His anger showed in his face. ‘You did not beat me badly enough—’ he said, and his voice was hard.
She raised her whip. ‘You serve a usurper, a tyrant who ordered you here to burn his own farmers. I owe you no courtesy at all. Because Coenus told me that you are a man of honour, I agreed to meet you. But hear me, Boeotian. My father would never have served a tyrant like Eumeles. Instead, he would have overthrown him. My uncles serve Ptolemy, who builds cities, and Seleucus, who liberates them. I judge you by the company you keep. To me, you are a mercenary who serves a rebel. Take my five days, or sail away. There is no bargain to be made here.’
Nikephoros shook his head. His anger had cooled. ‘So you already know,’ he said.
Coenus’s face was carefully blank.
Melitta took her cue from him. She said nothing. But suddenly hope soared in her.
Nikephoros sipped his wine. ‘Listen, lady. I expect no special treatment from you, but your request is unreasonable. To wait five days is to guarantee that I’m blockaded here. So I’ll offer three days, and no more.’ He addressed Coenus. ‘Be fair, Coenus.’
Coenus leaned forward. ‘Because if we keep you here five days,’ he said, ‘Satyrus’s fleet will be here.’ His voice cracked a little at the end – he could barely keep the smile off his face.
Nikephoros shrugged. ‘I can’t chance it. That boy moves fast. I got word this morning he’s at Heraklea with a fleet. I assume that you heard the same?’
He looked around, and his face filled with blood. This time he was angry. ‘You didn’t know!’ he said.
‘I know now,’ Melitta said. ‘T hree days has just become acceptable.’
Nikephoros spat. ‘This is not how embassies proceed. Coenus, I expected better of you.’
Coenus shrugged. ‘Neither you nor your herald has been threatened. You dickered over the days of truce. It all seems normal to me.’ He turned to Melitta. ‘Three days?’
Melitta nodded.
Nikephoros stood still.
‘Three days’ truce,’ Coenus intoned. ‘You may land up to fifty men at a time, and you may use the beach north of the old town to cook and eat.’
‘We want our camp!’ Nikephoros shot back.
Coenus shook his head. ‘No, Nikephoros. There is no question of that. Nor will we allow you to fortify a new place.’
Nikephoros shook his head. ‘No truce, then.’ He turned on his heel and walked away.
Coenus held up his hand for silence. Then he turned to Melitta. ‘You know what this means!’ he said quietly.
Melitta nodded. ‘Listen, Coenus. There are boats in the fort. Take one and a crew of Sindi – follow his ships out of the Bay of Salmon and run down for Heraklea. Tell my brother how it lies and we’ll have Leon back in no time.’ She looked around at her chiefs. ‘Satyrus must have a fleet.’
‘And here?’ Urvara asked. ‘What about us?’
Melitta nodded. ‘I think we went about this wrong,’ she said. ‘We’re Sakje. We leave the farmers to hold the fort – they know we’ll come back. We scatter into war bands, across the whole of the east country, and we make war our way, preying on the Sauromatae wherever we find them, acting as our own pickets for either invasion – Upazan or Eumeles. We harry whichever comes first. We concentrate if we can defeat a detachment, and otherwise we are like snowflakes on an eastern wind. Let them strike at the snow.’ She waved her whip at Nikephoros, who now stood still, half a stade along the beach, looking out to sea. ‘The farmers can protect their grain until my brother comes, surely.’
Urvara started to speak, but Coenus cut her off with an exclamation. ‘By the gods – the grain! Nikephoros is here for the grain! He must be poor.’
Melitta spat at the notion of a king who would steal grain from his own subjects.
Urvara’s eyes shone, reflecting the fire. ‘That is proper war,’ she said. ‘That is the war the people know.’
‘One day’s rest,’ Melitta said. ‘And then we ride.’ She turned to Coenus. ‘Will you go for my brother?’ she asked.
‘You can live without me?’ Coenus asked. His tone held mockery – whether of her or of himself she couldn’t reckon.
She chose to take his question at face value. ‘I need you,’ she said. ‘But no one is irreplaceable. Not even me. So go. Who will command my guard?’
‘Scopasis,’ Coenus said without hesitation. ‘He has a keen eye and a loyal heart. Don’t take his advice on military matters – he seeks glory.’
Melitta swatted her dearest advisor. ‘I know that!’ she said. She had tears in her eyes. She took Coenus’s hand and Nihmu’s. ‘Come back to me.’
Nihmu was looking out at the enemy fleet. ‘I can’t believe I am going to sea again,’ she said. ‘Bah.’ But she smiled. ‘We’ll come back,’ she said.
But Melitta was chilled to see that Nihmu would not meet her eye. ‘What have you seen?’ Melitta demanded.
‘Seen?’ Nihmu asked. She shook her head, still refusing to meet Melitta’s eye. ‘I no longer see. The spirit world is closed to me.’
Melitta put her hand on the woman’s shoulders. ‘No!’ she said. ‘I don’t believe it. What did you see?’
‘Nikephoros is coming back,’ Coenus said. ‘Look like a queen.’
Nikephoros stopped a horse-length away and tucked his thumbs in his sash. ‘T hree days,’ he said. He shrugged.
Melitta drew herself up against the weight of the armour on her shoulders. ‘T hree days,’ she said, as graciously as she could manage.
The Boeotian nodded. He turned to Coenus. ‘Your men will know where mine are lying,’ he said.
Coenus handed his wine cup to his queen. ‘I’m at your service, Strategos. Shall we get to it?’
Nikephoros didn’t smile. His face was closed and hard, and Melitta wondered what inner struggle had just transpired. She could feel his anger across the fire. She thought that she might have scored on him with her speech – but not in a way that would help her cause. And she could see that he loved his men.
She stood on the beach, in a light rain, watching as other Greeks came ashore. She continued to stand there as they gathered wood, as the first parties brought corpses down to the beach. She stood with Urvara as they watched a party bring a man who yet lived down the rocky path to the beach, and rowed him swiftly out to the boats.
And that night, Coenus and Nihmu sailed away on a triakonter, unmolested through the enemy fleet.
With the dawn, her army vanished into the spring fields and the new grass, searching for Upazan’s raiders, for ships full of enemies coming from the sea. Herself, she took her bodyguard, now swelled to twenty warriors with a hundred horses, and rode for the Hypanis. To see to Gardan’s family. And to raise the georgoi to defend themselves, because war was coming to her whole country.
19
Satyrus lay that night in the house that had been Kinon’s, and the old slave – Servilius – served him a superior breakfast of lentils cooked in wine and jugged hare. Then he sent another slave to his ship, to bring his men ashore.
He was still wiping the hare out of his moustache when the old slave came back to his elbow. ‘Your man,’ he said. Helios was there, dripping wet and nearly blue with cold.
‘You swam ashore,’ Satyrus said. He shook his head. ‘If you die, I freed you for nothing.’ He turned to the house slave. ‘Servilius, can you get him warm?’
The older man nodded. ‘Freed you, eh?’ he said. ‘Lucky man.’ His tone suggested that if he were freed, he wouldn’t squander his freedom by jumping into the water and swimming a stade to shore for his master. He managed this in one tilt of the head and a flat tone that no master could have found rebellious. ‘And there’s a visitor,’ he tossed over his shoulder, as he led Helios away into the house.
‘Clearly Dionysius took all the good slaves,’ Satyrus muttered, walking out into the courtyard. The last time he’d been here, it had been covered in blood – dead slaves who had been his friends, and dead men who’d tried to
kill him. The day he found out why men thought Philokles the Spartan was the avatar of Ares on earth.
At the gate he found a Persian mounted on a tall horse. He looked up at the man – who wore a long Persian coat against the cold, and was on one of the most beautiful horses he’d ever seen. ‘Yes?’ he asked.
The Persian slipped down from his charger’s back like a Sakje. He was handsome, even by Persian standards, and his smile filled his face. ‘No need to tell me your name, son of Kineas,’ he said.
‘You have the advantage of me,’ Satyrus answered. Then it struck him that this must be Diodorus’s messenger. ‘Do I know you?’ he asked.
‘I hope that you’ve heard my name once or twice,’ the Persian said. ‘I was your father’s friend.’
‘You are Darius?’ Satyrus said. ‘Leon speaks of you often!’
Darius embraced him. He wore scent, like most Persians, and his coat was made of a wool so soft that it was like rabbit fur. ‘It is about Leon I have come,’ he said.
Satyrus sat on a couch while Darius prowled the room, looking at the furnishings and cursing the worthlessness of slaves. ‘Mine are no better.’ Darius laughed. ‘The moment I’m away from my home, nothing is done. The horses don’t even foal when I leave.’
‘You’ve been serving with Diodorus?’ Satyrus asked.
Darius nodded. ‘All summer. No great battles, Son of Kineas, but a great deal of scouting, patrolling and some routing out of bandits. We earned our keep. Babylon is secure, and now Seleucus is laying siege to one of Demetrios’s forts in Syria. Diodorus finished his contract and left with Seleucus’s full permission. Indeed, I believe our troops will be fed as far as Phrygia.’
‘Where Antigonus is lord,’ Satyrus smiled.
‘Exactly. Where our troops may pillage as they please.’ Darius was a Persian lord – he had no care for the sufferings of Phrygian peasants. ‘He should be here in twenty days. If the weather holds as well as it has, perhaps half that. I have already waited three weeks here for you, and we set out together.’
Satyrus poured more wine. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting,’ he said.
Darius shook his head. ‘No – nothing to be concerned at. I am here to try a rescue of Leon. It is my – hmm – my speciality? To go unseen where other men do not go.’
Satyrus smiled at the richly dressed nobleman before him. ‘Lord Darius, I can’t imagine that you would go unnoticed anywhere.’
Darius laughed. ‘You see what I want you to see, son of Kineas. But thank you for your flattery. I think.’ He shook his head. ‘No more wine for me. I gather that you were present when Philokles died?’
Satyrus told him the story. By the end, he had tears in his eyes and the Persian cried. ‘He was the bravest of men,’ Darius said. ‘I honour him. Crax and Diodorus said to ask you of his end. Now – I do not want you to tell me anything of your plans. I may be taken. But I will ask this – where shall I meet you, if I recover Leon?’
Satyrus was pleased by the sheer confidence of the man. ‘I mean to strike for Olbia,’ he said.
‘You know your sister is loose in the high ground north of Tanais,’ Darius said.
‘She moves fast,’ Satyrus said. ‘But sooner or later, we must fight for Olbia and Pantecapaeum.’
Darius shook his head. ‘Eumenes – our Eumenes, the Olbian – he will have Olbia for you whenever you want it,’ he said. ‘He left us in the autumn to be archon.’
Satyrus had heard as much in Alexandria. ‘So?’
‘So – there’s little need for you to go to Olbia. And if you were to appear off Pantecapaeum in, say, ten days?’
‘Fifteen,’ Satyrus said. ‘I can’t be ready before that. And I need marines from Diodorus.’
Darius nodded. ‘So, say twenty-five days. I will be ready and then some.’
Satyrus raised an eyebrow. ‘You are that confident?’ he asked.
Darius had a curious facial tic – he could frown and smile at the same time, like a man who smelled something bad. ‘I would never offend the gods with such a phrase,’ he said. ‘But I will say that Pantecapaeum, like all the Euxine cities, has a glut of Persian slaves. And I would assume that you would free any man that I said had aided me – true?’
‘Of course,’ Satyrus said.
Darius shrugged. ‘Then the thing is as good as done. If you will appear off Pantecapaeum in twenty-five days from tomorrow, I will undertake to bring your uncle – my sworn brother – out to your fleet by late afternoon.’
‘But . . .’ Satyrus shook his head. ‘I want to know how.’
Darius got to his feet. ‘We’ll see.’ He shrugged. ‘To be honest, I don’t know myself.’
It was four days before his fleet arrived, and Darius had already slipped away on an Olbia-bound freighter carrying copper from Cyprus and empty earthenware amphorae for the grain trade. Satyrus had seen him go – a nondescript figure, like a prosperous slave factor or a lower-class Asian merchant. His confidence in the man increased.
It was the next day that Bias reported forty sail in the roadstead, and by dark he had sixty-eight warships filling the harbour. Bias was ready, and he stationed the Rhodians and the Alexandrians at one end of the mole, and put the pirates at the other end, separated by a powerful squadron of Heraklean ships. Every one of Nestor’s men was in the streets, and the first sign of pirate trouble was ruthlessly crushed, a message that was understood in every squadron.
In the morning, Satyrus met with all the captains in a warehouse – the only building that was big enough to keep them all out of the wind. There was no hearth, and the icy air got in through loose boards.
‘My army will be here in ten days,’ Satyrus said. ‘And our presence here won’t be a secret long. Demostrate – would you care to close the Bosporus to our enemy?’
‘Poseidon’s prick, lad. We had it closed from Byzantium!’ the old pirate said.
‘Rumour is that Eumeles has got a shipment of mercenaries and money coming from Athens,’ Satyrus said.
‘Now that’s worth knowing,’ Demostrate allowed. ‘We’ll find ’em.’
‘Abraham, I’d like you to take our ships and Lysimachos’s and visit the towns on the western shore – starting with Tomis. A day each – clear out any interlopers and do our part by our ally.’
Abraham might have wanted to sail with the pirates, but he didn’t show it. ‘At your service, Navarch,’ he said.
Panther of Rhodos waited until the command conference was over. There was shouting and dickering and the pirates had to make a special treaty about the expected plunder from Athens before one of the captains would sail. Panther watched them with contempt. ‘You kept us here,’ he said.
‘Your men won’t make trouble in Heraklea,’ Satyrus said.
Panther frowned. ‘My men get bored just as quickly as a pirate crew,’ he said.
‘Ten days,’ Satyrus returned.
Twelve days after Darius left, and no sign of Diodorus, even from the Heraklean scouts at the mountain passes. Abraham’s squadrons returned in high sprits. They’d met a pair of Pantecapaean triremes and taken them in a very one-sided fight off Tomis.
‘Calchus sends his regards,’ Abraham said. ‘I don’t think he knew what to do with me, but he was courteous enough, once I said I was from Lysimachos. And he dotes on Theron.’
Theron smiled. ‘I believe that I will retire to Tomis,’ he said. ‘I like it.’
They were still enjoying the triumph of clearing the west coast when Bias sent a slave to announce that Coenus had arrived. Satyrus had seldom spent a more uncomfortable half-hour than that one, waiting for news of his sister.
Coenus and Nihmu came in like lost relatives, escorted from the port by his friend Dionysius. Nihmu looked drained – her skin was grey and her hair lank. Coenus, on the other hand, looked like a man who had shed ten years of age. He fairly shone with health in the late-afternoon sun.
‘Satyrus,’ he said, taking his hands. ‘Your sister sends her love.’
‘
She is well!’ Satyrus said. He realized that he had been holding some part of his breath for an hour.
‘She will not hold back from war. She has had some hard times. But she is well, and she misses you. And she has made herself queen of the Assagatje.’
‘Marthax?’
‘Dead at her hand.’ Coenus shrugged. ‘To tell it thus is to make him seem a blackguard. Marthax died like a king, and the manner of his death made sure she would be queen.’
Satyrus turned to his captains. He caught Neiron’s eye, and Diokles’. ‘No more archers on Eumeles’ ships,’ he said. Then, to his aunt and uncle, he said, ‘Where is she now?’
Coenus shook his head. ‘No idea. Listen – I see you have a fleet. Let me tell my news as quickly as I may.’ He explained rapidly, and then explained again when Neiron provided a hastily drawn chart of the Euxine.
‘When I left, Eumeles’ general, Nikephoros, was in the Bay of Salmon. He was afraid you’d trap him there and end the war.’
‘Poseidon’s cock,’ Diokles muttered, and many of the other captains, Rhodian, Greek and Alexandrian, muttered too.
‘If Diodorus had been on time,’ Satyrus said, ‘the war would be over.’
Coenus laughed. ‘Sometimes your age shows, lad. War is all luck. There’s no use in whining about luck you didn’t have. Stick with the luck you do have. Tyche has given you a fleet and your sister an army.’
‘We need Diodorus,’ Satyrus insisted. ‘We need his men as marines. We can’t face Eumeles’ fleet without an edge.’
Coenus looked around. He knew most of Leon’s captains, and his eyes settled on Aekes. ‘And you, farmer? Do you need Diodorus’s men?’
Aekes shrugged. ‘Not for myself. But Satyrus has allies. We must wait for them. And they have no marines.’
‘Pirates,’ Panther spat.
Coenus looked around and laughed. ‘You mean you have more ships?’
Two days of feverish planning and Demostrate sailed in with most of his ships. He was in a foul mood when he came ashore.
‘I lost a pair of ships to one of Eumeles’ hundred-handed spawn – gods, it was Dios’s own fault, caught like a lubber in the fog. Where did Eumeles get these captains?’ The old man drank off a cup of neat wine and threw it against the wall, where it smashed. ‘But the worst of it is that the Athenian squadron got past us. Ten triremes and four troop ships, and all the cash.’
Tyrant: King of the Bosporus Page 33