“Fact remains. Dealing with Athens is still a damn sight better than dealing with the Macks. Look at their propaganda. Look at their massacres. You don’t hear the Athenians babbling about their right and duty to conquer whole world. If Alexander has his way, we’ll all be slaves or dead and that’s the truth.”
Matthias said nothing.
“And with Egypt in his hands,” Lugorix added, “he’s on way to making that happen. So the big question now is what Athens will do next.”
“If we make it there, we may actually find out.”
“And more besides.”
“Not if that bitch keeps holding out on us,” said Matthias.
But late that afternoon, as the sun was setting, the woman in question joined Lugorix while he was on watch. He didn’t hear her emerge from the hatch, though he probably should have, as the ship’s aelio-mekanikos—wind-motor, as the women called it—was no longer making a racket. It had been turned off and the mast and sails had been extended.
“By Taranis,” he muttered. “How long have you been standing there?”
“Not long,” said Barsine. The breeze blew her hair about her face. She narrowed her eyes against the glare of the vanishing sun. There was something about the way she did that which stirred at his memory—he wasn’t sure why. “But I’m not sure you’re doing a very good job at keeping watch.”
“I’m watching the ocean.” He was embarrassed to have been so startled—had almost lunged for his axe which he’d leant against the railing. “If something comes out of the hatch behind me—”
“I’d say something has,” she said, her voice bordering on the mischievous. “Who’s Taranis anyway?”
“One of my people’s gods. What brings you on deck?” In the back of his head, he was thinking that Matthias would be annoyed at missing a chance to speak to her—was thinking he should go wake the man. But of course, that wasn’t an option. Besides, Lugorix wasn’t averse to having something to hold over his friend. All in good fun, of course….
“We’re almost at Athens,” she said. “Damitra’s piloting. I wanted to get a glimpse of the city.”
Lugorix nodded. “So that’s why we put the mast up and turned off the engine?”
“No sense in looking too weird,” she said.
He drew in his breath. “Who are we meeting at Athens?”
“Friends,” she said. “In the government.”
“But not the government.”
Her eyes narrowed at that. “Your friend likes to act like he’s the smart one. But you’re not all brawn, are you?”
“Never said I was.”
“Where are you from?”
“Gaul.”
“I realize that. Where in Gaul?”
“Southwest. Village of Sarmax. In the Pyrenees. The Athenian recruiters were in Massilia, so I headed there.”
“But why you’d leave in the first place?”
He hesitated. “It’s complicated.”
To his relief, she didn’t press it. “And how’d you hook up with Matthias?”
“Working as marines. Doing raids against the Persian coast.”
That drew her up short. “Before or after the Macedonian conquest?”
“Both.”
“Ah.”
“Your people captured Matthias’ city a while back.”
“What’s his city?”
“Pinara,” replied Lugorix. “In Asia Minor.”
“That’s in Macedonian hands now.”
“Yes.” And then, curious: “I would have thought your witch would have been able to tell you all this.”
“She’s no witch. She’s a Servant of the Sacred Fire.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s that?”
“The heart of the Zoroastrian faith. Damitra is one of our magi.”
“I thought they were all male.”
“You’re not the only one who thinks that.”
“So she knows a lot of magick?”
“She knows enough. But your question’s a crude one.”
“Oh, thanks.”
Barsine shrugged. “Magick’s just another word for something one doesn’t understand. The ignorant call it magick. But to the initiated, it’s really just a tool. Alchemists, mechanists, sorcerors—they’re all just different types of the same thing. The real question is the ends to which they put their power. Damitra and I both serve Ahura Mazda, the One Creator, who set us in motion to play our part in the final battle.”
Lugorix had no idea what to make of that. “Final battle?” he asked.
“Between good and evil,” she replied.
As she said this, she pointed at the darkening horizon where a speck was growing.
“Athens,” she said.
They stared across the minutes as it approached, tower after tower rising from horizon, stacking on and upward toward the twilit heavens, each tower bristling with all manner of war-machines and siege equipment. As they drew near, Lugorix could see ant-like men moving along the battlements, looking down at them.
“It’s colossal,” he muttered.
“That’s just the sea-wall across the outer harbor.”
Lugorix shook his head in amazement as they sailed in toward one of the sea-wall’s many gates. It opened as though it was expecting them. As they headed in toward it, he turned back to Barsine. And suddenly he realized why he found this woman so familiar—who she reminded him of.
Though he knew better than to tell her.
“War between good and evil,” he said.
“What about it?”
“That’s what you were saying just now.”
“Yes,” she replied. “The ultimate struggle. It’s a Zoroastrian tenet that—”
“You think that’s the war we’re fighting now?”
There was a long pause. “Alexander has to be stopped,” she said finally. “Sometimes I think he truly believes he’ll reign forever. He won’t, though he might just leave the world wrecked in his wake.”
“But say that’s just the least of it?” asked Lugorix.
“How could there be more?”
“If he really does discover a way to reign forever.”
She stared at the spires of Athens straight ahead of them, made no reply.
Eumenes had no idea it was possible to get this thirsty. Not to mention this blind. The sandstorm had been howling for hours, and only Alexander seemed to think they were anything other than absolutely lost. They were at least a hundred miles west of the Nile, and fifty miles south of the last discernible road. It was all desert now, nothing but sand. Eumenes could see how the Persian king Cambyses had lost his whole army in this mess.
Of course, Cambyses had it coming. He’d burnt down all of Egypt’s temples and personally slaughtered the sacred bull Apis. Not the best of ways to prepare for a trip to the sacred site at Siwah, assuming one had any respect whatsoever for the gods. Though Eumenes was starting to wonder if that even mattered—was starting to think that perhaps it was all just divine whimsy anyway. For Alexander and his father to defeat the last of Cambyses’ line at Issus—for Alexander to then venture on into the heart of Persia and destroy the oldest empire in existence before turning with utter success on Athens itself—it seemed incredible that it could all come to an end amidst trekless desert. But perhaps it was fitting. Perhaps the gods were angry that Alexander wanted to set himself among them. After all, if that wasn’t hubris, then Eumenes had no idea what was.
Though there was always the chance Alexander was right. Eumenes had seen enough of the world to know it could be a very strange place, and that the line between legend and fact often had a way of blurring. No mortal in recent memory had done that like Alexander. So if he really was something more than mortal, then the deserts of Egypt would be the place of reckoning. Because at this point it was difficult to imagine any of them surviving under any other circumstances.
The sandstorm ebbed momentarily, allowing Eumenes to spot a horseman trudging just ahead of him. He was relieve
d to know he hadn’t lost contact with the rest. Stragglers kept wandering off in the blizzard, never to be seen again. Each time the storm cleared there were less remaining to follow Alexander. The guides had been among the first to disappear, though Eumenes suspected they’d left of their own volition. Perhaps Athenian agents had paid them off. Perhaps they’d been Athenian agents, or Athenian sorcery had called up the sandstorm. Eumenes was too exhausted to care. He raised a flask to his lips, drank just enough to wet his lips and get a little moisture down his parched throat. He edged his horse closer to the man ahead of him, trying to keep him in sight as the sandstorm picked up speed again. Stinging grains of heat smacked against his face. He cursed, drawing his scarf up closer. The other man turned round in his saddle, recognized him anyway.
“Eumenes,” he said. Hephaestion’s voice was reduced to little more than a croak. There was no trace of haughty disdain now.
“Thought you were up at the front,” said Eumenes.
“Not much of the front left,” muttered Hephaestion.
“Well, where’s Alexander?”
“About fifty meters ahead.” Hephaestion gestured through the sand at the faint outlines of more horsemen. “Just past the advance guard. His intuition’s the only guide we’ve got left now.”
“Does his intuition say we’re getting closer?”
“Sure. Question is closer to what.”
Eumenes wondered if Hephaestion was trying to lull him into incriminating statements. Then he caught the look in the man’s eyes and realized that the chief marshal was way beyond artifice of any kind. Eumenes knew the feeling. So he did something he hadn’t done in a long time.
Spoke his mind.
“We might all die out here.”
Hephaestion pondered this. “True.”
“We’re lost in the middle of nowhere, and that’s all you can say?”‘
“What else would you have me say?” Hephaestion’s horse whinnied as sand lashed against it. “If this sandstorm doesn’t let up, we’re fucked anyway. We could pass within a few yards of the Oasis and never notice.”
“There are no roads,” said Eumenes, and the words echoed in his head. “No roads. And we’re down to our last dregs of water.”
“Sure. We’re in the hands of the gods now.”
“Maybe one doesn’t have to reach Siwah to hear the oracle’s answer.”
“We wouldn’t be the first to never make it. Cambyses—”
“Don’t talk to me about Cambyses,” snarled Eumenes. Anger rose in him like the hot wind that swirled around them. “Think about all the others who didn’t make it. Wayward travelers, lost caravans, seekers of infinity—and all too many found it. A good half of those who try to make Siwah never do.”
“I realize that,” said Hephaestion.
“Then why didn’t you say something to Alexander?”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I think we both know you have a little more influence.”
“Zeus, man. No one influences him. He follows one voice, and that’s his own. Both strength and Achilles’ heel, no? Who else would think to cut the Gordian knot? Who else would be so bold as to strike at Egypt without warning?”
“His father may have something to say about that if he ever gets the chance.”
Hephaestion laughed harshly. “I think Alexander thinks his real father’s somewhere out ahead of us.”
“Or above us,” said Eumenes, pointing straight up. Through the ceiling of sand overhead, fragments of blue sky were starting to appear. The storm was slackening, dropping as suddenly as it had come on that morning. Eumenes looked around, saw that the desert landscape around them was slowly becoming visible.
“Thank the gods,” said Hephaestion.
“That may be premature,” said Eumenes.
Hephaestion nodded. Both men looked around as the curtain of sand gradually fell back into the desert all about them. The sun began to beat back down upon them with relentless heat. Its light revealed that there were scarcely a score left of what had once been a hundred-man expedition. Hephaestion and Eumenes spurred their spent horses forward to where the lead figure was riding. He didn’t turn around as they came up alongside him.
“Alexander,” said Hephaestion.
Alexander didn’t answer.
“My prince,” said Eumenes.
Still he said nothing. Didn’t look at them either. Hephaestion looked alarmed—reached out to take his shoulder.
“The crows,” said Alexander suddenly. Hephaestion’s hand dropped back to his side. He looked around, confused.
“I don’t follow—”
“The crows,” hissed Alexander. Eumenes looked at Alexander’s sand-covered face—looked out along his field of vision, looked all the way toward sand-smeared horizon. He blinked. Alexander’s eyes were better than his.
And then he saw it.
“Birds,” he muttered.
“They’re crows,” said Alexander.
“Crows,” said Hephaestion. “Of course.”
“The oasis,” said Eumenes. “Thanks be to Zeus.”
“Now at last I’ll hear what He has to say,” said Alexander.
He led them in toward Siwah.
“So this is the hub around which it all turns, eh?”
Matthias pulled himself up onto the deck to join Lugorix and Barsine. She shot him an annoyed look, pushed past him, and began climbing back down the ladder. Matthias looked at Lugorix, shrugged.
“What’s bugging her?” he asked.
“You,” replied Lugorix. “I think she wanted to enjoy the view in peace.”
Against the setting sun, it was quite a spectacle. They were still a good half mile off the shoreline itself, beyond which stretched the first layer of Athenian skyline—a sprawl of towers and monuments that put those which had stood at Alcibiadia to shame. Lugorix had never imagined a city could be so large. Each one of the buildings looked like it would dwarf his entire village.
“And that’s only the Piraeus,” said Matthias.
“Pir-a-what?”
“The harbor-city.”
The Xerxes was maneuvering among the smaller boats of the harbor now: an armada of fishing skiffs, pleasure yachts and transports. Off in the deeper harbor were vast grain freighters—one of them attended by a huge contraption that reared from the water like some mechanical beast. Crewmembers turned winches to send a long clanking arm swinging out over the docks, then lowered its far end onto the deck of the ship where other workers began to manhandle the containers positioned atop it.
“What the hell is that?” said Lugorix.
“They call it a crane,” replied Matthias. “It’s loading that freighter.”
“Why do they need such a device?”
“I guess they don’t. But it helps save time.”
“But how much time did they spend building that thing?” asked Lugorix. He sensed he was missing the point, but now they were rounding a promontory that blocked the strange machine from sight. Torches hung from many of the ships around them, for it was getting increasingly hard to see amidst the looming dusk. The wind blowing from the shore carried the smell of cooking fires. Lugorix suspected that Barsine had timed their arrival precisely. Had they reached Athens during the daytime, everyone would have been able to see them. Had they shown up in the dead of the night, they might have triggered a false alarm on the part of the Athenian defenses. As it was, they were probably being witnessed by only a few of the ships at anchor, but they’d still been recognized by those who manned the sea-gate. Lugorix had the sense that it wasn’t even one of the main entrances—he could see great glowing arches of lights off to the east that perhaps served that function. Those arches grew ever fainter as the boat headed into the far recesses of the harbor.
“Up ahead,” said Matthias, pointing.
Lugorix followed the direction of his arm. They were coming in toward one of the docks. It was somewhat ramshackle—it almost looked abandoned, but there were figures standing
on it, holding lanterns. Damitra—or maybe it was Barsine—maneuvered the boat alongside, and the men on the dock threw down ropes. Lugorix and Matthias got busy securing them when another man leapt down onto the boat.
“Who’s the captain here?” he asked in a nasally voice. His hair was carefully coiffed, his robes were of the finest silk and he was drenched in perfume. The dolphin medallion of an Athenian harbor-master hung about his neck, and he looked at Lugorix and Matthias as though they were the scum of the earth.
“The captain’s me,” said Barsine as she climbed up onto the deck. “Who are you?”
The man was obviously taken aback. Greeks weren’t like Gauls, Lugorix realized. They didn’t permit their women much power outside of the house. So to have a mere teenager commanding a boat that could rival the most advanced prototypes the Athenian navy could field—no wonder the man was looking like the whole thing was some kind of strange joke.
“I’m Callias,” he said. “Harbor-master for this section of the docks. Your papers, please.”
“Papers?”
“Yes, papers. To secure a berth in Athens. You do have them, don’t you?”
“There must be some misunderstanding,” said Barsine. “We were told that we didn’t need them.” As she said this, a couple more of the men on the dock stepped down onto the boat. Lugorix belatedly realized that they were armed, with swords under their cloaks. They flanked Callias, who stood there with a puzzled-verging-on-annoyed expression on his face.
“If you lack papers, then you lack authorization to be in this harbor.”
“And yet here we are,” said Barsine. “How do you think we did that?”
“Clearly you’ve infiltrated our defenses,” replied Callias.
“Clearly you’re a fool,” said Barsine. “No one gets into this city without being permitted. The postern gate let us through because they were expecting us. How is it that you’re not?” Lugorix was starting to realize she had a limited sense of tact—one more trait that seemed to be endemic to nobility. Callias’ face darkened and a vein on his forehead began to pulse.
“Have it your way,” he said. “I’m impounding your vessel. Seize them.” One of his guards started forward but—
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