Tyrant: Storm of Arrows

by Christian Cameron

  Diodorus narrowed his eyes, making him look even more like a fox than usual. ‘This is your revenge for all my carping? No. I won’t miss the battle.’

  Kineas shook his head. ‘There may not be a battle.’

  Philokles shook his head in turn. ‘Where you go, I go, if only to keep you from your wife’s foolish superstitions.’ He strained to see Nihmu. ‘And yours.’

  ‘Eumenes?’ Kineas looked at them.

  ‘He’ll obey,’ Diodorus said.

  ‘It will depend on what course Urvara takes,’ Philokles said. ‘He loves her.’

  Kineas realized that, as usual, Philokles was awake to signs that he, Kineas, should have noted. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And that’s why he and Leon are friends now.’ He laughed.

  Diodorus rubbed his beard. ‘I suspect the barbarian lottery is less fair than it appears,’ he said. ‘Shall I fix it?’

  Kineas nodded. ‘Excellent idea, but let Srayanka do it.’

  Diodorus nodded.

  ‘Let Srayanka do what?’ she asked, walking out of the darkness and into the firelight.

  Kineas pointed at Philokles. ‘He says Eumenes and Urvara are - together. ’

  Srayanka pretended to inspect Philokles’ empty bowl by firelight. ‘Not too foul. May I have some of this mutton?’ She held out her bowl to her husband. Then she said, ‘They are not together - yet.’ She grinned.

  Kineas handed her a full bowl from the bronze kettle at his feet. It was wearing out, the two cast gryphons that held the bucket’s bail needed new rivets, and if his cauldron needed a bronze smithy, then every cauldron in the army was in the same shape. One of thousands of things they needed.

  His eyes met hers, and they shared something about food and cooking - quarter-smiles that agreed that there was nothing remarkable about a wife returning from setting night patrols to be fed by her husband, the general. ‘The children?’

  ‘Surprisingly asleep,’ Kineas said. ‘They were so quiet I had to look at them twice to be sure all was well.’

  Srayanka walked away with her mutton, heading for the wagon. To see for herself.

  ‘So we’re settled?’ Kineas said. ‘We send some Olbians home as insurance for the Sakje. The Keltoi and the mercenaries and any volunteers from the former hoplites may stay under Diodorus and Andronicus. The men who stay get the pick of the horses and are to do their best to trade for barbarian armour.’

  Philokles raised an eyebrow. ‘What of Temerix?’

  Kineas winced. ‘Easy man to forget when he’s not in combat. I assume he’ll come with us to the east.’

  Diodorus nodded. He pursed his lips and then said, ‘All of those Sindi can ride like centaurs. Let’s get them all decent horses - we have the stock. Not much use for psiloi out on the plains.’

  Kineas ate his own mutton and drank an infusion of herbs in water rather than wine, which was in short supply. Philokles chewed bread and Diodorus looked at the stars, until Srayanka returned. Nihmu sang a little song to herself and then fell asleep, her head in Philokles’ lap.

  ‘They are fine,’ Srayanka said, returning.

  ‘We’d like to mount the Sindi on Sakje remounts,’ Kineas said.

  Srayanka nodded. ‘How many? Two per man?’ she asked.

  ‘At least,’ Diodorus answered. Like all the Greek officers, Diodorus had become addicted to the Sakje system of having three or four remounts for every rider. It made the army virtually tireless.

  ‘Two hundred horses. I have as many,’ she said. ‘And more. I will ask certain Sakje to give a horse - many have been served by the dirt people, and this should be a reward.’

  Diodorus nodded. ‘Thank you, Srayanka. They deserve it.’ He sat back. ‘Since - Niceas died - Temerix has not received the consideration due him. I’m trying to fill the gap.’

  ‘I’m embarrassed to be so reminded,’ Kineas said.

  And the twins woke with one voice, and all conversation was at an end.

  25

  ‘Craterus is at the Forks of the Polytimeros,’ Coenus reported.

  The sun was rising on a new day, and Kineas was already hot and sticky. He wore only his tunic, pulled on hastily when he heard that there was a scout coming in. Coenus was covered in dust, his usual foppishness ruined, his face a comic mask where runnels of sweat had carved lines across the coating of grey-brown grit.

  He had insisted on leading a patrol because he was, he felt, ‘out of practice’.

  Kineas sent Nicanor for all the leaders. ‘You saw him?’

  ‘In person.’ Coenus gave a dusty grin. ‘He’s not somebody you soon forget! A thousand cavalry - perhaps some mounted infantry as well. I didn’t stay to scout the whole column. Mosva had just come in with another Sauromatae girl to tell us that Spitamenes was moving north - they found his camp - and the next thing I knew my outriders were shooting arrows at his outriders. He came up in person while I was still trying to guess their numbers.’

  Kineas rubbed his beard. ‘He’ll block our way.’

  Diodorus came running up with Philokles and Eumenes close behind. ‘He’ll be in among our wagons in a day. What the hell is he doing here?’

  Coenus shook his head. ‘He’s fast. But I’ll wager a daric to an owl that he’s after Spitamenes - trying to cut him off from the sea of grass.’

  Diodorus started buckling his cuirass. ‘You are ready to command armies, Coenus. The problem is that he must have taken your scouts for Spitamenes’.’

  Kineas found that Nicanor was bringing him his armour. He stuck his arms up while Nicanor lowered the linen and scale cuirass over his head. As soon as the shoulder flaps were fastened to the breastplate, he started drawing lines in the dust. ‘If you were Craterus, in pursuit of Spitamenes—’ he said.

  ‘I’d have wine,’ Coenus said, hefting an empty amphora. Nicanor brought him a towel and a clay bottle of water. Nicanor enjoyed serving Coenus because Coenus had the kind of standards that Nicanor liked to live up to - unlike Kineas, who didn’t feel the need to dress to Athenian fashion in the midst of the sea of grass. He wiped the dust from his face and started to towel his hair. ‘If I were Craterus, I’d break off and go home. If I hit resistance on the Oxus, I would think that Spitamenes was ahead of me.’

  ‘Or I’d press the pursuit, hoping to hurt his rearguard,’ Diodorus said. ‘Let’s face it, that’s more like Craterus. He’s a terrier - once he gets his jaws on something, he never lets go. When have you ever known him not to press a pursuit until his horse fell?’

  ‘You all know this Macedonian?’ Philokles asked.

  ‘He’s older now,’ Kineas said, by way of an answer. ‘Alexander’s left fist, we used to call him.’

  ‘He doesn’t have Parmenion to hold his hand, either,’ Diodorus shot back.

  ‘So it could go either way. He could turn back, or he could be on us in, what, four hours?’ Kineas looked at Coenus.

  Ataelus came in, his bow arm still bound in a sling. The wound had infected and bled pus constantly. Ataelus looked like a man with a fever and he walked unsteadily.

  ‘You’re not fit to ride, Ataelus. Get back to your pallet and your wife.’ Kineas saw Samahe behind her husband. ‘Take him away!’

  ‘Alexander is coming, and you for sending me to bed?’ Ataelus stumbled and caught himself on the tent’s central pole. ‘Need scouts. Need for seeing over hills. Prodromoi go!’ Ataelus struck his chest. ‘Samahe go, Ataelus go.’

  Coenus, who had always got on well with the Scythian, shook his head. ‘We did do a certain amount of scouting before you came on the scene, brother.’

  Ataelus grinned. ‘No little cut for keeping me from this. Alexander comes.’

  Coenus, cleaner now, tossed his towel to Nicanor. ‘It’s not Alexander, Ataelus. It’s just Craterus. We can handle him without you.’

  Diodorus was looking at Kineas’s marks in the dust. ‘Where’s Spitamenes?’ he asked.

  ‘Ares, let’s not make that mistake again,’ Kineas said.

  Diodorus
picked up a stick. He threw a glance at Ataelus, who stood by his shoulder to correct him if he went wrong.

  ‘I think I understand. Let’s say this anthill is Marakanda. Let’s say this line is the Polytimeros and this is the Oxus,’ Diodorus drew a line from the anthill that represented Marakanda, and then a second at right angles to represent the Oxus. ‘If Alexander has raised the siege at Marakanda - that’s my guess - then Craterus is pursuing Spitamenes west - right at us.’ Diodorus moved the stick along the line of the Polytimeros and stopped at the Oxus - the cross of the T. ‘If Spitamenes went straight across, he’d vanish into the sea of grass - south of us, but not by much. If the girls saw the camp right, the Persians are west and south of us.’ He drew another line. ‘If Craterus is at the forks of the Polytimeros,’ he went on, stick pointing at the place where the Polytimeros met the Oxus, ‘then we’re three points in an equilateral triangle: we’re at this end of the T, Spitamenes at the other end of the crossbar and Craterus down here on the base. And if Spitamenes chooses to try to link up with Queen Zarina,’ he continued his line, ‘he’ll go right through here, following the crossbar. With Craterus right behind him.’

  ‘And he can’t miss us,’ Coenus said. ‘And if Craterus mistook our Sakje for Spitamenes’ Sogdians, he’s already on his way. And then he’s between Spitamenes and us.’

  Srayanka rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘We have to fight.’

  Lot came in, flanked by two of his knights. ‘Alexander is here?’ he asked.

  ‘He may be less than a day’s march away.’ Kineas recapitulated the crisis. ‘It is Alexander’s general Craterus. The king himself is at Marakanda.’ Kineas shrugged. ‘Or so we think.’

  ‘Our people must march north,’ Lot said. ‘Most of us are packed. The wagons of the Sakje will slow us.’

  ‘Without them, many will die this winter,’ Srayanka shot back.

  Kineas looked around, catching their eyes. ‘Get the prodromoi out. We’ll make a stand here. Perhaps even try a little negotiation.’

  Diodorus raised a red eyebrow, but then he hurried out. Philokles stood by. ‘Which one would you negotiate with?’ he asked.

  Kineas shook his head, staring at his map in the dust. ‘Alexander is the enemy we came to fight,’ he said. ‘Spitamenes sold Srayanka to Macedon.’

  Philokles stroked his beard. ‘I’m tired of war,’ he said. ‘Neither of them seems so very bad to me. Alexander is a tyrant, but a Hellene. Spitamenes is a Mede, but a patriot.’ He shrugged. ‘Who is the enemy?’

  Kineas looked at his map. ‘Craterus will be here first, if he’s coming,’ he said. ‘If we held him, and sent a messenger to Spitamenes - we could defeat him here.’ Kineas looked around.

  Philokles waved a hand dismissively. ‘Do we need to fight?’

  Kineas nodded. ‘The wagons will roll in two hours,’ he said. ‘We need to hold here at least until darkness, or we could have Craterus’s outriders in among the columns.’

  Scythians travelled the sea of grass in two or three parallel columns of wagons, with the herds penned between them and watched by a vanguard and a rearguard of young riders. The columns raised so much dust on the summer plains that they could be seen for fifteen stades and the rearguard was often blind owing to the dust raised.

  ‘He’ll push his men after the columns of dust,’ Coenus added. ‘May I speak frankly, friend?’

  Kineas was surprised by his tone. ‘Of course!’

  Coenus finished his water. ‘Do you really want to ambush Craterus? To what purpose?’

  Philokles nodded as if in agreement, but after a pause of shocked silence, he said, ‘For the liberation of Greece.’ He stood up like an orator. ‘Any defeat Alexander suffers weakens his choke hold on Greece. If he is beaten out here, all the states of Greece will rise up and be free. Sparta - Athens - Megara.’

  Coenus laughed. ‘Don’t you believe it, Philokles. They’ll find a way to fuck it up, trust me. They’ll fight among themselves.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I’m not much interested in liberating Greece. I’m a gentleman of Olbia now.’

  Srayanka licked her lips, and then smiled. ‘We should defeat Alexander because he is dangerous,’ she said. ‘Because he is like a wild dog, and if he is not killed, he will savage our flocks.’

  ‘Craterus is the enemy. Spitamenes is a possible ally - otherwise, just an interruption. Spitamenes poses no threat to Olbia.’ Kineas looked around and got nods of agreement. ‘Glad that’s settled,’ Kineas said. He was armoured - so were most of the men he could see. ‘Let’s move.’

  The columns rolled off before the sun crested the sky. The Sauromatae led the way, although Lot and his best warriors were left behind with Kineas’s force holding the high ground just west of the Oxus. The Sauromatae held the right of the line, hidden in a fold of ground behind a low ridge that ran parallel to the track of the trade road. Kineas placed the trained Greek horse in the centre under Diodorus, with the Olbians on the right under Eumenes and Antigonus and the Keltoi on the left under Coenus and Andronicus. On the right, Srayanka led the Sakje with Parshtaevalt and Urvara. Kineas kept a reserve of mixed Sakje and Greek cavalry - men and women who had trained together for a month - under his own command in the rear. The total force was a little less than eight hundred, because more than a third of their strength was guarding the columns and herding the animals.

  Darius was off to find Spitamenes and, if he could, persuade the partisan to alliance or at least tolerance, over Srayanka’s objections.

  Ataelus and his prodromoi, with Coenus and his picked men, were out in the trough of the Oxus valley and farther south and east.

  It was noon before the battlefield was prepared and all the men in place. Kineas sat atop the ridge with Leon, Philokles, Diodorus and a handful of Sakje maidens as messengers. There was no shade and the sun painted them in fire; not a breath of wind stirred the dust. Anywhere that the casual exercise of riding caused bare skin to contact armour - all too common - left a line of pain. Kineas used his cloak to cover his armour and then sweltered in the gritty heat of a wool cloak.

  His mouth was so full of dust that even after he rinsed and spat, his molars ground together as if he was chewing pottery.

  Leon watched the wooded ground in the valley with all the stress of a lover worried for his friend. Which he was. Mosva was down there with Ataelus instead of back behind the ridge with her father.

  An hour passed, and then a second hour.

  A third hour.

  A fourth hour.

  The sun was sinking appreciably. The day was cooler. The horses were restless, eager for the water they could smell in the bed of the Oxus, signalling their displeasure with shrill calls and a great deal of stomping and rein-chewing.

  Kineas watched it all in an agony of indecision and doubt. If I water the horses, and he comes - if Spitamenes refuses to cooperate - if Spitamenes comes first - if Craterus comes from the east on this side of the Oxus - if the horses require water - now? - now? - now? Where is he? Where is he?

  Where is Craterus?

  They saw the dust cloud before they got a report. The cloud looked to be forty stades distant, or more, but distances could be misleading on the plains. While all his friends debated its meaning, Samahe rode in, the cloud towering over her shoulder like a thunderhead. Her red leather tunic was almost brown with dust, but her chain of gold plaques glinted in the sun.

  ‘Craterus comes,’ she said. ‘For killing one enemy I shot.’ She mimed her draw and release. ‘Ataelus for saying “Ride and tell Kineas - he comes!” and Ataelus say word. Say “Iskander deploys!”’ She pointed. ‘And for dirt-eating Sogdii! Fight for Iskander, fight for Spitamenes. Same.’

  Kineas leaned forward. ‘Samahe, are you sure these are Craterus’s men? Not Spitamenes’ Sogdae?’

  ‘Greek men in bronze with cloaks like yours,’ she said, nodding. She pointed.

  Kineas looked around. ‘Time for the army to water their horses?’ he asked.

  ‘Easy,’ she an
swered. ‘Hour. Maybe more.’

  Kineas nodded. ‘Water the horses,’ he said. ‘Craterus is on to us. We have about half an hour. Bring the whole army down; give the beasts a good drink and then straight back to your places. Push the prodromoi right across to cover the watering. Tell Eumenes to have a section ready to reinforce the picket line at need.’ And he watched in agony, waiting for the Macedonians to come and crash into his horses as they drank.

  No Macedonians appeared, but there was someone out in the tamarisk scrub on the far side of the Oxus, and there was more and more dust above the flood line, and glints of colour, flashes of steel, movement. After half an hour, Ataelus’s prodromoi were under constant, if inaccurate, arrow fire from the high ground of the opposite spring bank. Nihmu came back, walking her royal stallion, which was calling loudly in pain with an arrow in his withers. Nihmu was bleeding from her shoulder. She was pale, but she came up to Kineas. ‘Ataelus asks that you send him some force. We are hard-pressed.’

  Kineas nodded. ‘Get that wound looked after,’ he said. The girl was at most thirteen years old - to Kineas, too young to be in battle. But as he watched, she was taking the arrow out of her horse’s rump, crooning to the beast while she used a tiny knife to slip the barbed head free. He never kicked. When she was done, the work of a moment, she vaulted into the saddle.

  ‘Ride down to the river and tell Eumenes to take his sortie across,’ Kineas said. The watering was taking too long, and sending Olbians to clear the Sogdae would only slow it further.

  Eumenes took almost half his troop across the Oxus. Kineas watched them trot across at the main ford and turn south in the tamarisk scrub in the valley, spreading out in a skirmish line. Every man had his javelin in his fist, ready to throw. They swept south and east, and suddenly there was a swirl of dust and a keening yell and Kineas’s guts clenched. There were Sogdae riding out of the brush, at least forty of them.

  He couldn’t hear Eumenes and he couldn’t see what was happening and his imagination was worse than the reality as the dust swirled and thickened. He clenched his reins and worried, riding back and forth on his ridge. He watched the people watering their horses and tried to urge them to go faster, to cut through the crowds on the riverbank, to get back in battle order.