Tyrant: Storm of Arrows

by Christian Cameron

  ‘Keep a civil tongue,’ Kineas barked.

  ‘“The situation swells to greater tension. Something will explode soon,”’ Philokles quoted, laughing. ‘Aristophanes covers almost every sexual situation, I find.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself, Spartan,’ Kineas said.

  ‘The same might be suggested to you, Strategos.’ Philokles ducked a blow and slipped out of the door.

  Two days later, Leosthenes the Athenian paid another visit and Kineas felt himself excused to climb the hill. It was early evening by the time he was admitted and Banugul was reclining on a couch, alone, with a dozen guests on couches eating a banquet. Darius was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Dear Kineas,’ she said. ‘I would have invited you, but I feared your rejection. Please join us.’

  She was modestly dressed in an Ionic chiton that left her shoulders visible. The wool was fine and pure white, and her skin stood the comparison. She rolled from a reclining position to sitting and clapped her hands, and a pair of male slaves rushed from the room.

  ‘Sit by me, Strategos,’ she said, patting her couch. She waved a languid hand at her guests. ‘Do you all know Kineas of Athens?’ she asked. ‘Sartobases was a loyal officer of my mother’s family and has followed me here.’ The Persian, obviously uncomfortable on a couch, rose to a sitting position and bowed from the waist. ‘Philip serves in the household of my sister Barsine,’ she said, indicating a Macedonian just out of boyhood. Alone of the men in the room, he seemed comfortable on his couch.

  ‘I congratulate you on crossing the passes in this weather,’ Kineas said.

  ‘I had good guides, sir,’ the young man said with enthusiastic courtesy. ‘And every reason to reach my goal!’

  Kineas smiled at the young man’s earnestness. ‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You came from Ecbatana?’ he asked, as if uninterested.

  ‘Oh, no,’ Philip said. ‘The king is at Kandahar, and so is my mistress. Parmenion holds Ecbatana.’

  ‘Kandahar in Sogdiana?’ Kineas said.

  ‘Perhaps you could show a little more interest in your hostess and a little less in spying on Alexander,’ Banugul said lazily. To Philip, she said, ‘My good strategos is taking a small army east to make war on your master.’

  Philip looked as if a wasp had stung him. Then his face relaxed. ‘My lady is pleased to make light of my youth. No Greek would dare to make war on Alexander.’

  The slaves returned with another couch and placed it by the queen’s. Kineas didn’t notice how close she had been until he was alone on his own couch and the distance seemed like a gulf of stars, but the analytical soldier in his head was already measuring the stades to Kandahar. ‘The king has made peace in Sogdiana, then?’ Kineas said, drawing a glare from Banugul.

  Philip shook his head, making a face to indicate that he was a man of the world. ‘The rump of the Persian empire continues to rebel. Spitamenes - a rebel against Darius, and now against my lord - is in league with the Scythian barbarians on the sea of grass. My lord will punish them soon.’

  None of the Persian men were pleased by this speech, and Sartobases, who had a strong face and might have played Old Nestor in a tragedy, made the motion of spitting. ‘Listen, boy,’ he said. ‘Your master may have won Syria and Palestine and Egypt by his spear, but the land of the Bactrians and the Medae is not conquered.’

  ‘Hush, uncle,’ Banugul said. ‘We are all friends here.’

  Kineas didn’t think so. He looked at Banugul with new understanding. How many plots were in this mosaiced room tonight?

  ‘Do you wish to ask me about Leosthenes?’ Kineas said quietly.

  ‘Why, did he visit you again?’ she asked, her voice light. ‘Wait until we are private.’

  They were educated men and they spoke of astrology, at her bidding, of signs that they had seen come to pass, portents and dreams. Kineas admitted to having god-sent dreams and Philip listened with wide eyes as the youngest Persian told a story of intrigue and murder based on predictions drawn from the stars. Then she had her Carian singer perform. He sang in his own language and then, with a bow to Kineas, he sang the Choice of Achilles from the Iliad, and Kineas applauded him. And then the Carian sang in Persian, a simple song of forbidden love. Kineas’s Persian was good enough to catch the illicit nature of the love but not the details. He was more interested in watching old Sartobases look disapprovingly at Banugul.

  It was nothing like a symposium - no ceremony with the wine, which was served by slaves, no contests and no performances by the guests. Philip watched the dark-haired slave girl who poured his wine like a falcon with a piece of meat, and began to stroke her at every opportunity, until his hostess made a sign and she was replaced. Aside, she said to Kineas, ‘Do Greek men really allow themselves to be publicly pleasured at parties?’

  Kineas felt himself flush. ‘Young men - hmm. Yes. Not at nice parties.’

  Banugul laughed, her irritation banished by his embarrassment. ‘You’re blushing! You’ve done this yourself?’ She laughed aloud. ‘I can’t picture it.’

  Kineas sat up.

  ‘Don’t be a prude. It’s quite a picture.’ Banugul shook her head. The other guests were disputing Bessus’s right to be King of Kings. ‘You are so reserved—’

  ‘I was young. It was all fascinating. And easy. And I was challenged—’

  ‘Is that what you require, Kineas?’ she asked, rolling closer to him. ‘A challenge?’ Her face was a hand’s span from his. ‘Shall I dare you to pleasure yourself on one of my maids?’ she asked, eyes sparkling.

  ‘I am out of practice at this sort of banter,’ he replied. He rolled on to his stomach for a variety of reasons.

  ‘I can tell,’ she answered, casting him a half-smile of challenge over her shoulder as she turned to address another guest.

  She played the hostess perfectly, demure as a Persian maiden, witty as an Athenian hetaira. All things to all men, Kineas thought. He willed himself to make his report and go.

  But he did not.

  Her guests took themselves off one by one, and Kineas was conscious that he was not leaving and they were - but she had asked him to stay, and the matter of Leosthenes remained between them, or so he told himself.

  Sartobases was the last to go, and he raised an elegant Persian eyebrow at Kineas.

  ‘We have unfinished business,’ Banugul said, indicating Kineas.

  Sartobases shrugged. ‘I can well imagine,’ he said to her in Persian.

  ‘He speaks Persian,’ Banugul said, indicating Kineas.

  Sartobases bowed deeply and flushed. ‘My apologies, lord.’

  Kineas shook his head. ‘None required, lord. We are in the Land of Wolves.’

  Sartobases nodded, his eyes narrow. Then he was gone, and they were alone, except for twenty slaves clearing away the food.

  ‘Come and lie by me,’ she said lightly, as if it were a matter of no importance. She patted her couch.

  ‘I think not,’ he said, hating the sound of weak prudery in his voice.

  ‘Who says you rise to a challenge? Then make your report and go back to your barracks.’ She sat up.

  ‘I am sorry. I mean only—’

  ‘Don’t be weak.’ She smiled dismissively.

  ‘I find you . . .’ he began, hoping to excuse his refusal.

  ‘Now you will make me angry, Kineas. Do as thou wilt, and only as thou wilt. That is the law of kings and queens. If thou wilt not, then so be it - it is not my fault that you have chosen so.’ She slipped between formal Persian and Greek in every sentence.

  Stung, Kineas sat back down on his own couch. ‘There is more to virtue and vice than doing as I will,’ he said.

  She smiled at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘All your philosophy is merely to cover the weakness of those who cannot attain all the things they desire, or master them once attained. Your virtue is merely abstinence, and the avoidance of your vice is merely the cowardice of fear of consequence.’

  ‘Fear of consequence?’ he asked. She wa
s angry. And she was no longer all things to all men.

  ‘Alexander has found the philosophy of kings. I learned it from him. Perhaps he learned it from your Aristotle? There is no law. That is the only law.’ She was serious.

  ‘You will not debate me into your arms,’ Kineas said, standing up.

  ‘Will I not? I get more response from you like this than with honey.’ She stood too, and walked straight to him.

  ‘Your philosophy—’

  ‘To Hades with philosophy, Kineas.’ She came up close, and he could see her, backlit by the torchlight from the room’s north wall from knee to shoulder through the thin stuff of her chiton. ‘I need you to protect my little kingdom in the spring.’ She came closer and raised her face, where flecks of gold sparkled in her mascara. Her voice was low, husky and tired, but she smelled like spring. ‘In the autumn I was willing to pay the price. Now I am eager to pay it.’

  Somewhere beyond her in the torchlight, a slave dropped a heavy silver platter with a noise like a man beating a metal drum, or like a goddess clearing her throat. Kineas stepped back and kissed her hand, his resolve steadied.

  ‘Coward,’ she said. ‘I can feel your desire. And I am no painted harlot.’

  He took a breath, and all he breathed was her. ‘I am a coward,’ he said. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from hers. ‘You are no painted harlot.’

  She shrugged and moved away. ‘Go,’ she commanded.

  Riding down the hill, he felt nothing but shame at his own indecision.

  Kineas vowed not to return.

  Again.

  Because his horses were thin and he needed remounts, because Coenus was due with the bullion, because the passes had been closed by snow and they were all worried by the lack of news - and because the queen had abandoned modesty, Kineas felt the urge to act. So when he saw flowers coming through the snow, Kineas summoned his friends. He served the last of his good Chian wine.

  ‘I want to be ready to march,’ he said. He looked around.

  Every man met his eye, and the grunts of agreement were clear. At his elbow, Philokles nodded. Niceas, who had grown a bushy beard, scratched at it.

  ‘Fodder,’ Niceas said.

  Kineas agreed. ‘That’s the problem. We need fodder. The fodder has to come in from the queen’s peasants. They hate her, for starters, and she’s none too fond of us right now, because we’re marching away and leaving her to Parmenion’s vultures.’

  ‘That’s one reason,’ said Philokles, who missed nothing, when he was sober.

  Diodorus rubbed his eyes. Smoke from the hearth was stinging them all, and every eye in camp was constantly red-rimmed. ‘Her own mercenaries are ready to sell her to Artabazus. That citadel won’t last a feast cycle when we march away. Everyone has their money on Parmenion.’

  Kineas motioned to Nicanor, who signed to a slave, who poured wine in Kineas’s cup. Kineas stood. ‘She’s intelligent and resourceful and dangerous as a wolf. I want the guard led by someone in this room until we march. I want to set a date and publicize it. Then we’ll march two days early, in combat formation. And I want the prodromoi out as soon as Ataelus is willing to go, covering the route east all the way to the edge of the desert.’

  No one disputed his ideas.

  Diodorus held out his cup for wine. ‘We should be drilling the combat formation for marching. We should do it by sections, so that it’s not obvious to anyone watching.’

  Kineas frowned. ‘That’s excellent. Draw up the plan and let’s give it to every officer by tomorrow. Nicanor, can you scribe for Diodorus?’

  Nicanor nodded.

  Heron had grown up again during the winter. Now he spoke out. ‘Two things, sir. First, do we need an operational plan in case we need to gather the forage ourselves? And second, if we leave,’ he coloured, ‘I hesitate to use the term hostile, but if the queen is not our friend when we march away, what becomes of Coenus and the bullion?’

  Kineas, who had spent all winter worrying about Coenus, took a deep breath and released it. ‘We send a message to the fort at the top of the Kaspian, telling Coenus not to land here, and send guides to help him follow us.’

  Heron jutted out his jaw insistently. ‘Easier to seize a town on the coast and hold it for him,’ he said. ‘With a garrison that can become his escort.’

  That silenced the room. Kineas glanced at Philokles. ‘I had thought of leaving the infantry behind, or sending them home,’ he said.

  Lycurgus, who had heard this idea all winter, shook his head. ‘We can keep up, if it comes to that. But Hades, Strategos, the boy’s plan isn’t a bad one. March up the coast and seize one of the wolf towns. It’d take us three or four days - there’s nothing up there to stop three hundred hoplites.’

  Diodorus cut in. ‘I could go beyond that. Leosthenes says Hyrkania is full of Hellenes - deserters from one side or another. I’ve seen them - there are two groups of men who’ve sniffed around our camp, looking to be recruited. We could buy them.’

  Kineas shook his head. ‘My goal is to strike a blow against Alexander with Srayanka. I’m not interested in the conquest of Hyrkania - which, let me tell you, would be a harder nut than you two seem to think.’

  Leon shook his head. ‘Can’t we keep the queen sweet?’ Like Heron, Leon had grown over the winter. In his case, he was not just older but also more confident of his status as a free man. He frowned at Kineas. ‘I have money tied into this place, now. So do you. If the queen repudiates all the contracts I’ve made, I’ve wasted the winter.’

  Kineas groaned.

  ‘Listen to me, Kineas,’ Leon insisted. ‘There’s more to the world than Herodotus thought. For two years I’ve heard rumours - Nicomedes heard them - of a great empire in the east, beyond the sea of grass. The place from which silk comes.’ He looked around at all of them, his eyes hot, and Kineas smiled inwardly, because Leon was no longer a slave. ‘It’s called Kwin, or Qu’in,’ he said, voice husky with passion. ‘I mean to go there!’

  ‘Good for you, lad,’ Niceas said with a smile.

  The black man grinned. ‘I’m getting carried away. But I’m telling you, if we could open this route - if we could manage even a tithe of the trade across the old trade road - we’d be richer than Croesus.’

  Eumenes frowned. ‘I think we need to discuss war, not trade. Trade is for merchants.’

  Leon raised his chin. ‘Your father was a merchant.’

  ‘Shut your mouth!’ Eumenes said. He rose to his feet.

  ‘And a traitor,’ Leon said, conversationally.

  Diodorus didn’t need a glance from Kineas to deal with adolescents. He put a hand on each combatant’s shoulder. ‘You are both rude and your comments have no place in a command conference. Apologize or suffer the consequence,’ he said. His words were spoken quietly, but they carried over every whispered side conversation and the room fell silent.

  ‘I apologize,’ Leon said. He was blushing so hard that his dark skin seemed to be engorged with blood.

  ‘I apologize for Leon’s bad manners as well as my own,’ Eumenes said. ‘He spent too much time as a slave and can’t help himself.’ Eumenes spoke rapidly, still enraged, and then looked stricken when he thought about what he had said aloud.

  Kineas raised an eyebrow. ‘You may go to your quarters, Eumenes. Do not communicate with any other person. I will come and pay you a visit.’ He waited a moment, as the stunned young man stood frozen. ‘Now, Eumenes.’

  Eumenes walked from the smoky hall in a daze.

  When he was gone, Kineas found himself stroking his beard and made his fingers stop. He sipped his wine - excellent stuff, with a smell like wild berries, dark as ox blood - and nodded. ‘We’re not here to open a trade route,’ he said. He raised an eyebrow at Heron. ‘We’re not here to give you a base against Pantecapaeum, either. But if you lads can accomplish your dreams while obeying the orders of this council, I’m not against it.’

  Heron’s family had provided generations of tyrants to Pantecapaeum, and
he was currently in exile. Heron made no secret of his ambitions to be tyrant there - perhaps king of the Bosporus, as well. He gave a careful smile. ‘I appreciate your help. When I’m king—’

  Niceas laughed. ‘Heron the first?’

  Philokles laughed. ‘Eumeles, I suspect. The melodious one. Won’t that be your reigning name?’

  Heron gave a wry smile. ‘You learn every secret.’

  Philokles shook his head. ‘Not much of a secret. So we’re to be richer than Croesus?’

  Niceas laughed. ‘Richer than Croesus is good,’ he said, giving Leon a smile. He winked at Heron. ‘Your parents actually called you Eumeles?’

  ‘They hadn’t heard my voice yet,’ Heron replied in his usual croak.

  Diodorus leaned forward, cutting back to the matter at hand. ‘You really think we can live without the infantry?’ he asked. His face was burning - he was in the grip of a grand idea.

  Kineas answered, ‘Yes.’ He tried to sound cautious.

  Diodorus turned to the rest of them. ‘We leave Lycurgus. He starts recruiting tomorrow. He can keep the quality high, get a thousand hoplites and train them to our standard. The queen is saved - no force in Hyrkania can evict a thousand hoplites from this fort and the citadel. We’re saved - we have a secure town in our rear. Coenus can come here. Our contracts are safe.’

  ‘Until Artabazus sends the whole levy of the satrapy.’ Kineas glanced around and shrugged. ‘It’s not bad. Lycurgus?’

  The old mercenary shrugged. ‘Big command. You’d have to leave me another officer.’ He shrugged. ‘I came out here to follow Kineas, not to garrison some barbarian hill town.’ He shrugged again. ‘But I obey orders.’ He grinned. ‘Make her pay through the nose.’

  Heron stood. ‘I’ll stay,’ he said. It was clear to all the gentlemen present that Heron saw the town as a springboard to recruit mercenaries and go back to seize Pantecapaeum, just as Kineas had said. But being Heron, he didn’t hide his motivations. He just bulled towards them regardless of consequences. Kineas suspected that he shared Banugul’s philosophy. Do as you will. A suitable virtue for a tyrant.