Scythian Trilogy Book 3: Funeral in Babylon

by Max Overton

  "A man who doesn't fear the gods," replied Nikometros. "Areipithes was such a one and I think his man Scolices is another. Remember the Jartai village."

  "And Parates?"

  Nikometros shrugged. "He may be innocent. Perhaps Scolices called on him merely as a contact in a foreign land. However, I think..."

  A loud knocking peremptorily interrupted Nikometros. The door swung wide and Bithyia stumbled in, hair awry and breathing hard. "Niko! Come quickly," she blurted. "Tomyra has woken."

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  Chapter Twenty-One

  A cold wind blew out of the north, rattling the bare twigs of the trees and raising tiny flurries of fine flakes from the sparse drifts of snow huddling in the lea of boulders and thickets. The nearby river, gripped by a rime of ice along its stony banks, flowed sluggishly, the colour of slate beneath a leaden sky. Two horses stood on a small hillock overlooking the river, their riders hooded and cloaked against the cutting wind. A hundred paces away, five other horsemen waited patiently in the shelter of a stone outcrop, watching the pair on the hillock.

  Nikometros, wrapped tightly in a woollen cloak, edged his horse closer to the rider beside him. He looked over at the pale face showing beneath the rider's hooded cloak. "You shouldn't be out in this weather, my love," he said in a voice edged with concern. He glanced up at the overcast sky, feeling the first thin drops of rain on his upturned face.

  "I am not a soft Persian woman to be locked away, nor am I a Greek woman expected to sit at home spinning wool," replied Tomyra impatiently. "I am a Scythian warrior woman, daughter of warriors. I need the open spaces."

  "I know Tomyra, but it's only a month since you...since Starissa was born."

  Tomyra's eyes flashed. "Why did you have to give it my mother's name? Now, every time I think of her I'll be reminded of Dimurth...of that bastard, and what he did to me."

  Nikometros frowned. "Starissa is your daughter too. Anyone can see the resemblance."

  "Conceived in hatred, carried unwillingly and born in pain. She isn't mine," rasped Tomyra. "I disown her."

  "Tomyra, you don't mean that. If you'd spend more time with her, feed her, you'd come to love her, even as I do."

  "My milk has dried, thanks be to the Goddess, and I have nothing to give her. Anyway, that stupid cow Petis gives her all the milk she needs. Love too, no doubt."

  Tomyra's agitation spread to her mount and the mare stamped, edging away from the other horse. She pulled its head round and dug in her heels, sending it slipping down the icy incline. When Tomyra reached level ground she urged it forward, bending low over its neck.

  Nikometros hesitated for a moment then followed, his stallion picking its way carefully down the slope. Behind him he could hear the startled cries of the other horsemen as they whipped their mounts into a belated pursuit.

  Nikometros gave his stallion its head and its stride lengthened, setting out after the already distant mare. Blinking in the fine drizzle, he saw Tomyra's horse galloping toward the thick leafless woods along the riverbank. As he watched, a gust of cold wind ripped the cloak away from her and sent it flapping out over the river. A moment later she disappeared into the trees. With a curse, Nikometros urged his stallion onward.

  Forced to slow his pace through the dense thickets and winding paths of the wood, Nikometros fretted, allowing his horse to pick its way over exposed roots and slippery drifts of wet leaves. Behind him he could hear the cries of his bodyguard as they urged their mounts directly through the forest, trampling the undergrowth.

  The land rose steeply as the woodland thinned, slowing his pace to a walk. When Nikometros finally emerged from the undergrowth, he found himself on a rocky bluff overlooking the river. A few paces away sat Tomyra, her mare's head turned to the north, staring out over the river and rolling countryside.

  Tomyra turned her head as Nikometros guided his stallion alongside her. She smiled wanly and shivered as the wind tugged at her robes. "It smells of home, Niko," she said, waving a hand toward the north. "I can smell my home on the wind."

  Nikometros nodded and unclasped his military cloak. He leaned over and wrapped it around Tomyra, refastening the pin. "You miss the great Scythian plains, don't you, my love?"

  Tomyra stared northward. Scuds of ragged grey cloud ran before the wind, trailing mists of rain. She nodded. "My people will be in Urul now for the winter. There will be feasting and drinking of koumiss, young men boasting of their exploits, old men telling stories of heroes and gods." Tomyra turned her solemn face to her husband. "Yes, I miss it, Niko. Life here is very different."

  Nikometros stared out over the river, refusing to look into his wife's eyes. "Do you want to go back?"

  "Would you come with me?"

  "I cannot. My duty lies with my king. But if you need to go..." Nikometros' voice caught, "...then you should go."

  Tomyra leaned closer and touched her husband's arm. "Then we stay together." She sighed and brushed the rain away from her face, shaking her wet hair. "Niko, my place is with you. The Goddess sent me away from my people for a purpose. I will stay and await Her instruction."

  Nikometros nodded. For several minutes they watched the interplay of clouds and rain over the sodden landscape.

  At length, Tomyra turned toward Nikometros and stared up into his face. "I love you, Niko. I haven't been all that a wife should be of late. I'll make it up to you."

  Nikometros smiled. "And Starissa?"

  Tomyra shook her head. "She's blameless, I know. Yet I cannot find it in me to love her as a mother should love her child. She should be your child, Niko. I've failed you, and every time I see her, I'm reminded of that failure."

  "I seem to remember you lecturing me about not feeling shame for something you had no control over."

  "No shame, Niko, but I failed you all the same."

  "You didn't fail me, Tomyra. You were forced and no blame lies with you. Besides, I...I love the child." Nikometros grinned. "She screams louder than I thought possible. She stinks and pukes every time I see her...yet she reminds me of you, and so I love her."

  Tomyra gaped and swung her fist, catching Nikometros painfully in the ribs. "You pig," she laughed. "Are you saying I scream and stink?"

  Nikometros fended her off with one hand while he rubbed his side. "Well, now that you mention it..." He dodged another blow. "No, my love. Your voice is as soft as a summer breeze and you're as fragrant as blossoms."

  Tomyra poked her tongue out. "Liar," she said with a smile. "But a nice liar. I think I'll keep you." She leaned over and kissed Nikometros firmly on the lips.

  A discreet cough interrupted their play. Tirses edged his horse up alongside and nodded deferentially. "My lord...lady," he said. "We should be getting back."

  Nikometros looked toward the woods and saw the rest of the bodyguard waiting. He nodded and turned his horse's head to follow the bluff along the river. Tomyra followed, with Tirses and the bodyguards close behind. They skirted the trees and picked their way carefully down the sodden slopes to the river plain once more, before turning to where Ekbatana lay hidden in the mist.

  Tomyra pulled a golden figurine from within her robes and turned it in her hand, admiring the workmanship. "I don't need to see Urul again, Niko, when I have such beautiful things to remind me. Thank you for finding it for me."

  "I'm glad it pleases you." Nikometros frowned. "Yet I wish I could have obtained it elsewhere."

  "Parates has been very kind. He cannot be held to blame for the actions of others. Besides, he's good company. You've been so busy of late."

  "I'm sorry for that. Although the king hasn't recovered from the death of Hephaestion, the business of the empire goes on. Perdikkas keeps me very busy."

  "I understand...really." Tomyra rode in silence for a few moments. "You must come and hear the stories Parates tells. He's travelled widely and met so many important people."

  "Including your brother. They were good friends I believe."

&nbs
p; Tomyra laughed. "Not really. He met him once or twice but only to trade. He hasn't said so, but I don't think he liked my brother."

  "I don't trust him, Tomyra. Be careful. Never see him alone."

  Tomyra shook her head. "I wouldn't, my love." She frowned. "More like, I couldn't. Bithyia keeps such a close eye on me I find it hard to be alone."

  "She's concerned."

  "I know." Tomyra cocked her head on one side. "How long since you drank koumiss, love?" She laughed at Niko's sour expression.

  "Not since we left Urul. Months."

  "Parates says he can get me some. Now that the cooler weather has arrived he can bring it south. He promised me a jar."

  A look of alarm wafted across Nikometros face. "You cannot accept it." He frowned. "He hasn't offered you food or drink, has he?"

  "Only a flask of wine. It was very pleasant." Tomyra smiled. "Don't concern yourself, my love, I'm not a fool. I made sure he drank some first."

  Nikometros grunted. "Just be careful. There's something not quite right about the man."

  "I wish Ket was here. He's such a good judge of character. You'd believe him. When will he be back?"

  "Not for some time. It's a long way to Siwah in Egypt. By now they won't be much further than Babylon."

  "I hope he hurries."

  Slowly, the rain tapered off to a few scattered showers by the time they reached the Royal Road again. The clouds started to thin and a weak sun lit their faces. Pools of water lay everywhere and the horse's hooves squelched and sucked in the deep mud. The Road lay almost deserted until they neared the city. As they passed the army camp lying sullen in the sodden fields, they heard the sounds of a body of horsemen approaching fast from the southwest.

  Nikometros guided the party off the road and watched as the riders approached. Tirses and his men moved up around their charges, their hands fingering the handles of their swords.

  The riders came fast, a tight body of horsemen some twenty strong and fully armed. As they swept past Nikometros toward the city, one of the riders turned and stared. Cold, cruel eyes set in a craggy, weathered face took the measure of the little group, weighed their potential and dismissed them as inconsequential. The horsemen topped the rise and disappeared from view, the sound of their passage fading with them.

  "Who are they?" muttered Tirses.

  Nikometros took his hand from his sword and rubbed it. His knuckles ached from the grip and he grimaced when he realised the tension he had been under. He urged his horse back onto the road and set out for the city. "I don't know but I'll find out."

  People milled everywhere in the lower city, gossiping and chattering. Nikometros pushed his way through the crowd toward the first of the citadel gates and called out to the guard.

  "Drimon, who are those horsemen, the ones who just passed?"

  The guard scowled and jerked his head in disgust. "Ill-mannered louts are who they are. Kossaians by all accounts. Said they was here for their money, they did." Drimon spat in the mud. "Still, theys had the Royal Pass so I couldn't refuse them entry."

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  Chapter Twenty-Two

  "He said what?" Alexander raised his eyes from a report by the architect, Dolochos, on the design of Hephaestion's funeral pyre. He stared at the chamberlain in disbelief, eyebrows raised.

  "Er...the er...Kossaian ambassador, sire. He says he's here to collect the annual tribute." The chamberlain shuffled his feet and looked down, unwilling to meet his king's pale eyes.

  "Tribute?" Puzzlement replaced disbelief. "He thinks I should pay him tribute? Why?"

  "It...it's the...the custom, sire," stammered the chamberlain. "Every winter they come to be paid." The man started to wring his hands. "It's a fee, sire; a payment for services. King Darius always paid it promptly..."

  "I'm not King Darius," said Alexander coldly.

  The Persian chamberlain gave a squeak of fear and dropped into a full prostration on the cold marble floor. "No sire, of course not, sire. Your power and majesty have been exalted to the heavens, your benevolence and gracious mercy..." babbled the terrified man.

  Alexander glanced down at the prostrate official and got lightly to his feet. He nudged the man with the toe of a sandaled foot. "Be quiet." Striding over to the door of his chamber he threw it wide.

  The guards at the door, young squires hardly old enough to shave, fumbled their spears as they turned in surprise.

  "Send for my council, now!"

  One of the young men snapped off a salute and raced off down the corridor. The other remained at attention, his eyes fixed at a point on the wall above his king's head. The youth trembled, his spear shaft clattering softly against his armour.

  "At ease, soldier," said Alexander with a faint smile. "Hippolytos isn't it?"

  "Yes, sire," breathed the young man.

  Alexander nodded and turned away. "Show the council in as soon as they arrive, Hippolytos. You have my thanks." He reentered the room and shut the door.

  The young guard grinned and took up his position again, pride swelling his chest.

  Ptolemy arrived first. He knocked and entered the king's chambers. He looked at Alexander quizzically, then at the Persian chamberlain still muttering on the floor. "What is it, Alexander?" he asked.

  "Wait until the others get here." Alexander flashed a look of annoyance at the terrified official. "Get him out of here."

  Ptolemy lifted the chamberlain to his feet and ushered him from the room, still babbling a string of honorifics and pleas for mercy. He turned back to face his king, who stood by the window, scowling at the dissipating storm clouds. He moved to one side and assumed a position of parade rest, content to await his brother's pleasure.

  Hippolytos opened the door wide to allow several men to troop into the room.

  Alexander turned from his contemplation of the weather and waved his council to the seats around a large table. He waited until all were seated then stood at the head of the table, leaning forward, resting on his knuckles. Alexander stared around at the faces of his generals and staff officers--Ptolemy, Perdikkas, Peukestas, Eumenes, Seleukos, Amyntas and Nikometros.

  "Well, gentlemen. It appears I'm not yet king in Persia." Alexander looked coldly at the startled expressions his statement elicited and his brow furrowed. "A delegation arrived from Kossaia...with a demand for tribute." He paused. "Tribute!" he shouted, his fist crashing down on the table. "They demand tribute of me. Who in Hades do they think they are?"

  The generals looked from one to another in silence. Seleukos coughed and half raised a hand. "Er...where is Kossaia?"

  "I can answer that," Eumenes replied smoothly. He looked across the table at Alexander's ferocious stare and his smile slipped. "Kossaia is a mountain province between Ekbatana and the plains of Babylon. The Royal Road runs right through the middle of it."

  Peukestas leaned forward. "But Kossaia is then part of Persia, isn't it? Why this demand for payment?"

  Eumenes shrugged eloquently. "The area is bristling with hill forts and mountain fastnesses. The tribes prey on travellers who use the roads. The kings of Persia thought it more economical to pay the tribes off rather than mount a costly expedition against them."

  "Very true," added Amyntas. "There are few tracks and fewer roads."

  "Why are we only hearing of it now?" asked Nikometros. "We haven't paid them off, yet they didn't attack us as we approached Ekbatana six years ago, nor yet this last year."

  "We came from Persepolis," growled Ptolemy. "From the south, more recently from the east. We skirted the mountains rather than crossing them."

  Perdikkas nodded. "They heard the king is in residence and no doubt decided to demand payment before winter closes the passes."

  Alexander scanned his council again then sighed and sat down, leaning back in his chair. "What are your recommendations, gentlemen?"

  "You cannot pay them, Alexander," protested Perdikkas. "It would set a terrible precedent."

  "It
may be more expensive not to pay them," observed Peukestas. "If we refuse they'll terrorise all travellers on the Royal Road to Babylon. Trade could be thrown into chaos."

  "So what?" snorted Seleukos. "We're soldiers of the greatest army on earth. Let them surrender or die."

  "Easier said than done," retorted Eumenes. "The Kossaians have never been subdued. Their mountain strongholds are almost impossible to approach."

  "So you're saying we should take the coward's way out?" snarled Perdikkas. "I might have known you'd suggest that."

  Eumenes flushed and rose to his feet. He hissed. "I suggested no such thing. I merely said that we should exercise caution rather than rush in like bulls whose balls are bigger than their brains."

  Perdikkas leapt to his feet in turn. "Coward!" he yelled.

  Chairs scraped back as the table erupted into factions. Peukestas pulled at Perdikkas' sleeve while Amyntas urged Eumenes to sit down again. Seleukos and Nikometros turned from one side to the other in agitation, their eyes shiny with excitement.

  "Gentlemen!" Alexander's voice whip lashed across the table. "This serves no purpose." He watched as his officers settled back, breathing hard but under control again. "Of course we won't pay them. Peukestas, contact their ambassador and decline their invitation. Tell them I shall call on them in the spring to demand their fealty. If they swear allegiance I shall forgive them."

  "Yes, Alexander."

  "Perdikkas, start planning an expedition to subdue them. Sometime after the spring equinox, I think. Cavalry will be useless in the mountains, perhaps..."

  Ptolemy looked around the table then back to his king, noting the abstracted way he planned the war. He leaned forward and deliberately interrupted Alexander's instructions. "I think you're wise to wait, Alexander. Some things, like attacking the Kossaians in winter, are clearly beyond the capabilities of men."

  Alexander stopped talking, his hand raised, and turned to glare at Ptolemy. The other officers stared open-mouthed.

  "What are you doing?" hissed Peukestas. "Sit down."