by Eric Flint
Thessalonike still didn’t scream, but she apparently bit her lip. A little blood started seeping from her mouth. Daniel put a pressure bandage on the wound and tied it in place with twine.
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, it was only his reloaded pistol and Thessalonike’s insistence that kept Cassander’s personal guards from trying to kill him. They were not happy that the new regent to the as-yet-unborn king of Macedonia was a young woman. This was complicated by the fact that said child might be a girl.
The politics of Macedonia had been reeling since the death of Philip II, Alexander the Great’s father. Every time they got some nice, comfortable reactionary on the throne, he got himself killed. The last two times, Antipater and Cassander, indirectly by women. Roxane and Eurydice for Antipater, and Thessalonike for Cassander. Clearly, it was all due to the curse of Olympias and the ship people.
On the other hand, Macedonian kings getting killed was hardly a new phenomenon. Kingship in the here and now was not a safe occupation.
There, in the hallway in front of the relocked strong room, the nobles of Macedonia tried to work out what to do while looking at the bandaged and still-living Thessalonike and the very much still-armed Daniel Lang. He was backed up by Demos, who at least was one of their own.
Somewhere in the explanation for what had happened, the fact that Cassander was in the process of looting the treasury got out. Then the fact that neither Daniel nor Thessalonike knew where the money was. At that point, a lot of the nobles scattered to go find the treasure, leaving only a few to determine who would be the new government.
* * *
Finally a litter arrived and Thessalonike was carried off to rest. Daniel retreated to police headquarters.
Radio section, Pella
2:00 A.M., November 24, 319 BCE
“Get up, Ricardo Gica! Get up now!” Sara was shaking Rico. He sat up, bleary and confused, but Sara would not be denied. In only a few minutes, Rico, still in his underwear and a robe, found himself in the radio room, firing up the system in spite of the fact that it was raining again.
Sara handed him a stack of messages. “Send these. Send them now.”
All of the messages were marked “most urgent.” There were two to the Queen of the Sea, one to Olympias, and one to Alexander IV in care of Roxane; two to Eumenes’ army, one for Philip III in care of Eurydice and one for delivery to Philip Lípos, commander of the army of Macedonia in Thrace. That one to be delivered only if there was a positive response from Roxane and Eurydice. All of the letters were in clear, but also in Macedonian Greek. There was also a general announcement, again to be released only if the messages to the queens regent got a positive response.
Rico’s curiosity got the better of him and he ran the messages to the queens through the translation app.
After explaining the events of the evening in the messages, Thessalonike made a proposal:
While I know that my nephew Alexander IV has the best blood claim on the throne of Macedonia, that throne has never passed strictly by blood. Alexander the Great received it, not Philip, then Philip and Alexander shared it, all by acclamation of the nobility of Macedonia in the form of the army. On that basis and because the child beneath my breast is here in Macedonia, I request that Philip III and Alexander IV yield to me, not the crown of the empire of Alexander, only the crown of Macedonia, which is now a part of that empire, but no longer its whole.
This was weird. Rico knew that there were irregularities in the way Alexander the Great got the crown, and even more when Philip III and Alexander IV got it. But this made it sound like that was standard. And how could Roxane and Eurydice be queens regent of the empire and not Macedonia? He wondered what Lípos would say about that. For that matter, he wondered what Ptolemy, Antigonus One-eye, and the rest of the satraps and kings of the empire would say.
Queen of the Sea, off Amphipolis
November 24, 319 BCE
The phone in Roxane’s cabin rang and Dag reached over and grabbed it. “Yes, I’m up. I’ll be there in twenty,” he mumbled sleepily.
“What?” came over the phone. “Her Majesty has an urgent message.”
“Huh? What time is it?”
“Two twenty-seven A.M. local. Now, will you get Her Nibs up? Cassander is dead. Shot by Daniel Lang.”
Dag shook Roxane awake. “Babe, emergency. Wake up,” he said before the meaning of the words had quite penetrated. “I think you might have just won the war.”
* * *
Fifteen minutes later, in a conference room with Marie Easley, Olympias, Lars Floden, and Amanda Miller representing New America, Roxane read the message. She then looked at her mother-in-law, half-wondering how Olympias managed to get to this meeting. Then she saw the message in Olympias’ hand. “Well?” she asked.
“I think you should do it,” Olympias said. “Thessalonike makes a number of good points. The nobility of Macedonia itself wasn’t all that fond of my son. Most of those who loved him followed him on his campaigns. Those left will never trust you, or my grandson, for he is only half Macedonian. They might allow Eurydice’s child”—Olympias couldn’t keep the sneer completely out of her voice, but she tried—“should she ever manage to have one, and if they believe that Philip is actually the father. But Thessalonike’s child will carry the blood of Philip II and Antipater.”
Marie Easley spoke up. “Don’t discount that the basis to your claims over Alexander’s empire all start with Alexander the Great as king of Macedonia. If you give that up, what supports the rest of it?”
It was a good point, but so was Olympias’, Roxane thought.
Then Amanda Miller spoke. “Don’t forget the constitution. It established that Alexander and Philip were the co-rulers of the United Satrapies and States of the Empire, as well as the kings of Macedonia. Besides, if you don’t go along with this, won’t Lípos keep fighting?”
“He might well, even if you do,” Marie said. “If Cassander had any legitimacy at all, Lípos is at least as good an heir as Thessalonike’s child. In fact, that’s a big part of what concerns me about this. It legitimizes Cassander after the fact. Won’t it invite others to repeat his rebellion?”
Roxane considered. The only other real threat at the moment was Antigonus One-eye in Babylon, and the sooner Eumenes’ army was free to deal with that, the better. Besides, Roxane would really prefer not to have to kill any more people than she already had. “Tell her I approve, but only if she can bring Lípos to heel. She must send him orders to stand down.”
Olympias held out another message. “This is to Lípos, should you and Eurydice agree.” The message was an order from Thessalonike as regent to Cassander’s child to stand down his army and place himself and his army under Eumenes’ orders.
“Very well,” Roxane agreed. “But we need to word this right. Not as an abdication. As a grant. We give Macedonia to our vassal, Thessalonike and her child, as a kingdom within our empire.”
Olympias laughed. “Now all we need to do is get Eurydice to agree to it.”
Eumenes’ field headquarters, Western Thrace
Sunrise, November 25, 319 BCE
Tacaran Bayot reconnected the antenna array to the radio and shouted to Erica Mirzadeh, “Ready! Fire it up!” Then he climbed down. The morning was cloudy, but thankfully not raining. But his boots squished in the mud as he walked around to the back of the wagon. He climbed up onto the running board and scraped his boots before climbing in.
Erica Mirzadeh already had the system up and was getting something. At first Tacaran thought that it was the morning weather report, but then he saw Erica’s face. “What is it?”
“Cassander is dead. Don’t get comfortable, Tacaran. You’re going to be taking messages as soon as I get the printer going.”
* * *
“Good plan,” Philip III said, looking at the tent post. “The Macedonians will accept it and we can live on the Queen.”
“But we give up our home, our kingdom.” Eurydice so
unded more like a teenage girl than she ever had in Tacaran’s hearing.
Eumenes looked back and forth between Eurydice and Philip, and Tacaran was almost sure he was hiding a smile. “No. You’re simply granting a part of your empire in fief to a king of your choosing. Precedents work both ways. If you can grant it, you could someday revoke the grant, should it be needed. But if the nobles gathered in Pella do it without you, you have no say.”
It took a while, but eventually Eurydice agreed. A rider carrying the message and a flag of truce was sent searching for Lípos’ army.
Lípos’ camp, Western Thrace
Late afternoon, November 26, 319 BCE
Philip Lípos sat in his tent with the afternoon sun breaking through the clouds to shine on the muddy ground and turn the sky purple and crimson. It was an afternoon both beautiful and ugly. Cassander was dead. The printed message from the ship people said so. He wasn’t supposed to be dead. He was supposed to send Philip to Aetolia in a few years, where Philip would win two major battles and be remembered as a great general, great enough to still be remembered two thousand years later.
It was all the ship people’s fault. How had history found out about the hoof and the poison it held? No one knew of the plot to kill Alexander the Great. No one but his father, his brothers, and him. Well, and the Cabeiri assassin who made the poison. It wasn’t as if they’d had any choice. The maniac Alexander was going to have Antipater executed. They all knew it. What were they supposed to do? Let Alexander kill their father and disgrace their family? No! It was an entirely justified act of family self-defense.
But now everyone knew, or at least suspected. And Philip was personally sure that Olympias knew, which meant he was a dead man if he didn’t manage to kill her first. But she was on the Queen of the Sea, which meant she was safe.
Safe. On the Queen of the Sea! Could that be a way out? If Philip couldn’t get at her on the Queen of the Sea, she couldn’t get at him either. He felt himself smile for the first time since he opened the message. To sit on the deck of the Queen of the Sea and look at the old harridan and know she couldn’t get at him. Even better to have her know that she couldn’t get at him.
That just left the question of how to arrange it. He would need money. Living on the Queen of the Sea wasn’t cheap. He needed to make sure he had full control over the army. Because his plan was to, in effect, sell the army to Eurydice for enough money to live his life on the Queen of the Sea.
He called in his officers.
* * *
The next morning, the messenger left. He didn’t have nearly as far to go. Eumenes’ army had not stopped to wait.
Eumenes’ army, on the march
Late afternoon, November 27, 319 BCE
Eumenes was riding near the vanguard when he saw the messenger approaching at a trot. Eumenes waved, and the messenger brought his mount to the gallop. A few moments later the man pulled up and lifted the pouch over his shoulder to hand it to Eumenes. “He said you would need to discuss his counterproposal with Queen Roxane.”
Eumenes felt his eyebrows lift. But he nodded and turned to an adjutant. “Have the radio wagon, Eurydice, Philip and their guards pull out of the march and set up. The rest of the army will proceed to tonight’s camp. We’ll catch up there.”
* * *
Eumenes waited to open the pouch until they were all there. The contents of the pouch were really quite close to what they wanted. Lípos would not surrender. Instead, he would turn over command of his army to Eumenes and the legitimate government, keeping both armies intact. In exchange, he wanted enough money to live out the rest of his life on the Queen of the Sea. It could be in the form of a job, or however they wanted to do it to make themselves look good, but it had to be guaranteed. Then Eumenes laughed as he read the line:
I want Lars Floden’s confirmation that I will be allowed to stay safe on the Queen and that my passage is fully paid.
“Well, Cassander’s little brother inherited at least some of Cassander’s intelligence.” Eumenes continued reading. Once he finished, he waited while Eurydice read the message, then handed it to Philip, who glanced at it and handed it back, then went back to looking at a branch he was examining. Eumenes suppressed a slight shudder. Philip often did that. It didn’t mean he hadn’t read the message. No, he read and memorized it at a glance. He could quote it now, or a year from now.
“Well?” Eumenes asked Eurydice. “What do you think?”
Eurydice said, “Philip?”
Philip, still looking at the branch, said, “Olympias.”
Now, what the hell did that mean? Eumenes wondered.
“What about Olympias?” Eurydice asked patiently.
“He’s afraid of Olympias,” Philip said.
“And well he should be.” Eurydice nodded. “Did he kill Alexander?”
“Don’t know. Ask after he’s on the Queen,” Philip said.
“So you think we should take the deal?” Eumenes asked.
Philip only gave a minimal shrug, his eyes never leaving the branch. Eumenes looked at Eurydice.
She looked back. “What I want to do is catch him in a pincer, use our army and Seuthes’ to crush him like the bug he is, and terrify the Macedonian nobility for the next five generations.” She sighed deeply. “But what we should do is take the deal, move the army to the coast, ship them to Oea, and march them to Babylon. One-eye is the last of the truly powerful traitors.”
214–216 12th Street, Fort Plymouth, Trinidad
Late afternoon, November 27, 319 BCE
The brass bell tinkled as the front door of the shop opened. Stella Matthews looked up and smiled as Lisa Hammonds came in with her baby in a carry bag. Lisa looked around and Stella followed her eyes.
This was strange. Stella herself was noticing the changes. The front room of the shop was a place of black-fabric-covered shelves with glasses and vases, lens blanks, bottles, including baby bottles, and glass-bead jewelry. It was a bit of a shock to see the place as Lisa must see it.
It had been so gradual. Here an addition, there a change. New fabric covers on the wood shelves. It happened a bit at a time, but now she was in an elegant little shop full of glasswares that sold for good prices. She was still in debt, but her debt was shrinking. After three changes of employees, Carthalo now had an apprentice who looked like he was going to stick around and learn the trade.
“You were right, Lisa,” Stella said. “Glass was the way to go.”
“I’m glad it worked out.” Lisa smiled. “But there were a lot of things you could have done that would be producing by now.”
Stella nodded agreement. Twelfth Street was full of shops making all sorts of things. All of them in small amounts, but many of them of quite good quality. “So what brings you all the way out here?”
Lisa lived on 4th Street, in a townhouse that was a bit bigger than Stella’s double, and which had the indoor plumbing that Stella still didn’t have. The main lines were in, but it was being installed a bit at a time as workers could be spared from other projects.
“Baby bottles and gossip,” Lisa said. “Did you read about the Macedonian treasury going missing?”
“Yes, I read all about it. Why? Do you have anything new?”
“Just a rumor. Daniel Lang told Jane Carruthers, who told Congresswoman Davis, that a ship sailed out of Pella the morning that Cassander was killed, and at least two ships have gone after it. Who knows? They know how to cross the Atlantic now. We may see it here.” Lisa grinned and Stella laughed. Then they talked baby bottles and latex nipples, and the various options that Lisa had, from breast pump to goat and cow milk. Soy milk was not a possibility, because the soybean was still local to the Far East: China, Japan, and Korea. At least according to Wikipedia. No one had made the trip to be sure yet.
Argos, Mediterranean Sea
November 27, 319 BCE
Kallipos leaned over the railing and launched his lunch. It was no great loss. The meal was rye porridge with a little bit o
f fish. And too long in the pot by half.
Down in the hold were several amphorae of good red wine and in those amphorae below the wine were gold and silver coins. It was Kallipos’ idea. Something that would appear fairly valuable, but not so valuable as the true ingredients were.
Then Cassander got himself killed, and Kallipos had to run, and run now. He went to the ship, boarded with a chest of silver, and paid the captain half the silver to carry him and the other half of the silver and the wine to Port Berry on Formentera Island.
The captain knew what Kallipos was doing. The moment he set foot in Port Berry, he was, by treaty with the ship people, free. In Port Berry.
It was such a good plan, Kallipos thought, then heaved again. But there was nothing left to come up. He just hadn’t counted on the storm. Slowly, hand by hand on the railing, he made his way back to the stern, where the captain and the steersman were guiding the Argos through the ten-foot seas.
“Where are we?” he asked, only to have the question swallowed up by the pounding rain.
The captain looked at him and shook his head.
* * *
Captain Barta of the Argos, a Sicilian merchant skipper, cursed his luck. He never should have picked up this Jonah. The term he used wasn’t “Jonah.” It was a Carthaginian word having to do with a Carthaginian legend that was closer to Jason and the Argonauts than anything biblical. But the meaning was just the same. A bad-luck charm that brings a ship to disaster just because the gods are angry with him.
Barta waved the Jonah away, and tried to figure where they were. The winds were blowing almost due west and in spite of the fact that he had shortened sail, they were moving swiftly and had been for the last twenty hours. He shook his head. For all he knew, he was about to run aground on Formentera Island. Or maybe the Pillars of Hercules.
