Tyrant: Force of Kings (31 page)

Stratokles waited until Lucius was gone. ‘Is your strategos there going to be a problem?’

Satyrus gave a wry smile. ‘Only if he’s right.’ He looked at the cloaked figure beside Stratokles. ‘Am I going to get an introduction?’

The cloaked man threw the folds of his chlamys back from his head. He had curly black hair and extraordinary good looks – a sort of dark-haired Charmides.

‘I am Mithridates of Bithynia,’ he said.

Satyrus looked at Stratokles.

‘He was in the citadel with the special prisoners,’ Stratokles said.

‘They were supposed to kill me,’ Mithridates said. ‘I bought some men and bought a few days – and the gods have provided.’ He smiled, and the sharp whiteness of his teeth gleamed in the light of the multi-wicked lamp.

‘Bithynia,’ Satyrus said, looking at Stratokles.

‘His uncle, another Mithridates, is on the throne. Put there by Antigonus when this young sprig was kicked off it for flirting with Lysimachos.’ Stratokles grinned. ‘He is a major playing piece to fall into our hands. If we strike fast, we can topple his uncle and put him back – and we’ll own all the passes from here to Heraklea in one political change.’

‘I am not a playing piece,’ the young man said.

Satyrus rubbed his chin. ‘Stratokles, is there any hour at which you are not plotting? At some point, aren’t your hands too full of pieces – like a man winning at poleis? You have me, and Mithridates here, and Herakles, and Banugul, and Lysimachos – if you die, does the world end?’

Stratokles looked at him, and then laughed, a sudden, spontaneous laugh. He laughed a long time.

‘I need a cup of wine,’ he said. ‘I confess you may have a point. But we can’t stop now – and if we’re going to meet Lysimachos in the morning, it’s best to have a plan.’

Satyrus smiled at the young Persian. ‘I have a plan. Much of it is the same as your plan. Let’s get some sleep.’

Stratokles nodded. ‘I could help you with the Jew,’ he said, very quietly.

‘
No
,’ Satyrus said firmly.

Stratokles shrugged. ‘Wine, then,’ he said.

Satyrus smiled again at the Persian, and then made a beeline for Miriam. But when he got to her room, the hampers were gone, and so was she.

He stood staring at the empty room for as long as it took his heart to slow. He took a deep breath, and then another.

Done. He took a third, tried to imagine a future where Miriam wasn’t part of his life and where he cared nothing for where she was or what she thought. In a year, he’d share some other woman’s bed – he would, he was sure of it. In two years, he’d be in love.

He took another breath. What she had done was … well, right. She had done the noble thing.

No, fuck that
, Satyrus thought.
I don’t want to understand. I want Miriam!

His thoughts were interrupted by light footsteps on the stair, and his heart pounded again – she’d come back, she’d changed her mind—

‘Brother,’ Melitta said. She smiled and put a hand on his arm. ‘You don’t look well.’

‘You’re drunk,’ he said.

‘Quite possibly,’ she said with a smile, her eyes glittering. ‘But I’m not in love, so I’m clearer-headed than you.’

‘I’m not in love anymore,’ he said. He didn’t try and hide his hurt.

‘Really?’ she asked. She took his hand and led him down the corridor, down the servant’s stair and onto the exedra of the woman’s quarters. Satyrus caught up an amphora of Chian wine in the kitchen, and the major-domo, quick on his feet, grabbed cups and a mixing bowl and followed them.

The exedra had folding stools, the kind men used in a military camp. Satyrus unfolded a pair of them and sat. The butler poured wine and water, mixed it, and retired.

‘I’m tempted to take him with me to run my household,’ Satyrus said. ‘That man knows his business.’

‘I assume that Demetrios executes anyone who isn’t up to his standards,’ Melitta said.

‘Do you know where she is?’ Satyrus asked.

Melitta shrugged. ‘Yes, but I’m not telling you. Although I am on your side in this, and I will not let the advantages of … a relationship fade from her thoughts.’

‘So she’s on the ships,’ Satyrus said.

‘Excuse me, brother. I would like to speak to the King of the Bosporus, just for a moment. Not the love-sick Achilles.’ Melitta took a cup of wine, lifted it towards the star called Aphrodite, and said, ‘To love.’

Satyrus poured a libation and shook his head. ‘If I could just speak to her—’

‘You already spoke to her. Now speak to me. You are determined to meet with Lysimachos?’ She leaned back, her shoulders against the railing of the exedra.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Why not just load the fleet and sail away? I mean, leave Stratokles and his plots and his boy-king. They can have Ephesus. And he’s got a small army – more than two thousand mercenaries he raised in Lesbos.’

‘I am determined to put Antigonus down,’ he said. ‘And Demetrios.’

‘That’s good old-fashioned hubris, brother. You’re the petty king of a few cities on the Euxine, several thousand stades from here.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I going too fast?’

Satyrus drank some wine. ‘I know who I am. And what I am doing.’

Melitta shook her head. ‘No. I don’t think you do. You are playing as if you are a major player – as if you are Lysimachos or Demetrios. But you are not. And you are spending money like water. For what? You aren’t impressing Miriam. You aren’t impressing me. I don’t care a whit for Demetrios. You can make it personal – he kidnapped you, he tried to kill you – but Stratokles has tried to kill us a dozen times. And now he’s your ally. And while I admit that he did a fine job with your rescue, he’s not what anyone would call reliable.’

Satyrus tried to muster his arguments … and couldn’t. Not in the face of his sister’s scarred realism. Much like Apollodorus’s view.

‘It’s what I do,’ he said. ‘I am a soldier king. I
like
it.’

Melitta shook her head. ‘You are lying to yourself, there. You haven’t liked it since Rhodes. Rhodes sucked the glory right out. You want to do it so that you can avoid going home, so that you can avoid running the kingdom, which bores you. Why did we take the Bosporus, if neither of us wants it? Eh? Is it possible that Heron really was the better king?’

Satyrus glared at her. ‘No.’

‘Well, I admit, we haven’t started killing our own farmers yet. But the grain tax this year – so that I could send the fleet here – started some serious grumbling.’

Satyrus was smarting under the accuracy of her statements and the futility of life, as he saw it that moment. But he took a deep breath and faced it. ‘Right now, however trivial you and I are to the great game, we hold a mighty city and the balance of power between Antigonus and Lysimachos. If I walk away, Antigonus will triumph.’

Melitta nodded. ‘And if you stay, he will triumph just as surely. If you stay, I will not stay with you. My clans need me. There are, believe it or not, people on the plains who do not love me, and seek to make trouble for me, and I am here, rescuing you. Taking part in your ambitious schemes. For the second summer in a row. I will sail away, and take the fleet – at least, the part of the fleet that is paid for by my gold.’

‘Anaxagoras will be sad,’ Satyrus said.

‘And yet I will go.’ She shrugged.

‘Have you asked him to go with you?’ Satyrus asked.

‘He said that he would do as you do,’ she answered.

Satyrus sat, his back against the main wall of the house, and sipped wine, and watched the stars.

‘If you come with me, you will have time at Tanais to talk to Miriam – where we have a home, a palace, streams and mountains and places to make love. Come, brother. Come back to the real world. Leave the war to the men who want it.’ She finished her wine and stood, a trifle unsteady.

Satyrus was angry – a rare emotion for him. ‘What if I tell you that it is not your business?’ he asked. ‘I don’t need to be
rescued
. I don’t need your help with Miriam – who is done with me. Perhaps, in time, you can find me a nice Sakje lady with a thousand-horse dowry.’

Melitta shook her head. ‘I have made you angry.’

Satyrus took a breath. ‘No, I was angry before you started. I’m still angry. I agree, honey bee. In so many ways. But I’ll see this through, and our kingdom – and all the kingdoms – will be better for it. I listened to Apollodorus tonight; he spoke as a priest of the hero Kineas. You know that? And he quoted something our father said – that the only virtue in a soldier is that he does what he does so that others do not have to. I have thought of it all evening. I will help Lysimachos finish Antigonus – so that others do not have to. Keep the war here – let it never come to the north.’

She shrugged. ‘I thought you’d say that. Myself, I don’t think they’ll ever come to the north, either way. I think Demetrios lost his chance at Rhodes. You’ve done your part. I’ve done mine. Let’s get off the stage.’

Satyrus shrugged back. ‘Is that what we learned from Philokles and Mother? From Theron and Coenus? To walk away? Is that excellence, Melitta?’

Melitta crossed to the door. ‘Perhaps not, but you and I could grow old and die on our beds, surrounded by people who love us, having built something to
last
. Or you can die here, fighting Antigonus. Is that
excellent
?’

As soon as she spoke, Satyrus could tell she regretted it.

‘I didn’t mean to say that,’ she said. She shrugged once more. ‘Besides, what is that but the choice of Achilles?’

‘And look what it got him,’ Satyrus said. ‘Have you had dreams?’

She looked away. ‘Premonitions, yes.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘Then rule well when I am dead, sister. Make Anaxagoras king. He will be a good one. You have a son – he is my heir as well as yours. I will go and meet Lysimachos. If you say I will die, well, perhaps I will die. For, by Herakles my ancestor, I am determined to do this.’

Melitta stopped in the door. ‘You
fool
. You are the one
breaking
our oath. Our sacred oath! Given at Heraklea with the gods and furies all around us! You are allying yourself with Cassander and Stratokles – who
killed our mother
– against Antigonus and Demetrios. Of course you will die! You are fighting against the furies!’ She pushed through the curtain and was gone.

Satyrus stood staring out to sea for as long as it took to drink another cup of wine.

11

Aslave woke Satyrus when the sun was fully above the rim of the world. He rose with the feeling of impending doom, and said prayers in the household alcove with Apollodorus and two slaves – the only others up to greet the sun.

‘Garrison’s in the citadel,’ Apollodorus said tersely. ‘I left Draco in command.’

‘I told you to take command,’ Satyrus said.

‘You aren’t allowed out without a keeper,’ Apollodorus said. ‘Your sister’s orders.’

‘Where is she?’ Satyrus asked.

Apollodorus pointed. Out in the bay, one of the squadrons was just getting clear of the beach.

‘Diokles is to stay to keep you clear of Antigonid ships,’ Apollodorus said. ‘Melitta is taking the main fleet back to the Propontus.’

‘So she told me last night,’ Satyrus said. ‘I see Scopasis.’

‘He told her she was wrong and stayed to help you. He brought another forty Sakje – ten ships’ worth of archers.’ Apollodorus shook his head. ‘She made quite a scene. You slept through it.’

‘Poor Melitta,’ he said. Scopasis was a big man, and his eyes were blank. He had been an outlaw. And he looked it.

‘You had other things on your mind last night,’ Anaxagoras said, emerging from the courtyard. ‘Melitta said she’d try to talk sense into you.’

‘Hmm. If you agree with her, why didn’t you go with her?’ Satyrus asked.

Anaxagoras raised an eyebrow. ‘Did I say that I agreed? I simply said that I would abide by your decision. Look, here I am. You know that she took Miriam?’

Satyrus had intended to try and remonstrate with Miriam one more time – and there she was, sailing away. ‘I knew last night.’

‘She left you all the fighting trierarchs and all her marines. She’ll leave a squadron in the Propontus.’ He grinned. ‘Just for the record, I think she’s wrong. I think we have to do this.’

Now he was being ushered out the door by his staff, who were working efficiently and who were, he could tell, all too aware of his feelings. That alone made him angry – that and the feeling of being cosseted.

The butler stood in the doorway, wearing a plain linen chiton and holding a staff. He bowed deeply.

Satyrus nodded to him. ‘You like it here?’ he asked.

The man raised an eyebrow – a very expressive eyebrow, which suggested that no man, no matter how comfortable, could ‘like’ slavery.

‘If you will come and run my military household, I’ll free you on the spot. Today. I’ll leave your price for Demetrios.’ Satyrus thought that this might be the way to propitiate the gods. Or simply to do something worthy. This morning, death seemed very near.

The man bowed. ‘Lord, I am your man,’ he said.

Satyrus nodded to Charmides. ‘See to it. Install him as my butler and have him arrange for a tent and military equipage. A dozen slaves to do the work. I expect this to be a long campaign, friends. Get what you need here.’

Charmides nodded. ‘As you say, lord.’

Satyrus nodded at the young man. Charmides reminded him of someone – especially when he was grave and dignified like this. Satyrus stared at him a moment, and took a steadying breath. He was in an odd mood this morning.

Out in the street there were a dozen horses – excellent horses. Expensive Persian horses.

Achilles was mounted on one.

Satyrus put aside his emotional confusion at the look on Achilles’ face. The schooled emptiness. He went up and took his hand. ‘You don’t have to come,’ he said.

Achilles shrugged. ‘Do we have a contract, or not?’ he said, his voice dead.

Satyrus flinched at the voice, but he nodded.