Tyrant (30 page)
Authors: Christian Cameron
The king frowned. ‘Do not joke about Kam Baqca. She does not sell her charms, but we are greatly favoured if we wear them. What river can you not cross without her?’
‘I dreamed a river,’ Kineas said. His eyes were on Lady Srayanka, who stood in the muddy snow by the king’s yurt, giving orders to men loading a wagon. He looked back at the king, and his eyes were wary and his face closed.
‘She says, “Next time you will dream a tree. Do not climb it without me.”’ The king rubbed his beard. He was too young to hide his anger, and Kineas had no idea what the king might be angry about. ‘This is seer talk, Kineas. Are you, too, a baqca?’
Kineas made the sign of aversion. ‘No. I am a simple cavalryman. Philokles is the philosopher.’
His aside was apparently translated, because Kam Baqca spat an answer back and then, as if relenting, gave him a pat on the head as if he were a good child. ‘She says, the one who says poems is a fine man, but she has never seen him and he did not go alone to the river. And she says,’ the king paused, his eyes narrowed, ‘she says this decision will come down to you, however you twist and turn. I think she speaks of the war with Macedon.’ Kam Baqca hit the king lightly on the shoulder. ‘And she tells me this is not for me to think on, that I am only her mouth.’ The king frowned again, adolescent petulance warring with natural humour. ‘What satrap, what great king can be ordered around in this way by his people?’ The king began to collect his arms; a heavy quiver that held both bow and arrows, called a
gorytos
; a short sword on an elaborately decorated belt with a heavy scabbard, and a bucket of javelins that attached to his saddle.
gorytos
; a short sword on an elaborately decorated belt with a heavy scabbard, and a bucket of javelins that attached to his saddle.
Kam Baqca patted Kineas on the head again, and then turned him by his shoulders so he faced Lady Srayanka. Srayanka caught his eye and then looked away. Her indifference was a little too studied; a younger man would have read her motion as a direct rejection, but Kineas had seen some of the world and recognized that she wanted his attention. He couldn’t help but smile as he walked to her. He had no translator, which, given the last occasion but one, seemed just as well.
And, as he came close to her, she extended a hand in greeting. On a whim, he reached up and took the gorgon’s head clasp off his cloak and put it in her hand. Her hand was warmer than his, with heavy calluses on the top of the palm and a velvety smoothness on the back he hadn’t remembered, and the contrast - the hard sword hand and the soft back - went through him like poetry, or the sight of the first flower of spring - recognition, wonder, awe.
At first she didn’t meet his eyes - but neither did she reject his touch. She shouted a command over her shoulder and then flicked her eyes over the broach, smiled, and looked at him. She was taller than he had imagined. Her eyes had flecks of brown amidst the blue, and were very nearly level with his own.
‘Go with the gods, Kin-y-aas,’ she said. She looked at the gorgon’s head again - decent work from an Athenian shop - and smiled. He could smell her - woodsmoke and leather. Her hair needed washing. He wanted to kiss her and he didn’t think that was a good idea, but the urge was so strong that he stepped back to avoid having his body betray him.
She put her whip in his hand. ‘Go with the gods,’ she said again. And turned on her heel, already calling to a mounted man carrying a bundle of fleeces.
Kineas looked at the whip after he mounted. He had never carried one, despising them as a tool for poor riders. This one had a handle made of something very heavy, yet pliable. He could feel it moving under his hands. Alternating bands of worked leather and solid gold were wrapped over a pliable core. The worked leather showed a scene of men and women hunting together on horseback that wound up the handle from an agate stone in the pommel to the stiff horsehair of the whip. It was a beautiful thing, too heavy to hit a horse, but a useful pointer and a pretty fair weapon. He flexed it a few times. His young men were mounting behind him. They looked better for a week riding with the Sakje and today they all had their armour, helmets and cloaks. He took his place at their head, still playing with his whip.
Ajax saluted. He was already a competent hyperetes - the men were formed neatly, and Kineas saluted back. ‘You’re a fine soldier, Ajax,’ he said. ‘I’ll be sorry when you go back to marry your rich girl and trade your cargoes.’
Ajax flashed him his beautiful smile. ‘Sir, do you ever pay a compliment without a sting in the tail?’
Kineas flexed the whip again. ‘Yes.’ He smiled at Clio, the nearest trooper. ‘Clio, you look like an adult this morning.’ and to all of them: ‘You gentlemen ready for a hard ride? The king intends to do this in two days. That’s going to be ten hours in the saddle. I can’t let anyone drop out. Are you ready?’
‘Yes!’ they shouted.
The Sakje stopped whatever they were doing to watch them for a moment. Then they went back to their preparations.
Philokles came up, mounted on one of the Sakje chargers - a fine animal, with heavy muscles. ‘The king gave me this horse. I must say, he’s a generous fellow.’ He looked around and then whispered, ‘Not your greatest fan, Kineas.’
Kineas raised an eyebrow.
Philokles spread his hands and bowed his head, a gesture universal among Greeks -
I’ll say no more on the subject
.
I’ll say no more on the subject
.
Kineas shook his head and returned his mind to the matter at hand. ‘I couldn’t find a horse your size. That’s a superb animal, Philokles. Don’t waste him in the snow.’
‘Bah, you’ve made a centaur of me, Kineas. With this beast between my legs, I could ride anywhere.’ Philokles gave him a broad smile. ‘If you don’t wipe that grin off your face, Kineas, people might mistake you for a happy man.’
Kineas glanced at the Spartan, ran his eyes over his horse. ‘You might want to get your girth tight first.’ Kineas slid down, got under the Spartan’s leg, and heaved. ‘And roll your cloak tight. Here, give it to me.’
Philokles shrugged. ‘Niceas always does it for me.’
‘Shame on him. Shame on you.’ Kineas flipped the cloak open over the broad back of the charger, who shied a little when he saw the flapping cloak in the corner of his black eye. Then Kineas folded it, rolled it tight and hard, and buckled it to the high-backed Sakje saddle.
‘In the infantry, we just wear the damn things,’ Philokles said.
‘Tie it like this, behind your saddle and you have something to lean your ass on when you’re tired.’ Kineas was looking at the Sakje saddle that Philokles had acquired. It had a much higher back than any Greek tack. Most Greeks were content with a blanket. He remounted and gathered his reins.
‘Nice whip,’ Philokles said. ‘That didn’t come from the king.’ He flashed a wicked smile.
‘Philokles,’ Kineas said, putting his hand on the Spartan’s rein.
The king rode up on his other side and interrupted him. ‘We’re ready if you are,’ he said curtly.
‘In what order would you like us to ride?’ Kineas looked at his own disciplined Greeks and the milling Sakje nobles. They were showing off for women, or men, performing curvets and rearing their horses. Two were already off, having a race, and the snow erupted from under their hooves in the early sun.
The young king shrugged. ‘I thought that I would send out a pair in front, like any decent commander. And then, since this is a peaceful mission, I thought you and I could ride abreast, perhaps with this talkative Spartan for company. I shall practise my Greek, Philokles shall learn more of my land, and I can teach you how to use the Sakje whip.’ The king indicated the whip in Kineas’s hand. ‘That looks familiar to me,’ he said with Greek sarcasm.
‘At your command, sir,’ Kineas said. He raised his hand.
‘Forward,’ said the king in Greek, and then: ‘
Ferâ!
’
Ferâ!
’
10
T
he sickness was almost gone from his body, praise to the deadly archer Apollo for passing him by and to Kam Baqca for saving him - and the coughs scarcely troubled him. The journey back to the city was pleasant despite the chill and the deep snow on the plains, because the king’s men were good companions, and because his Olbian boys were becoming something like soldiers. For two days, Kineas had nothing to worry about. The king’s men chose camps and erected felt tents from the two heavy wagons that carried all of the party’s baggage. Kineas rode and talked, and in brief intervals alone, thought of Srayanka. Whatever coldness was between him and the king, it disappeared soon after they left the camp.
he sickness was almost gone from his body, praise to the deadly archer Apollo for passing him by and to Kam Baqca for saving him - and the coughs scarcely troubled him. The journey back to the city was pleasant despite the chill and the deep snow on the plains, because the king’s men were good companions, and because his Olbian boys were becoming something like soldiers. For two days, Kineas had nothing to worry about. The king’s men chose camps and erected felt tents from the two heavy wagons that carried all of the party’s baggage. Kineas rode and talked, and in brief intervals alone, thought of Srayanka. Whatever coldness was between him and the king, it disappeared soon after they left the camp.
The holiday ended forty stades from Olbia.
‘We spotted a patrol!’ young Kyros shouted, as soon as he was close enough to be heard. He slowed his horse, sweeping in a wide arc in front of the king, and gave a belated salute.
Kineas waited with apparent indifference until the young man brought his horse to a stand in front of them.
‘Four men, all well mounted. Ataelus says they are your men from the city.’ Kyros looked a trifle downcast. ‘I didn’t see them. Ataelus did. He’s watching them.’
Kineas turned to the king. ‘If Ataelus saw them, they’ll have seen him and they’ll be with us shortly.’ Even as he spoke, two riders crested the next ridge and began a rapid descent.
Kineas knew Niceas by the set of his shoulders and the way he rode, even on the horizon of a snowy plain, and as soon as he spotted his hyperetes cantering down the ridge towards the Sakje king’s party, he began to worry.
‘That man rides well,’ said the king at his side.
‘He’s been in the saddle all his life,’ Kineas said. He gave a cough.
‘To keep watch on the roads in winter is no easy task,’ the king said. He tugged his beard thoughtfully.
Niceas rode up at a fast trot, and saluted. ‘Hipparch, I greet you,’ he said formally.
Kineas returned his salute and then embraced him. ‘You are better,’ he said.
Niceas smiled. ‘By the grace of all the gods, and despite the meddling of Diodorus with various potions, I’m a new man.’ Then he seemed to recollect the company he was in. ‘Pardon, sir.’
Kineas, used to the rampant informalities of the Sakje, had to make himself think like a Greek. ‘The King of the Sakje - my friend and hyperetes, Niceas. Like me, an Athenian.’
The king held out his right hand, and Niceas took it. ‘I’m honoured, Great King.’
‘I’m not a great king,’ Satrax said, ‘I am king of the Assagatje.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I do intend to be a great king, in time.’
Niceas looked back and forth between his commander and the barbarian king. Kineas read his hesitancy and motioned to the king with his whip, already a part of him. ‘Niceas has private news for me, O King. May I have your permission to ride aside with him for a little space?’
Satrax waved his riding whip in return. It was a Sakje habit - they talked with their whips. ‘Be my guest,’ he said.
‘I like him,’ said Niceas as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘Nothing Persian about him. But Ares’ frozen balls, he’s young.’
‘Not as young as he looks. What in Hades brought you out to freeze your hairy ass in the snow?’ Kineas was taking both of them out of the column at a good standing trot, and his words were shaken by the motion of the horse.
Niceas was silent until they both reined in at the top of a low ridge. Below them the king’s two heavy wagons toiled along, drawn by a double yoke of oxen. ‘You were supposed to be back in three days - a week at longest.’ He looked around. ‘The assembly didn’t accept the archon’s taxes. Now there’s trouble. Nothing solid - yet. But when you didn’t show, people started to talk. Trouble that will be solved the hour you ride in the gate. A lot of rich fathers are missing their sons - led by Cleomenes. So Diodorus and I decided we’d send out patrols to look for you. That was three days back.’ Niceas looked like a man ridding himself of the weight of the world. ‘Why are you so late? There’s men in the city saying you were killed by the barbarians. And others saying the archon won’t let you bring back the boys until the taxes are voted.’
‘What men?’ asked Kineas. ‘Who said so?’
‘Coenus was off to find that out when I took the patrol out.’ Niceas shrugged. ‘Even money says it’s the archon.’
‘Did you have his permission to look for me?’ Kineas waved to get the king’s attention.
‘Somehow, that slipped my mind.’ Niceas pantomimed repentance.
Other books
Run For It by Matt Christopher
Reality 36 by Guy Haley
Stepbrother Jerk by Natasha Knight
The Whispering Swarm by Michael Moorcock
El castillo en el bosque by Mailer Norman
School of the Dead by Avi
After Ben by Con Riley
The Loves of Harry Dancer by Lawrence Sanders
The Adventures of Jack Lime by James Leck
