Tyrant: Storm of Arrows (9 page)

They sang the hymn to the end, and another to Apollo, as the sun rose strong on their faces. And then Kineas raised his arms for silence and summoned the assembly for the next day. He bowed to the grave markers of Cleitus and Nicomedes as if the men were standing with him and then he limped down the steps of the temple, mounted his horse and rode away.

That night, Kineas dreamed again of the column of the dead, and again a dead friend vomited sand - this time Graccus, a long-dead boyhood friend. But the tone of the dream changed, so that he was less afraid. And then a woman came to him.

He awoke to ponder the meaning of the first dream - a true one, he was sure. He needed Kam Baqca to interpret it, but it occurred to him that Helladius was not such a fool as he sometimes acted. The second dream needed no interpretation.

Kineas arose with the kiss of the goddess still lingering on his forehead and a sense of well-being, a very different mood from the day before. The sun was shining on the sand of the hippodrome. And down the hall, Sitalkes sat up in his bed and Coenus asked for a book, and the mood of the barracks changed as if the sun had come inside. Indeed, Kineas wondered if men were simpler creatures than he had supposed, that a day of sunshine could so change their mood, or serve to mend wounded men who had abandoned hope and turned to the wall, expecting to die. Men recovered in the citadel, and in their homes, as if the touch of the sun on their skin carried the healing of the Lord of the Silver Bow.

Kineas had a morning meeting arranged with the Athenian captains in his role as the acting archon, but well before that he donned his second-best tunic and a light
chlamys
and slipped out of the barracks alone. He purchased a cup of fruit juice from a stall in the agora, ate a seed cake in front of a jeweller’s stall, purchased a fine gold ring for Srayanka and then climbed the steps of the temple of Apollo just as the morning prayer to the sun was finished.

Kineas waited until the last of the singers were clear of the vestry before he approached the priest, and he was surprised to see the young Sakje girl walking with the maidens.

The priest was putting away his shawl, examining the fine wool for cleanliness as he folded it.

‘Helladius,’ Kineas said. ‘The Lord of the Silver Bow has seen fit to restore the sun.’

Helladius nodded. ‘My lord withholds his anger.’

Kineas raised an eyebrow. ‘Anger?’

Helladius shrugged. ‘Who can know the thoughts of the gods?’ he said. ‘But I imagine that my lord was less than pleased at the unburied bodies at the Ford of the River God and withheld the sun, just as the Lord of Horses sent his waters to cover the death at his ford.’

Kineas nodded slowly. His mother and his uncles had been such believers - those who saw the hands of the gods in everything. ‘It might be as you say,’ he admitted.

‘Or not,’ said Helladius. ‘I commit no hubris. What brings you here to honour my morning prayers?’

‘Who is the Sakje girl?’ Kineas asked.

‘Her father was a priest - a great seer, despite being a barbarian. His daughter is always welcome here.’ Helladius smiled at her retreating back.

‘You knew Kam Baqca?’ Kineas asked.

‘Of course!’ Helladius said. ‘He travelled widely. He wintered here with us on several occasions.’ He took Kineas’s arm and led him into the temple.

‘I think of Kam Baqca as a woman,’ Kineas said.

‘We knew him before he made that sacrifice,’ Helladius said, and then shook his head. ‘I don’t think you came here to discuss a barbarian shaman, no matter how worthy.’

‘I have a dream,’ Kineas said.

‘You have powerful dreams, Archon. Indeed, I saw when the Sakje treated you as a priest.’ Helladius turned and began to walk towards the temple garden. ‘Come, let us walk together.’

Kineas fell in beside him. ‘Yes. The gods have always seen fit to provide me with strong dreams.’

Helladius nodded. ‘It is a great gift, but I feel the gods’ will towards you, and it is strong. I don’t need to be a priest to tell you that the interest of the gods is not always a blessing.’ He gave a half grin. ‘The poets and playwrights seem to be in agreement on that point.’

Kineas stopped and looked at the priest as if seeing him for the first time. Helladius was hardly a humble man, and the wry humour he had just showed was not his public face.

Helladius raised his eyebrows. ‘Do you receive more than dreams, Archon? Does the will of the gods come to you awake? Or the voices of the dead?’

Kineas rubbed his chin. ‘You make my head spin, priest!’ He looked around the quiet temple. ‘I do not - how can I say this - I am not aware of other messages from the gods. But perhaps I do not pay attention properly. Tell me what you mean.’

Helladius rubbed his chin. ‘Listen, Archon. You have priestly powers. I have seen this happen elsewhere - among the Medes it is common. Not every man with priestly powers becomes a priest. Do you know of all the types of divination?’

Kineas shook his head. He felt like a schoolboy. His tutor had taught him about divination. ‘There are three types, I think.’

‘You were tutored by a follower of Plato? Not a Pythagorean, I hope. There are as many types of divination as there are birds in the air, but I will tell you a little of the three main types so that you may be on your guard.’ His voice took on a professional tone. ‘My father taught me that there are three types of divination. There is natural divination - the will of the gods shown in the flight of birds, for example. I perform this right every day. Or perhaps in the entrails of a sacrifice, such as I performed for you in the field. Yes? Then there is oracular divination - the will of the gods spoken directly through an oracle. These can be difficult to interpret - rhymes, archaic words, often they sound like nonsense or leave the hearer more confused by a riddle than ever he was by the question. And finally, there is the divination of dreams - the will of the gods spoken through the gates of horn into our sleeping minds.’ Helladius shrugged. ‘The dead may also speak in any of these ways, or rather, we may divine their speech. For instance, there is the
kledon
, where a god - or the dead - may speak through the mouth of a bystander, or even through a crowd, so that a priest may hear the speech of the god in random utterings.’ He smiled. ‘I am waxing pedantic, I fear. Tell me what you dreamed.’

Kineas told him his dream about his dead friends.

Helladius shook his head. ‘I have seldom had such a strong dream myself,’ he said in irritation. ‘I see why the barbarians treat you as a priest. And you have had this dream twice?’

Kineas nodded. ‘Or more.’

Helladius furrowed his brow. ‘More?’

Kineas looked away, as if suddenly interested in the mosaics of the god that covered the interior walls of the temple garden. He didn’t want to say that he had had the dream every night since the attack on Srayanka. Or that he
had
heard voices in the mouths of other men - the kledon
.

Helladius rubbed his hands together. ‘It seems possible to me,’ he said carefully, ‘that the dead of the great battle wish to be buried. And they speak through your old friend.’

Kineas nodded. ‘I wondered. But I cannot arrange the burial of ten thousand corpses - even if I could call on the labour of every slave in this city. And today it seemed to me that Kleisthenes was offering me a gift, if only I had the wit to take it.’

Helladius nodded. ‘My first interpretation is the obvious one. I am sorry to say that I cannot dismiss it just because its achievement is impossible - the gods make great demands. On the other hand, your thought about the gift is interesting. I shall pray, and wait on you later in the day.’

Kineas bowed. ‘Thank you for your help, Helladius.’

The priest walked with him to the top of the steps. ‘The former archon never came to the temple without fifty soldiers and a bushel of scrolls containing new orders and taxes,’ he said. ‘I wish you were staying.’

Kineas shook his head. ‘I meant what I said, Helladius. It would start well. But in a year I would make myself king, or you would demand it of me.’

Helladius stood at the top of the steps, his pale blue robes blowing in the August wind. ‘May I advise you, my lord?’ he asked, and then, taking a nod for permission, he carried on. ‘Men like you - it grows. The voices come more often, and the dead haunt harder.’ He shrugged, as if embarrassed to admit even this much.

‘What can I do?’ Kineas asked.

Helladius shook his head. ‘Obey the will of the gods,’ he said.

Kineas nodded slowly. ‘I do, to the best of my ability.’

‘That is why you would have made us a great king,’ Helladius said. He waited until Kineas was halfway down the steps, just even with the
stele
for Nicomedes. ‘The gods love you!’ he called, so that every man in the market on the temple steps heard him.

Kineas let a smile wrinkle his mouth. He didn’t answer openly. Quietly, to the stele of Nicomedes, he said, ‘The gods loved Oedipus, too.’ He shook his head at Helladius. To no one at all, he murmured, ‘Look how that turned out.’

H
is first official meeting of the morning was with the Athenian captains. He unfolded the ivory stool and took it outside to the sands of the hippodrome so that he could watch the morning drills while he heard the captains, and Niceas and Philokles stood on either side of him. The admiral of the allied fleet, Demostrate, stood to hand. He was a native of Pantecapaeum, a wealthy merchant, a former pirate and a pillar of the alliance that had defeated Macedon. And like Kineas, he knew that the war was not over.

The Athenian captains were cautious and deeply respectful, which made him smile.

‘Archon,’ their spokesman, Cleander, began, ‘the blessings of all the gods upon your city and your house.’ Cleander knew Kineas of old - they had shared a tutor during early boyhood. But he seemed to feign ignorance, either from respect or fear.

Kineas inclined his head, feeling like an imposter or a play-actor. ‘Welcome to Olbia, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘May Apollo and Athena and all the gods bless your venture here and your journey home.’

They exchanged platitudes, religious and otherwise, for several minutes before Cleander got down to business.

‘We know how hard the war has been on your city,’ he said carefully.

Kineas fingered his jaw. ‘Yes,’ he said.

Cleander glanced at his companions. They were powerful men, the captains of Athens’s grain ships, with large investments in their cargoes, even though none of them was an owner.

‘We ask - respectfully - whether sufficient cargoes to fill our ships will be gathered before the end of the sailing season.’ Cleander flicked a glance at the citadel, which loomed behind Kineas.
Do you have enough grain to feed Athens?
That was the real question.

Kineas nodded. ‘The war has slowed the flow of grain from the sea of grass,’ he said. ‘Many of the farmers had to leave their farms when the Macedonians advanced. And the allies needed grain to feed their army and to feed the horses of the Sakje.’ This oblique hint - just the lightest suggestion of an alliance between the Euxine cities and the Sakje - caused a rustle among the Athenian captains. ‘Despite this, I am confident that we will raise enough grain to fill your holds. The main harvest will not be in for a month. Your eyes must have told you that the war never came here - that our fields are full of grain, as are the fields on both banks of the river as far north as a boat will float. The grain coming to market now is last fall’s grain, whose sale was interrupted by early storms and the rumour of war. It will trickle in, but the trickle will become a rush after the feast of Demeter.’

Demostrate cleared his throat, and then smiled when he had their attention. ‘All the grain from the Borysthenes will come here to Olbia,’ he said. ‘And my city, Pantecapaeum, will have all the grain from the north that is brought down the Tanais river into the Bay of the Salmon. We are gathering our cargoes even now.’

Cleander smiled, as did the other captains. ‘That is good news indeed. But a month is a long time for our ships to sit idle at wharves. Can you arrange for the grain to come more quickly? In past years, we have filled our ships
before
the feast of Demeter.’ His tone carried the conviction that for the grain fleet of Athens, no favour was too small.