Storm of arrows t-2

by Christian Cameron

  Just to the north, a tributary ran down out of the Sogdian hills into the Jaxartes. The stream bed was nearly dry with mid-summer, and forage parties had cleared every stick of burnable brush and every leaf of green forage, so that the stream bed looked like an open mine. Packed into the gully were six thousand blank-eyed prisoners leashed by short ropes to stakes driven deep into the sandy soil. Lining the sides of the gully were soldiers — some Macedonian veterans, and some of the more recent Sogdian recruits. The Sogdians, most of them, were related to the men in the gully.

  Alexander gave a sign and all the men, Macedonian and Bactrian, set to work in the mass slaughter of six thousand prisoners. For the most part, the victims waited fatalistically, although here and there men struggled, either panicked into a last resistance or too stubborn to go down without a fight. Their executioners approached with dripping swords and dispatched them. Those who struggled took the longest to die, and those who bowed their heads to the blade went fast.

  Alexander watched for as long as it took a thousand men to die.

  ‘I don’t want any more mistakes,’ he said. ‘Nor do I wish to see any softness.’ The evening air stank of blood, as if the army was butchering oxen for meat. ‘You will all watch until these rebels are dead. Then you may dismiss.’

  He turned on his heel and walked away, followed by Hephaestion and Craterus. Neither man walked with his accustomed swagger.

  Alexander turned before he had gone ten steps. ‘Eumenes!’ he called, and the lone Greek on his command staff came quickly.

  In his tent, he snapped his fingers for wine.

  ‘I worry that we are teaching the rebels not to surrender,’ Eumenes said.

  Alexander sat heavily on his couch and swirled the wine in his cup. ‘I worry about the same thing, but I had to make an example.’

  ‘For Spitamenes?’ Hephaestion asked, and Alexander shook his head while he narrowed his eyes.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘For this Scythian queen, Zarina. And for my own Macedonians.’ He turned to Eumenes. ‘You have all the survivors from Pharnuches’ column isolated?’

  ‘Yes, majesty.’ Eumenes could feel the lion’s rage from across the room, like the heat from a bonfire.

  ‘I considered having them executed with the rebels,’ Alexander said. ‘But that seemed to send the wrong message. I’m still thinking about it. Tell them from me that if I hear a word of this disaster from the army, I will have one man in every file killed. If I hear more, I’ll kill them all.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Understand me?’ he said after a moment. ‘I command it.’ He looked at Eumenes. ‘And we lost our Amazons. Spitamenes must be having quite a laugh at us.’

  Eumenes avoided his eyes. ‘I do not think it was Spitamenes who ambushed Pharnuches.’

  Hephaestion spluttered on his wine. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Don’t be foolish. I interrogated some of the survivors myself.’

  Eumenes was tired to death of Hephaestion, so he wasn’t as careful as he ought to have been. ‘Really? And did any of them mention the enemy had Greek cavalry?’

  ‘What’s this?’ Alexander asked, his voice harsh as an executioner’s sword.

  Hephaestion shrugged. ‘Diomedes, the surviving Companion, said he fought a Greek. I think the man’s deranged.’

  Eumenes shook his head. Hephaestion glared at him. Eumenes ignored the favourite and looked at the king. ‘Diomedes says that the whole thing was a rescue of the Amazons, and it was done by Dahae and Greeks.’ Daring, he added, ‘I asked Kleisthenes to help me with the questioning. He thinks that the best-armoured of the enemy cavalry were Sauromatae, who we haven’t encountered before.’

  ‘By my father’s thunder,’ Alexander cursed. ‘The king of the Sauromatae sits in my camp and eats my food and his warriors serve Spitamenes! Send for Pharasmenes!’ To Eumenes he said, ‘I curse the loss of the Amazons. They were something a man could hold in his hand. Some visible proof of our conquests, like elephants. Something to show.’

  Hephaestion flushed.

  Alexander gave a half-smile. ‘I want them back. Or replaced with others as fine. If I have to take the army across the Jaxartes, I will.’

  ‘Not, I think, the best use of our assets,’ Eumenes murmured.

  ‘You are not indispensable, Greek. I command here. I have crushed the rebels and retaken all our forts.’ Alexander looked off into the distance. ‘When I break this Queen Zarina, there will be Amazons for every man in the army.’

  Eumenes knew the storm was coming. He raised his head and met it square on. ‘You will find it almost impossible to raise more mercenaries, ’ he said.

  ‘Greek soldiers are like snow in the mountains,’ Alexander said contemptuously.

  Eumenes wouldn’t back down. ‘Every satrap is raising an army. The lesson of Parmenion has not been lost. And we are a long way from Greece, majesty. We don’t pay the most, and we kill them like cattle. A thousand with Pharnuches, two thousand in the Jaxartes forts — and those are just our most recent losses.’

  ‘The Thessalians are on the verge of mutiny,’ Craterus put in. ‘Thankless bastards.’ Bitterly, he said, ‘And young Ptolemy says the phalanxes aren’t much better.’

  Eumenes looked around. ‘Thankless? They were our very best cavalry. ’

  ‘But they loved Parmenion better than they loved me,’ Alexander said. ‘Best to send them home.’

  ‘And replace them with what?’ Craterus said. ‘More Persians?’

  ‘Bactrians. Sogdians. These are not soft-handed Persians. These are men of war, like our Macedonians. Mountain men, like us.’ Alexander used much the same voice he would use in gentling a child.

  Craterus raised his voice. ‘Ares’ balls, Alexander! Don’t fool yourself. They’re fucking Persians! Orientals! They’re counting the hours until they stab us all in our sleep!’

  Eumenes fought back a smile. Craterus was speaking his lines as if they had been written for him, and he, not Eumenes, would now suffer the wrath of the king.

  But Alexander surprised them all by remaining calm. ‘I understand your concern, Craterus — and yours, Eumenes. But I must have cavalry for this war, and to leave the Sogdians unemployed would be to invite them to join my enemies.’ He put his leg up. He’d received an arrow through the leg — a clean wound, but it kept weeping pus and yesterday a bone fragment had emerged. It made the king feel mortal and fallible.

  Eumenes exhaled slowly. ‘May we at least secure Marakanda behind us before we cross the Jaxartes?’ he asked.

  Alexander nodded. ‘I’ll take a flying column myself.’ He glanced at Hephaestion, seemed on the edge of saying something and then shook his head. ‘No, it will have to be me — another disaster like the one on the Oxus and the whole fabric will start to unweave. I’ll be gone two weeks. Spitamenes hasn’t the stomach to make a stand — he’ll break the siege. If I am fast enough, I’ll catch him. If not, I’ll come back and we’ll try to wrong-foot the barbarians and have a go at the Massagetae.’ He gave them a smile that was meant to be reassuring. ‘She’ll have Amazons.’

  24

  The next morning brought Kineas news of another side to his wedding feast. Words had been spoken and blows exchanged, and there was anger in the air — sidelong glances, trouble on the horse lines, voices raised.

  Kineas listened to the story from Ataelus, who had a bad cut on his arm, and watched the men and women behind Ataelus spreading the gossip with their eyes. The prodromoi were a tight-knit group who saw themselves as the elite of the whole force. Ataelus was turning them into a clan of his own — a process about which Srayanka had warned him. Kineas had learned enough about Scythian politics to know that weak leaders lost followers to strong leaders, and that even when a clan had a great leader, some men and women would drift away to greener pastures.

  ‘Garait — for kissing this woman,’ Ataelus said. ‘Derva of the Sauromatae? You know her?’

  Kineas shook his head, caught in ignorance of his troops. ‘No,’ he said.

  Ataelu
s shook his head in turn. ‘Derva was paradatam to Aurvant of the Sauromatae. But she was kissing Garait.’ He shrugged and winced, as the wound in his shoulder hurt him. ‘So Aurvant is for going to Upazan, who is his chief.’

  Srayanka came up behind her husband and put her hands on her hips. ‘Not a good story, Ataelus,’ she said in Sakje.

  He bowed his head, but said, ‘These young people are my people. Derva has denied her paradatam for the required number of days.’

  ‘And then what happened?’ Kineas asked.

  Ataelus frowned. ‘Upazan and Garait for shouting,’ he said in Greek. He met Kineas’s eye. ‘Upazan hits Garait, and Leon hits Upazan. Upazan draws a sword. Cuts at Garait. I step in to stop foolish boy-talk and get this.’ He gestured with shame at his wound. His bow arm was in a sling.

  ‘What does Leon have to do with this?’ Kineas asked, his temper fraying.

  Srayanka’s eyes narrowed fractionally and she shook her head. ‘Leon loves Mosva of the Sauromatae.’

  ‘I know that!’ Kineas said.

  ‘So does Upazan,’ Srayanka said, as she would speak to a not-very-bright child. ‘What do you want, Ataelus?’

  ‘I ask for killing Upazan,’ Ataelus said formally at the end of his testimony. ‘Man to man and horse to horse.’

  Kineas looked at Srayanka, who simply shook her head. ‘Am I your queen, Ataelus?’ she asked.

  Ataelus looked back and forth between Kineas and Srayanka. He had always made a point of his status as a Massagetae, not a Sakje. A visitor, not a subject. But he was thoroughly Kineas’s man — Kineas had made him. This, too, was Scythian politics.

  The day was hot, but there was an edge of something on the wind and lightning flashed out over the desert. Kineas leaned forward to speak, but Srayanka put a hand on his shoulder to stay him.

  Ataelus made a mute appeal to Kineas, and getting no response, he said, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Really? You are Sakje?’ She was relentless.

  ‘Yes,’ said Ataelus.

  Srayanka flashed a smile at Kineas. ‘As he has declared himself to us, he is subject to our justice.’ She nodded. ‘It would be bad manners to allow you to fight Lot’s sister’s son. Bring me this Garait.’

  Garait was brought forward, his braids carefully plaited, in his best tunic.

  ‘How many horses do you have, Garait?’ Srayanka asked.

  ‘I have twenty horses of my own,’ he answered in Sakje, but his pride was audible to every person in the tent. Twenty was an excellent score for a man so young, but of course he had had two years of war to collect them. ‘No ponies. No horses-for-meat. Twelve Thessalians, tall and strong. Four Getae ponies fit for any work. Four of our own horses for riding.’

  Srayanka nodded. ‘And what is Derva’s bride price?’

  Garait shrugged. ‘I do not know,’ he said.

  Srayanka looked at Kineas. ‘You trust me to handle this?’ she asked him in Greek.

  ‘You do know the customs better than I,’ Kineas said.

  ‘I will speak to Prince Lot. In the meantime,’ she turned back to Garait, ‘you are forbidden to be within twenty horse-lengths of her. You may not speak to Upazan, nor accept or deliver a challenge. In every case, you will refer him to me.’

  ‘Yes, lady.’ Garait nodded, the equivalent of a deep bow among Persians. Then she summoned Leon, who was suspiciously close by, and also very clean and in his best tunic. He looked as if he had a major bruise forming around his left eye, his dark skin almost purple in the sun.

  ‘Do you intend to wed Mosva?’ she asked.

  The black man nodded gravely. ‘If she’ll have me,’ he said.

  ‘Arrange a bride price and pay it,’ she said. ‘And be quick about it. Your flirtation is hurting us, Leon.’

  Leon smiled. ‘I’m not usually slow to close a deal,’ he said. ‘I had only thought to wait until the campaign was over.’

  ‘Listen, Numidian, if I were to offer you advice, I’d say this. Learn her bride price tonight. Make talk with Lot — ask obliquely. Buy the horses you need and picket them with his herd, and steal Mosva from her tent and put her in yours. Do it now.’

  Leon bowed. ‘I live to serve you, lady,’ he said.

  But Srayanka looked troubled.

  When they were gone, Kineas turned to Diodorus. ‘This is what comes of too much time idle. I want more patrols, south towards Alexander and east along our march route. And a scout — not Ataelus, he’s hurt — east, looking for waterholes and fodder. We need to move.’

  Diodorus scratched under his beard — a beard that was showing a surprising number of grey hairs. ‘You know that we bumped into some of Alexander’s scouts three days back, down by the Oxus.’

  Kineas had heard as much in the last rush of feast preparations. The encounter had been two days’ ride to the south — not close enough to threaten his camp, but close enough to get his attention. ‘I know. Get the scouts out. Most of our wounded are able to ride. I’d like to be out of this camp in two days.’

  Diodorus nodded. ‘Can’t be too soon.’

  Diodorus and Parshtaevalt organized a string of running patrols well to the south, covering a crescent of possible approaches between the Macedonians, the Persians and their camp. With the help of Lot’s Sauromatae, they had plenty of warriors to cover the patrols and the rotation helped relieve the punishing toll of ten thousand horses on the local grass, as well as the boredom. Kineas and Lot and Srayanka had much to arrange before they could make the final push over the Sogdian desert to join the Scythian muster.

  The next day, Diodorus and Ataelus pushed the eastern patrols out farther, clearing their route to their next fixed camp. They needed grass and water and a path free of enemies. It took a great deal of scouting.

  On the second day after the feast, Kineas summoned the officers and clan leaders to council in the cool of the afternoon. Then he sat with Leon, calculating supplies and fodder, and getting answers he did not like.

  Diodorus arrived in camp at midday, well before he was expected. He had a patrol of Olbians — his own troop, with twenty iron-faced Keltoi surrounding a group of dusty riders who appeared at first to be prisoners. Kineas began to approach and Diodorus waved him off, so Kineas went to the shade of the felt awning projecting from the rear of Srayanka’s wagon and poured himself a little wine. He poured more for Diodorus as he came in.

  ‘This will cut the dust,’ Kineas said.

  ‘I’m bringing trouble,’ Diodorus said. ‘Did you see who I brought in?’

  ‘Upazan?’ Kineas said.

  ‘The very same. Riding south with a war party. Not in our scout rotation. And frankly, he needs a hiding. He’s a bully and he’s bad for the discipline we’ve built among the Sakje.’

  Kineas shrugged. ‘Bring him.’

  He sent Samahe for Srayanka. She came with both children and Sappho, and they all took seats on the carpets of the tent. By the time they were settled, Upazan was brought in.

  He stood straight. His face had the natural sullenness of the adolescent, more out of place on an adult. He wore a magnificent coat of bronze scales plated in gold, and wore a golden boar atop his gold-covered bronze helmet.

  Kineas nodded. ‘I greet you, Upazan. May I serve you wine?’

  ‘I want no wine,’ Upazan said. ‘I want to ride free. Blood will flow for this insult.’

  Kineas nodded and turned to Leon. ‘Send Sitalkes for Prince Lot, with my respectful wish that he will come and help me deal with Upazan.’

  Leon nodded and left.

  Turning to Upazan, Kineas shrugged. ‘You spurn my courtesy, so I will waste no more time on it. You left camp without permission-’

  ‘I am Upazan of the Sauromatae, and I need no permission, Greek. I may ride where I please, raid where I please. Release me, or there will be blood.’

  Kineas sipped his own wine and then walked up close to the young man. Upazan was a finger’s-width taller, but they were of a size. Kineas stepped in close. ‘Whose blood, yearling? Y
ou cannot mean to threaten to bleed on me.’

  The roar of laughter did nothing to quench Upazan’s temper. Even his own followers laughed.

  Srayanka handed Lita to Sappho and rose. ‘Upazan, it is agreed by all the people who follow Kineas that they will accept his guidance on matters of war. Prince Lot has accepted. I have accepted.’

  Upazan shook his head. ‘I have not accepted. I have not seen any of his great skills.’ He spat and smiled, uncowed by Kineas’s nearness. ‘I will fight you, old man. Then perhaps I will take your horses. I need horses to buy the love of a grass priestess.’

  ‘She does not want you, Upazan,’ Srayanka said as Lot pushed in under the canopy.

  ‘It is of little matter to me. I will have her.’ Upazan raised his chin.

  Srayanka spoke slowly and clearly. ‘The woman you are speaking of is your mother’s sister’s daughter. She is not for you. She will go to be Leon’s wife.’

  Lot interrupted. ‘Your time with the Medes has made you forgetful of our ways, boy. No woman goes anywhere against her will.’ Lot gave a grim smile. ‘She might hurt you.’

  Upazan looked around. ‘You are all against me. Very well.’ He crossed his arms. He had dignity for a man so young and with so much anger. ‘Will you fight me, foreigner?’

  Leon shot to his feet. ‘I will fight you.’

  Kineas handed his wine cup to Leon. ‘This is a matter of discipline, not of revenge,’ he said to Leon. And then to Upazan, ‘Are you ready? The stakes are that when I win, you will swear to honour my orders. If you win, you will still follow my orders.’

  Upazan spat. ‘If I win, I will be king of the Sakje,’ he said.

  Kineas shook his head. ‘It doesn’t work that way, boy. Are you ready?’

  ‘Are you ready to be a widow?’ Upazan asked Srayanka.

  Kineas laughed. ‘No one is going to die, boy. Ready?’

  For the first time, Upazan hesitated — a tiny crack in his facade. ‘Ready?’ he asked.

  ‘The time is now.’ Kineas took off his baldric and handed it to Leon, stripped his tunic over his head and stood naked.