Theron shook his head. ‘Why don’t we just take a ship for Athens?’
Philokles spoke quietly. ‘Tenedos says that the marines from the trireme are watching the waterfront. I think they want us to take ship so that they can catch us out on the sea.’ He looked at Satyrus. ‘That’s a firm “no” on the subject of going to Isokles.’
Satyrus ground away at the green-brown patina on the helmet he was cleaning for the time it took to think his way through the whole hymn to Athena. Then he said, ‘How long will they hunt us?’
Philokles grunted. ‘For ever,’ he said. ‘Until you go back and kill them and make yourself king. That’s the way of it.’ His eyes met Satyrus’s, and Satyrus felt as if he was being asked a particularly hard philosophical question.
Satyrus looked away. Philokles seemed to be accusing him of something. Of being afraid - afraid to stand up for his rights. Or something. ‘I’m tired of worrying,’ he said.
Theron shook his head. ‘Satyrus, the worrying has just begun.’ He looked as if he meant to say more, but Zosimos came through the gate. He made his way through the armour and stood between the twins. He gave them a showy bow.
‘Master Eutropios sends you these,’ he said. He held out a small bundle wrapped in linen. ‘He apologizes that they do not have scabbards.’
Inside the bundle were the two heavy knives, or very small swords, that they had seen the whitesmiths polishing the day before. Now they gleamed like water, and had hilts of steel and bone.
Philokles reached out. ‘May I?’ he asked.
Melitta handed him hers. ‘Please,’ she said, although she loved hers from the first touch.
‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘Somewhere between an eating knife and a short sword.’ He handed it back. ‘Zosimos, would you be kind enough to take them around to the leather-working fellow?’
Satyrus stood. ‘Can you carry my deep thanks and those of my sister to the smith?’
Zosimos smiled. ‘Sure.’ He grinned again.
There were now two armed slaves on the courtyard gate all the time. They opened the gate for Zosimos to go out, and Tenedos came in. He glared at them and went off towards the slave quarters.
‘I thought he was buying us remounts?’ Theron asked, after the man was gone.
‘I think he disapproves of us,’ Philokles said.
By late afternoon, the twins were barely able to keep polishing for sheer fatigue. Theron had given both of them a workout in the garden, and Philokles had given them a lesson in swordplay on the hard earth of the yard - basic stuff, and so much like pankration that all the footwork was the same, and most of the attacks - and then they’d been put back to work. But Satyrus raised his head to see Zosimos come into the yard past the armed slaves.
‘The smith is delighted that you are so pleased,’ he said. ‘But you can give your compliments in person. The caravan will form up at the factory. We will leave in two days. So you should come out tomorrow evening and spend the night.’
‘Thanks for your help, Zosimos,’ Philokles said.
Zosimos nodded. ‘I’ll be coming with you. I’m to accompany the caravan out and back, and then I’m free.’ He grinned. ‘Except for all the legal parts.’
‘Then what?’ Theron asked.
‘I think I’ll try being a smith,’ the young man said. ‘Master Eutropios has been offering to train me for years. Well, since my shoulders got big, anyway.’ He went away smiling.
The equipment in the courtyard was finished to Philokles’ exacting requirements - the edged weapons polished and sharp, the wood shafts of the spears oiled, the heads ground and the butt-spikes gleaming like gold. He packed the helmets in leather bags, put covers on the shields and pulled the cross belt of his sword over his head. Theron did the same. They fitted, and the scabbards were careful work, leather over wood with bronze fittings. The twins’ knives had the same mounts, and they put them on proudly.
‘I suspect you’re the only Greek woman in Heraklea with her own xiphos,’ Theron said. ‘Hail to you, grey-eyed goddess!’ He put a helmet on her head.
‘Stop clowning around,’ Philokles said. ‘I wish we could ride out to the factory right now.’
‘And miss another dinner with Kinon?’ Theron said, somewhat waspishly, Satyrus thought.
Philokles gave him a long look. ‘You are a man of virtue, Theron.’
Theron blushed.
‘Because you are a man of virtue, I have to say that some of your insinuations are womanish and unbecoming.’ Philokles, when sober, was quite imposing.
Theron frowned. ‘Philokles, you too are a man of virtue. But you drink too much, and lose that authority which would be yours by right. The authority to tell me that I’m womanish, for instance.’
The two men were standing.
‘How much I drink is between me and the gods, Corinthian. Keep your views to yourself.’ Philokles’ hands bunched into fists.
‘Fine words from you, Spartan. But then Spartans were always better at dishing it out than at taking it.’ The Corinthian stepped up to Philokles.
Philokles moved forward, eye to eye with the athlete.
‘Stop it!’ Melitta said. ‘Stop it! Have you forgotten that there are people in this city who seek to kill us?’ She rose to her feet and looked around. ‘I’m going to have a bath,’ she said. ‘I recommend that you men do the same.’
She marched out of the courtyard like a queen.
Satyrus busied himself with the last spot of verdigris on his own small helmet and wished that he was as brave and regal as his sister.
Theron glanced at Philokles. ‘She told us, eh?’
Philokles nodded. ‘You’ve heard of Kineas?’
Theron nodded.
‘Now you’ve met him. That was him. In his daughter.’
Philokles poured a cup of rough wine from a skin that hung on the wall and spilled a libation on the ground.
‘Here’s to the shade of Kineas, and to his children. And to friendship with you, Theron.’ Philokles drank.
Theron took the horn cup. He looked at Satyrus. ‘Is it hard, having a hero and a demi-god as a father?’ He gave the boy a smile. ‘My father was a fisherman. Sometimes that is the easier path.’ He raised the cup to Philokles, poured another libation and took an orator’s stance. ‘To the shade of Kineas, who sits with heroes - Arimnestos and Dion and Timoleon, Ajax and Achilles and all the men who shed their blood at windy Ilion. And to your friendship, Spartan, which means a great deal to me, whatever I say in anger. And to the twins.’ He spilled wine at each pronouncement and drank in turn. Then he offered it to Satyrus.
Satyrus accepted it, wishing he could think of something noble to say. Finally he spilled a libation and said, ‘I wish I was more like my father. May he be with the immortals, feasting. May you two be friends.’ He took a sip, smiled self-consciously and handed it back.
The solemn moment was broken by the shouts of Melitta in the bath. She was throwing water at someone, and that someone shrieked and giggled.
They were all bathed for dinner. Kinon returned from his business just a few minutes before the couches were set.
‘Tuna!’ Melitta pronounced as she came in. She was beautifully dressed in an ionic chiton with silver deer as brooches - Sakje deer, made out on the sea of grass by a silversmith. She lay down on the same couch as her brother. ‘Kallista says we’re to have tuna, as it is our last night.’
Satyrus looked like a prince himself, in a wool chiton of white with red-orange flames rising from the hem and falling from the shoulder in a repeat pattern that baffled the eye, his garment pinned with gold at each shoulder.
‘You found it on your bed?’ he asked his sister.
‘No, Kallista brought it to me when I finished my bath.’ Melitta was unused to reclining, and she reached under her hip to smooth her dress.
Kinon grinned. ‘I wanted both of you to have something beautiful to wear. Dionysius has agreed to receive you tomorrow, in public. After that, you will be safe.
Indeed, I would hesitate to leave with the caravan - you will be safer here.’
‘Best not spill any food on the clothes, then,’ Melitta said softly.
Philokles didn’t look happy. ‘Much as we enjoy your hospitality,’ he began, but Kinon interrupted him.
‘Leon, our master, has been all the way west to the Pillars of Herakles. His business there is secret - even his trip is itself a secret. But I have had news today that he is safely returned to Syracusa, and will visit Alexandria for the summer before coming here. He will be here in late autumn. I have sent letters to him. I think that you must wait here. In addition, I have started the process of arranging for Satyrus to speak to the assembly in Athens. I spoke to Theogenes. He sometimes represents Athenian interests here. He suggested that you live in his house as an Athenian citizen.’ Kinon took a sip of wine. ‘I do not trust him that far. He has Stratokles there.’
‘Who is this Stratokles?’ Theron asked.
‘A politician from Athens,’ Kinon said. ‘Just arrived two days back. On a trireme from Pantecapaeum,’ he said, and paused to let the import of that statement filter through.
‘He now claims to be the representative of Athens here in Heraklea. He claims vast wealth, family connections and political power.’ Kinon shrugged. ‘I’m not sure - but he does appear the representative of Athens. He’s busy buying every cargo of grain we have to sell, and that gains him friends. I’ve done business with him myself. He is an extreme democrat - the sort of man who wants to give every citizen equal power. He and Leon are sometimes rivals. And he has the name of a killer. Where he goes, enemies of Athens die.’
‘We’ll avoid him then,’ Philokles said with a smile.
‘Oh no,’ Kinon said. ‘I don’t trust him, but he has the ear of the tyrant - Demetrios of Phaleron, the tyrant of Athens, that is. And Demetrios was a friend of Phocion’s, and of Kineas, your father. We need him. He can get you a passage to Athens and safety.’
‘Except that he arrived here on a trireme from Pantecapaeum,’ Satyrus put in, and Philokles nodded. ‘Ares, what a rat’s nest. I think we should stay away from this Stratokles. See what we can learn about him. In the meantime, what of Macedon, Kinon?’ Philokles asked. ‘Tell me where you are with respect to Polyperchon?’
Kinon held out his cup for more wine. The heavy scent of tuna in syphillium wafted in from the kitchens. Bowls of white cabbage in honey vinegar were put on the side tables that were positioned next to every diner. ‘Ahh. The crux of the matter.’ Kinon drank some wine. ‘It is not Polyperchon, with whom we had good relations. I think you are behind on your news, my friend. Polyperchon is deposed as regent of Macedon, and Antipater’s son Cassander has the reins in his hand - but behind him is that madwoman Olympias, Alexander’s insane mother.’
‘That is news,’ Philokles said. ‘You said something of it just before we went to bed. But what of Heraklea? What side is she on?’
Kinon shook his head. ‘No one is on our side. Perdikkas - remember him? The first commander when Alexander died? - assigned us to the satrapy of Phrygia and refused to accept our status as a free city despite all our years. And he received all our discontents and exiles, and threatened, through his lieutenant, Eumenes the Cardian, to lay siege to the city. Then he died in Aegypt - murdered. Now Antigonus has his army and he faces off against the Cardian. Confused yet?’
‘But . . .’ Philokles said, ‘you and Leon sell weapons to the Cardian!’
‘No,’ Kinon said. He looked over his shoulder, where Kallista was motioning for the slaves to bring in the tuna. She was more beautiful than ever, in a cross-gartered chiton of dark, crisp blue. ‘No,’ he said, clearly having lost the thread of what he was saying. He looked away. ‘No,’ he said for the third time. ‘We sell weapons to your Diodorus, who is a great captain and a good customer. He serves Eumenes the Cardian - for money, and with the permission and even the support of Ptolemy of Aegypt. We would prefer for Antigonus to defeat the Cardian. But we’d really prefer it if they went on fighting each other in Phrygia and left us alone.’
Satyrus felt as if his head was spinning. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.
Kinon tested a finger bowl of tuna for his guests and nodded vigorously. ‘Superb. Tell the cook she’s a genius.’ He looked back at Satyrus. ‘No one can understand all of it, young prince. But Heron - at Pantecapaeum - is part of this game. The big players want all the small players lined up or out of the game. Your city of Tanais threatened the kingdom of the Bosporus, and your mother was the obvious queen of all the Assagatje. That makes you children the heirs of two small empires - in two bodies, you unite the whole north of the Euxine. That means gold, grain, Sakje warriors and Greeks.’ He watched for a moment as his slaves carried the tuna around the garden, showing off its size and quality, before carving steaks from it and serving them on trays.
Kinon watched it all with pride - pride in his team and pride in his table. ‘The Macedonians aren’t united. Antipater’s death was like the end of the world for them. Antigonus is not Antipater, nor yet is Cassander - or Olympias - in charge. The Athenians are still powerful, and they will back anyone who gets the garrison out of their city - at the moment, they favour Cassander.’ He shrugged. ‘I think that Stratokles is working for Cassander. And Cassander needs grain from the Euxine to woo Athens. Am I making sense to you?’
Theron looked around in confusion. ‘I heard all this every day in Corinth and still it made no sense to me.’
‘Attica and Athens eat three times as much grain as they produce,’ Kinon said. ‘Men like me grow rich collecting the grain from the Euxine and selling it to Athens. Cassander needs that grain to flow to make Athens happy. He can accomplish this by supporting Eumeles of Pantecapaeum as sole king of the Bosporus. Hence, you children are in his way and need to be eliminated.’
Philokles nodded. ‘I’d come to the same conclusion myself.’
Kinon continued, ‘Our Leon is heavily invested in Aegypt and the new city there at Alexandria, so we are, willy-nilly, allies of Ptolemy. That sets us against Cassander, and against Antigonus sometimes and Eumenes the Cardian at other times. Cassander is power-mad, Antigonus is an excellent general and a useless ruler, Eumenes would be a great man if he weren’t so addicted to proving he’s a better man than any Macedonian. He really is the best general and the best man of the lot, but is a Greek and not a Macedonian - you can imagine what that means.’
Philokles gave a grim smile. ‘I know,’ he said.
‘And he married one of Alexander’s mistresses - you know that? Banugul? She had a son by Alexander, although not many people know it. A handsome boy named Herakles.’
Melitta’s eyes happened to be on Kallista. She saw the slave girl’s attention fix. She was listening attentively, and her eyes stole off to cross with someone else, someone standing behind Melitta. She rolled back, casually tossing her arm over her brother, and saw Tenedos, the steward, standing by a sideboard with a ewer of wine. He didn’t seem aware of the conversation, and Melitta, watching, saw so many slaves come and go that she couldn’t be sure.
Perhaps slaves listened all the time.
‘I know Banugul,’ Philokles said.
Kinon grinned. ‘So you said last night! I gather there’s a lot to know. Leon was fulsome in her praises. He continues to be her friend, and loans her money, and keeps track of her son.’
Even as Melitta watched, Philokles took a gulp of wine and stared off into space, lost in reminiscence. Next to her, her brother cleared his throat.
‘I think that I understand it, Master Kinon. So Cassander must be allied with Heron,’ he said. He was handed a gold cup by one of the slaves, and he took an appreciative sip. ‘I can see how the sides will shape up - even how this will affect the Euxine.’
Kinon looked at the boy with respect. ‘Yes, young prince. That is exactly correct. I’ve only had a few days to put this together, but it appears to me that Heron has offered to put the whole north of the Euxine at Cassander’s dispos
al in exchange for a free hand.’
Melitta spoke quietly. ‘Any news of our mother?’ she asked.
‘I fear not.’ Kinon shook his head.
‘Let us do honour to the meal, and banish sad thoughts,’ Philokles said.
Melitta leaned over so that her chin was on Satyrus’s shoulder. ‘They think she’s dead,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Satyrus whispered. The food swam before his eyes.
Melitta put her arm around him. ‘It’s better if she’s dead, rather than a slave or worse,’ she said. ‘We are her children, and the children of Kineas. Make your face a mask of bronze, and start to think of our revenge.’ But even as she spoke the words, her voice broke.
Satyrus sobbed first, but in a moment they were crying - not bold princes of the Euxine, but two children whose mother was probably dead. They lay together, weeping, and the other diners avoided looking at them.
Their sobs lasted through much of the tuna, and then they dried their eyes and ate. Satyrus began to build himself a mask of bronze in his mind. Philokles’ new helmet had a high peak and long cheekpieces that covered his face in the front, imitating a moustache and beard and a Thracian hat. Satyrus chewed the excellent tuna and some rich salmon sauce on oysters and good, thick barley bread and thought of the armoured mask, and how it would cover his face, hide his fear. If I cannot be brave, he thought, I will pretend to be brave. That is my duty. He looked at his sister, who was obviously enjoying her food, pouring quantities of honey vinegar over the fish in a way the cook had never intended, to suit her sweet tooth, and he wondered why the gods had given her so much courage.
He drank several cups of wine, on purpose. Then, when the men were preparing to do some serious drinking, Satyrus got off his couch holding a krater. He walked to the middle of the garden, and the others fell silent. He was nervous - he was taking a chance, although he couldn’t see just how.
‘Kinon, this may be our last night as guests. Tonight I spill a libation to Zeus, master of all, who loves a man who has guests. And I offer libation to Athena, my patroness, and Herakles, my ancestor, and all the gods.’ Satyrus felt just a trace of nerves, like elation. The wine covered the rest.
Funeral Games Page 12
