The Pillars of Hercules (11 page)

“Like listen to Mack peace overtures?” asked Matthias.

“Like open the gates of the city and bend over,” said Barsine, which Lugorix thought was very unladylike indeed. “This is the problem with democracies. The mob is fickle. They want one thing one day, and something else the next. Works only as long as they’re not being threatened by a dire menace. How Athens ever won their war against Sparta is beyond me.”

“Well, we did,” said Demosthenes, a certain edge to his voice. Lugorix wondered just how much arguing he and Barsine had been doing these last few days.

“They threw you out,” she said. “The best man, and they threw you out of power.”

“Oh,” said Matthias, “
you
were one of the archons—”

“They needed a scapegoat,” said Demosthenes mildly. “I fit the bill.”

“You were lucky not to be ostracized,” she said. “Exiled altogether. Now you have to fight for your people behind the scenes.”

“My obligations didn’t end with my being drummed out of power,” said Demosthenes. “I’m still an Athenian citizen. Now if we could get back to the business at hand—”

“Your enemies closed the Assembly to stop you from speaking,” said Lugorix.

There was a moment’s pause.

“It’s true, isn’t it? You’re the greatest talker in city, so the only way to stop you talking is to let
no one
talk.”

“That might be part of it,” admitted Demosthenes. “But it’s all part of the larger problem: at this point, anything could happen if you let the people debate.”

“But what about if the
archons
decide?” Matthias asked.

Demosthenes grinned wryly. “That’s an issue too.”

“There are appeasers among them,” said Barsine. “That may be why they’ve shut down the Assembly. So
they
can do a deal with Macedonia. They certainly have no idea how to wage a war against Alexander and Philip.”

“And you do?” asked Matthias. “Didn’t your whole empire just get its ass kicked?”

“I’m
still fighting,” Barsine snarled.

“And so am I,” said Demosthenes. He looked at the mercenaries. “And for all your cynicism, I suspect you know that there’s room for neither of you in the world that Alexander is bent on creating. Lugorix—Athens barters with you. Pays you gold for honest labor. They’ve never tried to conquer you. Matthias—the only way your city will ever be liberated is if Macedonia collapses. As for me, I’ve fought Philip since long before he even
had
a son to afflict the world with. Back when he was just the leader of a small kingdom on the outskirts of Greece. I tried to warn Athens as his power grew. I tried to warn everyone. But by the time they listened, it was too late. Philip had already conquered the northern part of Greece—had seized the Bosphorus in a surprise coup, and secured the Black Sea and Pontus. Then when he turned on Persia, I begged the Assembly to ally with her against Macedonia.”

“But your people’s hatred of the Persians ran too deep,” said Barsine.

Demosthenes sighed. “They were too myopic to see the real enemy—too fixated on ancient names like Thermopolae and Salamis, where they’d defeated your ancestors and covered themselves with honor. Past glory is so much easier to dwell in then present danger. Yet even so, I thought the problem was over when Philip was gravely injured fighting the Persian satraps at the battle of Granicus. The man lived, but only as a hollow shell of what he’d once been. I and so many others thought his son was a callow youth—too young to be a real threat, too impulsive to last long. Who would have thought he’d have all his father’s talent and then some? And now we’re talking about what I always feared we would. The very survival of Athens.”

“Why do you care about Athens?” said Lugorix suddenly.

Demosthenes’ smile held a trace of sadness. “Her rule isn’t perfect,” he said. “But since she defeated Sparta and conquered Carthage, the Mediterranean has been at peace for the first time in history. Surely that counts for something?”

Lugorix gestured at Barsine. “I was asking
her
,” he said.

Another pause. Then: “Told you he was the clever one,” said Barsine to Demosthenes.

“Wait a second,” said Matthias, “what the hell is that supposed to—”

“She
doesn’t
care,” continued Lugorix. “Not in the slightest. Persians and Athenians fought wars for almost all of last century. She’s simply interested in defeating Alexander.”

“I’ve made no secret of that,” said Barsine.

“You think all Asia should be ruled by your people,” said Lugorix. “By a single Persian king.”

“He’d dead now,” snapped Barsine. “His traitor brother sits on a false throne.”

“Sure,” said Lugorix. “But even if Athens stops Alexander, how does that free Persia?”

“Alexander is going to throw the bulk of his and his father’s power against Athens,” said Barsine. “Break that power, and you break Macedonia. And as soon as Macedonia loses its ability to control my homeland, tens of thousands of Bactrian cavalry will sweep into Persepolis and Babylon.”

“And put you on the throne?” asked Lugorix.

She smiled, but her eyes held Lugorix in a way that made him feel like a mouse gazing at a bird of prey.

“Females cannot rule in Persia,” she said.

“And magi can’t be female either,” said Lugorix.

That made her laugh. “Look at me,” she said. “I’m just nineteen.” Laughing now, she looked younger than that, but Lugorix wasn’t fooled: this was a girl who’d had to grow up fast. “I can’t rule Persia and I can’t lead my people. But I can do my best to save them.”

“And where do we fit in and how much are we getting paid for it?” asked Matthias.

She stared at him in disgust. “Money is all mercenaries ever think of, no?”

“It’s easy for rich girls to say money doesn’t matter,” replied Matthias.

“You’ll get paid,” said Demosthenes. “In silver.”

Matthias’s face was the picture of indignation. “We were told in gold!”

“But you weren’t told how much.”

“Oh?”

“We’ll give you and your friend two talents apiece.”

Lugorix and Matthias looked at him open-mouthed. A silver talent was a decade’s wages. Demosthenes was offering them enough to retire on. Which led to the natural question—

“In exchange for what?” asked Lugorix.

“Accompanying me and Damitra to Syracuse.”

That took Matthias aback a little. “That’s all? We escort you to Sicily, and get two talents each?”

“It’ll be dangerous,” said Demosthenes.

“Any sea voyage is,” said Lugorix, thinking of the journey from Syracuse to Egypt he’d made less than a year before. The Athenian recruiters who’d hired him at Massilia in the south of Gaul had herded him and the other newly hired tribal mercenaries into the holds of great grain transports that had reached the coast of Sicily after four days of choppy sailing down the boot of Italy. Half a day after that, they pulled into Syracuse’s aptly named Grand Harbor. At that point in his life, Lugorix had never seen a city so big—even now it remained the third largest he’d laid eyes on, after Alcibidia and (of course) Athens. From there, the haul to Egypt was about another week. He guessed it would be a little less time trying to reach Syracuse from Athens—

“I’m not referring to the voyage,” said Demosthenes. “That should be simple enough.” He pointd to the map. “From here around the Pelopponese, and then a straight run to Megale Hellas. Probably make landfall in Tarentum, on the boot of Italy. And then from there to Syracuse.”

Lugorix’s brow furrowed. There was something about all this that wasn’t quite adding up for him. “If you want to fight Alexander, shouldn’t we be remaining in Athens?” he asked. “If Alexander overruns the city, it’s all over anyway.”

“He might try,” said Matthias. “But I think he knows he won’t succeed.”

Lugorix shook his head.
“Won’t succeed
and
Alexander
are words that don’t go well together. Didn’t they say Tyre couldn’t be taken?”

“Athens isn’t Tyre,” said Matthias.

Demosthenes cut in. “In terms of physical defenses, that’s certainly true. The moats of Athens are half a mile wide, and patrolled by the latest ironclad dreadnaughts. The walls are lined with rapid-fire bolt-throwers and sulphur-fueled flamethrowers. Each tower contains lenses that concentrate the sunlight into rays capable of frying flesh at a distance of more than two miles.”

“Doesn’t mean Alexander can’t find way his through,” said Lugorix.

“I’m not disputing that—”

But Lugorix was still talking: “Particularly how good he is at locating the weakest point in any defenses.”

“Which in this case is the defenders themselves,” said Barsine.

“Now
that
is the primary danger,” admitted Demosthenes. “It was Alexander’s own father who once said that he could take any fortress as long as he could get a donkey carrying enough gold up to the gates. And much as I’d like to say that donkey will be flash-broiled long before it gets near the city-gates, you’re right: Macedonian deployment of Persian money carries as great a risk here as it did in Athens. But that’s all the more reason for speed in your mission.”

“Especially because you’re all missing the point,” said Barsine, gesturing at the map. “The fortress isn’t
Athens
. The fortress is the
Athenian Empire itself
. I know how Alexander thinks. Like the Gaul says, he’s adept at finding weak points. His attack will develop on the periphery of the empire and move inward from there.”

“But why would he strike at Syracuse?” asked Lugorix. “It’s on an
island
.”

“If I had to guess, I’d say he’s targeting Carthage,” said Barsine. “It’s brewing with unrest these days, particularly now that the Baal cults are active again.”

“So why don’t we go there instead?”

“Because we need to go meet somebody in Syracuse.”

Matthias and Lugorix looked at each other. “Are you kidding me?” asked Matthias.

“What’s wrong?” asked Demosthenes.

“Off to meet
another
mysterious stranger?” said Lugorix.

“Who we get kept in the dark about for as long as possible?” muttered Matthias.

“No need to be so bitter,” said Demosthenes. “Barsine didn’t know if she’d be able to contact me. She didn’t even know if I was still alive. Nor did she know if she could trust you.”

“So who do we need to meet in Syracuse?”

“Someone who is the key to defeating Alexander,” replied Demosthenes.

Matthias scoffed openly. “Who is this superman? Zeus himself?”

“Not quite,” said Barsine. “His name is Aristotle.”

Chapter Six

P
ella had changed.

Its numbers had swelled considerably in the time Eumenes had been away. It was still far from the equal of an Athens or a Babylon, to be sure, but more of the swamp around the town’s core had been filled in to make room for the sprawl of city-blocks, all of them laid out in those sterile grids that the kings of Macedonia favored. Eumenes had always seen such rigor as over-compensation—an attempt on their part to prove they weren’t barbarians, that they were proud members of greater Greece. Of course, no sane Greek would have built a city in these marshes, but that was the Macedonians for you. And there were far more defenses in evidence now—a bona fide city-wall, punctuated by the occasional tower. Not really enough to withstand a truly serious siege—but then again, Pella wasn’t a city which expected to ever have to undergo a serious siege. Its invincible armies would see to that.

Yet it was what
hadn’t
changed that Eumenes found most disconcerting. The city still didn’t feel like an imperial capital. It didn’t even have the vibe of a provincial town. It still felt like an artificial creation—as though the word of a king had established it by fiat, and forced the dwellers in the countryside around it to move within. All around him, Eumenes saw people who looked like they’d be a lot happier on a farm or behind a plow. They glanced up as Alexander’s cavalcade thundered past, but it wasn’t clear they realized who they were staring at. There was certainly no cheering.

Which worried Eumenes. These people did what they were told—they thought what they were supposed to think, and their lack of reaction meant that Philip hadn’t given them any cues—hadn’t arranged for any kind of welcoming committee. Certainly nothing worthy of a conquering general, let alone his son.

Ahead, the road narrowed. They rode onto the bridge that connected the city to the palace—a bridge that was essentially a promontory that stretched out into the lake that pressed up against Pella on the south. An inlet led from that lake to the Thermaic Gulf, but it had been filled up long ago, given Macedonia’s lack of anything resembling a navy. The last thing Philip needed was a bunch of warships sailing right into his own backyard and beaching under the walls of his palace.

And it
was
one hell of a palace.

In a sense, it was the imperial city that Pella wasn’t. The bridge ended in giant gates set into a huge wall—but now those gates rolled aside with a creaking shudder to reveal a vaulted archway, the walls of which were covered with so many torches that made the interior almost as bright as the day outside. Guards stood on balconies lining the archway, looking down at Alexander as he and his entourage rode beneath them. No one saluted him. No one even acknowledged him. It didn’t seem to bother Alexander in the slightest. He led the procession into a courtyard, where rows of retainers awaited them. The court chamberlain stepped forward, bowing, his words stiff with studied formality.

“Sire,” he said. “Your king is expecting you.”

Eumenes’s eyes narrowed.
Your king
. Not
your father
. Again, it didn’t seem to ruffle Alexander. He just gave the chamberlain an easy smile.

“So take us to him,” he said.

Having said this, he dismounted, his retinue following suit. The chamberlain led the way; Alexander walking just a step behind him, with Hephaestion, Ptolemy and Eumenes trailing in his wake. Eumenes doubted that any more than that would have been acceptable to Philip. More guards awaited them at the throne room’s antechamber—their uniforms those of Philip’s personal bodyguard. The chamberlain turned.