Parshtaevalt’s hands were bloody to the elbow, and rivulets of blood had run all the way down his torso where he had raised his arms in the air to show his trophies. ‘Too long have I been the nursemaid!’ he said in his excellent Greek. ‘Aiyeee!’
Srayanka kissed him, and most of the rest of the Sakje pressed forward to touch him.
Kineas was grinning. ‘Was that Achilles?’ he asked.
Philokles met his grin with one of his own. ‘I have seldom seen anything so beautiful,’ Philokles said. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. ‘Praise to Ares that I was allowed to see so brave an act. Ah!’ He sang:
Ares, exceeding in strength, chariot-rider, golden-helmed,
Doughty in heart, shield-bearer, saviour of cities, harnessed in bronze,
Strong of arm, unwearying, mighty with the spear,
O defence of Olympus, father of warlike Victory,
Ally of Themis, stern governor of the rebellious,
Leader of righteous men, sceptred king of manliness,
Who whirl your fiery sphere among the planets
In their sevenfold courses through the aether
Wherein your blazing steeds ever bear you
Above the third firmament of heaven;
Hear me, helper of men, giver of dauntless youth!
Shed down a kindly ray from above upon my life,
And strength of war, that I may be able to drive
Away bitter cowardice from my head
And crush down the deceitful impulses of my soul.
Restrain also the keen fury of my heart
Which provokes me to tread the ways of blood-curdling strife.
Rather, O blessed one, give me boldness to abide
Within the harmless laws of peace, avoiding strife
And hatred and the violent fiends of death.
The Greeks took it up, and the Olbians had good voices. They sang, roaring the lines as if every man of them was a champion, and the sound carried over the cropped, dry grass and the sand to the Sogdae, who were gathered on their bank, no longer willing to push down into the flood plain and the tamarisk scrub, just visible in the rising column of dust and sand from the fight. Their horses were fidgeting and calling for water.
When the song was done, the Greek horse gathered their mounts and dragged them from the water and up the bank to their ridge. Concealment was now purposeless, but Kineas sent them back over the ridge anyway — easier than giving them new positions, and some shade to protect them. The shadows were long, but the sun still had power out on the plains.
The Sauromatae were still watering their horses. Kineas rode over in time to hear Lot cursing at some men who were still in the stream. One of them waved his golden helmet, and all fifteen of the men in the stream mounted. The man in the golden helmet turned his horse in a spray of water. He had his horse at the gallop in just a few strides, and he rode straight for Mosva, who was watering her father’s horse. She looked up and grinned, clearly thinking it a game. She called something, and she died with that smile on her face, as Upazan cut her head from her body in one swing of his long-handled axe. Then he turned and rode at Lot.
‘Now fight me, you old coward!’ he crowed, riding at the prince.
Leon, at Kineas’s side, put his head down and pressed his heels to his mount. He had a small mare with a deep chest and a small head, a pretty horse that Leon doted on. She fairly flew across the water, her hooves appearing to skim the surface. Too late to save Mosva, Leon rode in. Upazan, his whole charge aimed at Lot, pushed for his target and ignored the Numidian, but the smaller mare rammed the bigger Sauromatae gelding in the rump, forcing the horse to stumble and sidestep, almost throwing his rider.
Upazan took a cut at Leon with the axe. Leon’s mare danced back, and the axe missed, and Leon’s spear licked out, pricking Upazan in the side. Kineas, still stunned to see two of his own men fighting, had time to be reminded of Nicomedes’ fastidious fighting style. The Numidian used his mare to avoid every cut and he landed two more blows that drew blood.
Upazan’s companions were milling in confusion and then one of them left the others and rode at Leon.
Lot was frozen in disbelief. ‘Bastard!’ he called, pressing forward.
Another of Upazan’s men drew a bow and shot. The arrow passed between Philokles and Kineas. A second arrow rattled off Lot’s armour.
Upazan stood up, knees clenched on the barrel of his horse, and leaned out, whirling his axe on the wrist thong for more reach. It caught Leon on the bull’s-hide shield he wore strapped to his left shoulder in the Sakje manner and skidded up, ringing off the Numidian’s helmet. At the same moment, Leon’s spear licked out again, this time passing under the bronze brow of the Sauromatae’s heavy helm and entering the man’s face. Blood flowered from under his helmet and Upazan folded.
Leon fell into the river and Philokles and Kineas raced to reach him, while Upazan’s friends dragged him free of his horse and bolted for the far side of the stream.
‘Arse-cunts!’ bellowed Philokles, struggling with his horse and trying to get an arm under Leon. ‘Traitors!’
Lot was still cursing. The ranks of the Sauromatae were moving like a corpse full of maggots.
‘I must calm my people,’ he said. His voice was dull. He looked like a man who had taken a wound. His daughter’s headless corpse lay at the far edge of the river and the water was a sickly red-brown where her blood mingled with the silt.
Several of Ataelus’s scouts surrounded her. Others rushed to surround Leon. Philokles and Eumenes supported Leon out of the water. Kineas laid him on the bank and cut his chinstrap. The base of his skull showed blood and his neck was cut so deep that the cords of his neck muscles could be seen. There was blood everywhere.
‘He killed her, didn’t he?’ Leon asked in a dull voice.
Philokles was off his horse and there. ‘Concussion,’ he said. ‘Give him to me. You command your army.’
Kineas handed over that responsibility with thanks and remounted. He swept his horse in a circle, another ugly feeling in his gut.
Upazan’s companions had crossed the river straight south and then ridden east along the water. The Sakje, confused, had not loosed an arrow. Even the prodromoi let them go.
Two stades away to the south and east, a man in a dust-coloured cloak with wide purple bands at the edges reined in at the far edge of the Oxus. Behind him was a dense column of purple-blue cloaks and dirty brown cloaks — Macedonian cavalry and a handful of Royal Hetairoi. Trumpets sounded and the blond man waved a dozen troopers forward to intercept Upazan’s friends. And then the dust cloud of the column settled over everything.
Kineas turned to Diodorus. ‘That is what we call a bad omen,’ he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off the blood in the water. When he did, all he could see were the Sauromatae, trickling back over the ridge.
Diodorus made a sign of aversion. ‘If Spitamenes comes now and decides to take our side?’ he said.
Kineas rode back up the face of the ridge that concealed his cavalry. He stopped at the top. The Sauromatae were spread in groups over several stades of the rough ground, and all could be seen to be arguing. Kineas rode down into the valley beyond, looking for Lot. When he found him, in the middle of a dozen furious warriors, he rode straight in.
‘Will you hold?’ Kineas asked. ‘Or do I have to retreat?’
Stung, Lot drew himself up. ‘We’ll hold,’ he said.
Kineas looked around at the Sauromatae warriors, who met his gaze steadily. Kineas pointed up the hill with his sword. ‘Two summers, we have covered each other’s backs,’ he said. ‘No boy, no kin-slayer, is going to rob us of victory.’
Grunts and nods. ‘Wait for my signal,’ Kineas said, and rode back up the ridge to Diodorus, feeling far less confidence than he had just expressed.
‘We’re fucked,’ Kineas said, showing Diodorus what he saw. ‘If even a third of them decide to support Upazan and attack the rest, Craterus can cross at will.’
>
Diodorus nodded. ‘Ares’ throbbing cock,’ he said bitterly. ‘We have him. Craterus is too late to push us and we’re already outfighting his Sogdae. Look at them!’ Diodorus pointed at the far bank. The sullen unwillingness of the Sogdae troopers there was conveyed through posture and movement, but to a pair of cavalrymen, it was like a shout.
Kineas waved for Srayanka and cantered down over the ridge, invisible from Craterus’s position. Once out of sight, he began to use his hands. ‘See that,’ he shouted at Srayanka as she rode up.
She pulled off her helmet and her black braids fell free from their coils. ‘See it? Husband, my eyes have seen nothing else for an hour. Was that Mosva?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Kineas spat in disgust. ‘I’m betting that they hold, but I want you to be ready to cover our retreat. If Craterus wants to cross, I intend to make him pay.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I may even attack him.’ He pointed across. ‘If we leave him here, that’s the end of our dream of moving on the Polytimeros.’
She nodded.
Kineas turned to Ataelus, who had just brought the prodromoi back across the Oxus and was now awaiting orders.
‘Go north, behind Srayanka, and then back into the scrub. Cover my left flank.’
Ataelus was pale, his shoulder and arm stiff with bandages, but his eyes gleamed. ‘Sure,’ he said. He turned his horse and waved his whip, and the prodromoi, all on fresh horses, trotted north.
Kineas pointed over his shoulder. ‘Our wagons are only an hour’s steady ride north,’ he said — a silly thing to say, as she would know as well as he. ‘We have to fight.’ He kissed her and rode back to the Olbians in the centre.
‘What the fuck is going on with the boiler-ovens?’ Eumenes asked, pointing at the Sauromatae and giving them the Greek name for fully armoured men.
‘Upazan made a stab at being king,’ Kineas said. ‘He killed Mosva and probably intended to kill Lot as well.’
‘He loved her,’ Eumenes said. He swallowed. ‘I was — quite fond..’ His attempt to remain laconic failed and he sobbed.
Kineas gave him a hug. ‘Not where the troops can see you, my boy,’ he said, hiding the younger man with his cloak. ‘Choke on it. There — are you ready?’
‘Yes,’ Eumenes said. He took a deep breath.
‘Don’t let Urvara see you sobbing for that girl,’ Diodorus said.
Kineas glared at him. ‘Diodorus!’ Kineas said. ‘I seem to remember
…’ he began, and Diodorus gave him a rueful smile.
‘I remember too,’ he said.
Together, they rode back over the crest of the ridge. A handful of Craterus’s Sogdians were crossing the Oxus in a spray of water well to the west. ‘Too far west to threaten us very soon,’ Kineas said.
Diodorus unslung a water skin. ‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘Muddy and warm. Faint smell of goat, too.’ He grinned appreciatively. ‘By now, Craterus has heard we have problems from that dickless arse-cunt Upazan, so he’s going to put pressure on the weakness and then come right across into our faces.’ He smiled. ‘Of course, by now he sees all the dust Lot is raising. He has no real idea of how many we are and he still doesn’t know where Spitamenes is.’ He pulled off his helmet and hung it on his sword hilt. ‘Even the Dog will take his time. Since we’re not Spitamenes, he probably doesn’t need to fight.’ Diodorus looked up and down. ‘But knowing Craterus, he hasn’t figured out that we’re not his prey. And he’s ignoring the fact that his Sogdians are already afraid of us.’
Kineas nodded. ‘And he hasn’t watered his horses,’ he said.
Diodorus scratched his chin. ‘Have to admit I thought you were mad to try it, but it surely does give us an edge now.’
Kineas sat still. Thalassa stood between his knees, back unmoving, head up as if it were a cool spring morning and she was eager for a run. He’d never had such a horse. He patted her neck affectionately. ‘Have the hyperetes sound “advance by squadrons”,’ he said.
‘We’re attacking?’ Diodorus asked.
‘We’re looking confident. The afternoon is bleeding away and we need nightfall.’ Kineas pointed with his Sakje whip. ‘Look — it’s the Farm Boy.’
They had all had an affectionate nickname for the man — a royal Macedonian bastard named Ptolemy. Unlike Craterus the Dog, who’d been hated and feared, the Farm Boy had many friends. ‘Commanding Companions.’
‘No, he’s with the Sogdians,’ Kineas said. ‘Poor bastard.’
Behind Kineas, Andronicus blew the trumpet call. The Olbian squadrons surged forward across the ridge. Their line was neat and the afternoon sun turned the bronze of their armour to fire.
‘Sound “halt”. Let’s see what they do.’ Kineas watched.
A minute later, and there were messengers flying among the Macedonians on the other side of the river. ‘They only have, what, eight hundred horse?’ Kineas asked.
Eumenes was looking up and down. ‘Twice that, surely!’
Diodorus laughed. ‘Youth is wasted on the young,’ he said. ‘Kineas is right. And half of them are Sogdians.’
Kineas looked up and down the riverbank. A stade from the river on both sides, the ground was like desert, with sun-scorched grass and gravel. But the valley itself was two stades wide and it was green — sometimes marshy, sometimes meadows of grass with stands of tamarisk and rose brush. On the far side, there were two distinct groups of Sogdian cavalry, and on Kineas’s far left, a pair of tight-knit squadrons of Macedonian professionals. The whole line moved, because the enemy horses were restless. They were moving so much that they were raising a new dust cloud, making it hard to see them.
‘I’m going to go for him,’ Kineas said, suddenly decisive. He felt better immediately, his guts settling. He saw it. ‘We’ve little to gain, sitting in the sun. His horses are tired and mine aren’t. If we get beaten, we retire into the sunset. He’s a thousand stades from his camp. Sound good to you?’
Diodorus responded by taking his helmet, which hung by the chinstrap from his sword hilt, and putting it on. He was smiling as he tied his chinstrap.
Kineas looked around for a messenger. His eyes fixed on Leon, who had blood on the white leather of his corslet and a heavy bandage under his wide-brimmed Boeotian helmet.
‘Leon, ride all the way to Ataelus. You listening, lad? You fit?’
The Numidian nodded fiercely.
‘All the way to Ataelus. Tell him to get across and harass the far left of the enemy line. Understand? Say it back.’
Leon pulled off his helmet to listen better. ‘All the way to Ataelus. Harass the enemy left flank.’
‘Go!’ said Kineas. He looked around for another messenger. He found Hama, the chieftain of the Keltoi. ‘Hama, go to Srayanka and tell her to move forward into bow range and start plucking at the Macedonian cavalry — those right there. See?’
Hama nodded.
‘Tell her to support Ataelus on her left. You understand?’
Hama nodded and gave the smile of a man who’d captained a few fights. ‘Tell your wife to harass the horsemen in front and help Ataelus turn their flank,’ he said.
‘You’ve got it. Go!’ said Kineas. He rode over the ridge and waved his arm at the Sauromatae until Lot noticed him. Then he waved towards the eastern bank. Lot waved back.
Kineas rode back to the top of his ridge, took one more look at the Macedonian positions and pulled his cheek plates down. ‘Ready?’ he called. ‘Slow and steady over the rough ground. Keep your line and look tough and the Sogdians will vanish. Be ready to wheel left by squadron. I’m going to get us up the bank and turn north into the flank of their real cavalry. Got it?’ He looked back over his shoulder and the Sauromatae were moving, Lot’s helmet gleaming as the Sauromatae started down the tail of the ridge on Kineas’s right. Water flashed under the hooves of the lead horses. On the far bank, the rightmost Sogdian group began to mill in confusion.
‘Sound “advance”,’ Kineas yelled.
The Olbian line moved forward at a
walk, picked their way down the spring riverbank, slipping and sliding on the sand, and then re-formed neatly on the broad meadow in the river valley. Kineas took the point of the leftmost Olbian rhomboid, with Carlus and Diodorus behind him.
As soon as they entered the green valley, Kineas lost his lofty view of the battlefield. He gripped his first javelin and rolled his hips as Thalassa felt her way across the rough meadow, avoiding the clumps of scrub. The Olbians, old hands at rough riding, flowed around the scrub and re-formed automatically, without orders.
‘Ready?’ Kineas called. They had the green valley to themselves — the Sogdians weren’t coming down off the spring bank.
They came to the river itself and Thalassa splashed across. The spray from her hooves felt good. He gathered his reins. ‘Straight up the bank. Spread out. Go up that bank as fast as you can.’ He waved his arms. ‘Spread out! Double intervals!’
No trumpet call for that, but he was obeyed and the other two troops followed suit. A stand of tamarisk hid the Sauromatae. Too late to worry. ‘Trot!’
He put the knees to his horse and wound the throwing strap on his his first javelin.
Antigonus sounded the call and they started up the slope. Thalassa was up in two bounds, and arrows flew by him — one hit his helmet. He leaned forward, and she was up, hindquarters surging, and he pressed his heels into her sides, rose higher in his seat and roared ‘Charge!’
A single enemy rider met him. His back was to Kineas, and he was bellowing at the Sogdians to stand, stand fast. The man was an officer with a white sash around some Bactrian garment worn over his breastplate. He had a shawl over his head, but Kineas knew him. The Farm Boy.
Kineas grinned and swung his heavy lonche javelin like a two-handed axe, blindsiding him and knocking the Macedonian from his saddle. Then he shouted at his hyperetes, already reining his mount. ‘Rally!’ he called, and the trumpet rang out.
Storm of arrows t-2 Page 37
