Tyrant: Storm of Arrows (10 page)

Kineas locked eyes with Cleander. ‘No,’ he said. ‘There is not enough grain to fill your holds now.’

Cleander spread his hands. ‘Archon, we are not fools. Even now, your market sells grain to the barbarians who camp north of the market - allies from the war. And you buy grain yourself. Send them home, and let us buy the grain. Athens needs the grain - right now.’

Now Kineas smiled. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry, Cleander, but I think I know more about what Athens needs than you. Athens needs a steady, strong ally on the Euxine, and she needs Alexander kept in his place - not looming over the sea of grass and all the eastern trade. My army needs to eat.’

‘But our ships sit idle,’ Cleander said. ‘Perhaps,’ and he smiled like a man of the world, ‘perhaps you would prefer to sell us some of your private store of grain? You’ve been purchasing it for weeks.’

Kineas appeared to consider this for a moment. ‘That is the city’s grain, not my own. Or rather, the army’s grain, purchased from the sale of the army’s share of the loot of our victory.’

‘Which you could now sell to us at a profit,’ Cleander said.

‘Except that I need that grain to feed the army,’ Kineas countered.

‘The army is home,’ Cleander said. ‘The need for grain is past.’

Kineas frowned. It was deliberate - he meant to intimidate, and he did. All the Athenian captains stepped back.

‘You are in danger of telling me my business, Cleander,’ Kineas said. ‘I need that grain. And ...’ he paused for effect, ‘I need your ships.’

Cleander choked.

Kineas smiled and stood up. ‘Cleander. Don’t be a fool. I was born and bred in Athens and I would never harm her or her grain fleet.’

Cleander gave a sly smile. ‘I knew who you were before I left Athens,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘Your Athenian birth might serve only to make you a worse tyrant. Think of Alcibiades.’ He reached into his cloak and produced a scroll. ‘I have a letter for you.’

Kineas frowned. ‘From Lycurgus?’ he asked. It was his faction, and Demosthenes’, that had exiled him and arranged for his service to Olbia.

Cleander shook his head. ‘From Phocion,’ he said. Phocion was Athens’s greatest living soldier. As a general, he had defeated Philip of Macedon, Thebes, Sparta - he was one of the finest soldiers in the world. And he was a friend of Alexander. Kineas had learned his swordsmanship at Phocion’s hands.

He took the letter with something close to reverence.

Cleander laughed. ‘Your father and Phocion were the leaders of the faction that favoured Alexander,’ he said. ‘Imagine! And now you’ve destroyed a Macedonian army!’

Kineas shrugged. ‘Phocion fought Philip, and they were guest friends,’ Kineas said.

Cleander gave a wry smile. ‘What would Polyeuctas say?’

Kineas grinned. Their tutor Polyeuctas, a pupil of Plato, had never ceased to harp on the evils of unfettered Macedonian power - and on the treason of Alcibiades. Despite being a venal man who took too many bribes, he had been a good teacher and an able politician. ‘I think about him all the time,’ Kineas said.

‘And then we heard you were dead,’ Cleander said.

‘Pah! Not so dead,’ Kineas said, and they embraced. ‘Now that I seem less the foreign tyrant, perhaps you would care to lease your ships to me for a month,’ he said. ‘I have a great deal of Macedonian gold at my disposal.’

He outlined his proposition and the Athenian captains began to haggle - he was offering them good money for their time and adding to the value of their cargoes as well, but they saw further margin for profit, and the risk to their ships was real.

Cleander attempted to demand a reduced tax on grain at the dock, but Kineas wouldn’t budge. The grain tax was the city’s greatest revenue, but the possibility of loading large cargoes of the purest Euxine fish sauce fresh from the Bay of Salmon and the guarantee of escort from the navarch of Pantecapaeum sealed the deal. Cleander offered his hand, and they all shook.

‘I hate transporting horses,’ Cleander said, and the other captains agreed.

‘I’m worried about the depth of water at the entrance to Lake Maeotis,’ said another.

‘Gentlemen,’ Kineas said, rising from his ivory chair, ‘those are professional problems, and I expect you to resolve them. We are agreed?’

Cleander shrugged. ‘You drive a hard bargain - like an Athenian.’

Kineas laughed and they retired. Kineas grinned at Diodorus, who grinned back.

‘You win the benevolent despot award,’ Diodorus said. ‘Played to perfection. I’ll get you a mask and you can play all the tyrant roles in the theatre.’

‘I’ll settle for a cup of wine,’ Kineas said.

His second official meeting of the morning was with Leon, Nicomedes’ former slave. Leon waited for him in the portico of the barracks, leaning against one of the carved wooden columns and watching while the Athenian captains haggled. Indeed, he had gone inside and tasted the soup that simmered on the hearth, added a spice and brushed Kineas’s cloak before arranging it neatly over the armour stand while he waited. Kineas caught his eye several times in an attempt to apologize, but Leon smiled wryly each time and found himself another small chore.

When Diodorus had brought Kineas a cup of wine and departed to see to some horse training, Leon finally stepped forward. ‘Archon,’ he said. ‘I greet you.’

Kineas rose from the ivory stool and grasped his hand. ‘Free man Leon,’ he said. ‘Citizen, if I understand yesterday’s assembly!’ The assembly had moved to make all two hundred of the army’s freed slaves into citizens, less a patriotic gift than an acknowledgement that the holes in the phalanx and the economic life of the city needed to be closed up immediately.

Leon smiled. He was dressed in an elegant tunic, a fine piece of wool with a narrow green stripe at the bottom edge. It was a valuable garment, but it was also one he had owned when he was a slave. ‘Nicomedes left me half his fortune,’ he said without preamble.

Kineas put his hand on the big African’s shoulder. ‘Welcome to the hippeis!’ he said. ‘Can you ride?’

Leon met his eye. ‘He left you the other half,’ he said. ‘In the event that Ajax died.’

‘Oh,’ said Kineas. ‘Oh.’

Leon handed him a scroll. ‘We are to divide his goods between us.’ Leon looked away and then back. ‘I
am
eligible for the hippeis. That is - very good. And yes, I can ride.’ Despite his serious news, he smiled. ‘In fact, all Nubians can ride.’ His smile faded and became a frown. ‘I cannot manage his business. He did business based on his own web of friends - men who owed him favours, men who wanted his patronage. I inherit his money, but not his power.’

Kineas was still struggling with the shock of sudden wealth. ‘You must be very rich.’

Leon shot him a look, even as he began to polish a helmet that had been left on a bench. ‘
We
are very rich.’

‘He must have loved you,’ Kineas said.

Leon rolled his shoulders as if shrugging off an uncomfortable cloak. ‘I might say the same of you.’

‘He loved Ajax,’ Kineas said.

Outside, Diodorus and Niceas were shouting at each other about horses. Philokles pushed past them. Wearing a simple linen
chiton
and cloak, with a broad straw hat and a satchel of scrolls over his shoulder, he looked like a philosopher. Only the width of his shoulders and the exaggerated muscle lines on his arms suggested the monster he became in combat.

‘He made me slave,’ Leon said, and his voice quavered for the first time. ‘And now he has made me rich.’

Philokles crossed the floor of the barracks to the heavy pitcher that was always filled with cheap wine and poured himself a cup. Then he poured a second and brought it out to Leon on the sand of the hippodrome. ‘You look like you need this,’ he said. ‘I heard about your good fortune in the agora. Both of you. There’s a certain amount of ... ill feeling.’ He shrugged. ‘But it is not universal.’

‘I want to leave Olbia,’ Leon said. ‘I am sorry to intrude on you, Archon.’ He drank the wine, flicked his eyes over Philokles and back to Kineas. ‘I had to inform you, sir.’

Philokles dragged over a stool and forced Leon to sit. ‘Drink your wine. The archon can spare you some time. You are, after all, one of his men.’

Kineas was still wrestling with the riches he had suddenly inherited. Leon’s internal crisis was almost easier to bear. ‘He says he can ride,’ he said, and realized how inconsequential that was to Leon’s revelation.

‘I want to leave,’ Leon said. ‘I can’t remain here, in his house, with his patrons and his relations.’ He shrugged. ‘It is not the life I want.’

‘What do you want?’ Philokles asked. He pulled up a stool and sat.

Kineas was staring at a wall-hanging, trying to estimate the value of Nicomedes’ wealth and wondering what he would do with it. Leon’s reaction was understandable - no man wants to be a slave, and Leon was clearly not slave-born - but Kineas found it difficult to understand the man’s lack of feeling. He had never worn mourning, never appeared downcast, and Nicomedes had been a very popular man.

‘I want to come east with you - with the army,’ Leon said. ‘In return, I will help to support the costs.’ To Kineas, he said, ‘Before I was taken as a slave, I was a warrior.’ He gave a hesitant smile. ‘And perhaps in the east I can make trade contacts of my own.’ His face shut down, as if at a bad memory. ‘Or find - a life.’

Kineas poured himself a cup of wine and drained it. ‘Leon, you helped to save my army. You will always have my - obligation. Why ask me? Of course you can accompany the army - you are among the hippeis, now. You probably own more warhorses than a Sakje.’ He shrugged.

Leon’s mouth trembled. His eyes were full of tears and Kineas turned away to spare the man embarrassment.

Philokles put his arm around the former slave. ‘Say your piece, Leon.’

Leon stood taller and shook his head. ‘No. I am no weakling.’

Philokles drank off his wine. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.

Leon shook his head. ‘Perhaps twenty,’ he said.

‘There is no shame in asking for protection. Kineas, pay attention. Leon needs your help, and he’s too proud to ask.’

‘Like some Spartans I have known,’ Kineas said.

‘It’s an epidemic among Greeks, I find,’ Philokles agreed. ‘A pity it has spread to Africa.’ He pushed the younger man forward. ‘Speak your piece, boy.’

Leon took a deep breath. ‘Nicomedes’ lawyer wants me to divide the estate. I think he means to cheat me. As a former slave, I have no friends - slave or free. You are a fair man.’ He glanced at Philokles. ‘As are your friends.’ He paused. ‘I
have
thought this through. I want to go east. But I want my fortune to stay here, and not vanish. I want to be a citizen when I return. If we hold things in common - your name and mine together - no man will steal from
you
. And they will think twice before they murder me.’

Kineas had never been a fan of slavery in any form, but Leon’s description - understated as it was - that, left alone, he would lose the fortune and perhaps his life - brought home just how effective slavery was at robbing men of their dignity and rights. ‘Murder you?’ he asked, surprised. ‘Slaves are freed and become rich all the time.’

Philokles snorted like a warhorse. ‘No, my gullible Athenian friend. People talk about slaves being freed and becoming rich all the time. Such slaves are the supposed cause of bad politics and the butt of comedians - but have you ever met one?’

‘Thais was a slave, before she became a
hetaira
,’ Kineas said. He shook his head. ‘Point taken.’ He looked at Leon. ‘I knew I disliked slavery. Very well - are they really proposing to murder him?’

‘Nicomedes’ nephew, Demothenes, was just discussing it in the agora,’ Philokles said. He gave Kineas a serious look, which Kineas interpreted correctly.

‘Very well,’ Kineas repeated. He felt a vague anger, the sort of feeling he had when he was cheated in the agora, lied to about the quality of wine or the age of some fish. He rose and took Leon’s hand. ‘Philokles has been a lawyer. Let him draw up a document of alliance. I seem to remember that you have some skills at mathematics?’

Leon inclined his head. ‘I do. And hard won they were.’

‘Help me compose a
logistikon
for this little army,’ he said. ‘And then you can help me spend some of our money.’ He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Welcome to my staff.’

His third meeting was the hardest in every way - harder still for being so unexpected. Leon had his head down over a scroll of numbers and Philokles had gone to shelve the works he had purchased in the market when Sitalkes, still hobbling from his wound, leaned in the door of Kineas’s private office, where the archon sat with his own bag of scrolls.

‘There is a gentleman to see you,’ he said. He was afraid, or deeply moved.

Kineas could see Arni, another former slave, past Sitalkes’ shoulder. He rose, but he was unprepared for the man who entered.

‘Isokles!’ he said. Isokles was the father of Ajax. Ajax, who was dead, his body wrapped in linen, embalmed. Who had died serving Kineas, fighting for Olbia, a hero.

The man’s face was red from grief, his eyes haggard. ‘Kineas.’ He stood silently in the door. ‘My son is dead.’ The words tailed off, and the man stepped forward and put his arms around Kineas, and wept.

Niceas, who had also loved Ajax, took the father away and left Kineas in peace, so that he could read the letter from his boyhood hero.