Scythian Trilogy Book 3: Funeral in Babylon

by Max Overton

  The great golden walls of the innermost citadel beat back the autumn sun in waves of lustrous summer light, making the marble and granite buildings glow as if lit from within.

  Several young men, neatly attired in short tunics, their bronzed limbs exuding health and vitality, darted out to steady the horses. They stood at the head of each beast, soothing and calming it as the riders dismounted and moved toward a great columned hall, brushing down their tunics as they walked.

  Iolatos strode up to a richly uniformed officer standing talking quietly in the cool shadows beside one of the columns. He saluted and handed over his pass.

  "Nikometros, son of Leonnatos and his adjutant, my lord Ptolemy," said Iolatos crisply. "They are here at the king's request."

  Ptolemy broke off his conversation with the other man, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. Dark eyes set within a weather-beaten face stared out from beneath a shock of greying black hair. He looked briefly at the pass then handed it back to Iolatos.

  "Thank you, Iolatos. I will take them in." He waited until the officer saluted and strode away before turning to Nikometros and Timon. Stockily built with numbers of scars visible on his limbs, Ptolemy showed the effects of a lifetime spent in the service of Alexander and his father before that, Philip of Macedon. Now in his early forties, he remained a close and trusted friend of the king. He regarded Timon briefly then turned his silent attention to Nikometros. For several minutes he scrutinised the young man in front of him, at last nodding as if he found what he saw satisfactory.

  "Follow me," Ptolemy said, turning to walk down the vast colonnade. "A few things you must know about Alexander, so listen closely. He is like no other king in the world. He's a man of action and prefers to do without ceremony, though he's very correct when the occasion demands. He'll be familiar with you and will probably talk as if you're his equal." Ptolemy stopped and held up a warning hand. "Don't be misled. You must maintain a proper respect." He walked on a few more paces then stopped in front of large double doors.

  "Address him as sir, or sire, never by name unless he specifically requests you do so. When you walk in, march up to him, stopping about five paces away and salute, state your name and lineage, and then wait to be addressed. Answer his questions fully and truthfully. He hates prevarication. Got that?"

  Nikometros nodded. Ptolemy kept silent, questioningly raising an eyebrow. "Yes, sir," said Nikometros.

  "Aye, sir," Timon replied.

  Ptolemy put his hands on the doors of the chamber. "One more thing, Nikometros. If the king should offer you a reward, be modest. He detests greed. Indeed, he is generous to a fault. Though he owns great riches they don't control him."

  "Why should he offer me...?" Nikometros broke off as Ptolemy threw open the double doors to the royal audience chamber, ushering his two charges inside.

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  Chapter Nine

  The vast audience chamber stretched out on all sides from great double doors. Rows of towering carved columns marched the length of the hall, perspective drawing the eye to the raised dais and magnificently ornate throne at the far end. Huge murals of Persian kings in full regalia or in hunting chariots decimating wild beasts emblazoned the walls, while intricate mosaics covered the marble floors. Huge windows, stretching from floor to ceiling, let in shafts of sunlight, softened by gloriously coloured drapes that flapped stiffly in a chill breeze.

  Appearing very small and insignificant amid the grandeur, Nikometros and Timon followed Ptolemy across the great chamber, the sound of their boots echoing off the distant walls. As they drew nearer to the throne dais, Nikometros noticed a small group of people clustered around the base of the steps. Ptolemy altered his course slightly and raised one hand in greeting.

  "Here they are, Alexander. Delayed a bit by the mud in the camp."

  Ptolemy stepped to one side and waved Nikometros and Timon forward. Faces turned toward them. With a feeling of warmth, Nikometros recognised some familiar faces among the strangers. Seated on comfortable looking couches sat Tomyra and Bithyia, dressed in new robes and radiant with jewelry. Behind them stood Tirses, bedecked in gold ornamentation and looking every inch a Scythian ambassador. The old Egyptian Ket sat comfortably on a cushion on the steps, fondling his black cat Bubis. Standing around in relaxed poses were several men, mostly young to middle-aged, though all showed the weather-beaten calmness of professional soldiers at rest.

  A figure rose from the steps near Tomyra and lightly stepped forward. Dressed simply in a plain tunic and cloak, he stood out against the richer, more colourful clothing of the army officers. Though the top of his head came only to the shoulder of the tall men around him, his presence filled the whole chamber. His eyes, one pale, one dark, measured the men in front of him as they approached.

  Nikometros advanced, came to attention and saluted. "Nikometros, son of Leonnatos of the house of Ermacyon, sir. At your service."

  Timon saluted beside him. "Timon, son of Kerobates, from Messa near the Illyrian border, sir."

  Alexander smiled, white teeth sparkling in a bronzed face. "Thank you," he said softly. He looked at Timon thoughtfully. "From Messa you say? I remember a Kerobates from Messa. A big man, powerfully built, with a scar on his right cheek."

  Timon grinned. "Aye, sir. That was my father."

  "I remember him from when I fought the Illyrians just before my accession. He fought bravely and well."

  Ptolemy leaned across to the man next to him. "How does he remember men met briefly so many years ago?" he whispered.

  Alexander turned quickly, a serious look replacing the smile on his face. "A good commander knows his men, Ptolemy. How else will a man fight and risk his life unless he knows you recognise him personally?"

  "Yes, Alexander," Ptolemy grinned.

  Alexander turned back to Timon. "From what I hear, you're your father's son. I am honoured to have you with me." He stepped forward and clasped Timon by the shoulders, kissing him on the cheek. "Now," he went on, guiding Timon toward the seated ladies, "Be seated, and greet your lady."

  He gestured and a youth stepped up with a cup of wine, offering it gracefully to Timon. Timon took the cup absently, his attention focused on Bithyia.

  Alexander beckoned to Nikometros. "Your lady awaits you too, I think." He smiled as Nikometros walked over to Tomyra, clasping her hands as she rose to greet him. He turned away to give them a moment's privacy, warming his hands at a glowing brazier. The king waited patiently for the first murmurs of greeting and solicitude to die away before interrupting the young couple.

  "Your lady tells me you conquered the Scythian tribes almost single-handedly," Alexander stated with a smile.

  Nikometros flushed and looked down. "An exaggeration, sir. Circumstances favoured me."

  "An able man does not bow to circumstance, Nikometros," Alexander replied with a faint hint of disapproval in his voice. "Rather, he seizes his chances and makes the most of them. You belittle yourself."

  Nikometros hesitated and glanced at Ptolemy's intent face before plunging ahead. "Perhaps, sir, yet I was favoured by the Goddess of the Scythians."

  "Indeed?" Alexander leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. "How?"

  Nikometros described his first encounter with the Massegetae tribesmen and how his armband saved his life, both at his capture and later in the sacrificial combat.

  "You have this armband?"

  "I gave it to Tirses." Nikometros gestured at the resplendent young man. "As a symbol of my authority before battle, sir."

  "May I see it?" Alexander waited while Tirses slipped the armband off his arm and passed it to him. He turned the antique spiral band, noting the fine details of the figure of a woman drawn out into the body of a serpent. His eyes sparkled as his fingers traced the raw cut in the band, revealing the iron beneath, now dulled by a patina of rust.

  "That must have been a fight worth seeing," mused Alexander. He looked up at Nikometros keenly. "You felt fear?"

>   Nikometros hesitated. "Yes sir."

  Alexander nodded. "So do we all. Yet the brave man overcomes that which he fears and turns it to his advantage. Never fear death itself, only an unworthy death. Well said, Nikometros." He handed the armband to Nikometros. "Wear it again. Plainly the Goddess is with you. I will give Tirses some other token of our trust and friendship."

  Tirses bowed deeply. "As it pleases you, great Alexander," he murmured.

  Alexander nodded. "Good. Now come and tell us all that happened to you since you were captured. I have heard it all from these ladies but I wish to hear your insights. Also, my friends here have only heard the half of it." He grasped Nikometros firmly by the elbow and turned him toward the Macedonians standing silently in the rear.

  "Ptolemy you have met already, also Hephaestion." He smiled warmly at the tall man for a moment before continuing. "Perdikkas and Peukestas you don't know but no doubt will."

  Perdikkas nodded without speaking.

  "I regret I must depart, Alexander," murmured Peukestas. "I have some urgent negotiations with the Arabian delegations I must attend to." He saluted casually and walked off.

  "I'll tell you about it later!" Alexander called after him.

  Nikometros sat on the couch by Tomyra and sipped from the cup of excellent wine thrust into his hands.

  Alexander took a cushion and sat on the steps opposite him, leaning forward, elbow on knee, with his head resting on his fist. His eyes sparkled as he listened.

  Nikometros launched into a description of his days among the Massegetae, roaming the windswept plains of Scythia. He spoke a long time, sipping at the wine at infrequent intervals to moisten his throat.

  Alexander listened quietly for the most part, interrupting only to ask searching questions about specific customs, differences in methods of fighting between the tribes and the state of the borderlands. Nikometros answered as best he could, helped by the observations of Timon and Ket and the more detailed knowledge of Tomyra, Bithyia and Tirses. At one point, Alexander stopped the narration and sent out for a scribe to copy down the description of an obscure religious ritual. At last, the narrative reached the point of their exit from Scythia.

  Alexander leaned back, oblivious of the stretching and yawns of the Macedonian generals behind him. He glanced up at Tirses, then at the two women before switching to the broad Macedonian patois of the army. "Can I trust the Massegetae and their new chief, Parasades?"

  Nikometros thought for a moment before answering in the same tongue. "Yes, sir, providing they are left to govern themselves. Parasades is an able man but wants his tribe to be independent."

  Alexander nodded. "We shall talk of this again." Smoothly switching back to a clear Classical Greek he rose to his feet and addressed Tomyra. "Lady, I fear we have tired you with all this talk. I will let you rest and refresh yourselves."

  Tomyra rose to her feet and inclined her head graciously. "My lord Alexander," she replied. "It has been a delight to converse with you, a delight that I hope to enjoy again soon."

  Tomyra bowed again briefly and withdrew, followed by Bithyia, Ket and Tirses. When Nikometros and Timon made to leave, Ptolemy put his hand out, signalling them to remain.

  The great double doors closed and Alexander turned toward Nikometros with a serious expression on his face. "So, you trained a cadre of Scythian horsemen in the skills of Macedonian cavalry. Was that a considered decision?"

  "They're natural horsemen, sir, lacking only discipline. I provided that."

  "Have you created a weapon that will be used against us?" rasped Perdikkas.

  Nikometros turned. "I believe not, sir. They are a loyal people but also fiercely independent. The men under Tirses owe loyalty to me personally but in the absence of a disciplined commander their fellow tribesmen will revert to their old ways."

  "What of the Serratae?" Alexander softly asked.

  "You read the report, sir?" asked Nikometros in his turn.

  "I would like your account."

  "The Serratae were brought in by Areipithes to murder the lawful chief of the Massegetae--a man I came to think of as my brother." Nikometros hesitated. "Their leader--Dimurthes--captured and injured Tomyra and I sought revenge, as is my right. I didn't know they had entered into a treaty with you, sir."

  "She told me, Nikometros. I, too, would have had his life for that action." Alexander shook his head. "It seems the governor of the borders was too eager to sign a treaty and didn't measure the worth of the tribes beforehand." He walked over to one of the chairs and sat down. "Alcimenes will be reprimanded but not too severely, he is otherwise a competent man."

  "And the charges against Niko, sir?" muttered Timon.

  "They are dismissed, as are the charges against you," replied Alexander with a smile. "Alcimenes found the report from your Persian man, Mardes, and forwarded it. It just arrived."

  "And Mardes, sir?" asked Nikometros eagerly.

  "He was drafted into a garrison in eastern Sogdiana. I have sent for him, though he may be a while arriving."

  "That's good news sir. Thank you."

  Alexander smiled. "I value loyalty and friendship."

  "There is the matter of Lymnos, Alexander," put in Hephaestion. "I admire initiative in my men but I also require obedience."

  "Nikometros?" asked Alexander.

  "The man is half-witted," explained Nikometros. "He didn't know what he said nor recognise the meaning. He only repeated what another man said."

  "Men have still been tried and executed for repeating treasonous gossip," growled Ptolemy. "Why not this fellow?"

  "The Massegetae have a saying, sir. 'If you kill the lark you won't find his mate.'"

  Ptolemy snorted. "And this truly delightful saying means what, exactly?"

  "Only that if he dies, those who said the treason in the first place will disappear. Keep him alive and he may remember the speaker."

  "Yes, that was my thought too," Alexander said. "Hephaestion, I want you to remove Kerros from command of the Fourth. Give him some sinecure where he cannot cause too much trouble. Perhaps some border post. I'll let you decide on his replacement. As for the man Lymnos, he's pardoned. Caution him against listening to gossip and let him return to his duties." Alexander nodded and stood, turning to face his generals. "I think we've heard enough gentlemen. You already know my thoughts on this man. Do any of you disagree?"

  "No, Alexander," said Hephaestion.

  Perdikkas and Ptolemy shook their heads.

  "Very well then." Alexander turned and faced Nikometros. "Nikometros, you are from this moment relieved of your rank and position within the Fourth Squadron of the Companion Cavalry." Nikometros paled but stood firmly at attention.

  "Instead, you will assume a position within my personal staff under the command of General Perdikkas. You are promoted to the rank of colonel with the pay and privileges that go with it. Your duties will be specifically to help in the planning of the Caspian Expedition and more generally to assist my scribes in the compilation of a book on Scythian customs and language. I'm sure your wife Tomyra will be most helpful too."

  Nikometros opened his mouth then hurriedly shut it.

  Alexander cocked his head. "Yes, Nikometros?"

  "Er...Thank you, sir. I'm honoured but Tomyra is...er, she isn't my wife, sir."

  Perdikkas raised an eyebrow, while Ptolemy smiled. Hephaestion remained stony-faced, watching Alexander.

  "All my generals, my staff officers and friends took wives from among Persian nobility when I married," Alexander said. "It's a sign that we regard them not as a conquered race but rather as one joined with us. I see our children, mixed Macedonian and Persian, ruling this great empire after us."

  "A noble vision, Alexander," murmured Hephaestion.

  "Will you be part of my vision, Nikometros?" Alexander asked. "Marry your lady Tomyra--tomorrow."

  Nikometros gaped then blushed as he struggled for words. "Er...I would...that is, I haven't...she...I haven't asked her, sir. She might
refuse."

  Alexander smiled warmly. "Ask her, Nikometros. I doubt she'll refuse, so I'll make the arrangements for tomorrow." He looked across at Timon, who stood watching his friend with a great grin. "And what of you, Timon of Messa? Will you marry your lady too?"

  "Aye, sir!" rumbled Timon. "It's what we've always wanted."

  "Then it's settled," Alexander declared. "Tomorrow will see the union of Macedonia with another of the great peoples of this land, the Massegetae of Scythia." He turned to his generals and started pacing, counting off points on his fingers. "Ptolemy, arrange the feast, invite the guests. Not too many, no more than a hundred or so. The Scythian envoys of course, my Staff officers and their wives. The Persian nobles at court also. Hephaestion, get with Tirses and the priests. Find out the proper gods to invoke and the required prayers. Perdikkas, send for the finest tailors. We must make this an occasion to remember."

  Alexander laughed, his eyes sparkling.

  Hephaestion's eyes softened as he gazed at his friend and ruler striding across the throne room. The afternoon sunlight threw great yellow swathes across the mosaic floor. The king's golden hair glinted in the mellow light, masking the streaks of grey and the deep lines etched into his brow.

  "Yes," Alexander said firmly. "My vision will bear fruit. One people, out of many."

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  Chapter Ten

  The Great Hall in the King's residence blazed with the fire of a thousand torches, warm light reflecting off rich tapestry hangings and the soft wool carpets. A mass of people, intensely varied in appearance, filled the hall with a susurration that rose and fell like the tides of the world-encircling Ocean. Alexander's generals, ever mindful of their friend and king, moved through the throng, their Persian wives discretely beside them, greeting and talking to the guests. Staff officers, some married but many more devoted only to the army, stood in groups, talking quietly and disdaining the fellowship of foreigners.

  Tirses and the other Scythian envoys stood off to one side, quietly eyeing the assembled people. They fidgeted, their hands creeping often to their belts, mindful of missing swords. Their behaviour declared that the mass of strangers concerned them and they longed to be out in the open air, astride their horses.