Destroyer of Cities t-5

by Christian Cameron

  At his back, Neiron spat. ‘What in Tartarus are we about, here?’

  Abraham pushed forward, too. He’d spent the watch on alert with the citizen hoplites — the full-grown men — and he was angry. ‘What is my sister doing out — Miriam, that manner of dress is shocking!’

  Miriam kissed him. ‘No, dear brother. A month ago it might have been. In another month we’ll make love in the streets. Listen to Satyrus, now.’

  Other men were coming up — there was Memnon, no more pleased to find his wife in the streets than Abraham had been — and Damophilus and Menedemos and Socrates.

  Satyrus took Damophilus’ arm. ‘How many of the boule are here? Round them up.’

  ‘I do not take orders from you,’ Damophilus shot back. Then he relented. ‘We were all on the walls — they should be here.’

  Satyrus raised a hand for silence. Helios had a pair of torches now, and he stepped up behind his master.

  ‘This is for us,’ Satyrus said. ‘Not for the Neodamodeis or the mercenaries.’

  Memnon understood immediately. You could see it in his face. And Menedemos.

  ‘Gentlemen, when the west gate was opened to Demetrios, I smelled a rat. So did Panther. We took some action — to be honest, we hid certain things from the boule. Some weeks ago, I was fool enough to give Daedelus timings out in open council — and Demetrios was waiting for him. Last night, I told a member of the boule in detail how I would make my attack with the ephebes.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘I lied. By some stades. Idomeneus, tell them what you saw.’

  The Cretan stood forth. ‘I went to the west wall — to the gully where Lord Satyrus told me to wait. There was almost a full taxeis waiting there — waiting in blackened armour. If I hadn’t been warned, I would never have seen them.’

  Satyrus grinned mirthlessly. ‘They call it the poisoned pill, gentlemen. My tutor, Philokles, taught me the technique. Tell different men different lies, and wait to see who acts on which.’ He turned. ‘Lady Aspasia?’

  ‘We saw Nicanor send a pigeon, immediately after the boule met,’ she said.

  At Nicanor’s name, the crowd of citizens shifted nervously.

  Satyrus led them to Nicanor’s house. The man himself was not at home, an old slave reported.

  ‘Fetch him out,’ Satyrus said to Apollodorus.

  ‘This is illegal!’ Memnon said.

  Satyrus motioned to Apollodorus. To Memnon, he said, ‘The laws of the city will mean nothing if the city is destroyed.’

  There was a shout — the ring of a blade — another shout of anger, curses. And then Apollodorus emerged, a piece of his plume cut away. ‘He’ll be out shortly,’ Apollodorus said cheerfully.

  ‘Your creatures killed my slave!’ Nicanor said. He was in a chiton and a Persian over-robe. His arms were pinned by two Cretan archers.

  ‘I took the liberty of securing his garden first,’ Idomeneus said. He and Apollodorus exchanged a look.

  Satyrus nodded. ‘Nicanor, I accuse you of treason to the town. You opened the west gate and murdered the captain there. You informed Demetrios of our fleet movements. You attempted to have the taxeis of ephebes destroyed tonight.’

  Nicanor met Satyrus’ eyes easily enough. ‘Well, well. We shall have quite an exciting trial. People may learn a great deal.’

  Satyrus rubbed his chin. ‘There will be no trial,’ he said.

  Memnon pushed forward. ‘We are Rhodians!’ he said. ‘There will be a trial. Nicanor — if you have done this, the curse of every man and woman in this town is on your head.’

  ‘Really?’ Nicanor asked. His words were mild. Satyrus heard in them the words of a man with nothing to live for. ‘Really? Or do they curse you and the young tyrant here for keeping them in this cesspit? We could have surrendered months ago-’

  Satyrus shook his head. ‘No. We tried. You tried.’

  Nicanor turned on him and spittle flew. ‘You — you carrion crow! All you want is war and death! It is sport to your kind. Not to us. My sons are dead. My wife is dead. I alone try to save this town when every one of you labours to destroy her. What do you have? You have nothing. The temples? All destroyed. The gymnasium? You pulled it down with your own hands. The agora is choked with slaves and shit. You eat shit. Look at the Jew’s sister, dressed like a whore! And Memnon’s wife — shit. You are no longer Greeks, no longer men. You are not even Hellenes. You are animals, you have lost even the semblance of civilisation. Because this Tyrant has taken your minds. Years ago, I told them to abandon Ptolemy and go with Antigonus. Had anyone listened, we would have had none of this. Now, everything we have ever had is gone, and it no longer matters whether you hold Demetrios off or whether he comes and his pigs rape every one of you to death, for the city is destroyed.’

  Satyrus waited, impassive except when the man called Miriam a whore. ‘Was that your defence?’ he asked. He flicked his eyes back and forth to the two archers holding Nicanor. They were veterans.

  ‘I need no defence. And when the Demos hear what I have to say in court, they will surrender the town faster than you can stop them.’ He looked around. ‘As you, the so-called worthies, ought to have done. Put halters around your necks and go and face the Golden King.’

  He looked at Satyrus. ‘And you — perhaps you made all this up? You and the metic woman and the Jew?’ He grinned with confidence. ‘You will regret this.’

  ‘Not for the reasons you think, Nicanor,’ Satyrus said, and his right hand rose under his armpit, his sword leaped from his scabbard and Nicanor clutched at his throat as blood burst from his severed neck.

  The archers held his arms and his knees buckled.

  Satyrus turned. ‘I wanted it done in public. I did it myself, so that no other man need soil his hands. We do not need a trial — Nicanor would have won, even as he lost, poisoning one man against another.’

  Memnon’s face was parchment-white in the moonlight. ‘You’ve — killed — him.’

  Satyrus nodded. ‘Listen to me, now. I have the soldiers and the crowd, and I could, very easily, declare myself Tyrant. To be honest, I think you people need a single voice and a strong hand. And yet, Nicanor said many things that were true — and here’s the worst. We are losing the city. We may endure, and endure, and still have the heart of your city perish. So I think that we should try to rule through the boule, and I will take the chance that you gentlemen will feel that I need to be arrested.

  ‘But hear me.’ Satyrus looked around. They were silent — in shock, he thought. Nicanor’s blood was dripping onto his foot. ‘I demand — I beg that this night and this callous murder mark the end of faction. There is only one good, friends — the survival of the city. No party is more important than this, and if the city falls, you must believe me, the besiegers will leave nothing. Nicanor was deranged by grief. I am not. Put your factions on the shelf, link hands and swear to the gods to carry this thing through to the end like brothers and sisters, or by Herakles, I will wash my hands of you and sail away.’

  Roughly — deliberately — he turned and wiped his sword blade carefully on Nicanor’s cloak until the blade was clean. Then he put it back in his scabbard.

  ‘Goodnight,’ he said.

  His officers closed around him, and his hetairoi around them. It was some consolation that they trusted him. Killing a man in cold blood was always hard — probably a sign that he was not completely mad, but he felt cold, angry, hopeless. And Miriam looked at him as if he were a mad dog.

  He might have dwelled on her disapproval, but Anaxagoras and Abraham walked with him step by step.

  ‘Had to be done,’ Abraham said.

  Quite possibly the sweetest words of Satyrus’ life.

  He stopped against a mostly intact building and threw up.

  ‘The ephebes are still with us,’ Anaxagoras said.

  ‘I think I just gave you Miriam,’ Satyrus said, without thinking.

  ‘What’s that?’ Abraham asked.

  I am a fool, Satyrus thought. ‘Nothi
ng, for the moment, brother,’ he forced out, because his head could only take on one crisis at a time. Help me out, Demetrios. Launch a night assault.

  ‘Wake up!’ Helios said, and rubbed his cheek.

  Satyrus came awake easily, swung his feet off the bed and reached for his sword.

  ‘What?’ he managed.

  Helios held a cup of warm juice. At this point, Satyrus had no idea where the man came up with juice. ‘The boule is meeting immediately. You are requested.’

  Satyrus rose. ‘Dress me well,’ he said. ‘Not like a democrat. Like a king. Get me Neiron, Abraham, Anaxagoras — and Apollodorus. And Idomeneus.’

  He finished the juice, swigged water, used a twig of liquorice on his teeth and Helios laid out his best chiton, a flame-coloured cloth with tablet-woven edges in white and gold thread, with hem borders — woven scenes from the Iliad. A chiton with the value of a ship.

  He waited while Helios tied his best sandals — the Spartan style, in leather dyed to match the cloak. When Helios kirtled up his chiton, he did it with a matching red leather belt that fitted — again. For the first time in a year. And over the chiton and belt he slipped his best sword belt, although the sword that hung from it was a plain enough weapon — he’d broken three swords in the siege.

  Helios oiled his hair and braided it into two braids, and wrapped them on his head. He put over his shoulders the matching chlamys — long, the deep red of new-spilled blood, with black ravens and yellow stars, the signs of his house.

  Satyrus examined himself in a hand mirror. ‘Very satisfactory,’ he said. He walked to the tent opening. ‘You come too, Helios. I want you to hear this.’

  He went out into the small courtyard formed by his tent, Neiron’s and Apollodorus’. There was a fire, taking the autumn chill off the air, and a circle of his men — his best. His companions. His friends. It made his heart soar, that he finally had friends, not just followers. Neiron — Draco — Anaxagoras.

  ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, and they murmured their greetings.

  ‘We’re ready,’ Abraham said.

  Satyrus shook his head. ‘I’ve called you together to prevent just such a misunderstanding,’ Satyrus said. ‘I expect no trouble from the boule. But they may act against me — indeed, they may arrest me. They may even feel that they have to arrest me, against their own desires.’ Satyrus raised his arms and indicated his finery. ‘I’m trying to dress to remind them who I am — but I may fail. If they take me, gentlemen, you are to submit absolutely to their instructions.’

  That got a reaction. Idomeneus spat. ‘Like fuck!’ the Cretan said.

  ‘Listen, friends,’ Satyrus said. ‘We’re here to do a job. I’ve said this from the start — I’m King of the Bosporus, not King of Rhodes. If you quarrel with these men, the town will fall. We win — as a team — when Demetrios sails away from these walls, and our grain warehouses and all the merchants who deal with us are safe. We win if we beat Demetrios here, because by winning here, we assure he will never come to our homes in the Euxine. Arrest me, put me on trial — if you continue to fight on, if Jubal springs his lovely trap-’

  ‘Jubal has a trap?’ Neiron asked.

  ‘I’ve avoided talking about it until Nicanor was. . put down.’ Satyrus shrugged. ‘Obey me, friends. Just this once — no heroics, no running amok.’

  Idomeneus was the first to embrace him. ‘I’ll obey,’ he said, ‘but what you’re really saying is that the stupid wide-arses intend to arrest you!’

  Satyrus was mobbed by his friends, which he enjoyed thoroughly. It helped wipe some of the blood from his hands. ‘Yes,’ he said ruefully.

  Neiron embraced him last. ‘We’ve had our differences,’ he said.

  Satyrus had to smile. ‘Better to say, “there have been times we’ve agreed”.’

  ‘But you were right to kill him. You’re a tyrannicide, not a tyrant. And many here feel as I do.’ There were tears in the man’s eyes.

  Beyond Neiron was Abraham. ‘They’re fools,’ he said. He and Satyrus embraced.

  And outside the courtyard was Miriam, hollow-eyed with fatigue.

  Satyrus’ heart rose when he saw her. She didn’t shirk meeting his eye, and he felt that he had to say something.

  ‘I had to do it,’ he said. It sounded lame, put like that.

  She stepped up to him and kissed him, causing her brother to go white with shock. ‘Someone had to do it,’ she said. ‘As usual, you did it yourself.’

  ‘You are the very mistress of ambiguity,’ he said. Her chaste kiss felt like a new bruise. He wanted to lick his lips. Or hers.

  She smiled from under her eyelashes, and then he was walking away, as if nothing had happened.

  The boule did not arrest him, or order him to trial, or to be executed.

  They appointed him polemarch, the war commander of the city.

  28

  DAY SIXTY AND FOLLOWING

  The seventy-fifth day of the siege, Diokles slipped out of a long line of storm clouds with four captured Athenian grain ships — great ships, the height of four men — and ran them into the outer harbour before any of Demetrios’ ships dared leave the beach. Diokles’ former helmsmen had time to embrace him once, wave at the soldiers piling ashore and laugh.

  ‘We’re killing Demetrios at sea,’ he said. ‘And Leon snapped up a whole Athenian relief squadron. Do you need us to get you out of here?’

  Satyrus shook his head. ‘I’m the commander,’ he said.

  Diokles laughed. ‘I should have known. If there’s smoke, there you are, fanning it. Leon says to tell Panther to send all the rest of their fleet to sea — we have Syme and two other ports, and we’re getting ready to challenge the bugger before winter sets in. We’ve got six thousand Aegyptians ready to land, and your impetuous sister is up at Timaea with Nikephorus and Coenus and all your mercenaries.’

  Satyrus nodded. ‘Superb — but only if you can keep us fed.’

  ‘You must need more men!’ Diokles said.

  Satyrus nodded. ‘I need men. I need archers — every archer is worth ten men. But food is the sticking point, and soon, very soon, Apollo will start to shoot his poisoned shafts into the town. There’s people in the Neodamodeis camp who look. . well, like sick people.’

  Diokles winced. ‘I’ll tell Leon. You tell Panther.’

  ‘Panther’s dead,’ Satyrus said.

  ‘Poseidon!’ Diokles said. ‘Hades. I loved that man.’ He looked around. ‘This place looks as if it has been crushed under Zeus’ heel. Can you hold another month?’

  Satyrus nodded. ‘We hold this town one day at a time,’ he said.

  The disease started in the slave camps. Too many of them had not been freed — at least, in Satyrus’ opinion. The ones left enslaved were prey to despair. And poor diet and despair were the breeding grounds of disease. Satyrus was a pious man, but he had no trouble noting that hungry men got sick faster than full men.

  Women were next. And when they were sick, their men got sick.

  Three weeks after his confident assertion that he had all the men he needed, Satyrus was guarding the walls with fewer than a thousand men. Apollo was stalking his own city, and his poisoned shafts were reaping a rich harvest.

  Satyrus fought off a probing assault on the latest south curtain wall with his own marines and the ephebes. The rest of the garrison was sick. Or dead. Apollodorus’ marines were curiously immune. Charmides, who was by then madly in love with Aspasia’s daughter Nike, went from sick bed to sick bed, reckless of the disease, and it never touched him.

  Miriam did the same, and Satyrus got a hint of the fear he might cause in those who loved him — she went from sick tent to sick tent, and he shuddered for her. Had Miriam not been a Jew, the town would have offered to make her Aspasia’s deputy priestess — she went everywhere that the older woman went, to rich and poor, and neither of them had sickened.

  So far.

  On the eighty-eighth day of the siege, with the first breath of autumn weather off t
he harbour, heavy mist rising from the warm water on a brisk morning, Diokles appeared with a pair of ships — Tanais merchant ships, loaded to the gunwales with grain, wine, oil and archers.

  Sakje archers.

  Bundles of arrows — long, heavy cedar shafts for the Cretans. Cane arrows and stiff pine shafts for the Sakje.

  The Sakje came off the ships in a mob, and the sound of their rough voices and the smell of their coats made him smile. He smiled even more when he saw men he knew — and women, too. Scopasis, and Thyrsis, both carrying heavy woolsacks.

  ‘No horses here!’ Satyrus quipped at Scopasis.

  The former bandit with the scarred face squinted, and his scars made a smile that made most men blanch. ‘Lady says come. We come.’ He clasped hands with Satyrus.

  ‘How is she?’ Satyrus asked. ‘Gods, I miss her!’

  ‘Good!’ Melitta said. She was wearing a pale caribou-hide coat worked in blue — their mother’s, he thought. She was. . stronger-looking than ever. She looked like an intelligent hawk — small, fierce and ready to eat anything she didn’t like. She had a line of white in her blue-black hair. ‘I missed you too. And since you couldn’t be bothered to come home and rule your own kingdom, I’ve come here to fetch you back.’

  She hugged him, and he hugged her.

  They walked up through the town, hand in hand.

  ‘Smells like death,’ she said.

  ‘That’s your war name, not mine,’ he said.

  ‘This town smells like death. Like shit.’ She shook her head. ‘Why are you here?’

  Satyrus stopped. ‘They need me. And this is our grain centre.’

  Melitta grinned. ‘Save it for people who don’t know you.’

  ‘I’m in love,’ Satyrus said.

  ‘That’s more like it. So — can I kill Amastris?’ Melitta waved at Demetrios’ camp.

  Satyrus hugged her. ‘I’ve missed you.’

  ‘I’ve missed you, too. Where is this paragon? Have you married her?’ She asked.

  Satyrus paused. ‘She — she may love someone else.’

  Melitta raised an eyebrow. ‘Let me get this right. You are squandering our kingdom’s riches for a town where there’s a woman you love who you don’t know, for certain sure, loves you?’