Scythian Trilogy Book 3: Funeral in Babylon

by Max Overton

  "And tell Tomyra," added Timon.

  "I'm not sure that's a good idea. Not at present, anyway."

  Timon set his jaw. "You've got to tell, Tomyra. Immediately."

  "Tell me what?"

  Nikometros and Timon swung round to see Tomyra standing in the doorway, Bithyia beside her with Starissa in her arms.

  Nikometros sighed and got up, crossing over to his wife. He took his daughter from Bithyia and held her close, chucking her under her chin.

  "Tell me what, Niko?" asked Tomyra again. "What's this about?"

  "Parates."

  Tomyra turned an angry glare at Timon. "I suppose you've been filling my husband's head with your suspicions and innuendoes again. I thought we'd agreed to stop that."

  "Niko," growled Timon. "Tell her."

  "I'm not going to stay and hear that man slandered again. Give me Starissa, Niko. I'm going home."

  "Tomyra, wait." Nikometros hung onto his child and walked back to his couch. "Answer me one question and you can leave."

  Tomyra stared at her husband, her lips thin and nostrils flared. "Ask then."

  Nikometros paused, searching for the right words. "Tomyra, answer me as a priestess of the Great Goddess, not as a woman or as my wife. Can you do this?"

  Tomyra glared at him a moment longer then dropped her gaze. "I can," she said, a tinge of curiosity showing through.

  "Has the Goddess intimated to you in any way that Parates is to be trusted?"

  The silence dragged out. Starissa squirmed in Nikometros' arms and fought to be released.

  Mardes went over and took the child who stared up at his dark face. With a gurgling smile she reached up and pulled at his beard.

  "No," replied Tomyra at last. "In truth, the Goddess has told me nothing either way."

  Nikometros nodded slowly. "I know you miss your lands and your people, my love. I know too that Parates was a link with this past but he wasn't what he seemed."

  "Go on."

  "Only one person knew where Timon and I would be the other night when we were attacked."

  "Parates," whispered Tomyra.

  Nikometros nodded.

  "Scolices I can understand, Niko, but why Parates? What harm have we ever done him?"

  "Who can know what hurt, real or imagined, motivates him? I do know that we must guard against him. I intend to see Peukestas tomorrow and ask him to issue an arrest warrant. Alexander will sign it, I'm sure."

  Tomyra nodded. "I feel so foolish. I didn't think I could be fooled so easily." She looked at Timon and flushed. "Forgive me, Timon. I've done you a great wrong."

  Timon lowered his head in embarrassment, answering gruffly. "Nonsense, lady. He's a smooth talker. No doubt he'd fool me too, if I were in your place."

  "But he didn't, Timon. That's the point." Tomyra advanced and put her arms around the old soldier. "I thank you, my trusted and loyal friend."

  Nikometros coughed and hid a grin. "Well, fortune is smiling on us at last. A few more days and we can all be shed of this city. Timon and I march with the army, and the ladies have been granted passage on the fleet downriver, at least to the coast." He smiled at his friends. "All we need to make it perfect is for Mardes to be coming with us."

  Mardes smiled and handed Starissa back to her mother. "I regret I cannot do that, my friends. However, when Alexander returns in triumph, I'll come back to Babylon to see you."

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  Chapter Forty-One

  Alexander postponed the departure of the fleet next morning. Too weak to walk or ride, he was carried to the sacrifice and afterward conducted such business as was urgent from a couch beside his pool. In the afternoon he became tired and was carried over the river to the royal gardens, the King's Paradise, where he lay in the cool shade of the trees, listening only to the gentle sigh of the breezes and the splash of fountains. As night fell, the fever increased. He was carried back to the palace, to the Royal Bedchamber, where he spent the night in fitful sleep.

  Days passed and the king became visibly weaker. His generals, Perdikkas, Ptolemy and Peukestas, did what they could to relieve the king of any non-essential business, diverting petitioners and court officials. Alexander insisted on seeing Niarchos and Perdikkas every day though, discussing details of the fleet and army. Medios often came, just to gossip or to play at knucklebones. The king was always glad to see him, though he looked drawn and tired when he left.

  Kassandros stayed away from the court, not venturing from his lodgings. The Roman praefect, too, forsook the court and ventured out into the surrounding countryside, seemingly no longer interested in what went on in Babylon. Iollas, the king's cupbearer and brother of Kassandros, remained close to the king; ever ready with wine or cold spring water when Alexander thirsted.

  Nikometros decided to call on Ptolemy.

  "I'm concerned, sir. The king is sick and...and...I fear it may not be just a fever."

  Ptolemy looked up from his paperwork and stared searchingly at his son. "If not a fever, then what?"

  Nikometros looked away, his hand straying to the amulet of the Goddess circling his left arm. He took a deep breath and looked back at the general. "I think the king has been poisoned."

  Ptolemy pushed the chair back from the desk and stared at Nikometros. "By whom?"

  "Iollas, the king's cupbearer, and Caius Gracchus the Roman."

  "And why?"

  "Kassandros, brother to Iollas, hates the king. The Roman fears what will happen to his people if Alexander invades Italy."

  "You've seen them together?"

  "Yes sir."

  "How often did you see them together?" asked Ptolemy.

  "Only once sir. At the feast of Herakles, but Mardes--prince Mardesopryaxes, has seen them together on two other occasions."

  "When?"

  "About three weeks ago and just the other..."

  "Three weeks!" Ptolemy stared at his son. "You suspected these men of plotting to kill our king and you waited three weeks before reporting it?"

  "Sir, the prince only saw Kassandros and the Roman with another man. It was not until a few days ago that he confirmed the identity of that man as Iollas."

  "Even so, Nikometros," Ptolemy said with ice in his voice. "I would know why you wait so long to report it?"

  "I did, sir, to Perdikkas, about three days ago."

  Ptolemy sat silent for a few moments. "Perdikkas?" he muttered. "Why hasn't he said anything?" He stared at Nikometros again. "You're certain he understood?"

  "Yes sir. He said something about them being brothers and having much to talk about."

  "No doubt," Ptolemy remarked dryly. "However, Perdikkas is aware of the omens and the mood of the populace. It does no good to ignore these things." He tapped his fingers on the arm of his chair, his rugged, lined face creased with worry. He nodded and rose to his feet. "We shall tell the king ourselves."

  Ptolemy led the way across the palace to the river suites and approached the squires on guard outside the king's rooms. He talked quietly to them for a few moments then waited while his message was conveyed to the king. Minutes later, the squire returned and opened the door, ushering them inside.

  Alexander lay, wan and pale, on a couch beside the pool, a single linen sheet draped over him. Medios sat beside him, in the middle of a long and involved tale when Nikometros and Ptolemy entered. He looked up and grinned, beckoning Ptolemy over.

  "I say, Ptolemy old chap, listen to this." He turned back to Alexander. "As I was saying, it was at this point the girl turned to him in front of all the guests and said, as cool as you like, 'I'd rather marry your horse. At least he has brains as well as being well hung.'" Medios broke into guffaws of laughter, slapping his knees and nudging Alexander.

  The king smiled politely but made no comment.

  Ptolemy took advantage of a lull in the mirth as Medios drew breath, to interpose. "Alexander, I must talk with you. Alone."

  The king looked up at Ptolemy with curiosit
y. He glanced across at Nikometros, then back at Medios. "Leave us Medios."

  Medios frowned then got up and made an exaggerated bow to Alexander. "Your word is my command. I'll return later."

  "He means well, but he's awfully tiring," murmured Alexander after the door closed on Medios. "What was it you wanted to say?"

  Ptolemy looked around and saw a figure sitting on an embroidered cushion, leaning against a wall in the shadows. The figure, a youth in his late teens or perhaps early twenties, watched Alexander, an attentive expression on his beautiful face.

  "What about Bagoas?"

  Alexander smiled at the youth. "Bagoas stays. There is nothing you cannot say in front of him."

  Ptolemy nodded. "Nikometros has something you should hear."

  Nikometros saluted his king and gave a succinct outline of his suspicions. When he finished, Ptolemy added that Perdikkas had been told but had apparently done nothing.

  Alexander thought for a moment. "Neither will I."

  "Alexander, you must do something," remonstrated Ptolemy. "There is a very real danger here." He hesitated. "This illness..."

  "This is but a slight fever. It will pass with good care." He smiled again at Bagoas. "I'm in good hands."

  "I don't doubt it. However, not to arrest Kassandros is..."

  "...to know exactly where the danger lies," finished Alexander. "Think on it, Ptolemy. His father Antipatros rules Greece in all but name. Arrest his eldest son and I cast doubts on his loyalty too. Remember the lesson of Philotas and Parmenion. The whole western empire could rise in revolt." He paused, panting for breath.

  Bagoas moved quickly to the king's side and lifted Alexander's head. He wiped the sweat from his damp forehead and lifted a silver cup of fresh cold water to the king's lips.

  "Thank you, Bagoas." Alexander coughed and beckoned Ptolemy closer. "Wait until Krateros takes over the Regency and Antipatros comes out to Asia. Then there'll be a reckoning."

  "And his brother Iollas, your cupbearer?"

  "Loyal, I'm sure of it. Gods, Ptolemy! He's had ample opportunity over the years."

  "What of the Roman praefect, Caius Gracchus?" Nikometros asked.

  Alexander's eyes turned flinty. "He's being watched. I'll take him with me when we move west. I'm most curious to see if Romans are the fighters they claim to be."

  "Is there nothing we can say to change your mind, Alexander?" asked Ptolemy. "In truth, you look terrible. Won't you see a doctor?"

  Alexander frowned. "No doctors," he snapped. "Now if you're finished, I think I'll rest." He sank back into his pillow and closed his eyes.

  Ptolemy saluted and walked toward the door.

  Nikometros started to follow then turned back. "Sir," he said tentatively. "There is an alternative." He saw Alexander's eyes flicker open. "My wife Tomyra is a priestess, as you know, sir. She's well versed in the healing arts of prayer and herbs. Allow her to minister to you."

  Alexander shook his head weakly. "Thank you for the kind thought, Nikometros but I don't want it said I'm so ill I need a physician, even one as beautiful as your wife."

  "With respect, sir, people believe this already. I'm sure she could affect a cure rapidly if you let her." He smiled. "You can always dismiss her if you change your mind."

  Alexander thought on it for several minutes, his chest rising and falling under the thin sheet. He looked at Bagoas, his eyes locked on the youth's. Bagoas gave a very slight nod and Alexander smiled weakly. "Bully," he whispered. To Nikometros he said, "Very well. You may send for her."

  Nikometros grinned. "I'll be back as soon as I can." He ran from the room, startling the squires on duty outside the king's apartments. He crossed the palace to his own suite of river rooms and burst in on Tomyra. "Tomyra! Pack your herbs and whatever else you need. The king has sent for you to cure him."

  Tomyra looked up from the rug by the pool where she played with Starissa. "What are you saying, Niko?"

  Nikometros stopped and grinned again. "I've just come from the king. Alexander agreed to let you try to cure him of the fever."

  "How did he get that idea?"

  "I told him of course. He doesn't want a doctor but I told him you're a priestess and could heal all sorts of things. He agreed, so get your things."

  Tomyra picked up Starissa and walked over to the child's cot. She settled her daughter then turned and walked up to Nikometros, lifting her gaze to his as she approached.

  Nikometros' smile faltered as he caught the flash of fire in her eyes.

  "Let me see if I understand you, husband," she said. "You have volunteered my services as a healer to the king?"

  "Yes, that's right." Nikometros frowned. "What's the matter?"

  "You ask me to heal the king despite the gods telling us plainly he'll die? The old Assyrian gods in the graveyard of former kings, Bel-Marduk and other gods here in Babylon, and even the Great Goddess herself have foretold death and disaster and you want me heal him?"

  "Yes, I want you to try, Tomyra. Alexander is our king."

  "If the gods foretell his death and I heal him, am I not acting in opposition to the gods? Perhaps even god-cursed?"

  "Tomyra, love." Nikometros took his wife by the shoulders and drew her close.

  Tomyra shrugged free sharply and stepped back, glaring.

  Nikometros grimaced. "But you warned the king of his danger outside Babylon. Does that warning not mean you were trying to avert his death?"

  "Don't be a fool, Niko. It isn't the same. The gods wouldn't send us omens, wouldn't warn us through sacrifices or divination if they didn't want us to try and avert the danger."

  "You confuse me, Tomyra. Why, then, can't you take action now?"

  "The gods warned Alexander of the consequences of a certain course of action--entering Babylon. He chose to ignore those warnings. If the gods now act against him should I battle the gods?"

  "No. No, of course not," said Nikometros, aghast. "But what do I tell the king? I told him you would."

  "Then, dear husband, you must explain to him why I cannot."

  "I can't go to the king and tell him the gods want him dead. He would..." Nikometros broke off, his eyes wandering as he grappled with a thought. He snapped his fingers suddenly and whirled back to face Tomyra. "What if it isn't the gods that are killing him?"

  Tomyra frowned. "What do you mean by that, Niko?"

  "There are men that wish Alexander dead. Kassandros for instance." Nikometros paced about in excitement. "He has motive and opportunity perhaps, through his brother Iollas, the king's cupbearer. And the Roman, Caius. He would benefit if the king died."

  "How does this make a difference?"

  "If men seek to encompass Alexander's death, then the warnings of the gods may still be heeded. If he asks you to heal him, isn't he seeking to avoid his fate?"

  "Hmm. This bears thinking on." Tomyra turned away and stared around the room, finally letting her gaze rest on Starissa, sleeping in her cot by the pool.

  "If it's from the gods, you cannot succeed," went on Nikometros. "But if it's from man, you may actually be doing the will of the gods."

  "I'll ask the Goddess," Tomyra said quietly. She knelt beside her daughter's cot and bent her head in silence. After several minutes, during which Nikometros struggled to contain his impatience, she looked up. "The Goddess won't answer me direct. All I hear are the words of her prophecy...'by water, by wine, by hand of man'."

  "There you have it then," cried Nikometros. "By hand of man! It couldn't be plainer. How else do wine and water get to the king but by the hand of a man? The gods are still warning us, telling us we can act to save the king."

  Tomyra continued to kneel in silence, her gaze fixed on the sleeping child. "Perhaps you're right, Niko," she whispered. "Yet it feels like I'm defying the gods." She rose to her feet and walked slowly over to the door. She called out to her servants to come and watch Starissa then gathered together several items from her carved wooden chests. "Very well, Niko," she said as she tied the neck
of her leather purse. "Let us go and challenge the gods."

  Nikometros and Tomyra crossed to the royal suite and were admitted to the king's bedchamber by Ptolemy.

  Alexander had donned a fine wool robe and sat on the edge of the couch, half-supported by Bagoas. When Tomyra entered the room, Alexander straightened and stood, advancing to meet her. "Welcome, Tomyra, daughter of Spargises," he said with a smile. "Your husband assures me you can make me feel better."

  Tomyra flashed her husband a hard look then bobbed in a quick curtsey. "That is in the hands of the gods."

  "Of course. I keep telling everyone it's this infernal heat. If I could just get cool and get a bit of rest, I'd be fine."

  "May I examine you, sir?"

  Alexander looked surprised then nodded. He moved back to the couch and sat down.

  Tomyra took his right hand and examined the palm for a few moments. She pursed her lips, a small frown flitting over her face. "You have made the choice of Achilles," she murmured.

  Alexander said nothing but smiled.

  Next she rested the tips of her fingers on the king's wrist, frowning as she picked up a small tremor. Running her hand up the king's arm, she paused at the hot, inflamed insect bite. "This must be cleansed." She peered into his different coloured eyes. "Your right eye is grey yet your left eye appears almost black, sir," she noted. "The pupil is much larger. Have you suffered a blow to the head?"

  "Some time ago. It was nothing, for I survived."

  Tomyra leaned forward and smelt the king's breath, noting that despite the sweat beading on his forehead, an indefinable fragrance clung to him. "I can prescribe an infusion of herbs that will strengthen your blood and purify it. It tastes foul but you must drink a cupful three times a day."

  Alexander cocked his head to one side and smiled up at Tomyra. "What herbs do you use?"

  "Would you recognise them if I told you?" Tomyra countered.

  "No, probably not." Alexander gave a weak grin. "Tell Bagoas though. He knows a lot more about these things."

  Tomyra nodded and moved off to one side with the eunuch. She started to describe the course of treatment, open her packages of herbs and jotting down instructions on a scrap of paper.