Funeral Games

by Christian Cameron

  ‘But you wished to make a statement. Perhaps you felt that you needed to get my attention. Boys do such things. They posture.’ The tyrant smiled again. ‘I posture too. When you are as old as I, and as fat, men will assume that as you are ugly, so you are evil. Don’t you? Kalos kalon? The beautiful is the good. Eh, boy? And since I’m so ugly, I must be evil. I must rape virgins every night, and perhaps bathe in blood. Eh?’ The man leaned over the edge of his couch. ‘So when they call me evil, I posture a little. Understand, boy? Stupid, violent men often mistake goodness for weakness and see evil as strength. You look smart. Do you know whereof I speak?’

  Satyrus had, in fact, got the drift. He raised his cup. ‘I drink to the virtue of ugliness, lord,’ he said, turning a pretty phrase. He’d held it in his mind since the tyrant had used the stock phrase Kalos kalon.

  Dionysius sat up, and his couch protested. ‘Nestor, did you hear that? The boy just paid me a genuine compliment!’

  Nestor chuckled.

  ‘Virtue of ugliness, indeed. Well said, young man. I think we may indeed be friends. Tell me what you want.’ Dionysius snapped his fingers, and the second course was served. He watched the servers with much the same pride as Kinon had shown, and then a messenger distracted him.

  ‘Lord, I want to - that is—’ Satyrus stared at the tyrant. What do I want? he thought. Since the man was distracted, he looked around, and his eyes found Melitta’s, sitting on an ivory-decorated chair to his right. Sitting next to her, with her face almost touching his sister’s, was the Nereid from the other night, her black curls framing her face. She was telling his sister a story, and they were both laughing. Melitta caught his eye, and the other girl saw her attention waver and turned her head to look at him, and their eyes met.

  Hers were green. All thought left his head. So green. A slave bent over his dining table.

  The slave was holding out a solid silver ewer, and he should have asked if Satyrus wanted more wine. Instead, he opened his mouth, and the buzz of the diners, the ebb and flow of conversation, the drone of flies and the sound of the sea spoke like the voice of the god from his mouth.

  ‘That girl is what you want,’ said the slave. He raised the ewer.

  ‘What did you say?’ Satyrus asked.

  ‘More wine, master?’ the slave squeaked.

  When Satyrus looked back, his sister and the Nereid were laughing together again. He looked at the slave. The boy was terrified. Well, slaves were often scared. He was learning a great deal about slaves.

  He held up his wine cup. The boy raised the pitcher and poured, and Satyrus noted that the pitcher was nearly empty.

  The boy spilled wine when his hands shook, just a few drops that fell harmlessly on the couch’s cover.

  ‘Never mind,’ Satyrus said kindly. He dismissed the boy with a wave. He turned back to the tyrant. ‘What I want, lord, is revenge,’ he said. ‘And the restoration of my city.’

  ‘Revenge is utterly worthless, young man.’ Dionysius sipped his wine. ‘I hope you haven’t already had a surfeit of tunny. The run this year is superb.’

  The giant fish was carried past him by four sweating slaves, all grown men. When Satyrus glanced around, he realized that the boy who had just served him was the only young slave in the hall.

  He was nowhere to be seen. ‘I have a mind to make myself king of the Bosporus,’ Satyrus said, and raised the wine cup to his lips. ‘I had no such intention, but Eumeles - Heron - has forced this on me.’

  Dionysius narrowed his eyes.

  Satyrus put his wine cup down untasted. He’d just made the connections. ‘Lord, I think this wine is poisoned.’

  Dionysius flinched as if struck. ‘That is quite an accusation.’ He motioned to Nestor, who came up.

  ‘Take this cup and test it on someone. The boy thinks that it is poison.’ The tyrant motioned him away. He turned back to Satyrus as if nothing untoward had happened. ‘It is all very well, planning to be a king. That will require riches and armies. What do you want from me?’ Dionysius’s voice made it clear that neither riches nor armies would be forthcoming.

  ‘I would like permission to leave, and an escort. I wish to reach my friend Diodorus the Athenian.’ Satyrus watched Nestor until he vanished. He had a pounding headache, and he wondered if he had absently already had a sip of the wine. Or been poisoned earlier. He felt queasy.

  ‘Done,’ the tyrant said.

  Silence fell over the hall. Nestor came in by another entrance with a file of soldiers. One of them was carrying a dead dog. Soldiers took station at every entrance.

  Slaves suddenly moved like lightning, herded by other soldiers.

  Nestor moved to the foot of the dais. He bent his head down and spoke to the tyrant, and the man started. Then he spoke rapidly.

  ‘I apologize for the inconvenience,’ Nestor announced. ‘This dinner is ended and you are all guests of the tyrant for the night. Soldiers will escort you to rooms. When you are cleared, you will be escorted home. Again, we apologize for any inconvenience. Those responsible will be punished,’ Nestor glanced around, ‘with the utmost rigour.’

  Diners looked pale. A woman burst into tears. Soldiers moved up to every couch and took the diners away. Satyrus saw two soldiers escort Theron from the hall, and another pair taking Philokles.

  ‘Your wine was poisoned, young man. And there’s a boy with his throat cut in the kitchen.’ The tyrant shook his head. ‘I hate that this has happened here. It makes me feel weak. It makes me look weak.’ He shrugged, moving the whole mass of his flesh. ‘Escort them to their rooms. Young man, you have brought me a great deal of trouble - but you have also identified for me a serious threat, and for that you have my thanks.’ He gestured with his hand. Nestor moved to Satyrus’s couch.

  ‘My lord?’ he said.

  Satyrus rolled to his feet. Melitta came up next to him and together they bowed to the tyrant, who responded with a civil inclination of his head. ‘You are excellent children,’ he said. ‘I hope that you live.’

  Satyrus met the ogre’s eye. ‘I hope that I will always remember that beauty is not the only good,’ he said.

  He started to turn away, but he caught the smile that flashed over the tyrant’s face. ‘When you are ready to be a king, come to me,’ Dionysius the tyrant said. ‘I think I would be happy to be your ally.’ With that, despite his bulk, he moved quickly, vanishing into his guards.

  ‘Not bad,’ Melitta said. ‘I think you’re starting to play the prince.’

  ‘I’ll have to live long enough to grow into the part,’ he shot back, but then he grinned at her. ‘Watch out, Lita. I could grow to like it.’

  Nestor escorted them to the door. ‘Draco!’ he called out. Many of the diners were gathered outside, being searched with brusque efficiency by the tyrant’s guard. There was a fair amount of silent outrage.

  Draco ran up and saluted. ‘Captain?’

  ‘Take these two back to their rooms,’ he said. ‘I will make arrangements on your behalf. Be ready.’ He spoke tersely and turned away.

  Satyrus glanced at Melitta. She shook her head. ‘He means, don’t go to sleep,’ she whispered.

  ‘Right this way, lady,’ the soldier said. When they were clear of the guests and the other soldiers, he led them by the servants’ ways and the slaves’ stair to their rooms. There were soldiers at every junction in the palace.

  ‘This happens a little too often for me,’ he said. ‘Word to the wise - the guards saw a man going up the slaves’ stairs about twenty minutes back. They shouted - should have just charged the fucker - and he got away.’ The Macedonian shrugged. ‘More poison? Going to bag that slave girl? Who the fuck knows? I’ve never seen the like of this, except at court at home.’

  Satyrus paused at the door of his room, suddenly overwhelmed with an irrational - or perhaps wholly rational - fear of a dark room. ‘Would you have someone search my room?’ he asked.

  Draco sighed. ‘I’m not even on duty. Can the search of your room wait un
til morning?’

  Satyrus whirled. ‘No, it cannot. Listen - someone just tried to poison me. Earlier, someone had a go at my sister and managed to poison Kallista - er, her slave. My mother is probably dead in Pantecapaeum, I’m cut off from my friends and my patrimony, and I’m at the end of my tether and I want you to get your arse into that room and check it out, or get someone who will. Understand me?’ His voice was shrill, and his tone was murderous, and he regretted the whole speech the moment it was out of his mouth.

  Draco stiffened. ‘Yes, my lord,’ he said, woodenly. He summoned two more guardsmen, had a whispered conversation and then, with lamps in hand, they searched the room, ripped the coverings off the couch and searched them for needles, and summoned a pair of slaves to remake it. Then they did the same for Melitta, moving the snoring Kallista.

  When they were done, Satyrus tried to make amends. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

  Draco shot him a look of contempt. ‘Just my job, my lord. I’ll be on my way.’

  Satyrus paused. ‘Yes, it is, Draco. Sorry for the inconvenience, but it is your job.’

  Draco stalked off.

  Philokles and Theron joined them in Melitta’s room. They dropped their packs and sat on them. Then Philokles went with Satyrus to his room and they collected his gear and moved it to his sister’s room.

  Before they could get it all arranged, there was the rattle of armed soldiers in the colonnade, and Nestor appeared through the curtain.

  He entered, followed by a slim figure wrapped to the head in cloaks. ‘The tyrant himself is otherwise engaged,’ Nestor said.

  ‘He sent me to prove his determination on your behalf,’ Amastris said, emerging from her wraps. She smiled hesitantly. ‘And because I wanted to say goodbye. Nestor will escort you to the stables. Father wants you gone immediately - while he has the palace locked down and no one can speak of your flight. Then he intends to sell every slave in the palace. That boy - the one who served you - was one of ours.’ Her eyes met Satyrus’s, and she smiled at him. He had to lean against the wall. ‘He shouldn’t even have been in the room. He’s not a server - just a cook’s boy. But none of the slaves seem to know anything.’ Her shrug told a great deal. ‘So father is selling every one of them in the morning.’ ‘Ares!’ Philokles said. ‘Every slave in the palace?’

  Nestor’s face hardened. ‘I’ll find the man responsible. And we’ll never get to the slaves while they’re still on the staff.’

  ‘The man responsible is the Athenian, Stratokles,’ Satyrus said. ‘And his agent, the slave Tenedos.’

  Nestor shook his head. ‘Stratokles has fled the city, and is a citizen of Athens. We have the house watched, but there is not much more we can do. It now appears that this slave, Tenedos, may have been his messenger to someone inside the palace.’

  ‘Surely you can take action against him! Arrest him!’ Satyrus blurted.

  ‘Athens, young prince, does not take well to the prosecution of its ambassadors.’ Nestor snapped his fingers, and a pair of soldiers brought a cauldron of stew. ‘Or their murder. I have eaten from this pot. The wine is my own. Please eat.’

  Satyrus didn’t hesitate. He took a loaf of bread from one of the soldiers, picked up a bowl and began to eat. Melitta did the same. Philokles and Theron joined in.

  Amastris took a bowl and joined them. She shared the room’s only chair with Melitta, like sisters. ‘My father says, “I smell Olympias and her pet, Cassander.” Olympias serves dark powers. She loves poison.’ She glanced at Melitta. ‘We all fear Olympias. She has been a figure of fear to me since I was born.’

  ‘Many of your soldiers are from Macedon,’ Melitta said.

  Nestor nodded. ‘It will be looked into. You need to be gone from here before someone gets you.’ He looked at Philokles. ‘How long have you been with the twins?’

  ‘All our lives,’ Satyrus answered. ‘He was my father’s friend. You cannot possibly accuse him.’

  Nestor shook his head. ‘My lord, I accuse no one, but I must ask everyone. So you are the same man as figures in tales of Kineas? Good.’ Nestor nodded at Philokles and turned back to Satyrus. ‘I think that if he drank less, he’d be more trustworthy; but he seems a solid man.’

  Philokles went red and then a blotched red and white.

  Impervious to the Spartan’s rage, Nestor glanced at Theron. ‘How about this athlete? Theron?’ Nestor pointed at him. ‘How long have you known him?’

  ‘He has been with us from the attack at Tanais,’ Satyrus said. His voice was very low. He looked at Melitta.

  ‘He would never betray us,’ she said. ‘He’s had a hundred chances to kill us.’

  ‘Nestor, why are these things happening?’ Amastris spoke in a low voice, almost husky.

  ‘Why, my lady?’ Nestor shrugged. ‘People play games for power. Olympias and her friend Cassander play them for the love of playing. Olympias is like a cat - she likes to hurt her prey. And they want to own us - and Sinope and the north shore, as well.’ Nestor’s mouth was a hard line. ‘The last time Olympias stretched her talons out towards the north, your father cut them off,’ he said to Satyrus. ‘Zopryon was her lover.’ He chuckled. ‘Of course, everyone at the court of Macedon was her lover at one time or another,’ he continued.

  Satyrus was gazing at Amastris, who looked even more like a Nereid. She was gazing back, the pressure of her green eyes on his almost too intense to bear, like strong sunlight on a sunburn.

  Satyrus wanted to touch her curls and see what kept them bound so close to each other.

  She smiled at him. ‘I like your sister,’ she said, as if she had been his friend for millennia, and as if the two of them were alone in the room.

  ‘Me too,’ Satyrus said. He ruined the line with some weak giggles.

  Nestor put a possessive hand on Amastris’s shoulder. ‘Amastris will rule here one day. Amastris, this handsome boy is a penniless exile, and you will not pay him the slightest attention. You are going to Ptolemy to find a husband - a powerful husband with a fleet.’ He said these words with the amusement of a father.

  ‘I know, Captain,’ she replied. She smiled at Satyrus again.

  ‘Look all you like, young man,’ Nestor said. ‘She is our greatest asset in this game of thieves, and she is not for you.’

  ‘We’re looking for a middle-aged tyrant with a good fleet. Syracusa, perhaps,’ the Nereid said. ‘I’ve been raised to it. I can name the rowing positions. I think I’d make a decent navarch.’ She laughed and turned her grass-green gaze on Melitta. ‘If your brother ever restores his fortune, you’ll be in the same boat, Melitta. He’ll marry you off to secure his coast.’

  ‘Not if he wants to live through the night,’ Melitta said. She reached over and ruffled her brother’s hair and met Amastris’s eyes. ‘Your father is not what he appears,’ she said.

  ‘If he were what he appears,’ Nestor said, ‘he’d have eaten you for dinner tonight. But he regrets that someone has the power to show him weak. You two must be gone. The choices are by ship or by caravan. It is your life, young man - which will you choose?’

  ‘I may be a foolish boy,’ Satyrus said, ‘but I think that if I can make it safely to my father’s friend Diodorus, I will be safe. Many of the men I grew up with are among Diodorus’s mercenaries.’ Even as he spoke, Satyrus relived the last two weeks. He pursed his lips and looked at his sister.

  ‘Will we ever be safe?’ she asked, speaking the same thought that bounced around in his head.

  Philokles was still silent with anger, hitting his wine cup hard.

  Theron put a hand on the Spartan’s shoulder. ‘I think we’re safer by land.’

  Philokles shrugged. ‘All I have chosen goes wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m just a drunk.’

  Melitta went and stood in front of the Spartan. ‘Is that how it is going to be, Philokles?’ she asked. ‘If you won’t think, won’t help and keep drinking wine, I’d just as soon leave you here.’

  Theron shook his head violently, out
of the Spartan’s sight line.

  Satyrus stepped in. ‘Philokles, please help us. You saved our lives again and again the last few weeks. Get us to Diodorus.’

  ‘Land,’ Philokles said thickly. ‘Let us ride.’

  Satyrus turned to the captain of the guard. ‘We will go by land. Now, if you will help us. We’ll need a mule litter for the slave girl.’

  Nestor nodded. ‘All is ready, my lord.’ He looked at Satyrus’s leg, and meaningfully at Kallista, who was still pale and could barely eat.

  ‘You are, all of you, injured,’ he said. ‘If my lord allows it, I think that you should take the doctor.’

  Melitta shook her head. ‘I don’t like him.’

  Philokles shrugged. ‘I take your point - drunkard that I am. You think that we need his skills.’

  Melitta made a noise and Philokles cut her off. ‘Doctors do not grow on trees,’ he said.

  ‘May you be safe!’ Amastris prayed.

  ‘We will be safe when we have power,’ Satyrus said.

  ‘That is not the lesson that Philokles would teach, if he were sober.’ Melitta struggled for composure. She looked at her new friend. ‘Pardon me, Amastris. Sometimes, I remember that I have no home.’

  The other girl gave her a quick hug.

  When the hasty meal was over, Nestor summoned Amastris’s maids to take her to her own wing of the palace. She hugged Melitta. ‘Write to me in Alexandria,’ she said. ‘You have adventures! I marry some old man with a fleet.’ She smiled. Then she frowned. ‘Hestia protect you, I didn’t mean that you should have adventures. Stay safe! Hestia keep you safe, and Artemis, who protects virgin girls.’ She blushed, and hugged Melitta again. She was a year older than the twins, but Melitta was a head taller, and Satyrus was taller yet.

  Satyrus reached out a hand to her - the bravest act of his life - and she took it. ‘You - be safe,’ she said, stammering a little, and blushing.