by Max Overton
"Slightly bitter aftertaste, perhaps? Maybe a mild twinge of pain in your guts?" Parates smiled and lifted his own cup again. "Probably too soon for your senses to be affected."
Scolices licked his lips and dropped his gaze to the cup, swirling the dregs of the wine. He raised his eyes and stared across the fire at the merchant. "You...you have...?" His hand shook and he put the cup down on a stool by his chair.
"Have what, Scolices? Poisoned your wine?" Parates grinned, his eyes sparkling in the firelight.
Scolices paled. He struggled to his feet, trembling hands tugging at the dagger in his belt. "You b...bastard," he stuttered. "I'll have your..."
Parates dropped his cup and sprang to his feet. His left fist cracked against the other man's jaw as his right hand locked onto Scolices' arm. He twisted hard and pushed.
Scolices gave a cry of pain and dropped the dagger, falling back into the chair, toppling over with it onto the floor. He lay whimpering and rubbing his wrist.
"I haven't poisoned you," Parates softly said. He stared down at Scolices, with a small smile on his face. "You don't believe me?" Parates stepped back and picked up Scolices' cup. He lifted it and drained the dregs before upending it and flinging it to the floor. Stifling a belch, he sat down again and stretched his legs to the fire.
Scolices slowly got up and picked up his dagger. He hesitated a moment then put it back in his belt. Righting the chair, he moved it further from Parates and sat down again. "Why...?" He cleared his throat. "Why did you say...?"
"That I poisoned you? I didn't, but you thought it likely. Now, why is that, I wonder?" Parates smiled and stared into the flames. "Perhaps because poison is easy. Easy, but hard to hide by its very nature."
"Women use poison."
Parates looked up sharply. "I hope you aren't calling me a woman," he said softly. "Women use it because little else is available to them. They aren't trained in the use of weapons." He turned back to his contemplation of the fire. "No, any fool can use poison. It's more difficult to cover one's tracks though. A slow poison is less certain but by the time it works the evidence has been cleared away. A swift one is surer but more likely to be detected. The cook, the food server, the supplier...all will be questioned. And they'll talk; you may be certain they'll be tortured."
"So you rule out poison..."
"I rule out nothing. However, such an action must be carefully considered." Parates sat in thought, his hands steepled in front of him. "A wedding gift perhaps," he mused. "Brought as if from someone close, the bringer disposed of immediately..."
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Chapter Twelve
The roar of excited crowds shattered the warmth of the autumn afternoon. Tirses led his small band of Scythian horsemen into the great stadium of Ekbatana at a full gallop. A dozen horsemen, astride extravagantly caparisoned mounts, circled the arena, shouting and waving their short double-curved bows above their heads before bringing the horses to an abrupt and dust-laden halt before the royal canopy.
Tirses leapt to the ground, strode forward a few paces and dropped to one knee, holding his bow out in front of him. He shouted a few phrases in the Massegetae tongue before rising to his feet and striking a pose, hand on hip.
Alexander, sitting upright on a plain wooden stool in the shade of the royal canopy, leant over and whispered to Perdikkas who sat beside him on a cushioned chair.
The general looked around at the crowd of army officers and court officials and frowned. He beckoned to Nikometros, who stood to one side talking quietly to Iolatos, the king's equerry.
"Ah, Nikometros," exclaimed Alexander. "Just the man. What did Tirses say?"
Nikometros hesitated a moment to be sure of the translation. "He offers his bow to you as a token of loyal service, sir."
"Truly?" Alexander swiveled round and stared at the young Scythian. "I'm surprised. I thought these northern tribes to be fiercely independent."
"As indeed they are, sir," replied Nikometros. "However, the way he said it and his posture adds a...how shall I put it...a flavour, a distinction in meaning."
Alexander cocked his head on one side, his eyes sparkling. "How so?"
"There are levels of loyalty, sir." Nikometros paused, searching for suitably diplomatic phrases. "He pledges to fight your enemies but only to obey lawful commands. He offered this on one knee only, signifying homage to a friendly chief or king, not on both knees as he would to his own chief."
"Well said." Alexander nodded. "All men should behave with honour, even kings." He smiled. "Especially kings. One must always obey the laws of the gods, leading the people by example." He turned back to Tirses and rose to his feet. Raising one arm, hand outstretched, he thanked the Scythian then half turned his head toward Nikometros. "Translate for me, Niko," he said. "Thank him and tell him I am honoured by his service."
Nikometros stepped to the edge of the raised platform and called out to Tirses in a series of Massegetae phrases. Tirses frowned for a moment then abruptly smiled and nodded. He leapt up onto his horse and raised a fist in salute. At a shouted command, the Scythian horsemen wheeled and galloped off around the arena again. As they reached one end of the long, oval space, half of the riders stopped, letting the others continue on to the far end.
The far group paused and fitted small circular wooden shields to their left forearms. They dug their heels into their horse's sides and raced down the centre of the arena. The near group whipped out their bows and, their mounts already in motion, fitted long arrows as they rapidly closed the gap. Crouching low over the necks of their horses, they loosed a volley of arrows and then another before the first ones found their targets.
The horsemen with shields raised them in a swift motion, the arrows thudding into the wood. The shields-men brought their mounts to a halt in the centre of the arena. The archers turned and galloped past them, then around in a large circle, releasing further volleys of arrows as they did so. The arrows, with one exception, buried themselves in the round shields. One, however, glanced off the rim of a shield and struck one of the Scythians in the arm. The man yelled and fell off his horse.
The crowd of watching soldiers laughed and jeered at the unfortunate man. The wounded man clambered to his feet with a shrug. He gripped the shaft of the arrow with his free hand and snapped it, binding the jagged end with a scrap of cloth before vaulting up onto his gelding again. The jeers and catcalls of the watching army turned to cheering.
Under the royal canopy Alexander clapped his hands in appreciation as he leaned over to Perdikkas. "A pity Hephaestion cannot be here," Alexander murmured. "He would love this." To Nikometros he added, "Formidable accuracy for horseback archers."
"How is he today, Alexander?" Perdikkas asked.
"A little better, I think." Alexander smiled and signalled for the Scythians to depart the arena. "I've told him often enough not to drink the local water. It's his own fault if he now starves on the slops the doctor feeds him."
Perdikkas nodded and looked around, searching the knot of familiar faces around the king. He found who he was looking for and beckoned. "Alexander," he said, "I didn't want to bother you with this earlier but the Persian governor of Celicia has been embezzling the taxes." He stared up at the man who approached, his lips drawing back in a grimace of distaste. "Eumenes, tell him."
Eumenes sauntered up to the royal canopy. Slight in figure, with dark hair drawn back and elegantly coiffed, his clothing reflected a man meticulous in his grooming. When he spoke, it was with a clear Greek accent, unmarred by the almost ubiquitous Macedonian slur.
"Alexander." Eumenes gave a slight bow then glared at Perdikkas before averting his eyes. "It's true. The satrap Merabarses fled with this year's taxes."
Alexander maintained a neutral expression. "Thank you, Eumenes," he replied. "Have Peukestas deal with it. Replace the governor with a Macedonian."
Perdikkas smiled at Eumenes, baring his teeth. "I believe Hephaestion knows of a loyal man, Alexander.
I'm sure Eumenes would be happy to discuss the selection with him as soon as he's recovered."
Eumenes scowled, flashing Perdikkas a look of pure hatred. With an effort, he smoothed his taut features as he bowed to the king. "I'll be happy to do so, Alexander," he agreed. "May I enquire after his health?"
"He's better. Thank you Eumenes," replied the king. "The doctor's regime is having an effect."
"I'm pleased to hear it," responded Eumenes. "I'll call on him this evening." He bowed again and withdrew.
Nikometros edged out earshot of Alexander and murmured to Iolatos. "Am I missing something here?"
Iolatos shot Nikometros a hard look then nodded. "I forgot you've been absent from court." He looked around carefully before continuing. "Eumenes is Alexander's private secretary. Quite a competent field officer too, for all he's an effete southern Greek. Well, Eumenes and Hephaestion quarreled. Alexander had to step in to keep the peace."
Nikometros frowned. "It seemed more."
Iolatos nodded. "After the Gedrosian crossing...you know about Gedrosia?"
"The march through the desert?" Nikometros asked. "Yes, I heard."
"The money supply ran out and Alexander needed to pay the army. He asked all his friends for a loan. Eumenes pretended poverty...stupid of him." Iolatos shook his head. "Alexander is a generous man and it annoyed him that Eumenes was mean-spirited. So he set fire to his tent."
Nikometros gaped. "The king?"
Iolatos grinned. "Well, he arranged for it to be done. He wanted to see what Eumenes saved from the fire. Over a thousand talents of silver, an enormous fortune." He looked around again then, reassured that everyone was watching a display of javelin throwing, he resumed his explanation.
"Eumenes was sure the fire was Hephaestion's doing. Later, at Susa, during a festival, Hephaestion ordered a visiting musician billeted at Eumenion's house, without asking him. They quarreled openly."
"What did Alexander do?"
"Then, nothing," replied Iolatos. "But by the time the army reached Opis it was too late. Both parties felt slighted and factions grew up around them. The quarrel may even have contributed to the army's mutiny."
The javelin display ended to a burst of applause from the army and a more restrained scattering of clapping from the watching officers and nobles. The squad trooped from the arena as a body of athletes entered. They immediately started their warm up exercises.
"After the mutiny it nearly flared into a brawl," Iolatos continued. "Weapons were drawn and it was only the timely arrival of the king that prevented blood being spilt."
"What happened?"
"Alexander was really angry. He reminded both Hephaestion and Eumenes that they were nothing without him and that whoever resumed the feud would be condemned to death. The king meant it too, though you could see it cost him dearly to be so harsh with Hephaestion. He ordered them to resolve their dispute and make up. Eumenes was willing enough to do so but Hephaestion was reluctant. Still, for love of Alexander they both did it."
"But the tension remains?"
"Just so. Oh, they're both polite and formal when they meet but the dispute hasn't gone away. It's just hidden well."
The athletes in the stadium lined up for a foot race, naked, oiled and bronzed. With a shout, they leapt from the line and sped off down the arena, followed by the cheers of the crowd.
"Eumenes did it for fear of Alexander, of course," Iolatos said matter-of-factly before turning his attention to the ring. "Oh, yes, see Nikometros, Hippias is sure to win!"
In the stadium, the runners rounded the mark at the far end and raced for the finish, a spare fair-haired youth drawing away from the others.
"And Hephaestion?" asked Nikometros.
"He did it because Alexander asked him to but you could see it hurt him that the king didn't take his side." Iolatos nodded his head when the youth arrived at the finish line. "There, I knew he would win. I should have put money on him."
The youth Hippias waved to the crowd, a big grin on his face. Then he ran lightly up to the royal box and saluted his king, still naked and covered in dust. To the roars of the crowd, Alexander advanced to meet the youth then embraced him, kissing him lightly.
"Hephaestion thinks the king should value his friendship above mere statesmanship...well, sometimes Hephaestion can be a fool," growled Iolatos. "Anyone could see it hurt Alexander to hold his friend accountable but he had to do it."
"What about Perdikkas? It seems to me the general dislikes Eumenes too."
Iolatos shrugged. "Just court politics. Everyone is trying to win favour with the king. Perdikkas envies Hephaestion but hates Eumenes who has risen fast at court." He turned and stared at Nikometros. "You would do well to stay out of it."
Nikometros stood and watched as Hippias rejoined the other competitors. The men paired off and prepared for the wrestling contest. Hippias found himself pitted against a heavyset soldier who overtopped him by a head and shoulders. "How do you think he'll do?" Nikometros asked.
"Outclassed. He's a runner, not a wrestler."
"I meant Perdikkas."
"He's ambitious but he's risen as far as he can. As long as Hephaestion is Chiliarch, the most powerful man in the empire under Alexander, Perdikkas will never be more than a general." Iolatos pursed his lips and looked at Nikometros. "Be careful who you follow, my friend."
Nikometros met the other man's eye. "I serve the king," he said quietly.
In the dust, Hippias feinted then reached out and caught his opponent off balance. He twisted and threw the heavier man to the ground, dancing lightly out of the way of his opponent's flailing limbs.
"Good man." Iolatos murmured.
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Chapter Thirteen
Tomyra groaned and shifted uncomfortably on the huge padded couch in her private rooms. She wrapped her arms around her swollen belly and grimaced as Bithyia padded across the chamber with a look of concern on her face.
"How do women get through this torture, Bithyia?" she muttered.
"It's very natural, my lady," Bithyia calmly replied. "Draw on the strength of the Mother Goddess. It will pass soon enough."
"I cannot wait to rid myself of this burden."
Bithyia frowned. "It's still your child, my lady, even though it was put there by ..."
"Don't speak his name," hissed Tomyra. "It's bad enough I must carry that man's child to term. Don't bring ill luck by speaking his name. I cannot think why the Goddess put me through this."
"No doubt She has a purpose, my lady." Bithyia paused, a contented look on her face. "I, too, am with child."
Tomyra's eyes widened. "Does Timon know?"
"Not yet. I missed my moon but I'll wait until I'm sure."
"Do you...are you happy, Bithyia?"
Bithyia smiled. "Oh yes. Timon wants sons and I hope to present him with many."
"Then I'm happy for you." Tomyra shifted her weight and looked out at the grey autumn skies. "I cannot stand being confined, Bithyia. I want to be out riding, racing across the broad steppes without a care in the world. Instead, I sit in this dreary building..." Tomyra looked up and caught the other woman's eye. "All right, in this sumptuous palace, being waited on hand and foot." She laughed, Bithyia joining in.
"Are you hungry, my lady? Wedding presents pour in and many of them are food. I can offer you some delicious looking fruit from the trader's guild." Bithyia walked to a large trestle table along one wall and ran her hand over the many gifts and packages arrayed there. She lifted covers and peered at handwritten notes. "Or perhaps you would rather have some wine from the cellars of Eumenes, no less; or dried meat from Thracian ambassador; or sweetmeats from Ptolemy?"
"No wine," Tomyra groaned with a shudder. "It's been giving me awful indigestion lately. Perhaps something sweet or some nuts."
Bithyia ran her gaze over the table. "No nuts, my lady, unless you want me to go out and get some. There are sweet things though. Perhaps these from Ptolemy?" She p
icked up a small silver platter and walked to Tomyra. "A little fair-haired boy brought them an hour ago, despite the lord Ptolemy having brought that magnificent set of gold dishes himself." She shrugged. "Probably just an afterthought. Something from his table."
"What's in them? No apricots I hope. My bowels are disturbed enough without that. You know how they affect me."
Bithyia grinned. "Too early for apricots, my lady." She sniffed and poked at one of them with her finger. "Apple I think, with almonds." She dipped the tip of her finger into a small puddle of liquid on the tray then licked it. "Yes, definitely apple, with cinnamon." Bithyia offered the tray.
Tomyra took one of the rounded sweets and bit into it. She chewed and swallowed then put the rest onto the couch beside her, licking her fingers. "Flavoursome, but too sweet for me," she said. "Get me some water, will you please, Bithyia? It's left a strange taste in my mouth."
Bithyia put down the tray of sweetmeats and walked to the pitcher by the door. She hefted it and filled a cup with the clear liquid. Putting down the pitcher she started back toward Tomyra then stopped with a puzzled look on her face. "Forgive me, lady," she murmured, and sipped from the cup. She held the water in her mouth and looked around before darting to the gift table and spitting into a beautiful golden bowl. "My tongue is tingling," she muttered.
Tomyra looked up with an expression of concern. "Are you all right, Bithyia?" She pushed herself to her feet then stopped, one hand flying to her throat. She gagged and reeled for a moment before dropping back onto the couch. "I feel sick, Bithyia. My throat is burning." Tomyra looked around, her eyes wide. Then she retched violently, a thin rope of milky spittle drooling from her mouth as she doubled over.
"Poison," whispered Bithyia, letting the cup fall. "Poison!" she screamed, throwing herself at the couch. She grasped Tomyra's shoulders and threw her back on the couch, gasping as she saw her friend's pale face, with eyes rolling up in their sockets. She scrabbled at Tomyra's mouth, pulling her head to one side and stuck her finger down the other woman's throat.