Authors: Christian Cameron

Tyrant (20 page)

BOOK: Tyrant

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Diodorus looked about him. Then he shrugged. ‘Care to wrestle a fall, Kineas?’

It was too chilly, even with the heated floor, to pause for long. Kineas squared off against Diodorus, while Coenus and Lykeles began to exercise, carefully working their cold muscles. Laertes set to lifting weights.

Diodorus feinted a grab at Kineas’s legs, caught an arm and threw him, but Kineas got hold of his head on the way down and they fell in a tangle of limbs. In a second they were both on their feet again. In the second engagement, Diodorus was more careful, but he couldn’t get Kineas to overcommit and it was Kineas who trapped one of Diodorus’s hands and went for a throw. Diodorus struck Kineas a sharp blow to the ribs, but Kineas got a foot behind Diodorus’s leg and tripped him. Diodorus rolled out of the fall and they were both on their feet again, now warm and breathing harder.

Kineas raised his hands, palms out, in a high guard. Diodorus kept his low, close to his body. They circled. Out of the corner of his eye, Kineas saw that they were being watched by most of the men in the room. He grabbed at Diodorus’s head with both hands. Diodorus’s hands shot out, parted Kineas’s hands and hit him, open handed, on the forehead, rocking him back. In a second, Diodorus was on him, his left leg between Kineas’s legs and Kineas was down, this time with the weight of his friend solidly atop him. The sand on the floor was none too deep and the fall bruised his hip. Diodorus got to his feet and Kineas stood, dripping with sweat and rubbing his hip.

‘Well struck,’ he said ruefully.

‘I certainly thought so. You make me work harder and harder, Kineas. You may make a passable wrestler yet.’

They wrestled three more falls, two of them by Diodorus, and then Lykeles and Coenus began boxing. Neither of them was as fast as Kineas or as athletic as Ajax, but they were competent and a little showy.

None of the other men in the room offered a contest or even a wager, and none of them approached Kineas’s men. They stood silently by the gymnasium’s fountain, watching in a group.

Kineas crossed the floor to them. He was reminded of the efforts he had made, fruitless efforts as time proved, to be social with the Macedonian officers in Alexander’s army. Despite his doubts, he approached the oldest of the men, a lean, athletic old man with a beard nearly white.

‘Good morning, sir,’ Kineas said. ‘I am only a guest here and I desire to run. Where do I go to run?’

The older man shrugged. ‘I run on my estate outside the city. I imagine that’s what any gentleman does.’

Kineas smiled. ‘I’m from Athens. Our estates are generally too far from our houses to visit for exercise. Many times I have run around the theatre, for instance, or early in the agora.’

The old man cocked his head, examining Kineas as if he were a ram for sale at auction. ‘Really? You have an estate? Frankly, young man, that surprises me. I imagined you were a freebooter.’

Kineas began stretching. He looked up at the old man - and his crowd. ‘Before he died, my father was among the largest landholders in Athens. Eumenes - you must have heard of him. Our ships traded here.’ And as he switched sides to stretch the other leg, he said very deliberately, ‘My friend Calchus still sends ships here, I believe.’

Another man, thinner, but with a paunch that suggested a serious lack of exercise, leaned forward. ‘I trade with Calchus. You know him?’

Kineas brushed sand off his thigh and said, ‘We grew up together. So you don’t run in the city?’

The best looking man in the group, younger and harder, said, ‘Sometimes I run around the gymnasium. It wasn’t built on the best site - well it wasn’t! I’m not attacking the architect or the archon! The new gymnasium doesn’t have room for a running event, is all.’

Other men edged away from him as if he had a disease.

Kineas extended a hand to the man. ‘I’d like some company. Care to run with me?’

The man looked around at the rest of the group, but none of them met his gaze and he shrugged. ‘Certainly. Let me stretch a moment. I’m Nicomedes.’

They ran longer than Kineas might have wished. Nicomedes was an accomplished distance runner and he was interested in going faster and farther than Kineas had planned, leaving little wind for talk. But it was companionable enough, if cold, and when they had run as far as Kineas could manage without collapsing in public, they returned to the gymnasium and the baths, and Nicomedes invited Kineas to dinner - his first invitation in the city.

Luxuriating in the first decent bath he’d had in a month, Kineas asked, ‘Are you in the Hippeis, Nicomedes?’

‘I certainly qualify by property, if that’s what you mean. I have a horse, but I’ve never served. My people have always served on foot.’ Close up, Kineas could see that Nicomedes was a bit of a fop - he had the remains of make-up on his eyes and the cheeks of a heavy drinker. He was older than he had first appeared, and very fit, and his preening indicated that he knew how good his body was - but he was a pleasant companion for all that.

Kineas chose his words carefully. ‘A word to the wise, Nicomedes. The archon has given me a full list to muster the town’s cavalry and he seems to expect compliance.’

Nicomedes’ shoulders came out of the water so fast the drops flew. ‘That’s not fair - we’ve always served as hoplites.’ And then: ‘How fucking typical.’ And after another pause: ‘I shouldn’t have said that.’

Kineas shrugged and scrubbed. ‘You might pass the word.’

Nicomedes said, ‘Have you met the hipparch, Cleitus?’

Kineas thought, I’m the hipparch. And then he thought back to the archon’s hesitation on the subject.
Ahh, now I begin to see
. ‘I have not. I’d like to - we will have to work together to accomplish anything.’

Other men were coming into the baths and busy slaves were filling the other wooden tubs. The rooms began to fill with steam. It lent a comforting anonymity. The chatter grew louder. Kineas could hear Lykeles flattering somebody’s physique, Diodorus asking questions and Coenus quoting Xenophon’s views on horsemanship.

Nicomedes said, ‘He sometimes shares a cargo with me, and we are occasionally allies in the assembly - when the archon lets us have an assembly, that is. Hmm, shouldn’t have said that. Anyway, I could ask him to dinner - give the two of you a chance to meet. We were only told that the archon was hiring a mercenary.’

Kineas motioned for a slave to rub his shoulders. ‘I can imagine,’ he said.

Clean, dressed and pleasantly tired, Kineas led his men back to the barracks. His damp beard seemed to freeze as soon as they went outside and his cloak would not get him warm. ‘That went well,’ said Kineas.

‘They expected us to be monsters,’ said Lykeles. ‘Makes me wonder about Memnon and his lot.’

‘It’ll take more than a couple of dinners and some visits to the gymnasium to settle them,’ said Kineas, rubbing his beard.

Diodorus said, ‘There’s more going on here than I expected. It’s not just the old bloods against the archon, either. My sense it that there are three, or even four factions. Does Athens support the archon? It’s not like Athens to support a tyrant, even in these decadent times.’

‘Athens needs the grain,’ said Coenus. ‘I heard a debate on granting citizenship to the tyrant of Pantecapaeum, once, in the assembly. It was all about grain subsidies.’ He rubbed his beard. ‘I thought your Nicomedes was a fine man, if a bit of a fop. I bored one of the older men with my erudition - laid it on a bit thick. Petrocolus, his name was. Fine old fellow.’

‘They’re a cautious lot,’ said Lykeles. ‘Hermes, they’re a close-mouthed crew - all except your Nicomedes. Handsome man. Did he run well?’

‘Better than I ever will, or want to,’ said Kineas.

‘Bit of a hothead, by local standards. I wonder how soon the archon will hear you are dining with him?’ asked Diodorus.

One of Memnon’s men was standing in the entryway to the barracks.

‘There’s your answer,’ said Kineas.

Kineas had to struggle to enjoy dinner with Nicomedes. His food was excellent and his wine passable, but the men around the circle of couches were either silent or spoke in what appeared to be a code.

Nicomedes’ house was colourful, decorated in the latest style, except for an antique mosaic over the floor of the main room, which showed Achilles killing the queen of the Amazons at Troy in grisly detail. His furnishings and his food were on par with the richest men in Athens.

Kineas revised his view of Olbia. The grain trade made these men very rich indeed.

He was introduced to Cleitus immediately - a short, dark-haired man with a long beard and deep-set eyes and a fair amount of grey hair - but he couldn’t seem to start a conversation with any of them. All of them lay alone to dine and the couches were set far enough apart that conversation was difficult. A trio of Nubian dancers reminded him uncomfortably that a bath wasn’t the only thing he hadn’t had in a long time, but they also served to kill any talk that might have sprung up after the main course.

Unable to leave his couch due to the prominence of his approval of the dancers, Kineas watched the other men, trying to identify why the situation seemed so normal and yet so alien. On the one hand, everything was just as it should be in a well-run Greek home - the men being served, the side dishes, fish sauce, wine on the sideboards, busy slaves. On the other hand, the silence was oppressive. Kineas tried to remember a time in Athens, even under the most repressive governments, that his father’s table had not rung with angry denunciations, violent protests, if only against the taxing of the rich, and political argument.

The last dishes were cleared away and more wine was brought. Without being asked, Kineas rose and pulled his own couch closer to that of Cleitus. Cleitus glanced at him while he moved his couch, but said nothing.

Kineas lay back down and held out his cup for filling. Nicomedes rose, said a prayer and poured a libation. The other guests added their own prayers and libations. Again, they behaved just like Greeks, but there was no ribaldry, no jokes, no suggestions. Odd.

‘Nicomedes,’ called Kineas. ‘I checked the rolls. You are listed for service in the cavalry.’

Nicomedes sat up on his couch. ‘By all the gods - well, I suppose it can’t be blamed on you. I can ride well enough - when is this muster?’

‘The day after the feast of Apollo, I believe. Cleitus - you are the hipparch?’

Cleitus shook his head. ‘I act as the hipparch. Only the assembly of the city can appoint the hipparch. They have not met . . . they have not . . . that is to say.’ Having gone so far, Cleitus halted and drank his wine.

Nicomedes smiled. ‘Cleitus doesn’t want to say it, but the council has not met since the archon dismissed them. Since then, the hipparch, Cleander, died. Cleitus does the duty.’

Kineas frowned at his wine cup. ‘So you are not the hipparch and I am not the hipparch. Who can command in such a situation?’

Cleitus glared at him, stung. ‘What is there to command? The last time I mustered, only sixteen men came with their horses and armour. Many others came on foot, to see and be seen.’

Kineas nodded. Athenian cavalry often showed the same contempt for authority. He had himself, once. ‘When were you last in the field?’

Nicomedes snorted. Cleitus actually blew some wine out his nose. ‘Field? In the field? What, against the Scyths? They’d eat our brains. The Getae? Another city? You must be joking.’

Kineas looked around the room. ‘Are you all Hippeis, then?’

The youngest man shook his head and declared that he fell far below the property qualification, although he had a horse and liked to ride. The rest were all of the cavalry class.

Kineas said carefully, ‘Wouldn’t it be better to have a well-trained, well-led body of cavalry in this city than a rabble of rich men?’

‘Better for your pay, perhaps,’ said Cleitus.

Nicomedes nodded. ‘Who would it serve? What faction would control this well-trained cavalry?’

‘For the good of the city,’ said Kineas.

They all laughed. But Nicomedes fingered his short blond beard thoughtfully.

BOOK: Tyrant

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