Scythian Trilogy Book 3: Funeral in Babylon

by Max Overton

  He returned the grins, feeling very pleased with himself.

  "Nicely done," murmured Ptolemy as Perdikkas entered the tent. "Alexander could scarcely have done it better."

  "Nonsense. Alexander would have had them eating out of his hand. Nonetheless, it will suffice." He clapped his hands together, becoming serious once more. "Now, to business. It's become too dangerous here. I'm going to move the cavalry out of the city."

  "Won't that provoke Meleagros, sir?" Nikometros asked.

  "Exactly." Perdikkas smiled. "We'll put a bit of pressure on the bastard, invest the city, and cut off his supplies. That'll bring him to the bargaining table."

  By early afternoon, the cavalry vacated the city, setting up camp to the north of the city outside the main gates and refusing admission to the supply wagons. Refugees, both from inside and outside the city went unmolested. Country people, fearing the ravages of war, sought sanctuary within Babylon, whereas the inhabitants of the city, afraid of famine, poured out of the city.

  Two days later, at sunrise, envoys from Meleagros left the Ishtar Gate for Perdikkas' camp. Eumenes led the delegation. A lean, austere man in his fifties, he inclined toward intellectual pursuits rather than military deeds and had held the position of Secretary under Alexander, despite his enmity with Hephaestion. Fiercely devoted to the Royal House of Macedon, he willingly acceded to Meleagros' pleas to intercede with Perdikkas and the other generals.

  Nikometros commanded the squad entrusted with bringing the delegation safely through the camp. His thoughts though, were elsewhere. Two sleepless days without word from the kidnappers had brought his nerves to breaking point.

  Eumenes entered the large tent pitched in the shade of tall palm trees. The sides of the tent were folded back admitting cooling breezes on what promised to be another baking hot summer day. He looked around as he entered, nodding with approval at the simple furnishings so reminiscent of Alexander's campaigns. A bed, a chair, a trestle table and a couple of chests set on dry swept soil. Several other chairs were set out for the envoys.

  Perdikkas rose to greet Eumenes, warmly grasping his forearms. "Welcome Eumenes. I wondered how long it would be before Meleagros remembered you."

  Eumenes inclined his head with a smile. "Thank you Perdikkas." He nodded at the other officers before accepting a chair and a cup of wine.

  Perdikkas waited until Eumenes had refreshed himself before opening the negotiations. "What does he want?" he asked bluntly.

  "Meleagros, Chiliarch and Protector; and King Philip Arridaios send their greetings. They would seek reconciliation between the cavalry regiments and the rest of the army. They ask also that you raise the siege and allow supplies back into the city."

  "We're all interested in reconciliation," Perdikkas said. "But what does Meleagros offer in return for my lifting the siege?"

  "Forgiveness, my lord," Eumenes replied with a wry smile. "He's willing to overlook your treason and welcome you as a loyal officer of King Philip...under his command of course."

  Perdikkas let out a great guffaw of laughter, slapping his knee. "Tell him that I'm willing to reconcile and end the siege only when Meleagros and his accomplices have given themselves up for trial." He sobered and stared hard at Eumenes. "You have my word that I won't harm Arridaios."

  Eumenes coughed delicately and sipped his wine. "We seem to be at an impasse then. Shall I convey your terms to Meleagros or do we negotiate?"

  "You have the authority?"

  "Oh, I'm sure that we can reach mutually acceptable terms with a little effort. It would be better to end this quickly, my lord Perdikkas."

  Several hours of discussion followed. Gradually the terms of a peace settlement filtered out of the argument and rhetoric, both sides giving a little, accepting and rejecting ideas put forward by the negotiators. By sunset, agreement was reached.

  "Very well," Perdikkas proclaimed to the waiting generals. "Here are the terms of the truce. The siege is lifted. I recognise King Philip Arridaios' claim to the throne and accept Meleagros as joint commander of the army. Krateros will be appointed the guardian of the king and Antipatros will stay on as Regent of Macedon. I will remain as Chiliarch of Asia." He scrawled the terms on a piece of paper, signed it and handed it to Eumenes.

  Eumenes nodded then silently left the tent to ride back to the city.

  When he was out of earshot, Peukestas turned on Perdikkas angrily. "Have you taken leave of your senses? You would offer that man a share of the command?"

  "A dangerous course," added Ptolemy.

  "Of course it's dangerous," Perdikkas replied. "But not as dangerous as allowing Meleagros and his cronies sole access to the King. Yes, I'll call him that...for now. The last thing I want is for the army to disintegrate into chaos. We all lose then."

  "But to share your command with a commoner?"

  "Can you think of a better way to winkle him out of the city? He won't refuse that bait."

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  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Meleagros and King Philip Arridaios rode out of the city the next morning to meet with Perdikkas. Behind them marched representatives of the infantry to the music of trumpets and flutes, eager to make their peace with the cavalry. They drew themselves up opposite the Companion Cavalry, who sat resplendent in parade armour, controlling their high-spirited mounts.

  The King rode out into the space between the two bodies of men and, dismounting, embraced Perdikkas.

  The general smiled and joked, giving every appearance of enjoyment. Meleagros followed, eager to make his peace too, but Perdikkas' embrace was formal and restrained. "One other thing remains," Perdikkas said. "It's an ancient custom of Macedon to exorcise the evil of discord by a sacrifice to Hecate. I propose that the entire army assembles on the plain tomorrow for the ceremony of Purification. Then we can put all this behind us."

  The meeting broke up shortly thereafter and the troops were dismissed. Most drifted back into the city, seeking refreshment after hours of marching and standing in the hot sun.

  Nikometros went with them, eager to find out how the search for Tomyra and Starissa progressed. The streets of Babylon teemed with life, the citizenry in an almost festive mood, relieved that civil war had been averted. Nikometros pushed through the jostling crowds toward the inn where Timon and Bithyia lived. As he turned into the street, a hand plucked at his sleeve. He turned to see a pleasant-faced young Persian man regarding him.

  "Nikometros?" the young man asked. "Please follow me."

  "Is this about Tomyra...my wife?" Nikometros demanded. He grabbed the young man roughly. "Where is she?"

  The young man pushed Nikometros away. "If you want to see her, follow." He shrugged. "If not, it's all the same to me." He turned and started walking away.

  "Wait!" Nikometros hurried after the man and fell into step beside him.

  The two men moved at a leisurely pace down toward the waterfront in almost complete silence. The young man refused to answer any questions, replying only with grunts or monosyllabic references to the desired direction of their travel.

  Nikometros looked about him carefully and thought he recognised the area from the other night. Few soldiers frequented this area and the men they passed, sailors, stevedores and beggars all turned and looked at the out-of-place Macedonian officer gleaming in his burnished parade armour.

  At length they turned down an alleyway between two large warehouses. Sounds from the city came distantly and even the closer cries of the dockworkers and boat crews seemed muffled by the looming buildings.

  The young Persian stopped by a small door set into one of the warehouses. "In there." He gestured for Nikometros to precede him.

  "After you," Nikometros replied. He stood back, his face wary.

  The young man smiled and opened the door, stepping through into relative darkness after the sunny streets.

  Nikometros followed, hand on his sword hilt, looking around cautiously. Rows of bales and lines of stack
ed barrels stood out like silent sentinels in the dimness of the warehouse, their contents filling the air with a musty, spicy aroma. Scampering and squeaking told of an ongoing rodent problem. Nikometros' eyes flicked to a movement in the middle of a wide-open space on the warehouse floor and he gasped, taking a few steps forward. Cross-legged on the dusty floorboards, in a pool of sunlight thrown by a high window, sat Parates. In front of him a small child lay, kicking and gurgling with delight as the man dangled a brightly coloured cloth toy.

  "Starissa!" Nikometros said. He moved forward, his eyes fixed on the child, unaware of others in the room until his arms were pinioned from behind.

  Two men swiftly bound his arms and forced him to kneel on the floor. One removed his sword and sent it spinning into a corner, shards of reflected sunlight flashing like falling gold pieces. Two others stood by the door, swords in hand.

  Parates signalled to the two men by the door. "Keep watch outside. Make sure we aren't disturbed."

  The two men hesitated, glancing into the darkened interior of the warehouse before obeying their leader.

  Parates got to his feet slowly and stepped around the child. He looked down at Nikometros with a sad expression. "I don't expect you to believe me, Nikometros son of Leonnatos, but it gives me no pleasure to see you like this. In the months I have known you, I have come to respect and...even like you. Were it not for my sworn word, I would not bring you to this."

  "Where is my wife, Parates?"

  "She's here." Parates turned and beckoned and two figures moved from the shadows between the bales.

  Tomyra stumbled forward, pushed by a tall thin man behind. Her hands tied behind her back threw her off balance and the gag in her mouth prevented her from crying out. She turned a dishevelled face toward Nikometros, her eyes bright with unshed tears, hair dirty and plastered with sweat. Her thin linen robes, cooler in the summer heat than her woollen Scythian ones, were dirty and torn. Her cloak hung awry, fastened by a solitary enamelled gold brooch.

  The thin man thrust her forward, laughing as she tripped and fell, sprawling headlong onto the floor. He emerged from the shadows completely and walked past Tomyra toward her husband. He stood over the kneeling soldier, a triumphant grin on his face.

  "Scolices," Nikometros said flatly.

  "At last," Scolices hissed. "Now I'll fulfill my promise to my chief. I'll enjoy killing you." He stepped forward and backhanded Nikometros, the savage blow sending him crashing to the floor.

  Nikometros shook his head dazedly and struggled to his feet, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "Let my wife and child go."

  "Of course," interposed Parates. "They'll be released as soon as it's safe. We don't war on women and children."

  "It didn't stop you before. You tried to poison Tomyra."

  Parates spread his arms wide in an exaggerated shrug. "An unfortunate mistake. I'm glad there was no lasting hurt."

  "Stay out of this, Parates," Scolices snarled. "My lord's anger was with both the Greek and the bitch, Tomyra. They must both die. In fact, I'm of a mind to eliminate the whole family, seeing as we have the child as well."

  Parates frowned. "That wasn't the agreement we came to. I agreed to help you kidnap the woman and child as bait on the understanding that only the Greek was to be killed."

  "Then you misunderstood."

  "Perhaps you misunderstand your position, Scolices. You're a guest in my country. It's my resources, my men you used for your scheming. If I choose to deny you this woman, you have no say in the matter." He turned and walked over to Tomyra, drawing his dagger. He reached behind her and sliced through the rope binding her. "Don't be concerned for your child, Tomyra."

  "You think to deny me?" muttered Scolices. "I have bought your men." He glanced around the dim warehouse and nodded toward the two men standing guard behind Nikometros.

  At once, one of them leapt at the young man leaning against the wall by the door and knocked him down with a swift blow. When the young man groaned, trying to rise, the attacker stepped close and kicked him under the jaw. The young man's head snapped back and he collapsed untidily by the wall.

  The commotion made Parates turn, dagger in hand, only to be met by the other guard. The man, his own dagger drawn, ducked under Parates' arm, taking advantage of his unexpected attack. The man's dagger flashed in the sunlight and Parates staggered back with a low cry, dropping his weapon.

  Tomyra reacted instantly to her release and the attack on Parates. She dropped to the floor, rolled and scrambled to her feet. She dived toward her child and scooping Starissa up, raced for the shadows, her robes flapping and threatening to trip her.

  Scolices roared with rage and leapt after her.

  Nikometros threw himself headlong and collided with Scolices' legs, sending the Scythian tumbling. By the time he regained his feet, Tomyra and her daughter had disappeared behind the bales and barrels.

  Scolices turned on Nikometros with a scream and hauled him to his knees by his hair. Whipping his dagger out, he thrust it towards Nikometros' face, slicing through one cheek. The bloodletting steadied Scolices and he drew his arm back, breathing heavily, staring at his victim. Without turning, he called out to Tomyra. "Come out, bitch! Come out or your man dies."

  "No, Tomyra!" Nikometros shouted. "He'll kill..." He choked as Scolices reversed his dagger and rammed it into his throat. His hair ripped, leaving Scolices clutching a handful of blond strands when Nikometros collapsed on the floor, gagging and gasping.

  "Wait!" Tomyra called from the shadows. "Don't harm him further. I'll come out."

  Scolices grinned and aimed a swift kick at the fallen man before he turned to face the shadowed bales. Slowly a figure walked out into the brighter area in the middle of the floor. Scolices gaped, his eyes wide.

  Tomyra walked slowly out into view, her head held high. Gone was her cloak and loose-fitting robe. She stood naked before them, long raven hair framing her delicate features, small breasts high and thrusting, firm belly showing hardly a trace of her recent pregnancy and childbirth, her sex hidden by a thatch of dark curls.

  Nikometros stared at his wife and groaned in anguish.

  Parates sat clutching his wounded side, his only reaction a raised eyebrow.

  The guards ogled and uttered short grunts of appreciation.

  Scolices stared too, his mouth hanging open. He took a step forward. "By all the gods and goddesses of Scythia and Persia both," he breathed. "You think to offer yourself to spare your man?" A lascivious smirk took hold of his face. "Well, you're a whore and a fallen priestess after all. You've probably given yourself to many men by now. What's one more?" He moved closer, his eyes flicking over her naked body, his tongue moistening his lips.

  Tomyra lowered her head, her face burning. "Please," she whispered. "Spare my husband."

  Scolices laughed. "Let's see how good you are first. No doubt my men would like to enjoy your charms too before I..."

  Tomyra's head snapped up and she leapt forward, a foot connecting hard with Scolices' midriff. He staggered back, dropping his blade with a clatter, his breath hacking out painfully. She fell back onto her hands, gathered her legs beneath her and, almost without a pause, launched herself at the guard standing over Parates.

  The man gaped, his arms rising in defence but too slowly. The top of Tomyra's head cracked into his face and he fell backward over Parates, howling with pain.

  Tomyra fell to her knees, shaking her head to clear it, struggling to her feet to meet the threat from the other guard.

  Parates scrabbled in the dust for his fallen dagger, found it and, with a cry of pain, threw himself on the guard rolling on the floor. The man held his broken nose with one blood-soaked hand and tried to clear the tears streaming from his eyes with the other. Parates knocked him backward, his dagger rising and falling. The guard's screams choked off.

  The second guard moved swiftly after an initial hesitation, striding to Scolices' assistance, helping the winded man up. Scolices scowled, his b
reath still coming in painful gasps, and shook off the man's arm. "Get her," he wheezed. "Kill the bitch."

  The guard hefted his dagger and cautiously approached Tomyra as she regained her feet. He dropped into a crouch and moved forward, his dagger weaving and probing.

  Tomyra retreated slowly, leaping back when the man struck at her.

  Scolices watched his man close with Tomyra, clutching his midriff. He nodded in satisfaction as the tip of the man's dagger ripped a thin line across the naked woman's arm. Then he turned to look at his enemy, Nikometros.

  The Greek was on one knee and, as Scolices stepped toward him, he lurched to his feet, almost overbalancing as he fought to keep his balance with his arms tied to his sides.

  With a contemptuous sneer, Scolices pushed Nikometros hard, laughing as he fell again. Striding past, he opened the door of the warehouse and leaned out, scanning the alleyway. "Tissernes, Merraces, get in here!" Scolices waited to make sure the two men sent out earlier were coming before turning back into the dim warehouse.

  The second guard, a grim smile on his face, slowly forced Tomyra backward toward the shadows of the bales. Crisscrossed streaks of blood laced her arms and breasts where she could not evade the guard's dagger. She glanced desperately around her, searching for some weapon.

  Parates, blood streaming from his chest wound, sat slumped beside the corpse of the man he had killed. He lifted his head weakly and stared at the naked woman and the armed man as if uncertain as to their identities. He coughed, sending a gout of blood over his chin. With an effort he pushed himself upright and stood swaying, his bloody dagger dangling from his fingertips. "T...Tomyra," he croaked, the effort forcing new freshets of blood from his mouth. Parates frowned in concentration and swung his arm, tossing the dagger toward her, falling to the floor with a crash as he overbalanced. The dagger fell several feet short of Tomyra and to one side.

  The clatter of the dagger distracted the guard and his head turned toward the sound for an instant.

  Tomyra did not hesitate, throwing herself to the side, hands scrabbling for the weapon. She got her hands to it and rolled, even as the guard lunged forward, stabbing down. Tomyra rolled again, fetching up hard against a bale of cloth.