Satyrus nodded. 'Two points, Lord Navarch. First, one of morality. Some of the pirates are vicious men – look at Manes. But more of them are merely displaced. Alexander built fleets and now all the Diadochoi follow suit – they use them and then discard them.'
'Hence our distaste for them, lad,' Timaeus said.
'But the pirates themselves – many of them – are scarcely to blame.' Satyrus could see that this point was of no interest whatsoever to his audience, so he waved negation. 'Never mind,' he said. 'Second point. The day is coming when your neutrality will be tantamount to declaring a side. Already, twice, Antigonus and his son have blockaded you. If they'd had the siege machines, they'd have attacked. If Antigonus ever tries for Aegypt again, he must have your alliance or your submission.'
'True,' Panther said.
'And I am not one of the Diadochoi. I am Leon's nephew, and when I am king of the Bosporus, I can guarantee you a friendly fleet and a constant grain supply. When Antigonus makes his move and Rhodos is besieged, you will need me.' Satyrus sat back and crossed his arms.
Now Panther stroked his beard.
Timaeus shook his head. 'Pirates!' he said.
'Mercenaries,' Satyrus shot back. 'Daedalus is an exile from Halicarnassus, and Demostrate is an exile from Pantecapaeum. Why is one a mercenary and the other a pirate?'
'You might yet have a career as a sophist,' Timaeus answered. 'A pirate is a pirate. You may call sheepdogs the same as wolves, but when the real wolves come, everyone knows what they smell like.'
'The ally we need is Lysimachos,' Panther said. 'And he hates Demostrate as much as we do.'
'If I can show you an alliance with Lysimachos?' Satyrus asked. 'I have asked him. Eumeles has attacked his Thracian possessions in the Euxine – only raids now, but he will land to stay in time. As long as Demostrate holds the Bosporus, Lysimachos cannot reinforce his garrisons. But if I take Demostrate away, instantly Lysimachos is master of his own shores.'
Panther looked at his co-navarch. 'I see this,' he said.
Timaeus shook his head. 'It is complex.'
Memnon, silent until now, leaned forward. 'I'm sorry to betray a confidence, Satyrus, but I'm a Rhodian first. You said yourself that your plans are often too complex.' He shrugged. 'Can you carry this off?'
Neiron shook his head. 'His plans are excellent. No man – not even the gods – can plan for everything.' The Cardian looked around. 'He planned the ambush of Manes, and failed. But none of your captains brought the Terror to heel. This man will.'
Satyrus looked at his helmsman, vowing to give the man anything he asked. Neiron spoke out better in this foreign council than even Diokles might have – Diokles would have been handicapped by service to Rhodos. 'I do make complex plans,' he admitted. 'I am one man, trying to restore my kingdom. If Olbia had a straight road from Alexandria, I wouldn't trouble you – or Demostrate.'
Timaeus nodded. 'Fair enough. You've given us something to consider. When do you sail?'
Satyrus managed a smile. 'I sail when Aspasia says I sail.'
Timaeus and Panther exchanged a long look. 'Alexandria?' he asked.
'Yes,' Satyrus answered.
'Perhaps you could pick us up a cargo? And we'd meet again in a month,' Timaeus suggested.
'A cargo from Alexandria? In winter?' Satyrus asked. The seas south of Cyprus were deadly in winter. 'I'll charge you a bonus for every mina of grain.'
Timaeus shrugged. 'We'll take it out of our fee for the squadron,' he said. 'If we agree.' Alexandria spread before him like a basket of riches, the greatest harbour in the world surrounded by a city expanding so fast that a man could sit on the stern of his ship and watch the suburbs grow. At the end of the Pharos peninsula, a long spit of land that protruded like a caribou horn from the curve of the shore, workmen toiled with great blocks of limestone, laying the foundations of Ptolemy's proposed lighthouse even as thousands of other labourers carried baskets of earth from the mainland to widen and firm up the ground.
Satyrus stood by Neiron and watched Pharos slip past as his oarsmen dipped, paused and dipped again, bringing his ship slowly, carefully through the mass of shipping that filled the roadstead and crowded the beaches.
'There's Master Leon's house,' the lookout in the bow called.
Satyrus had a feeling of dread wash over him. He had no reason to feel that way, and he made a peasant sign of aversion.
'We'll land on the beach by the house,' he said.
Neiron nodded.
Satyrus had his rebroken arm splinted and tightly wrapped against his chest, but it hurt all the time. He watched the shore, attempting to rid himself of his mood and trying not to dwell on the pain in his arm.
Neither was particularly successful.
'Guard ship!' the lookout called.
'Messus has to go,' Satyrus said to Neiron.
'I'll see to it,' Neiron said. He shrugged. 'Messus is just as unhappy as you are.'
'I don't see him growing into the job,' Satyrus said, shaking his head.
'No,' Neiron said. He stroked his beard, his eyes on the approaching guard ship. 'Leon has merchant hulls – some of them quite fast. Like Sparrow Hawk. He could handle one of those, I think.'
Satyrus shook his head. Annoyed at always having to be the hard voice. 'He lacks authority.'
Neiron looked as if he was going to disagree.
'He lacks authority!' Satyrus snapped. Then he slumped. 'I'm becoming a bloody tyrant.'
'You do have a certain sense of your own importance,' Neiron said carefully.
Satyrus shook his head. 'It just goes on and on,' he said, but he didn't specify what it was.
'Oars – in!' Messus called. His timing was poor, and the oarsmen, who liked him, tried to compensate, but a hundred and eighty oarsmen can't all pretend that an order is properly given, and the Golden Lotus looked a far cry from her legendary efficiency as her wings folded in.
The guard ship coasted alongside and her trierarch stepped aboard trailing the smell of expensive oils. 'Cargo?' he demanded as his crimson boots hit the deck. 'I'm Menander, captain of the customs. Please show me your sailing bills.'
'Alum and hides,' Satyrus said.
'Hides for Aegypt? Leon's nephew must have lost his mind!' the man said. He made a note on his wax tablets.
Satyrus was growing angry again, but he knew that to lose his temper would be to act like a fool. He caught Neiron's look. 'I am injured, and not my best,' he said with a bow. 'My helmsman will handle this business.' Satyrus withdrew to the helmsman's bench. Neiron handed over a purse, and Menander peered into the hold, as if he could see past the lower-deck oarsmen and into the earthenware amphorae and the bales. 'All seems to be in order here,' he said, the purse bulging inside his chiton. He stepped back into his ship and they poled off, pulling strongly for their next victim.
'Now that's piracy, if you were to ask me,' Neiron said.
'T hanks,' Satyrus said. 'I'm in a mood to do harm. Something is wrong – I can feel it.'
Neiron shook his head. 'No – it's the poppy, Satyrus. That's all – throws your mind off. Sometimes a wound will do it alone – but a wound and the poppy can be deadly friends. I've had a few wounds.' He shrugged. 'Took one in my scalp – siege of Tyre, when I was young. It wouldn't heal, and the bump grew and grew. I thought I was going mad.'
'But you didn't,' Satyrus said.
Neiron stared at the approaching shore. 'Well – I did, for a bit. But that's not what I mean.'
Satyrus had to smile. 'This story is supposed to cheer me up?'
Neiron shrugged. 'I was saved by a good healer. And the gods, I suppose. You need to get to a doctor, just as Lady Aspasia said.'
'What did the doctor do with you?' Satyrus asked.
Neiron shook his head. 'Tied me down while I pissed the poppy out. Ares, it hurt. And that was after he cut a piece from my head, so that my skull felt odd for two years. I still rub it all the time.' He shrugged. 'That's what I mean, though. A bad wound changes you.
'
Satyrus nodded. 'Everything looks right,' he said, cradling his arm. In his mind, there was a black smudge on the sky over the city.
Neiron sighed.
They went ashore beneath Satyrus's old bedroom window, and slaves and freemen were waiting on the beach with Sappho, having seen the famous Golden Lotus in the bay. Sappho smiled at him from the moment she caught his eye.
'We heard that you'd retaken the Lotus,' she said, and kissed him.
'I got him captured,' Satyrus said. He hugged her, and she responded fiercely. 'I'll free him in the end.' He looked around. 'Where's Melitta?'
'This is Kineas,' Sappho said. She held up a plump, round baby with huge blue eyes that wandered all around, as curious about the ship and the sky and the birds as about this strange man who'd taken him in his arms.
'Melitta's son! He's beautiful! Hello, nephew! Goodness!' Satyrus laughed. 'I feel quite old.'
'Melitta has gone to the Euxine to raise the tribes,' Sappho said quietly. 'I sent Coenus with her, and Eumenes when he came from Babylon.'
'Herakles!' Satyrus said. 'She left her son?'
Sappho's eyebrows made a hard line and the beauty of her face vanished in a mask. 'She did not run away,' Sappho said. 'Men tried to kill her – and me. This is war, Satyrus.'
Satyrus watched his sea bag going ashore. 'Aunt Sappho, you remember Neiron? He's my helmsman now. He proved himself this voyage. I hope he can stay in the house.'
Neiron bowed. Sappho inclined her head. 'Welcome to our house, Neiron.'
'Master Satyrus needs a healer,' Neiron said pointedly.
Sappho nodded. 'You look – pinched. Are you drinking too much, boy?'
'Poppy,' Neiron said. 'For a wound.'
'Herakles!' Satyrus didn't know whether to laugh or weep. 'I'm right here. I'm a grown man and I can see to my own needs!'
'So I see,' Sappho said, in a voice that suggested the opposite. She was already giving orders with her hands, and maids came running. Nearchus read the note from Aspasia. He scratched the bridge of his nose and smiled. 'Aspasia herself?' he said. Then he shook his head. 'You are in for a bad few weeks. Let me see the arm.'
He undid the bandages and the splints, and then replaced them. 'Beautiful, of course. Aspasia wouldn't do poor work. But she has left me the hard part. The night market is full of men who can set a bone.' He looked at Sappho, who had insisted on being present. 'I want him fed like an ox for sacrifice for a week. Satyrus, take what exercise you can with that arm. Because the next two weeks will be brutal.'
Satyrus shook his head. 'So you all keep telling me,' he said.
Nearchus scratched his nose again. 'We aren't kidding.'
Satyrus ate, and walked. He sacrificed at temples. On the third day he went across the city to the Aegyptian quarter, escorted by Namastis, a priest of Poseidon who had served with him at Gaza.
'You're sure they can forge the true steel?' Satyrus asked.
Namastis rolled his eyes. 'As you tell the story, a priest of Ptah made the sword in the first place. Yes?' Namastis grinned. 'You Greeks and your arrogance. You call us "Aigyptioi" – yes?'
Satyrus was watching the whole world of the Aegyptian quarter, and he nodded perfunctorily. It smelled different. It looked different. The people on the street seemed younger – vibrant with energy, fast-moving, alive.
A pretty girl flashed him a smile – not a common experience in the Greek streets.
'Do I have any of your attention?' Namastis asked. He paused and put his hand on the girl's head, and she accepted his blessing with a mixture of pleasure and impatience, like a child being praised by a parent.
'We call you "Aigyptioi",' Satyrus said in sing-song repetition.
'All you are saying is the "home of Ptah" or the "home of craft".' Namastis led him up the steps of the temple, where a very normal-looking god in robes presided – a god without the usual animal head.
The priests were immediately interested, thanks to a few words in private from Namastis, and when Satyrus unrolled the shards of his father's sword, they gathered around like dogs with a bone, whispering and touching the steel.
Namastis took him aside. 'They say many things. Mostly, they say that Sek-Atum made this, and he is old, but still the best. He is downriver at Memphis. How long will you be here?'
Satyrus shrugged. 'Until I am no longer friends with the poppy,' he said.
Namastis nodded, the import striking deep. 'Oh, my friend,' he said, and put a hand on Satyrus's shoulder.
He spoke to the priests. They looked sombre. The eldest among them came and put a thumb on Satyrus's lips, surprising him, and then looked deeply into his eyes. He nodded brusquely and stepped away, speaking quickly to Namastis.
'They will send the hilt and shards downriver to Memphis today. They say that the breaking of the blade and your health are one – that the blade must be reforged or your health will be broken like the blade, and the poppy in your body is the flaw in the blade. They say many things – they are priests.' Namastis shrugged. 'They say that the blade should have gone into your father's grave. Does this make sense to you?'
Satyrus thought of the kurgan by the Tanais River. It had a stone at the top, like every kurgan. 'I know what they speak of, yes,' he said. 'But they will reforge the blade?'
'As soon as it can be done. A donation would not be unwelcome. A mina of silver would be appropriate.'
'I will send them a mina of gold, if they are successful.' Satyrus hugged Namastis. 'This means a great deal to me.'
'It is well that you brought me. And it is good that you respect the ways of this land.' Namastis led him by the hand down the steps of the temple of Ptah and out of the Aegyptian quarter. They shared a meal and then Namastis had to go back to his duty at the temple.
'I will pray for you. Come and visit me!' Namastis said.
Satyrus went straight from the Temple of Poseidon to the palace. At the palace, he made an appointment with Gabines, the steward of the lord of Aegypt. He listened to the news in the agora and spread some rumours of his own.
On the fourth day, he visited Abraham's father, Isaac, who met him in the courtyard and had him in to drink qua-veh.
'How is my scapegrace son?' Ben Zion asked.
Satyrus drank the bitter stuff carefully. He realized that he had hoped that Miriam, Abraham's talkative daughter, would put in an appearance, although he had come to recognize that the poppy, when present, muted all such longings, and when absent, accentuated them. Right now he was as far from his last dose as he ever got, and thus on edge.
'He is well,' Satyrus said carefully. 'He sent a cargo, which I carried in the Lotus and sold at Rhodos. I brought alum from Rhodos – here are my bills. And that sack has the silver.'
Ben Zion waved a hand at two weeks of winter sailing. 'I would rather have my son. He is playing pirate while he ought to be getting married.'
Satyrus had a vivid image of Abraham playing 'feed the flute girl' at the symposium of Aphrodite. 'He will come back in the summer,' Satyrus said. 'I only came to assure you that he is well.'
'Well? He is fornicating like a stallion amongst heathens who would murder him for his curly hair. He is playing pirate with men who would eat his heart when they cut it out – and you took him there.' Ben Zion didn't seem particularly angry. He said these things as simple facts.
Satyrus met his eye. 'He is my best captain – my right hand. In a year, I will be king, or not.'
Ben Zion nodded. 'Listen, Satyrus son of Kineas, who would be king. If you fall, my son's head will lie beside yours. If you triumph, what value to me? What value to me if my son dies? I would rather that he came back here to his own and left your world of adventure. When he is dead, it will be too late for him to repent.'
Satyrus stood up. 'He is my best friend,' Satyrus said. 'I am sorry you don't value his accomplishments. He is as brave as a lion – thoughtful in council. He sees far, and he does not hesitate to do what must be done. If he were my son, I would be proud that he was
accounted a great captain. They know his name in Rhodos and in Byzantium.'
'You are a young fool, like my son, Satyrus son of Kineas. What makes you think that I am not proud? I was proud when he came home from the fight at Gaza, like a young David in his pride. Men come to me and say, "Your son took an enemy galley in a fair fight, when the battle was lost," and again, "Your son saved his ship, and his friend." I hear these things, and I rejoice that my son is made of such stuff. And I still want him back here, where I can love him, and not dead with you.' Ben Zion held up the pot. 'More qua-veh?' he asked. 'We Jews speak our minds, young Satyrus. Don't bother to be offended. Bring him back to me.'
He walked Satyrus to the gate, and Satyrus felt better than he'd expected. He smiled at the older man, who tugged his own beard and laughed.
'How long will you be here?' Ben Zion asked. 'Surely all your busy schemes need you?'
Satyrus looked up at the exedra and saw movement behind a curtain. He looked back at Ben Zion, moved somehow to simple honesty.
'I took poppy for a wound and I've had too much of it. My physician is going to take it out of me. This will take more than a week.' He smiled ruefully.
'God be with you, then,' Ben Zion said. 'It is no small matter.' The older man took his elbow. 'You are looking for my daughter, I think.'
Satyrus nodded. 'I liked her.'
Ben Zion shook his head. 'She is married now. You have enough of my family already.' He guided Satyrus out of the gate.
Miriam married. Well, he scarcely knew her really, and that only to be annoyed at her. 'And how is the machine?' Satyrus asked.
Ben Zion tugged his beard again. But the smile that came to his lips was unforced. 'Magnificent. Lord Ptolemy has been here – to my house! To see it function. He wants one for his library. The tyrant of Athens has sent me a letter about it.' Ben Zion shook his head. 'I am one of the greatest grain merchants in the world, and no one knows my name outside the trade. But now that I have financed this machine – now men know me. What is the Greek word I am looking for?'
King of the Bosphorus t-4 Page 21
