by Eric Flint
“What is it, Ricardo?” Sara asked. She called him Ricardo instead of Rico. He thought it was her response to his calling her Sara, but he liked it.
“Just a message. Go back to sleep.” He put on his tunic and his pistol, then slipped on the sandals, and went upstairs to the radio room. “What have we got?”
“It is in your mailbox.”
The computer mailbox, he meant. The computer was installed in a purpose-built desk. He sat at the desk and logged onto the computer. The room on the top floor of the building had a tube radio built on the Queen of the Sea. Attached to the radio was a surge-protected cable to the computer. There was also a surge-protected charging cable that went from the hundred-watt pedal-powered generator that was also a product of the Queen.
He checked his mail. It was from Tacaran, a roommate on the Queen before The Event.
I hear that Cass’s bro has gone north, not east. Do you have any notion why that might be?
P.S. Keep this on the down-low, buddy. The little queen wants to know.
Tacaran Bayot
Rico read the message with some concern. This was the first he’d heard about Lípos, and unless she was told not to Sara would have told him. That left only two possibilities…well, three. Sara was told not to tell him, Thessalonike hadn’t told Sara, or Thessalonike didn’t know.
He thought about what he might do. He liked Tacaran and there was a loyalty between the ship people. But he loved Sara. He didn’t know when that had happened, but he loved her. And if he was ever going to get her freedom, he had to be someone that Thessalonike could trust.
All the way back to the room, he balanced loyalties, but there was never any question.
He crawled back into bed, snuggled up to Sara, and whispered in her ear. “Your mistress will want to know that Eumenes’ army knows that Lípos took the army north.”
“What?” Sara jerked upright, stared at him, looked around, then lay back down and whispered in his ear. “Lípos went north? Are you sure?”
“Tacaran Bayot is.”
* * *
Sophronike listened to Rico’s explanation. She knew that Thessalonike would have told her if she knew. After all, she was more than Thessalonike’s slave. She was also an apprentice to the Cabeiri in her own right, trusted with the lesser secrets and initiated into the rites. And she had proved her devotion when her mistress ordered her to seduce the ugly little ship person. She knew, or at least strongly suspected, that Rico wanted to free her. But she didn’t want to be freed. She was a trusted confidante of her mistress and thereby in a position of importance in the governance of Macedonia and accepted of the Cabeiri. She had no desire to give that up for some odd ship person notion of freedom. No one was free in the way that ship people thought of the word.
But she listened to Rico with care, kissed him gently and thanked him for telling her. Then, after he went back to sleep, she slipped out of bed and went to inform her mistress.
Thessalonike’s rooms, Pella
November 12, 319 BCE
Cassander was nowhere in sight, of course. Once Thessalonike started showing, he avoided her bedchamber. Sophronike knocked quietly on the door panel and was admitted by one of Thessalonike’s guards, then allowed into the queen’s bedchamber. The room was dark, shuttered against the November chill, with a small fire in a portable bronze firepit and a lamp in the corner. She moved carefully to the couch the queen was sleeping on. She whispered to Thessalonike, who was lying on her side, one leg over a reed pillow.
“What?” Thessalonike woke. “What are you doing here?”
“The army is going north!”
“What? How do you…? No. Of course, you got it from Rico. Where did he get it?”
“You knew?”
Thessalonike levered herself up in the bed. “No, and I don’t believe it, not yet.” She got up and moved to the chamber pot. Sophronike waited while Thessalonike finished.
When the queen returned to the sleeping couch and sat, Sophronike waited some more. She could tell that her mistress was thinking. Finally, Thessalonike spoke. “Go back to Rico. I need to study this matter.”
* * *
That morning after the sun came up, Thessalonike called on several of her agents. They were women and a few men who were connected with the army. People who could find out where the force under Lípos went and why. It took three days and a very drunk cavalryman talking to his young lover, who “wanted to learn strategy.”
Thessalonike’s rooms, Pella
November 15, 319 BCE
The lad was fifteen and well formed. He knelt on the small rug on the marble floor. That, after all, was what it was for. Then he bent forward and placed his forehead on the floor. This wasn’t the respect to a queen, but the respect due the gods and their representatives. Thessalonike nodded her approval, then said, “Rise and speak.”
He rose, but stayed on his knees. “The army moves to Seuthopolis. According to Pantheras, it will discredit Seuthes when his holy city is captured and the temple to Dionysus is seized. They will burn the temple, proving that Seuthes can’t defend even his temple. He will have to respond and will charge north, where he can be defeated well away from the support of the Reliance and its guns.”
“And what of Eumenes?”
“I asked Pantheras about that. He said Eumenes is a Thracian wagoneer’s son. If he tries to sally north in support of his king, his army will abandon him. Or, at best, he will be defeated once he is in the open field with no walls to hide behind.” The boy looked up pleadingly. “He really said that.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Thessalonike assured him. “Continue.”
“That is all of it, Majesty.” Then he blurted, “Do you think they will really desecrate the temple?”
“Unless…” Thessalonike stopped. “Don’t worry about it.” She waved the lad out.
Once the boy was gone, Thessalonike stood with some difficulty and walked to the north wall of her room. She pulled a bell pull. She could barely hear the chime on the other side of the wall, but quickly the door opened and her personal guard came in. “I need to see Sophronike.”
* * *
An hour later Sophronike arrived from the radio room, while Thessalonike was seated at her writing table with one of the new fountain pens. She didn’t rise, but waved the girl over, saying loudly, “I have a message for Olympias. You will take it to your friend in the radio room. Make sure he gives it priority. I need more rubber hot-water bottles.”
As she passed the sheet to Sophronike, she said quietly, “Tell Rico that Lípos is moving on Seuthopolis.”
Army of Lípos, Thrace
November 15, 319 BCE
Lípos cursed his army. He did it quietly, under his breath, lest his prickly subordinates hear the complaint and spend an hour sitting in their saddles, insisting it was someone else’s fault. Less than ten miles a day his army was making, and he wasn’t traveling anything close to a straight line. Miles out of his way for every hill or grove, stopping by noon every day to rest their horses and forage for food. He looked around. They were riding single file down a path between trees and it was raining. The infantry behind them would stop complaining about the dust the horses kicked up, and complain instead about the muddy bog that two thousand horses left after they crossed the ground.
He kept riding. Around noon they reached the end of the trees and rode into an open area made up of grazing land for sheep. And a contingent of his cavalry rode off to steal some sheep for dinner. At least they were Thracian sheep now, not Macedonian.
He waited in the rain as slaves set up his tent, then climbed off his horse, tossed the reins to a groom, and went into his tent. A slave waited with a damp towel, and Lípos suppressed a biting comment. The rain wasn’t the slave’s fault.
Amphipolis
November 15, 319 BCE
Tacaran Bayot handed the message to Eumenes, not really sure what it meant. He looked at the map and saw Seuthopolis marked by a wine-red star. Appropriate enough
for a temple to Dionysus, he supposed, but it was in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing there.
He was surprised when Eumenes started cursing in what, best Tacaran could tell, were the Macedonian, Persian, and Phoenician languages. And perhaps Egyptian. Then Eumenes stood, went to the map and, using strings and pins, measured out the route and, calculating out loud, figured the time it would take to get Briarus, Seuthes, and their combined army from Abdera to Seuthopolis.
“Maybe,” Eumenes said to the map. “Or maybe not.” Then he turned back to Tacaran. “I need you to get a message to Abdera. Seuthes is to move to Seuthopolis, taking only his fastest cavalry, and prepare the city for a siege. Briarus is to hold Abdera using only the infantry.” He paused for a moment, staring at Tacaran, then asked, “How quickly can the radio operators at Abdera move their equipment?”
Tacaran considered. Charles Blevins was sixty-two, and before The Event was overweight, but otherwise in good health. Not forced-march good health, but good health. His wife Alice Blevins was forty-five and in decent shape. On the other hand, they wouldn’t be marching. They and the radio gear would be on two-wheeled chariots pulled by two horses and surrounded by cavalry. “They ought to be able to keep up, depending on how long they have to do it for.”
“I think three days. Two and a half if they are lucky. They will go slow to save the horses the first day. Then…Never mind.” Eumenes waved it away. “Tell Seuthes to take the radio with him. If we can have it in Seuthopolis, we can coordinate.”
* * *
Once Tacaran was gone, Eumenes called in his staff and started preparations to get his army under way. There wasn’t that much to do. They were ready to march on Pella until this happened.
On the other hand, Eurydice wasn’t happy. “This is perfect. We go to Pella while Lípos is all the way up in central Thrace and take the city. We have rockets and the Reliance can get within range with its rockets. We will have Cassander, Thessalonike, and Macedonia before Lípos even gets to Seuthopolis.”
“But if we do that we will be out of position to support Seuthes,” Eumenes said.
Eurydice looked at Eumenes like he was crazy, then slowly shook her head. “I am sorry about that, Eumenes. I truly am. But the needs of the empire outweigh the needs of a single king within it. Seuthes will just have to hold out until we get to him.”
Nike, daughter of Seuthes, was staring at Eurydice. “You would betray my father?”
Eurydice turned to her. “Not betray, no. But I must put the needs of the empire above the needs of any kingdom in it, no matter how well beloved.” She turned to Eumenes. “We march on Pella.”
“No, Majesty. I am strategos. Pella will still be there a month from now, or three months, if that is what it takes. We would not only damage our alliance with Seuthes, but our reputation with all the states and satrapies within the empire would be compromised.”
“That is a political decision, Eumenes, not a strategic one. It is a decision for the queen…ah, queens. Not the strategos.”
“Then let us hear from the other queen.”
They argued until they got to the radio room and called Roxane on the Queen of the Sea.
Queen of the Sea, Atlantic Ocean
November 15, 319 BCE
Roxane picked up the phone and muttered, “Yes?”
“We have an urgent radio communication from Amphipolis.”
“Put it through.” Yawning, she lay back in the bed, head on her pillow, and used the hand not holding the phone to push her hair out of her face.
Eurydice spoke from the earpiece. “Eumenes is being difficult. You need to tell him to go to Pella.”
Almost, Roxane agreed. She was still half asleep, after all. But she was just a little too familiar with Eurydice’s tactics. “Is Eumenes there?” she asked, and yawned again.
“Yes, Majesty,” came Eumenes’ voice. “Lípos is attacking Seuthopolis.”
“What?” Roxane asked, trying to…“What!” Suddenly, without consciously willing it, Roxane was sitting up in bed. Dag grunted at the motion. “Now?”
“No. He’s days away. We got the information, indirectly from Thessalonike, about an hour ago. The plan is to discredit Seuthes as priest king of Thrace.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
He told her. Over the next few minutes, she got the whole tale, not just Eumenes and Eurydice’s version, but also Nike’s concern.
“All right,” she said at last. “You both have good points. Very good points. Nike, Eurydice isn’t being uncaring. She is being a commander in the field. A hard job, and one your father understands. He will tell you the same. However, on balance, I have to support Eumenes in this. It isn’t that Eurydice is wrong, but that we will be seen by many as betraying our vassals.
“I say go after Lípos and catch him between the walls of Seuthopolis and your army. Then deal with the snake in Pella.”
CHAPTER 24
Stage Dressing
Abdera
November 15, 319 BCE
Alice Blevins was at the radio when the message came in. It was in Greek and she wasn’t good at Greek yet, but she could recognize the recipient’s name and that was all she needed at the moment. She loaded the printer with paper and printed out the message, then called one of the Thracian soldiers who were assigned to them as runners and bodyguards. She folded the letter and handed it to the guy. He was about twenty, with curly black hair and a mustache that he’d copied from Charles Blevins. “Urgent for Commander Briarus,” she said, then enjoyed the view as he turned and ran out of the radio room.
* * *
It was almost fifteen minutes later that the commander of their guard came in, shouting orders. Then argued with two of the other guards/assistants before turning to Alice and saying, in a broken smashup of Greek and English, “Need to gobbledygook tear up gobbledygook radio to run to gobbledygook Thrace.”
“Charles!” she yelled at the top of her lungs. “Get your fat ass in here.”
It was Charles’ break time, and he was taking a nap.
He came in and there was a quick confusing conversation in Charles’ slightly better Greek.
Then everything went right to hell. Charles told her they had to go to Seuthopolis, and “right fucking now.” Then, under the eyes of the Thracian guard, they disconnected the batteries, took down the antennas. There were three of them. Packed up the desktop computer and screen, packed everything in wool and wood, and loaded it onto two two-wheeled carts, then climbed onto another chariot and left before nightfall, and well ahead of the army.
* * *
“They are away?” Seuthes asked.
“Yes,” Briarus agreed. “I still think it’s a risky move, sending them ahead with a guard of only twenty. There are still bandits running rampant through Thrace.”
“I know. But we are going to need that radio in Seuthopolis, and we are going to need it there as soon as we can get it there. Now, about the rest of the army—” And they talked about who was going to go and who would stay here to defend the port.
Approaching Seuthopolis
November 18, 319 BCE
Around ten in the morning, an utterly exhausted Alice Blevins looked down into a valley and saw a hill near its center. On that hill was Seuthopolis, perhaps fifteen miles away. It was a small place, just a few large buildings surrounded by a stone curtain wall, maybe thirty feet high. There was a village outside the walls and a vineyard outside that.
Another two hours brought them to the gates. Large wooden things, wide enough to let in six horses abreast. All Alice wanted to do was sleep, but on the trip here it had finally sunk in that they weren’t running like this to get out of the area to be attacked. They were here because this was where the attack was going to fall. She looked over at her husband and said, “And you said this was going to be a soft gig.”
Charles shrugged. “It’s easier than staying in Fort Plymouth and trying to start an industry with hand tools while we run out of money.”
Alice looked at Charles. He was looking all of his sixty-two years after the trip and she was worried about him. Which only made her madder. That was the argument he used to get her to agree to come to work for Eumenes and Seuthes. “Tell me that after Cassander burns this whole place to the ground with us in it.”
“Hey, the walls are brick, not easy to burn,” he said, pointing as they rode through the gates.
Once they were through the gates, they were on a brick-paved street that looked to be around fifteen feet wide. They followed that street about two hundred feet to a large open square, an agora, or market square. At the far end of the square another street teed into it and beyond that there were a couple of short blocks and the palace compound. That was where they were headed. Where they could rest.
Palace of Seuthes, Seuthopolis
November 19, 319 BCE
Somebody banged on the small brass gong mounted next to their door. The sound of it was a bit deeper than a doorbell, but served the same function. The sun was just coming up.
It was still last night, as far as Alice was concerned. She pulled a pillow over her head.
The next thing Alice realized was that a group of men were standing around the bed she and Charles were sharing. “What the flaming hell!” she shouted, grabbing for the blanket. “What are you people doing in my bedroom?”
