Tyrant: Storm of Arrows

by Christian Cameron

  The man nodded and straightened slightly - not exactly attention, but a better slouch. He held out his hand and Andronicus dropped a coin in it.

  ‘Nice that all these fucking foreigners are so ready with their cash,’ the sentry said in Persian to his mate. He was contemptuous.

  Andronicus grinned and nodded like a stupid barbarian. He’d served four years in Persia. He refused to let the palace grooms take their horses. Instead, he told off four of his troopers to take the horses to the stables. The other men followed Kineas inside, where slaves took their cloaks and sandals and washed their feet.

  The floors were tiled and heated. The interior of the citadel bore no more relation to the outside than the citadel-palace in Olbia. But the tyrant of Olbia hadn’t run to heated floors and mosaics. And slaves. Kineas had seldom seen so many slaves devoted to personal service. Most of them were women, and all were pretty, and naked, or next to it. The mosaics were not subtle.

  Like a gymnasium, the palace grew warmer as one got further in, and the decorations more costly, more colourful, from beige and white tiles in the outer receiving rooms and barracks to red and purple and glitteringly erotic mosaics in the heart of the castle, a throne room warmer than blood with naked men and women glistening with oil waiting on a dozen courtiers and the queen herself.

  She was not naked. She was dressed like a Persian matron, her hair dressed with ropes of pearls and lapis, her limbs and breasts well covered. Amidst a plethora of sensual and aesthetic possibilities, hers was the body that called out to be watched, to be caressed with the eye. Even fully clothed, modest, apparently unadorned, she was beautiful. Her proportions were worthy of a statue - from her delicately arched feet to her intelligent eyes and straight Greek nose.

  ‘Welcome, Kineas of Athens,’ she said. ‘I am Banugul.’

  She had an appraising look, as if he was a horse and she was a Sakje. She crossed her legs and her Median trousers of silk rode up one leg, revealing an ankle and a bangle. ‘Your men worship you as a god,’ she said. Her intonation suggested that such worship was probably misplaced.

  Kineas grinned, although it was the kind of grin he wore when he was fighting. ‘They only worship me from afar. In person, there’s a great deal of dispute.’

  She was smaller than he had thought at first impression. She leaned her chin on a small fist, a man’s gesture that suited her. ‘Your men give the impression of excellent discipline. What do they dispute?’

  ‘My godhood. We are Greeks, my lady. We worship with a great deal of argument.’ He looked around, suggesting with body language that she might offer him a seat.

  She sat up straight. Her shoulders were square and her bearing had dignity. ‘I know Alexander,’ she said. She smiled, and one manicured eyebrow rose a fraction. Her choice of Greek words was perfect, and her facial expression said, I slept with Alexander and I mean you to know it, but I am not crude - and I was not impressed. It was an enormous burden of communication for a fractionally raised eyebrow and two Greek words. She handled it easily.

  Kineas’s opinion of her intellect rose considerably. ‘He says he is a god,’ Kineas noted with a certain reservation.

  ‘Hmm,’ she answered. ‘He never claimed to me to be a god. He claimed gods in his ancestors, but we all have gods among our ancestors, do we not?’

  Kineas nodded.

  ‘You are not impressed with Alexander?’ she asked.

  ‘I served him for some years,’ Kineas responded. ‘He is the best general I have ever seen - and yet, a headstrong man capable of error and vice.’

  ‘You rebuke me like a philosopher,’ she said. ‘And like a sophist, you have not answered my question.’

  ‘Yes,’ Kineas said. ‘I was impressed.’ He paused, and thought, Why not? ‘I loved him,’ Kineas said.

  ‘But he spurned you, did he not?’ Banugul smiled, and the smile informed her face - her smile said that happiness was not the normal state of her being, from her green eyes to her pointed chin. Her smile took the sting from her words - she meant no insult, nor was she drawing a comparison. She, too, had been spurned. ‘I understand that he sent all his Greeks away.’

  ‘You are well informed,’ Kineas said.

  ‘And now you will make war on him?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Kineas answered.

  She nodded. ‘Would you care to sit down?’ she asked. ‘I thought you might be the ordinary kind of soldier, who boasts and ogles my girls. I apologize for my poor hospitality.’ She waved a hand and a pair of slaves brought a chair.

  Kineas sat.

  ‘What could I offer you to fight my father in the spring instead of Alexander?’ she asked. She motioned at a slave, a small hand with almond nails, and a silver cup of wine appeared at Kineas’s elbow. He sipped it. It was excellent.

  ‘Nothing, my lady, will sway me from my plans for the spring,’ Kineas said. ‘When the ground is hard, we’ll march.’

  She nodded.

  ‘What did Alexander give you when he sent you away?’ she asked.

  ‘Gold,’ Kineas said.

  ‘You had the better bargain,’ she said. ‘I got a small piece of the Land of Wolves, and no dogs of my own to protect it. What do you think of my guards?’

  Kineas sipped wine. ‘They are adequate,’ he said. He glanced at her captain of the guard, a Thessalian she had not bothered to introduce.

  ‘I have seldom heard anyone damned with such faint praise,’ she said, and laughed, her chin tilted back and her throat dancing in the torchlight. ‘Do you read?’ she asked.

  Kineas was startled. ‘Yes,’ he answered. He was determined to stop speaking in monosyllables, but she was robbing him of his wits. He felt as if he was wrestling with a master, missing every hold. ‘I’m reading the new Aristotle now.’ He winced inwardly at the boyishness of the boast.

  She leaned forward, a wolf ready to spring. ‘You have the new Aristotle?’ she asked.

  ‘I had a copy scribed before I left Olbia. It came out on the Athenian grain ships.’ He grinned at her eagerness. ‘If you have a scribe, I can lend it to you for copying.’

  ‘Hah!’ she laughed. ‘No work on my taxes this winter!’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘Do you like singing?’ she asked.

  ‘I like conversation that is not all interrogation,’ he said carefully.

  Her chin went back on her hand. ‘I do apologize, but we’re a little short of polite company here in Hyrkania. You’re from Athens! You’re only the tenth Athenian I’ve ever met.’ She shrugged. ‘Men expect women to ask all the questions and carry the conversation. Especially beautiful women.’

  Kineas smiled. ‘I like singing. I enjoy reading. I’m an excellent soldier and I will not fight a spring campaign on your behalf.’ He rolled his shoulders. ‘I will see that your fiefdom is protected all winter, and perhaps we can negotiate a garrison or a few officers to help your levies.’

  She nodded. ‘Strictly business. Very well.’ She sat up. ‘You are used to dealing with women, aren’t you?’ she asked. ‘Alexander isn’t.’

  Kineas shrugged. ‘My mother wasn’t Olympias,’ he said. Alexander’s mother was a byword in Greece for cruelty and manipulation. He rose to his feet.

  She rose gracefully, despite having taken two cups of wine in less than an hour. ‘I look forward to hosting you again. I burn for your copy of Aristotle.’

  That made him grin. ‘If you want it, you will have to wait while I finish it,’ he said, and bowed.

  She nodded her head and motioned at a slave to escort him. ‘Winter in Hyrkania is long and arduous,’ she said. ‘You’ll have time to read it many times. I hope that I can provide you with some equally worthy amusements.’

  The next afternoon, Kineas was sitting with Leon and Eumenes in the smoky tunnel of his wooden megaron, reading scrolls by the light of twenty profligate oil lamps, with Niceas reclining, cursing the smoke and muttering advice.

  A gentle tapping against the logs of the hall heralded Lycurgus, who came in through the layers
of woollen blankets that covered the door. Greek military architecture wasn’t ready for the cold of highland Hyrkania.

  ‘Patrols just picked up a soldier,’ he said. ‘Ten local horsemen as guards. An Athenian gentleman. I expected that you’d want to see him.’

  Kineas leaned back so far that his stool creaked. ‘Anything to free me from paperwork,’ he said. He went over to the hearth, waving a hand in front of his face and trying not to breathe. He started rebuilding the fire, trying to find the combination of wood and draught that would stop the incessant smoke.

  ‘Leosthenes of Athens,’ Lycurgus announced, returning.

  Kineas had an actual flame going. He brushed off Leon’s attempts to take over - the boy reverted to being a house slave too easily - and coaxed the flame, adding twigs. What he wanted was the tube from his campaign kit, but he didn’t have it. He leaned forward to blow on the fire. Leon blew on it from the other direction. Then both men started coughing and had to turn away to the cold air beyond the fire. Kineas took a lungful of clean air and snatched a hollow quill from the table. He leaned close enough to the embers to scorch his eyebrows and breathed out. The embers began to make the noise - the low moan of wood on the edge of ignition. Both men redoubled their efforts and suddenly the whole pit sprang into flame, as if by magic. Light drove the winter shadows into the corners of the hall, and a rush of heat forced Kineas to take a step back.

  ‘You don’t look as if you eat babies,’ said a voice in aristocratic Attic Greek.

  ‘Hard to eat them if you can’t cook them,’ Niceas said.

  Leosthenes and Kineas gripped forearms. Kineas smiled, and the other Athenian beamed. Leosthenes was of middle height, well proportioned, with curly black hair and green eyes like a cat. He sat on a corner of the table without invitation. ‘The famous Kineas of Athens,’ he said dramatically.

  Kineas rubbed his beard, discovered that he had singed it and winced. He shrugged. ‘Where in Hades did you come from, child?’

  ‘Three years’ service in Alexander’s army and you call me a child? But suit yourself - I have to deal with all those years of hero worship.’ He turned to the other men. ‘Kineas was Phocion’s star pupil - the best swordsman, the best officer. We all loved him. But he went off to serve Alexander.’ Leosthenes grinned. ‘When I was old enough, I followed you.’

  ‘By all the gods, it is good to see you, Leo.’ Kineas couldn’t get the grin off his face. ‘Have you been home?’

  ‘Home?’ Leosthenes asked. He shook his head, and flushed. ‘I haven’t been home. I’ve been to Parthia and back.’

  ‘Are you rich, then?’ Kineas asked.

  ‘You know how Alexander uses mercenaries!’ Leosthenes said bitterly. ‘Second-line troops. Garrisons. And the fool never really conquers anywhere, so he always leaves it to the garrisons to do all the nasty bits.’ The younger man shrugged and Kineas could see that in fact most of his youth was gone. There was a set to his shoulders and hollows in his eyes that Kineas hadn’t seen at a glance. ‘You remember Arbela?’

  Kineas nodded.

  ‘Of course you do!’ The younger man turned to the other officers. ‘You were a hero, leading the Greek horse. I was with the hoplites in the second line. We never engaged. Then I spent six months chasing tribesman with Parmenion.’

  ‘How’d you get here?’ Niceas asked.

  ‘I was in the garrison at Ecbatana,’ Leo said. ‘Shit’s coming down there. I gathered a few like-minded friends and we ran.’

  Kineas looked thoughtful. ‘Deserted,’ he said flatly.

  ‘It’s going to be war between Parmenion and Alexander,’ Leo said. ‘Not battlefield war - stab-in-the-back war. Parmenion sent me with a message to the king, and I thought I was going to be executed. So - yes. I deserted. With some friends. We took service with one of the Hyrkanian kings - these hills and the lowlands to the south are full of men from Alexander’s armies.’

  Kineas caught himself rubbing his beard. ‘Is this a social visit, Leo?’ he asked.

  Leosthenes had the grace to look embarrassed. ‘No,’ he said.

  Niceas gave a snort.

  Kineas turned to Eumenes. ‘Go and get Philokles and Diodorus. Ask Sitalkes to bring us wine.’ He turned to Niceas. ‘I need to buy a slave,’ he said, with irritation. Slaves annoyed him, but he was just too busy to fetch his own wine and get the fire burning.

  ‘Have you met your employer?’ Leosthenes asked.

  He had to notice the intake of breath throughout the room.

  ‘I get it - you’ve all met her.’ He laughed.

  ‘Don’t be crude, Leo.’ Kineas smiled, but his voice was hard. ‘I like her.’

  Diodorus pushed through the curtains, followed by Philokles, toting a sack of scrolls. ‘We’ve all met her,’ he said wryly. ‘Oh, my. Look who it is! The nursery must be emptying into the phalanx.’

  Kineas rose. ‘Leosthenes, son of Craterus of Athens. An old friend.’ Kineas was grinning, which wasn’t his normal look these days. ‘More of an old student, really,’ he said with a glint in his eye.

  Leosthenes grinned back. ‘I can take you, sword to sword. Any time, old man.’

  Kineas shook his head. ‘I’ve a Persian - Darius - you have to best first. He’s probably better than me.’ He grinned. ‘In fact, I’d like to see it.’

  Philokles poured himself wine, and then poured wine for the others and distributed it. The local potters made good cups that fitted the hand, shaped like a woman’s breast with a nipple instead of a base. The joke was that you couldn’t put the cup down - you had to drink your wine. Or at least, that was one of the jokes.

  Sitalkes pushed in through the blankets.

  ‘Would you be kind enough to mull us some hot wine, lad?’ Kineas asked.

  The Getae boy went to work without complaint. It was a matter of months since he’d been freed, and he was still happy to serve - if asked politely.

  ‘So - you’ve met her,’ Leosthenes asked again.

  ‘Yes,’ said Kineas, into a silence as thick as the smoke had been.

  ‘And?’ the Athenian persisted.

  Kineas shrugged. ‘She’s beautiful. Intelligent. Educated.’

  ‘Evil incarnate,’ Leosthenes said in a gentle voice.

  Kineas shrugged again. He looked around the room. The smoke had mostly cleared.

  ‘You didn’t fuck her, did you?’ said Niceas. ‘I listened to all that griping and you didn’t fall for her.’

  Kineas shook his head wearily. ‘My private life is mine. I am not about to endanger this expedition to satisfy my own lusts.’

  Philokles made a face, rose to his feet and bowed. ‘I salute you, philosopher! And apologize. I, for one, thought that you would fall straight into her toils.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ Kineas said. ‘Yes, I’ve met her. I wasn’t shown any particular sensuality, but I was made to appreciate her intelligence. She wants us to fight a campaign in the spring. She can pay very well. I’m tempted.’

  ‘My employer is the target,’ Leosthenes said. ‘I’m here to buy you off.’

  Kineas stopped himself from rubbing his beard. ‘What?’

  ‘She wants southern Hyrkania. Her recent and much-lamented husband held all the land as far as Parthia - she lost a lot of it when she murdered her husband and stayed loyal to Alexander.’ Leosthenes shrugged. ‘I serve Artabazus - Barsine’s father. Alexander’s satrap, not that his writ runs here. He’s a canny old fox. All he has to do is survive until Parmenion kills off Alexander and he’ll be king.’

  Kineas nodded, aware that Artabazus had been named as the target of the spring campaign and unwilling to give that much away.

  ‘And he’s told us a lot about her. She’s not Greek. She’s more like one of the Persian demons - some kind of monster.’ Leosthenes leaned forward, pressing his point.

  Kineas sat back. ‘Child, you put me in mind of the tale of the fox and the grapes.’

  Leosthenes laughed aloud, his head back. ‘I think you have it
right, at that.’ He went on laughing. ‘Persians never read Aesop. They ought to!’ He had to clutch his hands over his stomach.

  Kineas stood. ‘Stay for dinner, child. But don’t press me on this. I keep my bargains, and I wouldn’t sit here and banter with your Persian fox were I ten times more a mercenary.’ He nodded, glanced at Niceas. ‘If it weren’t you, I’d be tempted to crucify the messenger to make my point.’

  Leosthenes nodded soberly. ‘I made much the same point to my employer. Luckily, I am me.’

  ‘This time,’ Kineas said. ‘Next time, you might be mistaken for someone else.’

  After Leosthenes and his ten Hyrkanian nobles had ridden for home in the dark, Kineas tugged on his cloak. Niceas and Philokles were still on their couches.

  ‘I’m for the palace,’ Kineas said.

  ‘I thought you weren’t smitten,’ Philokles said.

  ‘I’m not smitten. But I’ll wager that she has excellent sources in this camp, or at least in the agora outside our gate, and she’ll know in an hour what’s been offered. I want to make sure she got the right message. And double the guards. I don’t like anything about this place.’ Kineas finished the last wine in his cup and tipped it up on the sideboard. Was he smitten? He certainly had the same urges as any soldier.

  Philokles nodded agreement. ‘I’d like your permission to try and place someone in the palace,’ he said.

  ‘Slave?’ Kineas asked.

  ‘Best you not know,’ Philokles said. Kineas could see how uncomfortable this conversation made his friend. He desisted with a grunt.

  The ride up the hill in blowing snow and the warmth of the rooms with their hypocaust floors couldn’t have been a sharper contrast. Kineas shed his cloak and sandals in the outer rooms and passed, clad only in his tunic, to the inner sanctum, where the queen sat in state surrounded by her slaves and courtiers.

  ‘You had a visitor,’ she said cheerfully, as soon as he entered.

  ‘A very old friend,’ he said. ‘I taught him to swing a sword.’

  Banugul rose, took wine from a naked woman whose pubic hair was shaved to resemble the Greek letter alpha, and brought the cup to Kineas with her own hands. The smell of her caught at his breath - the hint of a smell, somewhere in the arch of his nose. A clean, delicate smell, like mint. Her head came to his shoulder, and from his advantage of height, he could see even more of her to admire. He raised his cup to her.