Tyrant: Destroyer of Cities

by Christian Cameron

  Satyrus and the marines were out of the gate as soon as they had fire. He almost forgot to tell Jubal to cease fire.

  Fifteen engines were destroyed by fire or by bombardment: two weeks’ work by every slave in Demetrios’ camp. The next day they saw the great man survey the carnage on horseback. He issued orders, and his men raised a deep cheer.

  No hesitation in that camp.

  Satyrus saw Amastris riding at his side. He spat.

  Neiron raised an eyebrow. ‘Sure she’s not just doing what a monarch has to do?’ he asked.

  Satyrus shook his head.

  When Demetrios’ engines came out again, two weeks later, they rolled forward under cover of night. Jubal sprayed them with fire – he sent burning wads of straw and pitch, he sent rocks, he threw hails of stones. Men died.

  But in the morning, sixteen engines stood where thirty had been. And as soon as they could see, their rocks began to hit the tower.

  Jubal’s men were already out. He’d loaded and aimed all four engines, and he waited, alone, adjusting aim – he wouldn’t take a chance. Then, one by one, his four engines let loose, and each shot hit – one ploughed a red furrow through the slaves, one crushed a dozen veterans like a boy crushes ants, and two crushed engines.

  And then he swung down on a rope and watched as the remaining enemy engines pounded his precious tower. It took them all day, and another day – and then with a rumble, the tower fell.

  The people of Rhodes saw it as a defeat. Jubal just laughed.

  For nine days the machines crushed the south wall under their rocks, and on the tenth day, when there wasn’t a house standing around the wall, the taxeis came forward.

  The archers emerged from cover and bled them for a while, and then withdrew. The pikemen pressed forward, unopposed, but by now they knew what to expect, and they went up the breaches with their heads bowed and into the rubble of the town, and when they found the hidden wall just beyond the range of the engines, they simply fled. Many dropped their pikes.

  Satyrus watched them run from some archers, and smiled. His smile wasn’t very different from Jubal’s.

  The next day, the enemy machines pressed forward until their missiles could fall on the new wall.

  Well behind the new wall, free men were already excavating the next wall. And the enemy machines were just forward of an old barn, a huge stone building that served as a cover for men wounded in the endless archery sniping.

  The marines needed a rest, and Satyrus took the ephebes. Nicanor tried to forbid him to use them, and Satyrus took him aside in the boule.

  ‘I have a tunnel,’ he said. ‘It runs from just under the wall at the west gate out into the hardpan just past the gully. From there, the ephebes will be able to run straight into Demetrios’ camp.’

  Nicanor nodded. ‘I see.’

  Satyrus got his men. And he nodded to Helios as he emerged from the boule, where his hypaspist stood with Miriam. Both of them nodded back.

  Then he went to the agora, found the ephebes and led them to the house he’d ordered to be purchased five months before.

  Jubal was ready with fire and pitch – every support was coated. The moment the sortie returned – or was beaten – the tunnel was to be destroyed.

  Then Satyrus briefed the ephebes on their mission, and briefed Idomeneus and three of his best scouts on their mission.

  It took them too long to crawl down the tunnel, which was as narrow as a man’s waist in too many places. Satyrus went in after Idomeneus and his scouts. The tunnels scared him – they were dark, cold, like the land of the dead, and when his cuirass scraped along the walls, he felt as if it would all fall on his head. But Anaxagoras was the man behind him.

  They emerged in the dead ground by the walled enclosure near the old barn. Idomeneus and his three men vanished – first up the ladder – into the darkness.

  Satyrus was next. He got up the short ladder and lay down. Anaxagoras lay next to him, and then the ephebes began to emerge. Satyrus could feel his nerve fraying away – it was all taking too long.

  About half his men were out of the tunnel when the slaves tripped over Anaxagoras.

  ‘What the f—’ one muttered.

  Satyrus rose to his feet as quickly and silently as he could and beheaded the man who had spoken.

  ‘Zeus S—’ the second man started to shout, and he got Satyrus’ backswing.

  Silence.

  But there was a third slave, and he screamed.

  ‘Now,’ Satyrus yelled. ‘Go for the engines!’

  The ephebes rose and ran out of the yard. They were fifty men against an army – but a sleeping army that had no idea the ephebes could be so close.

  ‘Now what?’ Anaxagoras asked. They were virtually alone, except for two boys who’d come up out of the tunnel after the ephebes rushed off to burn the engines.

  ‘Gather the next fifty and go and rescue those boys.’ Satyrus tried to sound calm.

  They could hear men shouting for other men to rally.

  Satyrus’ patience held out to the tune of thirty-five more ephebes. He could hear fighting everywhere, and he needed to get moving. ‘Follow me,’ he said, and led the young men into the dark.

  He paused at the gate to the enclosure. ‘Anaxagoras – go back. Tell the rest of them to turn around and go back, and then tell Jubal to fire the supports.’

  ‘No,’ Anaxagoras said. ‘Send one of these boys. Where you go, I go.’

  Satyrus laughed. ‘You are insubordinate, sir.’

  ‘You’re right. No way am I going back to Miriam and saying, “He nobly sent me back, and meek as a lamb, I went”.’ Satyrus saw the flash of his teeth.

  ‘Right.’ Satyrus turned to one of the many young men – all thinner and harder than they had been half a year before. He searched for a name, and found it. ‘Plestias? You’re my messenger. Turn ’em round, all back to the start, and fire the supports.’ He touched his helmet to the young man’s and saw the hesitation, the desire and the pleasure at being saved and the disappointment all at war in his eyes by the light of the first engine to burst into flames.

  Then he led the rest of them into the darkness.

  They didn’t do as much damage as he hoped. The engines were hard to light – Demetrios’ men fought hard. But Satyrus got most of his boys away cleanly, leaving five engines afire. The white chalk on their helmets showed up well enough, and when he blew Neiron’s sea whistle, they turned and fled north, all the way to the new postern gate.

  He lost six men.

  Jubal pointed at the fire raging at the edge of the wall, and they all heard the rumble as the tunnels collapsed under their feet.

  Idomeneus came up out of the darkness from the west gate, saluted and raised an eyebrow. ‘Exactly as you said,’ he grinned. ‘You have some sort of spell that allows you to see into Demetrios’ tent? There was a taxeis of pikemen waiting just where you said.’

  Satyrus shook his head. ‘The opposite. He’s had a look into ours. When the gate opened. When Daedelus made his second try at the harbour.’ He motioned to the archer. ‘Come with me.’

  And then he gathered fifty ephebes and fifty of his own marines and set off at the double.

  Helios met him near the Temple of Poseidon. ‘Lord?’

  ‘I missed you, but I’m alive. We only got five engines.’ Satyrus kissed his hypaspist on the cheek. It always pleased him to see how much the young man loved him.

  ‘The lady and I had an adventure as well. And Mistress Aspasia – the lady invited her to join us.’

  ‘Because she’s not a nasty foreign Jew,’ Miriam said, dropping down off the remnants of a wall. Like most citizen women under fifty, she’d taken to wearing a man’s chitoniskos, Artemis-like. The moon glowed on her legs.

  She is very like my sister, Satyrus thought, and found the thought uncomfortable.

  ‘No one would doubt your word, Despoina,’ Helios said.

  ‘That’s what you think,’ Satyrus agreed. ‘Aspasia?’


  ‘You look better,’ the priestess growled. ‘Heavier. Meaner. Yes, we saw it all. He sent a pigeon.’

  ‘Not a slave?’ Satyrus asked.

  ‘A bird. All the merchants have them.’ Aspasia shrugged.

  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. ‘Nothing, 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.