Tyrant: King of the Bosporus (50 page)
They set fire to the wine ship and sailed on.
*
‘He’ll make his stand at the Cimmerian Bosporus,’ Satyrus predicted.
‘He’ll run till he finds the rest of his fleet. Where do you think they are?’ Diokles asked Panther.
Panther shrugged. ‘I have to admit this is going better than I expected,’ he said. ‘But we’re a long way from home, lad. That is, my lord. We need to get this over with.’
Satyrus looked at Diokles. ‘Why not make a stand at the Bosporus?’ he asked. ‘It’s so narrow where the sea runs into the Bay of Salmon that his ships will form two lines and still have a reserve.’
‘And then we come with bigger, better crews and better marines, plough in bow to bow and eat him alive.’ Diokles shook his head. ‘We’ve got him, lord. And we’ll get a little better every day. He’s running – his rowers are afraid. And they don’t try to keep formation as they run, so they’re not practising anything but running.’ Diokles poured wine on the sand. ‘I speak no hubris. Unless the gods take a hand, he is ours.’
Satyrus shook his head. ‘How I wish you hadn’t said that,’ he said.
The next day, Eumeles made no attempt to hold the straits that the Greeks called the Cimmerian Bosporus. And when the
Golden Lotus
appeared, leading the centre column, a swarm of small boats put off from the sandy beaches on either hand, local Maeotae fishermen at the helm.
‘Let a few aboard,’ Satyrus called out. ‘But don’t take the way off the ship. We’re going on. I don’t want to let Eumeles out of my sight!’
He heard the thump as a fishing boat came alongside, but he and Theron were stripped, wrestling falls in the deck area just in front of the helm, a sacrifice for Poseidon and Herakles of their strength and sweat. They were well matched – Theron’s shoulders were still a finger broader, and Satyrus was now a touch faster – and every man off duty was gathered to watch, so that the
Lotus
was down a strake by the stern.
They were locked on the deck, grappling, when Satyrus became aware of the silence. And it was clear that they were getting nowhere.
‘Break?’ Satyrus grunted.
Theron slapped the deck and they both rolled to their feet.
‘This is how you keep my flagship?’ a familiar voice asked. ‘Sporting events at sea?’
And then Satyrus had his uncle Leon locked in an embrace. Behind him, Nihmu looked ten years younger, and Darius had a certain glow of satisfaction. Satyrus embraced each in turn.
Darius wrinkled his nostrils at Satyrus’s sweat. ‘I’ve been a slave for a month, my dear,’ he said. ‘I only want to smell good things.’
Theron laughed. ‘You are too fastidious, Persian!’
But Leon stepped in. ‘I owe him my life – at least. By all the gods, Darius, I never thought it would be your face I saw! And you should see him with a sword!’
Nihmu nodded. ‘Kineas always said he was the best,’ she put in.
Satyrus picked up his discarded chiton and laughed. ‘Now,’ he said. ‘Now I feel the favour of the gods.’
In truth, Leon was shockingly thin, and he looked old. His hair was grizzled white and grey, and his sheath of muscle had vanished. His arms were like sticks.
‘You look like a young god,’ Leon said.
Satyrus bowed at the compliment. ‘It is so good to have you back among us, Uncle,’ he said.
‘I do not look like a young god, do I?’ Leon shook his head. ‘They didn’t feed me for – some time. I wasn’t tortured, but suddenly the treatment went from ransom captivity to something worse. Later I found out that Melitta had landed and raised the Sakje, and suddenly I was a liability.’ He coughed into his hand.
Darius put a hand on the Numidian’s shoulder. ‘We got to you as soon as we could organize,’ he said.
Satyrus shook his head. ‘I feel guilt, Uncle. I left you at the battle, and then I left your rescue to others.’
Leon smiled. ‘Lad, you lived, and I lived, and now . . .’ He grinned, and some of the wrinkles fell from his face. ‘And now, we’ll have our revenge.’
The story of the rescue came out over two days – how Darius recruited Persian slaves inside the palace, then insinuated himself among them, armed a dozen, massacred the guards and opened the cells.
‘I suspect that some truly bad men are now free,’ Darius said. ‘I can’t really bring myself to care. But I do have half a dozen Persian gentlemen who have come with me, and would expect a reward.’
‘Can they ride?’ Satyrus asked.
‘I did say they were Persians,’ Darius said.
‘I’ll take them,’ Diodorus said, coming out of the darkness with a wineskin over his shoulder. ‘Leon, you bastard, you made a lot of work for us!’
Satyrus was one of them, but in a way, he was not. He sat with his knees drawn up to his chin, his back against Abraham’s back, and he listened to them – Leon and Crax, Diodorus, Nihmu, Darius and all the men who had ridden with Kineas. He listened to them tell stories far into the night.
Abraham laughed. ‘Is this what we’ll become?’
Satyrus shook his head. ‘Only if we’re lucky,’ he said.
‘Listen to them brag!’ Abraham shot back. ‘They sound like pirates!’
Satyrus reached over and took the wine his friend was hoarding. ‘Darius walked into Eumeles’ palace and rescued Leon. Leon survived without food for a month. Nihmu found Darius disguised as a slave and then joined him. These people are larger than mere mortals, Abraham. They are like the men of former days, or so they have always seemed to me.’
Abraham grunted. ‘Like Philokles, then,’ he said.
Satyrus was silent for a while. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘They are all like Philokles.’
‘Makes you wonder what your father was like,’ Abraham said.
‘Yes,’ Satyrus said. ‘Yes.’
‘I think I have a pretty good idea,’ Abraham said. He took a breath and got up. ‘Where do you think your father found these demi-gods?’
Satyrus used his friend’s hand to get to his feet. ‘They find you,’ he said.
In the morning, Diodorus asked to land the horses. ‘The Exiles can ride from here,’ he said. ‘Our horses will be fat and happy in three days. But if we sail another day, we’ll have nothing but rotting horse meat.’
All the Exiles nodded.
Satyrus shrugged. ‘Can you get to Tanais?’
Diodorus scratched his head. ‘I think I can puzzle it out,’ he said.
Crax laughed aloud.
Diokles cut in. ‘If we get under way immediately, we might yet
catch him today. Wind’s against us, now. Against Eumeles, too. So we row – and our rowers are better.’
‘If we don’t fight today, we’ll raise Tanais tomorrow,’ Satyrus said. ‘I dislike dividing my forces.’
‘Tomorrow, really?’ Diodorus asked. He looked at Crax.
‘Transports only slow us down,’ Diokles observed. ‘Leave ’em here and we’ll double our chances of catching that bastard.’
‘Try the Coracanda,’ Leon said.
‘That’s it!’ Satyrus said. ‘I need – one of the fishermen. Darius? Are they gone?’
‘Stayed for the wine. And the reward.’ Darius was chewing bread, uncharacteristically human. ‘I’ll fetch them.’
The fishermen were delighted to receive a silver mina each for their part in the rescue.
‘And the same again if you’ll pilot us around the island and through the Coracanda.’ He looked at them expectantly. Leon spoke to them in Maeotian, and they shrugged.
Phanagoreia island filled the north end of the strait. The main channel ran north and west, away from Tanais. Satyrus knew from childhood that there was a much narrower channel east around the island, a channel that ran all the way up to the mouth of the Hypanis. The enemy fleet knew these waters, too – or had pilots who would – but they’d taken the safe channel.
‘What’s the Coracanda?’ Diokles asked.
The fishermen all shuffled their feet.
‘It’s an old channel through sandbanks. It runs east of the island and it’ll cut hours off our time.’ Satyrus was emphatic.
Diodorus nodded. ‘It won’t save you that much time,’ he said, ‘but it’ll save us three hundred stades. We’ll be at the Hypanis by tonight.’ He’d marched and sailed here before.
The lead fisherman scratched his beard. ‘She’s shallow, lord. Many places no deeper than a man is high, or even a child. And if a ship touches, she never comes off.’
‘Can you get us through?
Lotus
has the deepest draught.’ Satyrus spoke to the fishermen, but he sent Helios for the Rhodians and the pirates.
The fishermen talked among themselves in their own tongue. By the time the leader spoke, Panther was there, and Demostrate.
Satyrus was amused to see the pirate king and the Rhodian approach together, laughing. And relieved.
He saluted both, and then the fisherman spoke. ‘I can but try, lord. I can put a fisher-boat through the gullet in the dark. But these here monsters are another thing. I can’t say. I don’t think she’s ever been done.’
Leon shook his head. ‘I’ve done it,’ he said softly, and the other men quieted for him, even Demostrate. Leon was a man who explored, who had walked and sailed everywhere he could go. ‘I took a trireme up the gullet – ten years back. And again in the Olympic year.’ He nodded to Satyrus. ‘We can do it.’
Diokles made a face. ‘Is it needful?’
Satyrus nodded. ‘I need those horses. One day of bad weather and they’d be dead.’
Diokles looked at the sky and the sun, and was silent.
An hour later, the
Lotus
turned out of her column, heading east up a channel that seemed from a distance to be narrower than the hull of the ship. And behind them, all sixty-five ships sorted themselves into a single column with the horse transports in the lead, each one reinforced with oarsmen from the lighter ships.
Neiron shook his head. ‘You put the heaviest draughts in front? They’ll ground and plug the channel.’
‘Then we push the horses over the side and float them,’ Satyrus said. ‘Leon is the greatest sailor I have ever known. Let him lead.’
Before the sun was a hand’s breadth up in the sky, the line was threading its way through the channel. Satyrus looked back and there were ships as far as his eyes could see – a single line, like dancers at a festival, each ship copying the motions of the
Lotus
in the lead.
‘This is – mad,’ Neiron complained.
Satyrus felt the wind change on his cheek, a gentle breeze that ruffled his hair and breathed on their sterns.
‘I don’t believe it,’ Neiron said.
The fisherman coughed in his hand and spat over the side for luck.
Helios came up behind his master. ‘Why are they so happy?’ he asked.
Satyrus grinned. ‘The gods send us a wind,’ he said, pouring a libation over the side. ‘It is against our enemy, who must go north
and west. And it is gentle, so that we can use it as we coast east.’ He laughed. ‘May it blow all day.’
Helios made a sign, and the fleet stood on.
U
pazan followed them down the Tanais, and every step of his advance was contested, and men died.
Archers shot from woods and from barns. The woods were burned, the barns stormed. And men died.
By the river, in the fields, in the woods and on the high ridges, men fought – a slash of bronze or iron, a flight of arrows with deadly tips. The Sakje used poison, and the farmers never surrendered. There were skirmishes in every open space. Bands of Sakje harried bands of Sauromatae, who harried the refugees, killing the weak. Women died, and children.
Ravens feasted until they were glutted, and corpses lay on the roads and no animal mauled them, because there were so many.
This was not war the way Melitta had seen it in Aegypt. This was the war of all against all. The farmers fought to avoid annihilation, and the Sauromatae fought to exterminate them.
On the evening of the third day, Ataelus sat with Temerix and Melitta on a low hill, watching their exhausted rearguard retreat in a soft rain that favoured the enemy with every drop, rendering the strong bows of the Sakje almost useless.
Ataelus shrugged. ‘We kill two or three of Upazan’s for every farmer, and ten for every Sakje.’
‘And yet we will run out of men first,’ Temerix said.
Melitta looked back and forth between them. ‘What are you telling me?’ she asked.
Ataelus looked away, across the great river, where an eagle rose on an updraught. His face was blank, all the wild energy of the ambush drained from him by four days of heavy fighting and constant losses.
Temerix said, ‘The men on the ships are killing us.’
Melitta nodded. She knew that the ships coming up the river to harry the farmers from the water had been an ugly surprise. Nikephoros
had returned, just as Coenus had said, and established a fortified camp across the river from her fort on the bluff. Using it as a base, his men sailed up and down the river, disrupting her defences.
‘If Upazan’s men actually cooperated with the tyrant’s soldiers, we would be the ones taking the losses,’ Temerix said.
Ataelus sighed. ‘It was a good plan,’ he said, ‘but it isn’t working. Upazan is too strong – he must have had fifteen or even twenty thousand riders. And where are the other clans?’ He sounded bitter.
‘I don’t know,’ Melitta said.
‘We must give up the valley,’ Ataelus said. ‘Send the farmers into the fort, and the Sakje ride away on to the sea of grass.’
Temerix shook his head. ‘No, brother. You will not do that.’
Ataelus raised an eyebrow. In Sakje, he asked, ‘Why not?’
Temerix met him, eye to eye. The two had been friends and war companions for twenty years and more. But this was conflict. ‘If you ride away, you will not come back. And we will die. And I will not allow that.’
It was the longest speech Melitta had ever heard from Temerix. She met his eye. ‘Listen, Temerix. My brother
is
coming. He
has
a fleet. I built that fort to buy time. If we ride away, we
will
come back.’
Temerix shook his head. ‘When you undertook this war, you promised the farmers that you would win.’ His eyes were accusing. ‘We are not your pawns to stand in that fort ringed by enemies, while your precious Sakje ride the plains, free. If we lose this war, we will be dead, or
slaves
.’
Melitta drew herself up. ‘Temerix, you are tired. We all are. Do not do this. We are close – we are
so
close.’ She looked at the two of them. ‘By the gods – we are not beaten. We are fighting a bloody delaying action, and we
knew
that it would be like this.’
Ataelus shook his head. ‘Samahe says that there is talk. That some of Marthax’s chieftains talk of riding away. When there is talk like that, it is best to move first, so that they feel that their grievances got to your ear – and yet you don’t seem to have swayed in the wind but made your own way.’ He shrugged. ‘It is the Sakje way. Your mother knew it.’
Melitta was tired. She had shot a hundred arrows in four days, and twice she’d been sword to sword with an enemy. Her vision was odd, her bones weary, and when she pissed, there was blood and she didn’t know why.
‘Gather my chiefs,’ Melitta said. ‘Temerix, gather your principal men.’
‘We will have a council?’ Temerix asked.
‘No,’ Melitta said.
They made a huge fire, consuming an old oak tree entire in a few hours of warmth and light. The nights were warm now, but not so warm that men and women didn’t value a fire nearby and a cup of warm cider or mulled wine. And the fire was big enough to burn hot even in the rain.
It was full dark – a time when exhausted fighters rolled in their damp furs and Greek blankets and tried to snatch a few hours of haunted sleep before rising in the first grey day to kill and be killed again. Fighters in total war do not come eagerly to council. Words are no longer the coin of decision, and all a warrior wants is wine to dull the aches and sleep. Oblivion.
Melitta knew this. She walked among them, taking the mood, and it was bad. And then she stood on a stump and called for silence.
There was a buzz as talk died.
‘Silence!’ she roared. Every head turned to her, and men flinched. She wished that she had had time to change out of her armour, which weighed on her like a skin of lead, or even to rebraid her hair, to appear as a queen instead of as a tousled mouse in scale mail.
She wished she had something heartening to say.
‘My brother is coming,’ she said. As soon as she said it, she knew that she had said the right thing, so she said it again. ‘My brother is coming with fifty ships and three thousand men. Hardened fighters – my father’s men. We must hold out until they arrive. If we surrender the valley of the Tanais, then all this was for nothing. Every man, every woman and child who died, sky people and dirt people – all for nothing.’
‘We don’t have any
arrows
left,’ a voice called. One of Buirtevaert’s leaders.
‘Half my riders have wounds,’ called another. Both Standing Horses. Men who had followed Marthax against her mother.
Melitta struggled with anger, disappointment and fear. And won. Anger wouldn’t sway them. They could answer anger with anger. But
a little derision . . . ‘I have wounds on half my body,’ Melitta answered, her voice strong. ‘I piss blood. You, boy? Do you piss blood?’
‘I’m no boy!’ the young man called, but the other warriors grunted, and a few laughed.
Buirtevaert was close to her. ‘I have pissed blood,’ he said. ‘It passes.’ He nodded. ‘My clan is hurt, lady. I have taken deaths. I have lost horses.’
Melitta looked at him. ‘Hurts heal,’ she said. ‘Until we take our death blow, we heal.’
‘That’s what they fear,’ Scopasis said behind her. His voice was quiet – advising, not deriding. ‘They fear that this is the last stand of the Sakje.’
She raised her voice, and it was firm. ‘When we have defeated Upazan, we will grow our strength back. We will not waste the peace that we must buy in blood. But we must complete the job. Another week. Another few days, and my brother will come.’
‘What if he does not come?’ Buirtevaert asked. He looked apologetic. ‘I must ask, lady. All here follow you willingly, but we lead clans and we are the men – and women – who must keep our people alive.’
Temerix pushed forward. He was big, bigger than most Sakje, and his black beard shot with grey shone in the firelight. ‘Then we die. All of us die together. Earth people and sky people. If Satyrus does not come, we are dead.’
‘Fuck that,’ called a voice from the darkness.
‘But he will come,’ Melitta said.
‘If only we knew that,’ Ataelus muttered.
‘Where are the other clans?’ the catcalling voice asked. ‘Where are the Grass Cats? Where are the Stalking Crows or the Silent Wolves? Where is the strength of the Cruel Hands? Why are we fighting this war alone?’
Melitta took a deep breath to steady her voice. ‘Why don’t you come into the firelight and talk?’ She looked for the voice. ‘It’s very safe out there in the dark, I suppose.’
Graethe, the chief of the Standing Horse, came into the firelight. ‘I had a spot I liked, lady. I have no need to hide. I ask the questions every Sakje asks. And I’ll add another – why should we die for the dirt people?’
Temerix grunted.
Ataelus put a hand on his shoulder, and Graethe smiled. He turned to the crowd. ‘The farmers cannot defend themselves, and we are too few to defend them. It is time to end this foolish war – a war Marthax was too wise to undertake – and ride away, as our fathers did from the Medes and Persians. Why are we fighting this war alone? Is it perhaps because—?’ Graethe smiled like a fox, but he was interrupted by a voice from beyond the fire.
‘You are not alone,’ the voice said. ‘Urvara is three days’ march away, with Eumenes of Olbia and five thousand men.’
‘Who are you?’ Graethe asked, but the voice went on.
‘You are not alone, because the war fleet of Satyrus has sailed, and Nikephoros is about to be trapped on the beach.’ Coenus emerged into the light, and he bowed to Melitta as soon as he entered the firelight. ‘I rode as hard as I could, and none too fast, I see.’
Men crowded around him, and he embraced Ataelus and then Temerix, and then Scopasis.
‘Your brother sent me. He should be right behind me. When I set off, he was only awaiting the arrival of Diodorus to sail with sixty ships.’ He smiled. ‘And Eumenes is north of the Bay of Salmon and marching hard. He’s gathered the western clans and he has all the infantry of Olbia.’
Melitta could tell that Coenus was unsure, or lying, but only because she’d known him all her life. And all the clan leaders were gathered around him, pressing close, as if his news brought them physical strength.
Ataelus turned to her. ‘Now they will fight,’ he said. He watched for a while. ‘But not for long.’
Melitta shrugged.
Much later, when all of them had shared wine, and many of the Sakje had shared smoke, and they had fallen into their blankets, Melitta pulled a fur over her shoulders, cold even in high summer, and caught Coenus’s eye where he lingered by the fire. The two of them walked away from the fire and into the darkness. Scopasis made as if to follow, and she gave him a small sign and he went back to Samahe, where the two of them had been playing a game of polis on a blanket.
‘You were lying,’ she said, as soon as they were alone.
Coenus shrugged. ‘Not lying, exactly.’
‘You are Greek. Greeks lie. Coenus, this is life and death for these people.’ Melitta shook her head. ‘Tell me the whole truth.’
‘Your brother is waiting for Diodorus, who is late. Very late. He has troubles with his captains, and trouble with Heraklea. It’s not pretty. But when I left, Nihmu and Crax had just ridden in from Diodorus. He should have sailed the day after I rode out – two days at the most.’ Coenus shrugged. ‘That’s not much of a lie.’
‘But you didn’t see him sail,’ Melitta said.
‘I
saw
Urvara at the fort, and she said Eumenes was three days away and marching. And that was this morning. And she has three thousand horses and almost as many Sindi and Maeotae in the fort. Damn it, girl! In ten days, we’ll
outnumber
everything Eumeles and Nikephoros and Upazan can muster.’ Coenus grabbed her shoulders.
Melitta pushed him away. ‘Don’t you get it? I’m risking people – real people – and they’re dying like houseflies at the end of summer. Why didn’t Urvara send those riders to me?’
‘Urvara is containing Nikephoros. Without her raids, his men would be all over the river, instead of just sending a boat or two to harass the farmers. Even outnumbered two to one, Urvara is keeping him busy.’ Coenus put his hands on his hips. ‘Keep it together, girl. The tide is turning.’
‘I am not
girl
. I am the lady.’ She shook her head. ‘By all the gods, Coenus, I am staking my people on Eumenes of Olbia and on my brother’s fleet. If they are late, we’re dead. We don’t have ten days. We have two days. In two days, we’ll be pushed back right into the fort, and then Upazan and Nikephoros join hands, and exterminate us.’
Coenus rubbed his beard. ‘Well, lady – and I concede, you are lady, even to me – then we fight for two days with everything we have. And trust to the gods.’
Melitta laughed. ‘T hat’s where I was, just a few hours ago. Now, all I see is the end. Perhaps Satyrus will come and destroy Eumeles after I am dead.’ She laughed, and it was a harsh sound. ‘Is this all there is, Coenus?’
‘I spurned command all my life, lady,’ he said, ‘because as far as I could see with my friend Kineas, that is all there is – one damned decision after another, and watching friends die, whether you made the right call or not. That’s how it has always looked to me.’
‘I don’t think I want to be queen of the Sakje,’ Melitta said.
‘Too late now,’ Coenus answered.
Melitta left him then, her heart empty, unsure even of how much truth Coenus – her beloved uncle, the father of her first lover – was telling her. She walked away into the darkness, past the horse lines, watching the tail of the moon for a while. She wept a little.
‘Lady?’ Scopasis asked. He came out of the dark with a blanket. ‘You are troubled.’