  She met that gaze. 'I'm surrounded by liars.'

  He shrugged. 'Hmm,' he grunted. 'No man likes to be called a liar.'

  Coenus appeared at her elbow, making her flush. 'If we lie to you, perhaps it's for good reasons.' He looked at the sky. 'Dry day.'

  Ataelus came up, eyeing a new arrow, the fletches just dry. Melitta could smell the fish-glue. 'A day for shooting,' he said.

  Their first contact came almost immediately. Upazan's advance guard came down the valley with the sun, flooding the farm fields on either side of the road. Temerix's men had been up for hours, and they stayed on the ridges north of the river, showering the Sauromatae flanking parties with arrows and retreating beyond their reach. Today the Sauromatae seemed content to ignore the galling of their flanks. They pressed straight down the river, and the ground was dark with riders all the way back to the purple hills to the east.

  'Where did he get so many riders?' Ataelus asked again.

  And then they were fighting.

  It was a swirling fight, where a warrior who slowed down to a trot was already dead. Today, the Sakje bowstrings were dry and the gut in the belly of their bows was flexible and hard, and their arrows lashed out from half a stade, pricking armoured men and slaying horses.

  Graethe surprised them all by leading the whole of his clan in an attack. The Sauromatae were spread wide, but their advance guard was thin and the main body was ten stades back. Graethe shot three thick volleys of arrows from the high ground on their left and then charged with five hundred warriors, pushing the Sauromatae down into the road.

  Ataelus watched him with a disapproving frown. But Coenus slapped his thigh. 'He may be a big blowhard, but he's our blowhard. Look – he's lost honour, and he's buying it back.' Coenus looked at Melitta. 'If it were me, I'd push right up the road now, and blow their advance guard back on their main body.'

  Ataelus shook his head. 'We lose a hundred riders.'

  Coenus pulled his horse in. 'Look, I get it. These are not professional soldiers and I am not throwing them away. But if we charge now, we can wreck Upazan for today. We won't have to fight again until tomorrow. A day gained, and not an inch of ground lost. And then – listen! And then we get up in the dark and ride away, breaking contact, and make him face blank country and a new ambush.'

  Melitta raised her whip. 'So we fought for the first three days, Coenus. Upazan ignores the damage and comes forward. He never hesitates. If we crush his advance guard, he'll attack.'

  Ataelus pursed his lips. 'Do it,' he said. He waved at his own clansmen, and the wolf-tails waved.

  'Why?' Melitta asked.

  'Because your brother is coming, and we are here to bleed Upazan,' Ataelus said.

  They charged down the road and her well-armoured knights led the way. The Sauromatae didn't make a stand until they had to, which was by a burned-out farm where the road pinched down by the riverbank. The crowd of routed Sauromatae couldn't get through the gap, and the Sakje slaughtered them, killing a hundred in a minute.

  Melitta shot three arrows. Her knights kept between her and the panicked men, and she was glad.

  Upazan's counter-attack was slow in coming, and the attack itself was hesitant. The first wave of riders were well armoured, some even having horse armour, but they weren't immune to the powerful Sakje bows. The wave failed before a single lance made contact, and the attackers were harried again as they retired.

  As Upazan prepared his second attack, the Sakje melted away, conceding the ten stades of ground they had just won, and providing him with no target for his carefully assembled main attack. The sun was high as the Sauromatae came forward, big squadrons of heavily armoured men who were immediately galled by arrows from the Sindi, who couldn't miss, shooting into the packed squadrons.

  But today they only shot once or twice, and then they ran back into their cover. And Upazan's squadrons seemed unwilling or unable to follow. They were tentative in their approaches, bunching up on the road.

  In mid-afternoon, Ataelus led all of his clan forward in a raid, and they rode right across the line of the Sauromatae advance on fresh horses with full quivers, and the Sauromatae died. Not a rider pursued them as they rode by at a gallop, sometimes less than a horse-length from their enemies.

  Melitta watched as a flight of Sauromatae arrows landed short, just a single Sakje falling to lie in the untended wheat. There was no way the Sakje could save the body – a horde of vengeful Sauromatae fell on the downed rider and hacked it to bloody ruin.

  But the loss of that one rider seemed to take the life out of Ataelus's raid, and they did little damage thereafter, although it became clear that the exhaustion was mutual. The Sauromatae army rolled to a stop well short of the Sakje camp, in a good position with abundant water, and they began to make camp before the sun was well down in the sky.

  Then Temerix led the farmers down from the hills, pouring arrows into the camp.

  Ataelus returned while the farmers shot their revenge into the invaders. His head was down.

  Coenus took his arm. 'You reaped them! By Ares, Ataelus – they can't take another day!'

  Ataelus raised his eyes, and they were dull, as if his soul was gone from his body. 'Samahe is dead,' he said.

  23

  Satyrus cursed every hour that it took them to unload the horses of the Exiles, but he could see the condition of the animals as they were pushed into the sea and swam weakly ashore, and he knew that Diodorus was right.

  Leon watched his Numidian mare, fetched all this way by Diodorus, make a splash as she hit the water. Leon already looked better, although Satyrus doubted he would ever carry the weight of muscle he'd had a year before. He stood with Diodorus, wearing only a simple white chiton and a bronze circlet.

  'I'm going with the hippeis,' Leon said. He grinned and put his arms around his nephew. 'You're all but through the channels.'

  'It's your fleet, Uncle,' Satyrus said. 'I stand on your command deck, and I speak with your voice.'

  Leon smiled and shook his head. 'No, lad. This is your fleet. This is your hour. Go and finish Eumeles, for all of us. As for me, I want a horse between my knees when I meet Upazan.'

  Satyrus remembered then that Leon had sworn something about Upazan's death. So he embraced his uncle. 'May Poseidon of the ships and horses go with you,' he said.

  Leon glanced around. 'Be careful of my ships,' he said, and grinned. 'The gods are with you, lad. Go and finish Eumeles!'

  'That useless bastard,' Diodorus growled. 'To think that we have to do all this work to put him down in the sand, eh?' He embraced Satyrus. 'We'll be there in two days – maybe three. Don't fight a battle without us. And one piece of advice, eh? You need to be on the south bank of the Tanais. If you fight on the north bank, we won't get across.'

  Satyrus nodded. 'As you say, Uncle. But I must tell you – if I get the sea battle I want, there won't be a land battle.'

  Seve
ral of Satyrus's officers grinned, and Diokles smacked his fist into his palm.

  Diodorus shook his head. 'You don't know Upazan, lad. We'll have a fight yet.' As soon as his ships could get clear of the transports, they stood on. Nonetheless, clearing the mouth of the Hypanis River took two hours, and then he had to negotiate the last of the channels and mudflats north of the mouth of the Hypanis. Twice the Lotus touched bottom, knocking men down and making his heart race with fear. Behind them in the long column, Hyacinth struck hard on a bank, but Aekes got him off before the column had passed him.

  When the Lotus cleared the last sandbar and the long bay of the Hypanis opened to the sea, Satyrus could still see the transports riding high and empty down the bay, and the dark masses of the Exiles marching inland.

  Satyrus couldn't wait another minute to know where he stood. He stripped his chiton over his head and climbed the mainmast. He hung from the yard while he watched the waters to the north and west, and saw Eumeles' fleet well out, heading east.

  'Neck and neck,' he shouted to Diokles after he slid down the mast, recklessly scraping his arms and thighs.

  Diokles leaned over the rail of his ship. 'Hope Eumeles doesn't come after us now!'

  Satyrus was aware that his whole command was strung out in a long file that went back for ten stades of channels and turns, while Eumeles seemed to have his whole force on the horizon. He was tempted to make a derisive comment, but that would be hubris. 'With the gods!' he shouted back piously.

  They landed just one headland north of the stone pillar that marked the bay of the Hypanis. Satyrus posted sentries on every headland and a guard squadron – his recently acquired pirates, all of Manes' former ships – because now he feared surprise more than anything else.

  He drank wine with his captains and then sent Diokles to check on the former pirates who were rowing sullenly back and forth across the beach.

  'I don't want this ruined by a foolish mutiny,' he said, and every officer on the beach nodded.

  Draco caught his arm. 'Send us,' he said.

  Amyntas nodded. 'Send us. Diokles can row us out. Those are our boys out there as marines. Put me on one ship and Draco on another. I guarantee no surprises.' He took a knife out from under his armpit and ran his thumb over the edge.

  When the two Macedonians were gone, Satyrus drank his wine with more satisfaction.

  'Tomorrow,' Panther said.

  'I think so,' Satyrus said. 'I don't think Eumeles knows how close we are. Or that we've shed the horse transports. So he'll straggle.'

  Theron and Demostrate were playing knuckle bones together. Demostrate got up and stretched. 'You have all my money, you black Corinthian thief, and now I need a battle to restore my fortunes. King of the pirates? I'm king of the paupers.' He glanced at the sky. 'Good day tomorrow. Sunny. Light winds.'

  'So?' Neiron asked.

  'Muster when the morning star rises,' Satyrus said, watching Panther to see if his orders were well received. 'Put to sea at first light and form up by columns off the beach.'

  Panther nodded.

  Theron lay back on the sand. 'What if Eumeles refuses to play?' he asked. 'I mean, see it through his eyes. He's running for his other squadron, isn't he? So why won't he just keep running?'

  Panther looked at Satyrus. Satyrus shook his head. 'Our ships are faster, now that we're rid of the transports,' he said. 'Remember last time? Our fastest laid waste to his slowest, and we were losing light. Tomorrow we'll have a whole day, if we're as close as we think.'

  Satyrus nodded. 'And – and he's got to stop rowing when he reaches Tanais. But if we're right up with him, there's not really time for his other squadron to man and launch.'

  'Unless they're waiting for us,' Demostrate said quietly.

  Satyrus had never been the commander of a force this large. When Leon joined them, it had been as if a great stone had been lifted from his shoulders, and when Leon left, riding away with the old hippeis, the stone had settled back on his neck.

  But Satyrus had been around professional soldiers and sailors all his life, and he knew what was required of him, although it made his stomach hurt with anticipation just to think of the morrow and everything he had riding on it. He took Abraham, whom everyone loved, and Diokles, and they left the fire where the commanders drank wine, and the three of them went from fire to fire down the beach. Satyrus shared a sip of wine and a libation at every fire he joined – at some, he was greeted like a demi-god, and at others, usually the fires of the pirate crews, he was feared like a leper. He watched their reactions, and tried not to show his own feelings.

  Between two fires of pirate oarsmen, Satyrus made a face, spat in the sand and stopped. 'Some of them hate me,' he said.

  'And you want them to love you?' Abraham nodded. 'You make them fight. Not all of them want to. Not all are brave, and very few are good. You expect to be cheered as a hero by your rowers? Sufficient that you are prepared to pay them.'

  Satyrus looked at his friend. 'When did you become such a sophist?' he asked.

  Diokles tugged his beard. 'They won't love you, lord. Best be used to it. The Macedonians probably cursed bloody Alexander, and he was half a god.' He jutted a thumb at Abraham. 'He's got more sense.'

  Abraham shrugged. 'I learned a great deal in Byzantium,' he said.

  'Your father wanted me to send you home. And yet – he's very proud of you.' Satyrus had meant to say this earlier, but there was never time. That was the greatest lesson of command – there was never either privacy or time.

  Diokles gave a little wave and walked away a few steps, granting the two of them the illusion of privacy.

  'Really?' Abraham grinned, his teeth glinting in the fire-lit dark. 'You're not just fashioning words to please me?'

  'I swear by Herakles,' Satyrus said.

  'I'll go home when this is over,' Abraham said. 'Unless I'm dead.'

  'Don't even say such a thing,' Satyrus said, making a peasant sign of aversion.

  Abraham laughed, and it was a grim laugh. 'Not all of us are born the darling of a god, to restore a kingdom and shine with the light of battle. I was born to count coins and raise my family fortunes.' He looked away. 'If I die tomorrow, I'll curse the pain of it – but by my god, it will have been worthwhile. To be lord and to have command – to live at the break of the wave.' He laughed. 'I'm a fool. Or I've tasted too much wine. Listen, Satyrus – I sound like some awful stock character in a play. But I love this life. Every instant, I have to pinch myself to see if I'm awake – walking on the beach with you, waiting for the day of battle, with my own ship, my armour, my sword by my side!' Abraham laughed, and now it was a genuine laugh. 'My jealous old god will probably take my life tomorrow, if only to show me who's boss.' He walked over to Diokles and slapped him on the back. 'You sailors have better manners than most of the merchants I know, but I don't need privacy. To hell with that!' He pulled his wineskin over his shoulder, took a drink and handed it to Diokles.

  'Night before a battle, a man should drink,' Diokles said.

  Abraham took the skin back and held it expertly, so that a dark stream curved, glinting in the distant firelight, and fell into the open darkness of his mouth. 'Oh, I've learned all kinds of things in my year at sea,' he said.

  Diokles shook his head in mock sorrow. 'And never a flute girl around when you need one,' he mourned.

  Satyrus shook his head, squeezed their hands and led them on to the next fire. 'We'll win tomorrow,' he said. And he meant it. They rose with the last watch and the rowers filed aboard before the bronze shield rim of the sun ascended above the edge of the world. And as fast as the ships came off the beach, bow first, dragging their sterns clear of the sand and mud and rowing shallow so that the gentle surf was turned to muddy froth, they formed in columns and turned north, so that they were in formation while the scent of their cooking fires was still wafting over the sea. Wood smoke and sea-wrack.

  But Aulus, Eumeles' navarch, was no fool, and he had not served thirty years at sea
to be caught in the morning. His men must have risen just as early, whether or not they knew how close Satyrus was. The smoke of their fires still rose to the heavens just twenty stades north of the bay where Satyrus had camped, but the ships were gone.

  It was noon by the time they raised the masts and sails of Eumeles' squadron, but the moment the lookout screamed that he could see the top yards of ten sail, the mood of the Lotus's command platform changed.

  'Fifteen!' the lookout shouted. 'Dead on the bow!'

  Satyrus looked at the sky and at the sun. 'Is it too late?'

  Theron ran his hand though his hair. 'Don't mistake me for a sailor, lad. But no. Now we find out if the gods love you, or whether they've lured you to madness.'

  Satyrus grinned. They were overhauling the enemy squadrons so quickly that he could already see nicks in the horizon. His eyes met Neiron's. Neiron nodded, and he had a smile like a death's head.

  'Now or never,' Neiron said.

  'Helios!' Satyrus shouted, and the boy came running, already pulling the cover off his gilt-bronze shield.

  'Signal "General chase",' Satyrus called.

  Helios flashed the signal – one, two, three, four.

  And the rowers roared back from every ship.

  Satyrus's heart began to beat so fast that it seemed to interfere with his speech. Carefully, he said, 'Don't push them so hard that we can't fight.'

  Neiron shook his head. 'All or nothing now. You made that call. Now let it happen.'

  Amidships, Philaeus called the new stroke – the fastest sustainable stroke – and he began to beat the tempo on the deck with his staff.

  The rowers growled and the ship sounded like a live thing. Satyrus felt the increase in speed in his legs and hips. The thumping of the oar master's staff seemed to be the living heart of the ship, pumping blood like the heart of an Olympic runner.