Kineas interrupted her without intending it. ‘This is Achilles’ choice?’ he asked. ‘If I go east, I will live a short life, but a glorious one? And all the world will know my name?’
She smiled, and it was an ill smile, the sort that terrified men. ‘Do not interrupt me,’ she said. ‘Hubris has many forms.’
Kineas stood in silence.
‘If you go east, your life will be short, and no one but your friends and your enemies will know your name.’
Kineas nodded. ‘It seems like an easy choice,’ he said.
The goddess smiled. She kissed his brow . . .
He awoke to ponder the meaning of the first dream - a true one, he was sure. He needed Kam Baqca to interpret it, but it occurred to him that Helladius was not such a fool as he sometimes acted. The second dream needed no interpretation.
Kineas arose with the kiss of the goddess still lingering on his forehead and a sense of well-being, a very different mood from the day before. The sun was shining on the sand of the hippodrome. And down the hall, Sitalkes sat up in his bed and Coenus asked for a book, and the mood of the barracks changed as if the sun had come inside. Indeed, Kineas wondered if men were simpler creatures than he had supposed, that a day of sunshine could so change their mood, or serve to mend wounded men who had abandoned hope and turned to the wall, expecting to die. Men recovered in the citadel, and in their homes, as if the touch of the sun on their skin carried the healing of the Lord of the Silver Bow.
Kineas had a morning meeting arranged with the Athenian captains in his role as the acting archon, but well before that he donned his second-best tunic and a light chlamys and slipped out of the barracks alone. He purchased a cup of fruit juice from a stall in the agora, ate a seed cake in front of a jeweller’s stall, purchased a fine gold ring for Srayanka and then climbed the steps of the temple of Apollo just as the morning prayer to the sun was finished.
Kineas waited until the last of the singers were clear of the vestry before he approached the priest, and he was surprised to see the young Sakje girl walking with the maidens.
The priest was putting away his shawl, examining the fine wool for cleanliness as he folded it.
‘Helladius,’ Kineas said. ‘The Lord of the Silver Bow has seen fit to restore the sun.’
Helladius nodded. ‘My lord withholds his anger.’
Kineas raised an eyebrow. ‘Anger?’
Helladius shrugged. ‘Who can know the thoughts of the gods?’ he said. ‘But I imagine that my lord was less than pleased at the unburied bodies at the Ford of the River God and withheld the sun, just as the Lord of Horses sent his waters to cover the death at his ford.’
Kineas nodded slowly. His mother and his uncles had been such believers - those who saw the hands of the gods in everything. ‘It might be as you say,’ he admitted.
‘Or not,’ said Helladius. ‘I commit no hubris. What brings you here to honour my morning prayers?’
‘Who is the Sakje girl?’ Kineas asked.
‘Her father was a priest - a great seer, despite being a barbarian. His daughter is always welcome here.’ Helladius smiled at her retreating back.
‘You knew Kam Baqca?’ Kineas asked.
‘Of course!’ Helladius said. ‘He travelled widely. He wintered here with us on several occasions.’ He took Kineas’s arm and led him into the temple.
‘I think of Kam Baqca as a woman,’ Kineas said.
‘We knew him before he made that sacrifice,’ Helladius said, and then shook his head. ‘I don’t think you came here to discuss a barbarian shaman, no matter how worthy.’
‘I have a dream,’ Kineas said.
‘You have powerful dreams, Archon. Indeed, I saw when the Sakje treated you as a priest.’ Helladius turned and began to walk towards the temple garden. ‘Come, let us walk together.’
Kineas fell in beside him. ‘Yes. The gods have always seen fit to provide me with strong dreams.’
Helladius nodded. ‘It is a great gift, but I feel the gods’ will towards you, and it is strong. I don’t need to be a priest to tell you that the interest of the gods is not always a blessing.’ He gave a half grin. ‘The poets and playwrights seem to be in agreement on that point.’
Kineas stopped and looked at the priest as if seeing him for the first time. Helladius was hardly a humble man, and the wry humour he had just showed was not his public face.
Helladius raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you receive more than dreams, Archon? Does the will of the gods come to you awake? Or the voices of the dead?’
Kineas rubbed his chin. ‘You make my head spin, priest!’ He looked around the quiet temple. ‘I do not - how can I say this - I am not aware of other messages from the gods. But perhaps I do not pay attention properly. Tell me what you mean.’
Helladius rubbed his chin. ‘Listen, Archon. You have priestly powers. I have seen this happen elsewhere - among the Medes it is common. Not every man with priestly powers becomes a priest. Do you know of all the types of divination?’
Kineas shook his head. He felt like a schoolboy. His tutor had taught him about divination. ‘There are three types, I think.’
‘You were tutored by a follower of Plato? Not a Pythagorean, I hope. There are as many types of divination as there are birds in the air, but I will tell you a little of the three main types so that you may be on your guard.’ His voice took on a professional tone. ‘My father taught me that there are three types of divination. There is natural divination - the will of the gods shown in the flight of birds, for example. I perform this right every day. Or perhaps in the entrails of a sacrifice, such as I performed for you in the field. Yes? Then there is oracular divination - the will of the gods spoken directly through an oracle. These can be difficult to interpret - rhymes, archaic words, often they sound like nonsense or leave the hearer more confused by a riddle than ever he was by the question. And finally, there is the divination of dreams - the will of the gods spoken through the gates of horn into our sleeping minds.’ Helladius shrugged. ‘The dead may also speak in any of these ways, or rather, we may divine their speech. For instance, there is the kledon, where a god - or the dead - may speak through the mouth of a bystander, or even through a crowd, so that a priest may hear the speech of the god in random utterings.’ He smiled. ‘I am waxing pedantic, I fear. Tell me what you dreamed.’
Kineas told him his dream about his dead friends.
Helladius shook his head. ‘I have seldom had such a strong dream myself,’ he said in irritation. ‘I see why the barbarians treat you as a priest. And you have had this dream twice?’
Kineas nodded. ‘Or more.’
Helladius furrowed his brow. ‘More?’
Kineas looked away, as if suddenly interested in the mosaics of the god that covered the interior walls of the temple garden. He didn’t want to say that he had had the dream every night since the attack on Srayanka. Or that he had heard voices in the mouths of other men - the kledon.
Helladius rubbed his hands together. ‘It seems possible to me,’ he said carefully, ‘that the dead of the great battle wish to be buried. And they speak through your old friend.’
Kineas nodded. ‘I wondered. But I cannot arrange the burial of ten thousand corpses - even if I could call on the labour of every slave in this city. And today it seemed to me that Kleisthenes was offering me a gift, if only I had the wit to take it.’
Helladius nodded. ‘My first interpretation is the obvious one. I am sorry to say that I cannot dismiss it just because its achievement is impossible - the gods make great demands. On the other hand, your thought about the gift is interesting. I shall pray, and wait on you later in the day.’
Kineas bowed. ‘Thank you for your help, Helladius.’
The priest walked with him to the top of the steps. ‘The former archon never came to the temple without fifty soldiers and a bushel of scrolls containing new orders and taxes,’ he said. ‘I wish you were staying.’
Kineas shook his head. ‘I meant what I said,
Helladius. It would start well. But in a year I would make myself king, or you would demand it of me.’
Helladius stood at the top of the steps, his pale blue robes blowing in the August wind. ‘May I advise you, my lord?’ he asked, and then, taking a nod for permission, he carried on. ‘Men like you - it grows. The voices come more often, and the dead haunt harder.’ He shrugged, as if embarrassed to admit even this much.
‘What can I do?’ Kineas asked.
Helladius shook his head. ‘Obey the will of the gods,’ he said.
Kineas nodded slowly. ‘I do, to the best of my ability.’
‘That is why you would have made us a great king,’ Helladius said. He waited until Kineas was halfway down the steps, just even with the stele for Nicomedes. ‘The gods love you!’ he called, so that every man in the market on the temple steps heard him.
Kineas let a smile wrinkle his mouth. He didn’t answer openly. Quietly, to the stele of Nicomedes, he said, ‘The gods loved Oedipus, too.’ He shook his head at Helladius. To no one at all, he murmured, ‘Look how that turned out.’
5
His first official meeting of the morning was with the Athenian captains. He unfolded the ivory stool and took it outside to the sands of the hippodrome so that he could watch the morning drills while he heard the captains, and Niceas and Philokles stood on either side of him. The admiral of the allied fleet, Demostrate, stood to hand. He was a native of Pantecapaeum, a wealthy merchant, a former pirate and a pillar of the alliance that had defeated Macedon. And like Kineas, he knew that the war was not over.
The Athenian captains were cautious and deeply respectful, which made him smile.
‘Archon,’ their spokesman, Cleander, began, ‘the blessings of all the gods upon your city and your house.’ Cleander knew Kineas of old - they had shared a tutor during early boyhood. But he seemed to feign ignorance, either from respect or fear.
Kineas inclined his head, feeling like an imposter or a play-actor. ‘Welcome to Olbia, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘May Apollo and Athena and all the gods bless your venture here and your journey home.’
They exchanged platitudes, religious and otherwise, for several minutes before Cleander got down to business.
‘We know how hard the war has been on your city,’ he said carefully.
Kineas fingered his jaw. ‘Yes,’ he said.
Cleander glanced at his companions. They were powerful men, the captains of Athens’s grain ships, with large investments in their cargoes, even though none of them was an owner.
‘We ask - respectfully - whether sufficient cargoes to fill our ships will be gathered before the end of the sailing season.’ Cleander flicked a glance at the citadel, which loomed behind Kineas. Do you have enough grain to feed Athens? That was the real question.
Kineas nodded. ‘The war has slowed the flow of grain from the sea of grass,’ he said. ‘Many of the farmers had to leave their farms when the Macedonians advanced. And the allies needed grain to feed their army and to feed the horses of the Sakje.’ This oblique hint - just the lightest suggestion of an alliance between the Euxine cities and the Sakje - caused a rustle among the Athenian captains. ‘Despite this, I am confident that we will raise enough grain to fill your holds. The main harvest will not be in for a month. Your eyes must have told you that the war never came here - that our fields are full of grain, as are the fields on both banks of the river as far north as a boat will float. The grain coming to market now is last fall’s grain, whose sale was interrupted by early storms and the rumour of war. It will trickle in, but the trickle will become a rush after the feast of Demeter.’
Demostrate cleared his throat, and then smiled when he had their attention. ‘All the grain from the Borysthenes will come here to Olbia,’ he said. ‘And my city, Pantecapaeum, will have all the grain from the north that is brought down the Tanais river into the Bay of the Salmon. We are gathering our cargoes even now.’
Cleander smiled, as did the other captains. ‘That is good news indeed. But a month is a long time for our ships to sit idle at wharves. Can you arrange for the grain to come more quickly? In past years, we have filled our ships before the feast of Demeter.’ His tone carried the conviction that for the grain fleet of Athens, no favour was too small.
Kineas locked eyes with Cleander. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There is not enough grain to fill your holds now.’
Cleander spread his hands. ‘Archon, we are not fools. Even now, your market sells grain to the barbarians who camp north of the market - allies from the war. And you buy grain yourself. Send them home, and let us buy the grain. Athens needs the grain - right now.’
Now Kineas smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Cleander, but I think I know more about what Athens needs than you. Athens needs a steady, strong ally on the Euxine, and she needs Alexander kept in his place - not looming over the sea of grass and all the eastern trade. My army needs to eat.’
‘But our ships sit idle,’ Cleander said. ‘Perhaps,’ and he smiled like a man of the world, ‘perhaps you would prefer to sell us some of your private store of grain? You’ve been purchasing it for weeks.’
Kineas appeared to consider this for a moment. ‘That is the city’s grain, not my own. Or rather, the army’s grain, purchased from the sale of the army’s share of the loot of our victory.’
‘Which you could now sell to us at a profit,’ Cleander said.
‘Except that I need that grain to feed the army,’ Kineas countered.
‘The army is home,’ Cleander said. ‘The need for grain is past.’
Kineas frowned. It was deliberate - he meant to intimidate, and he did. All the Athenian captains stepped back.
‘You are in danger of telling me my business, Cleander,’ Kineas said. ‘I need that grain. And ...’ he paused for effect, ‘I need your ships.’
Cleander choked.
Kineas smiled and stood up. ‘Cleander. Don’t be a fool. I was born and bred in Athens and I would never harm her or her grain fleet.’
Cleander gave a sly smile. ‘I knew who you were before I left Athens,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘Your Athenian birth might serve only to make you a worse tyrant. Think of Alcibiades.’ He reached into his cloak and produced a scroll. ‘I have a letter for you.’
Kineas frowned. ‘From Lycurgus?’ he asked. It was his faction, and Demosthenes’, that had exiled him and arranged for his service to Olbia.
Cleander shook his head. ‘From Phocion,’ he said. Phocion was Athens’s greatest living soldier. As a general, he had defeated Philip of Macedon, Thebes, Sparta - he was one of the finest soldiers in the world. And he was a friend of Alexander. Kineas had learned his swordsmanship at Phocion’s hands.
He took the letter with something close to reverence.
Cleander laughed. ‘Your father and Phocion were the leaders of the faction that favoured Alexander,’ he said. ‘Imagine! And now you’ve destroyed a Macedonian army!’
Kineas shrugged. ‘Phocion fought Philip, and they were guest friends,’ Kineas said.
Cleander gave a wry smile. ‘What would Polyeuctas say?’
Kineas grinned. Their tutor Polyeuctas, a pupil of Plato, had never ceased to harp on the evils of unfettered Macedonian power - and on the treason of Alcibiades. Despite being a venal man who took too many bribes, he had been a good teacher and an able politician. ‘I think about him all the time,’ Kineas said.
‘And then we heard you were dead,’ Cleander said.
‘Pah! Not so dead,’ Kineas said, and they embraced. ‘Now that I seem less the foreign tyrant, perhaps you would care to lease your ships to me for a month,’ he said. ‘I have a great deal of Macedonian gold at my disposal.’
He outlined his proposition and the Athenian captains began to haggle - he was offering them good money for their time and adding to the value of their cargoes as well, but they saw further margin for profit, and the risk to their ships was real.
Cleander attempted to demand a reduced tax on grain at the dock, but
Kineas wouldn’t budge. The grain tax was the city’s greatest revenue, but the possibility of loading large cargoes of the purest Euxine fish sauce fresh from the Bay of Salmon and the guarantee of escort from the navarch of Pantecapaeum sealed the deal. Cleander offered his hand, and they all shook.
‘I hate transporting horses,’ Cleander said, and the other captains agreed.
‘I’m worried about the depth of water at the entrance to Lake Maeotis,’ said another.
‘Gentlemen,’ Kineas said, rising from his ivory chair, ‘those are professional problems, and I expect you to resolve them. We are agreed?’
Cleander shrugged. ‘You drive a hard bargain - like an Athenian.’
Kineas laughed and they retired. Kineas grinned at Diodorus, who grinned back.
‘You win the benevolent despot award,’ Diodorus said. ‘Played to perfection. I’ll get you a mask and you can play all the tyrant roles in the theatre.’
‘I’ll settle for a cup of wine,’ Kineas said.
His second official meeting of the morning was with Leon, Nicomedes’ former slave. Leon waited for him in the portico of the barracks, leaning against one of the carved wooden columns and watching while the Athenian captains haggled. Indeed, he had gone inside and tasted the soup that simmered on the hearth, added a spice and brushed Kineas’s cloak before arranging it neatly over the armour stand while he waited. Kineas caught his eye several times in an attempt to apologize, but Leon smiled wryly each time and found himself another small chore.
When Diodorus had brought Kineas a cup of wine and departed to see to some horse training, Leon finally stepped forward. ‘Archon,’ he said. ‘I greet you.’
Kineas rose from the ivory stool and grasped his hand. ‘Free man Leon,’ he said. ‘Citizen, if I understand yesterday’s assembly!’ The assembly had moved to make all two hundred of the army’s freed slaves into citizens, less a patriotic gift than an acknowledgement that the holes in the phalanx and the economic life of the city needed to be closed up immediately.
Leon smiled. He was dressed in an elegant tunic, a fine piece of wool with a narrow green stripe at the bottom edge. It was a valuable garment, but it was also one he had owned when he was a slave. ‘Nicomedes left me half his fortune,’ he said without preamble.
Tyrant: Storm of Arrows Page 7