Well satisfied, Kineas slumped back into sleep - sleep free of skulls or any dreams.
And the next morning, so stiff that he could scarcely mount and needed Philokles to get on Thalassa, he rode to say goodbye to many friends as the two columns parted, and their women and children and many warriors turned east or west.
Even without his wounds, the partings would have been painful, and there were a few - Diodorus and Philokles - who tried to argue that he should go west with the column. But the wound in his side was mostly just cracked ribs - the new armour had held. He had cuts on his thigh and cuts on his arms, but so did every man who had been in the action.
And every muscle in his body hurt.
The same was true of every trooper. Kineas was not of a mind to turn west.
Rosy-fingered dawn brushed every gold trapping and made them kindle. Silver and steel were stained the delicate pink of new flowers and the grass itself wavered like new-forged bronze. The wagons of the Sakje were already rolling, their dust stained the same smoked pink as the sky and the farther clouds. Above and to the right, an eagle of good omen circled, searching for prey in the first light.
At the edge of the last watercourse before the Polytimeros, Kineas stood by Thalassa, surrounded by his friends - Srayanka and Philokles on either side of him, supporting him: Diodorus with Sappho mounted at his side; Coenus and soft-handed Artemesia with Eumenes and Urvara resplendent in her gold gorytos and a necklace of gold and lapis; Antigonus and Andronicus standing silently, their gold torcs like bands of lava at their necks; Sitalkes in his Getae cloak, Ataelus and Samahe supporting him; and Parshtaevalt, resplendent in a captured Macedonian breastplate of muscled bronze; Leon quiet and still in an Olbian cloak; Nicanor weeping openly. Nihmu watched them with a stillness that belied her youth, as if her young eyes could record every moment like a scribe’s wax tablet. Temerix stood a little apart, braiding leather with his fingers even as he accepted the farewells of Sappho. The Sindi smith had been her ally in helping Philokles.
Only Darius was missing of all of Kineas’s closest companions, still out somewhere on the sea of grass, looking for Spitamenes.
One by one those who were going west kissed those who were riding east. Coenus would command. Eumenes would lead the Olbians and Urvara the Sakje, with a tithe of the best warriors. With them would go Nicanor and Sappho, and Artemesia and Andronicus would go as Eumenes’ hyperetes.
Coenus embraced Srayanka. Then he came face to face with Kineas. ‘My heart tells me that I will not see you again,’ he said.
Kineas wiped hurriedly at his tears. ‘No, my friend. If what I have seen in the gates of horn is true, we will not hunt together this side of the Elysian Fields.’
Coenus was an aristocrat and a Megaran. He stood straight, his face unmarked by tears. He even managed a grin. He took both of Kineas’s hands.
‘I honour the gods, Kineas, but after them I honour you. May Moira see fit to leave the thread of your life uncut that we may hunt the valleys of the Tanais together. I will dedicate a temple to Artemis, and I will never cease to think of you. And if the thread of your life must be cut, let it be a worthy end.’
Diodorus spoke as though he was choking. ‘At times like this, I miss Agis the most,’ he said. To the others, who had not known the gentle Theban, he said, ‘Agis was our priest. He died at the River God’s Ford.’ He took one of Coenus’s hands. ‘We’ve ridden together for years,’ he said. ‘I find it hard to imagine a life without all of you.’
Philokles cleared his throat. ‘I lack the god-given touch of gentle Agis,’ he said, ‘but I will attempt his part.’
At length as the Morning Star was beginning to herald
The light which saffron-mantled Dawn was soon to suffuse over the sea,
The flames fell and the fire began to die.
The winds then went home beyond the Thracian Sea
Which roared and boiled as they swept over it.
The son of Peleus now turned away from the pyre and lay down, Overcome with toil, till he fell into a sweet slumber.
Presently they who were about the son of Atreus drew near in a body, And roused him with the noise and tramp of their coming.
He sat upright and said, ‘Son of Atreus, and all other princes of the Achaeans,
First pour red wine everywhere upon the fire and quench it;
Let us then gather the bones of Patroclus son of Menoitios,
Singling them out with care; they are easily found,
For they lie in the middle of the pyre, while all else, both men and horses,
Has been thrown in a heap and burned at the outer edge.
We will lay the bones in a golden urn, in two layers of fat,
Against the time when I shall myself go down into the house of Hades.
As for the barrow, labour not to raise a great one now,
But such as is reasonable. Afterwards, let those Achaeans who may be left at the ships
When I am gone, build it both broad and high.
When he was done, they were silent for the space a few heartbeats. Then Sappho embraced Diodorus once more, and Eumenes clasped Kineas’s hand. ‘We will build your kingdom,’ he said.
‘Your city,’ Kineas said. ‘Never my kingdom.’
And then Coenus mounted his horse, gathered his companions and rode into the sunrise.
26
Kineas’s ribs hurt too much for him to ride, so he travelled in a litter between two horses for three days as they raced north and east along the Polytimeros. Srayanka commanded. He never lost consciousness and there was no fever, but he passed the days in a haze of pain. By the fourth day he could ride, although the pain when his mount mis-stepped was remarkable - if brief.
‘Cracked ribs,’ Philokles said for the fourth time, pulling the bandages tight.
‘A bronze corslet would have turned that point without a bruise,’ Kineas said. ‘But the Sakje scale is easier to wear all day and covers better. Each people has its own ways.’
‘Thank you, Socrates.’ Philokles smiled.
As soon as Kineas was mounted, Srayanka called a ‘moving council’. All the leaders, Greek and tribal, rode to the head of the column.
Leon handed Kineas the Egyptian sword. ‘I thought you’d want this,’ he said. ‘We held the field.’
Diodorus slapped the Numidian on the back. ‘Leon sent one of Temerix’s men for me. I brought the rest of the Olbians and Parshtaevalt here.’ His smug smile shattered into a brilliant grin. ‘Your wife crossed into their flank. Eumenes rode in on the other side. We wrecked ’em.’
‘They didn’t even stand to fight Lot,’ Philokles said. ‘A very poor showing for Macedon.’
Kineas shook his head. ‘That wasn’t Macedon,’ he said. ‘That was a handful of Macedonian officers with a lot of local auxiliaries. Alexander must be stretched thin.’ He coughed and his ribs hurt.
Antigonus gave a very Niceas-like grunt. ‘And we took some spoil. Gold. Horses. And prisoners.’
Kineas looked around, unsure whether he was delighted at the victory or a little peevish that they’d won it without him. ‘How many prisoners?’ he asked.
‘A dozen,’ Philokles said. ‘Just troopers, except one officer. He’s not talkative.’ Philokles gave a wry grin. ‘I like him.’
Diodorus pushed his horse in close. ‘Macedonian bastard.’
All the officers were smiling at some private joke. Kineas ignored them and dismissed the issue of a prisoner until later. ‘I take it there were quite a few more of them than we thought,’ Kineas said.
‘No,’ Diodorus said. ‘Two squadrons - twice your numbers, if you toss in Ataelus’s scouts. You rode rings around them.’ He looked around at all the other officers. Parshtaevalt met his eye and both men gave crooked smiles, as if some new understanding had been reached while Kineas was wounded. ‘We just showed up and pounded the survivors flat.’
‘And now?’ Kineas asked.
Ataelus spoke up. ‘Iskander holds all the south
bank of Polytimeros. Patrols all day, but cautious.’ He gave a nod. ‘For pissing themselves yellow after fight, I think.’
Kineas nodded. He could see mountains in the distance - closer now. Achievable instead of impossible. ‘Polytimeros flows out of those?’
‘Yes,’ Ataelus and Temerix said together. ‘And Macedonian forts - close as teeth in your mouth. Six forts and a camp.’ Temerix nodded. ‘I scouted them. Myself.’
Kineas looked at his wife and at Diodorus. ‘Well?’
Srayanka said, ‘We decided yesterday - today we camp early, water up and leave the Polytimeros. Out on to the sea of grass. North and east around the Sogdian mountains and into the desert. We must.’
Diodorus agreed. ‘He’s got to have another cut at us, Kineas. And we’re putting our heads in a noose - the farther upstream we go, the closer we are to his army. His main army.’ He shook his head. ‘Look, we barely hurt him and we see his scouts every day. This isn’t going to work. We have to cut across the desert.’
Kineas rubbed his jaw. He felt terrible - every bone hurt, his muscles were sore and breathing caused a steady pulse of pain in his chest. His head was surprisingly clear. ‘Craterus is still on the Polytimeros,’ Kineas said. ‘But Alexander is moving east. That’s what I’d do. He’s trying to fight the queen of the Massagetae before she joins with Spitamenes.’
Diodorus narrowed his eyes. ‘Heh?’
Kineas swept his arm out to the southern bank. ‘We’re not even a pimple on Alexander’s arse,’ he said. When the comment was translated, the Sakje chiefs grinned or laughed aloud. ‘Alexander is marching east. He’s contained the problem at Marakanda and now he’s going to concentrate against Queen Zarina. The plains are dust and dried grass, and forage is brutal - poor and thin. Right?’
Ataelus nodded. They all jogged along for a few strides.
‘Alexander won’t be able to concentrate long. Not enough food. And Zarina has the whole plain north of the Jaxartes to feed her army. And you Sakje are much better at living off these plains than the Macedonians.’
Diodorus nodded. ‘I see it. He can’t turn back to hit us without upsetting his schedule.’
‘We’re racing him,’ Kineas said. ‘My guess is that he’s due south - not a hundred stades distant - moving east behind a screen of patrols. A day’s ride away.’
Srayanka shrugged. ‘And? Does this change anything we have settled?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Not in the least. It means you were right. We must move fast if we are to reach Zarina before Alexander launches his attack. He must mean to cross the Jaxartes and make a late-summer campaign against the Massagetae.’
Srayanka squinted and batted at her braids. ‘Then he’s a fool. There is no water on the plains in summer.’
‘Alexander is not a fool, my dear. He can command man and beast to their limits and beyond. He took his army over the height of the mountains - yes? Even the Sakje speak of it. If he wants them to march out on to the high plains, they will.’ He looked around at them. ‘After all, isn’t this exactly what we intend to do?’
‘We are a few hundred,’ Srayanka shot back. ‘Are you satisfied that we should turn north? Or should we discuss the flight of geese and the movement of the deer on the plains?’
Kineas raised an eyebrow at her. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘We turn north.’
When the command group had broken up, Kineas pulled his wife close. ‘I wish you would speak your mind in council,’ he said. ‘I hate the way you stand silent, fearing to interrupt me.’
‘Which side hurts the most?’ she asked, aiming a mock blow at his left.
After the next halt, Srayanka sent the prodromoi off north, leaving Parshtaevalt to screen them from the south. They made camp early at a bend in the Polytimeros, where the ruins of a mud-walled village on the south bank spoke an epic about the years of war this area had already seen. Kineas rejoined his mess group and sat with his back against a sun-warmed rock. Srayanka leaned her shoulder against him and handed him Lita. The rock was the sign of a change in terrain. The ground was rising to the east. They had arrived at the foothills of the Sogdian.
Darius squatted on his heels, drinking captured wine. He was clothed from head to foot like a Mede and seemed embarrassed by the nudity of the many Olbians bathing in the bend of the Polytimeros.
‘Welcome back. You found Spitamenes?’
Darius nodded. Kineas put an arm around him. ‘I gather Spitamenes has sworn to stay clear of us,’ he said, ignoring Darius’s clothes.
‘He is mortified that he has incurred your enmity,’ Darius said. He flicked a glance at Srayanka and then looked away as if Artemis had blinded his eyes. ‘He claims that he had no idea of what Alexander intended with the Amazons - he was led to believe that the king desired only to meet some.’ He drew himself up. ‘He feels his honour is besmirched by what has befallen and he promises any remedy you and your lady require.’
Srayanka was well within earshot. She handed Satyrus to Kineas. ‘That is, as you Greeks say, the stinking manure of a dog. However,’ she smiled, ‘it suits all of us if we pretend to believe him.’
Darius looked shocked. ‘He swore on his honour!’
Kineas was surprised at the young man’s naivety. ‘You liked him!’
‘He will make a great king,’ Darius said seriously.
‘He will end with his head on a spike - or worse.’ Srayanka settled her daughter on her lap. ‘I will not forget that he gave me to Iskander - but I have a long memory and time is short.’ To her daughter, she said, ‘You may have my dislike of this Persian with your milk, little sausage.’
Darius was wearing a fine sword, a straight-bladed xiphos decorated in gold like a Sakje sword. Kineas reached out for it. ‘A gift?’ he asked.
‘Yes. He was amazed - and pleased - to find that one of my blood lived. He treasures his remaining nobles. Many men I once knew ride in his cavalry.’ He smiled at Philokles, who approached from the tamarisk trees on the bluff above them. ‘Spitamenes sent wine!’
Philokles grinned and shouted something that was lost in the sounds of eight hundred horses drinking.
Kineas nodded. ‘Darius - you may go to him, if it pleases you. You have served me well and you owe me no ransom. I killed your cousin - it is always between us. But I will never forget how you held my side in the castle of Namastopolis.’
Darius stood silent. ‘Am I dismissed?’ he asked.
‘Never,’ Kineas said. ‘But I understand the ties of common blood and custom. Spitamenes is a lord of your own people. If you desire to ride with him, go with my friendship.’
‘And mine,’ Srayanka said.
Darius couldn’t meet Srayanka’s eyes, but his glance slid to Philokles’ form walking down the last of the slope and he blushed and bowed and took Kineas’s hand. ‘I think I will ride with you a while longer,’ he said. Then, after an uncomfortable pause, he pointed to the ruins of the town. ‘Bessus revolted against Darius four - five years ago. There’s been no peace on this frontier ever since. Whichever side holds the upper hand, the other side pays the Dahae and the Massagetae to raid. Now Spitamenes continues where Bessus trod.’
‘You rode with Bessus?’
‘My father did,’ Darius said. ‘I rode with the King of Kings.’ He gave a narrow smile that didn’t touch his eyes. ‘It is the way among the Bactrian nobles - one son to each army, or perhaps two - no matter which side wins, the clan remains strong.’
Diodorus and Philokles came up with a bearded man in a dirty red linen robe over a Macedonian breastplate, the star of the royal house engraved across his chest. The man had a hooked nose and a broad forehead. He looked to be forty, or perhaps older, but well built, with an athlete’s muscles.
‘Look who the dogs caught,’ Diodorus said. He was grinning. ‘Remember this cocksure bastard?’
Kineas eyed the man. ‘Ptolemy!’ he said, smoothing his daughter’s head. He didn’t get up, but he gave the prisoner a smile. ‘Farm Boy!’
The Mace
donian inclined his head. ‘I remember you, Kineas of Athens,’ he said. ‘Favourite of the gods.’ He inclined his head in mock salutation.
‘You didn’t used to believe in gods,’ Diodorus said, poking him.
Ptolemy rubbed his chin and quoted Aristophanes. ‘“If there weren’t gods, I wouldn’t be so god-forsaken,”’ he said, and they all laughed.
Philokles gave him a bowl of food. ‘Mutton?’ he asked.
‘Horse,’ said Kineas. ‘I’m sorry about the fight, Ptolemy. I didn’t know you in that get-up.’
Ptolemy looked down at the linen robe he wore over his cuirass. Then he glanced pointedly around the fire. ‘You don’t look much like Athenian hippeis yourselves,’ he said. ‘Where are the flowing locks of yesteryear? The fancy cloaks?’
Kineas smiled. ‘“If peace come again, and we from toil may be released, don’t grudge us our flowing locks, and skin so nicely greased.”’
Ptolemy clapped his hands. ‘Well quoted. Not that there’s a flowing lock in the place.’
Diodorus poked him again. ‘The Spartan here has locks enough for all of us!’
‘Last time I saw you, you were modelling a silver-chased breastplate you’d bought from a looter at Ecbatana,’ Kineas said. ‘We’re not the only ones fallen on hard times.’
Ptolemy shook his head. ‘Fucking Sogdiana,’ he said. ‘It’s brutal.’
‘Still in the Hetairoi?’ Kineas asked.
‘I served with Philip Kontos before he went back west.’ The man shrugged in the firelight. ‘After he killed Artemis, I left him for the phalanx.’
Tyrant: Storm of Arrows Page 39
