The Pillars of Hercules (29 page)

Hephaestion had been the man responsible for stopping them. It was the same plan that had worked so well at Alcibiadia—deploy Greek fire from rafts and small boats close to shore. Only this time the Athenian ships hadn’t waited obligingly; as soon as the assault on Massilia had begun, they’d put to sea, forging out of the harbor in an enormous V-formation that made it difficult for the smaller attackers to get to grips with them. The death toll among the Macedonian commandos was considerable. None of which was necessarily Hephaestion’s fault—he was playing from a weak hand. But if there was one thing Alexander hated, it was excuses.

“This is a new kind of war we’re fighting,” said the king.

Eumenes nodded, said nothing. He knew better than to reply. Not till he knew where this was going. Alexander stared out at the harbor, wiping sweat and ash from his face.

“It’s a new type of war,” he repeated. “And it requires a new kind of soldier. We’re used to pitched battles, and this is something else. So far we’ve had success with it, but we need to take the organization to the next level. Special operations: I need you to take command of it.”

Are you fucking nuts?
thought Eumenes. But all he said was, “It would be an honor.”

“You’ll partner with Hephaestion, of course. He is my rock. But I’ve come to realize his strengths aren’t in the conduct of covert warfare. He excels at working behind the scenes to develop the new machines that will guarantee our victory. But the deployment of those machines doesn’t necessarily translate into their use—the bold gambits that take our enemies by surprise when they least expect it.”

Eumenes’ mind was racing furiously. All of this meant he’d have to work even closer with Hephaestion. Thereby increasing the danger to Eumenes in more ways than one. Particularly if the task that Alexander was asking him to do really was as impossible as it seemed. Deploying innovative weaponry was one thing. Taking on the Athenian fleet was quite another. But managing expectations was a delicate art. Eumenes calculated the variables rapidly, decided on the risk of candor.

“I worry that you’re being too harsh on Hephaestion,” he said.

Alexander’s eyes flashed. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“We have wondrous armaments, but we lack a navy. All the artifice and ingenuity can’t keep pace with the Athenian fleet when it puts to sea.”

“I won’t accept that,” snapped Alexander. That was the signal for Eumenes to shut up, but he kept going, mustering what tact he could:

“All I’m saying is that I can’t promise to bring destruction to their fleet when they’re out of sight of shore.”

“Nor should you,” said Alexander. “That’s my job.” He seemed to hesitate, then—“Just because they’re out of sight of shore doesn’t mean I can’t get at them.”

“I don’t understand,” said Eumenes.

“You don’t have to.” Alexander’s tone was that of a man who had said more than he intended. It wasn’t a tone Eumenes had ever heard his king use before. He wondered just what the hell Alexander meant. He knew that if he ever found out, it wasn’t going to be in this conversation. He’d come too close to bringing Alexander’s inchoate anger down upon himself as it was. So he did the most prudent thing he could.

Change the subject.

“I brought the staffing plans you requested,” he said. “The next phase of the march. Down the coast of Iberia to Gibraltar for the link-up with Craterus’ forces.”

“Forget them,” said Alexander.

“You want a different approach? We need to stick close to the coast if we’re to—”

“We’re not going to Gibraltar.”

For a moment, Eumenes thought Alexander was joking. But Alexander never joked.

“Where then?” asked Eumenes.

But he knew the answer even before Alexander said it.

It was late at night, but Lugorix didn’t care. He could finally walk without getting dizzy, and he had someone he needed to have a word with. He stormed through the halls of the house of Mardonius and pounded loudly on Matthias’ door. There was the sound of movement within and then the door opened.

It was Eurydice. She was clad in a gown and not much else. Nor did she look surprised to see Lugorix.

“He’s all yours,” she said to him—and stepped past him and down the corridor. Lugorix smiled appreciatively as he watched her go—whether at her nerve or her ass, he couldn’t tell—and then stepped into the room, which smelt of sex and booze. Matthias was sitting up in bed, a wine jug in his hand, an awkward smile plastered on his face.

“I heard you were up and about, but I’ve been a little busy….”

He broke off as Lugorix grabbed the jug and smashed it onto the floor.

“Why did you tell Barsine?” he demanded.

“Because she deserved to hear it,” said Matthias.

“Explain.”

“You’ve been mooning after her when the truth is that she’s—”

“I’ve
been mooning after her?” Lugorix couldn’t help himself from laughing. “What about
you?”

“Not anymore, sport. Case you haven’t noticed.”

Lugorix sat down on the bed. He wondered if he looked as exasperated as he felt. “You jump from woman to woman seeking love you will never find.”

“Don’t be so sure of that. Eurydice is quite a peach.”

“Only thing that girl’s in love with is her own brain.”

“At least I like ’em talented,” said Matthias.

“So I like whores?” snarled Lugorix. “So what? At least I’m honest about it.”

“At least none of them will remind you of”—Matthias broke off as Lugorix drew his fist back to hit him. “Zeus man,
wake the fuck up
. You’ve always blamed yourself for her death because you weren’t there. Now you’re here and this woman needs your help and if I hadn’t spoken up you would have
just walked away
.”

Lugorix took a deep breath. “So let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re besotted with your new girl and want to follow her to the ends of the earth and you need me to come with you before she manages to get both of you killed.”

Matthias stared at him. “Maybe,” he said.

Suddenly the whole building shook. They heard screams outside, followed by the unmistakable noise of battle-cries.

“Shit,”
said Matthias and lunged out of bed. Lugorix was already racing down the corridor to get Skullseeker. Through the windows he could see that several of the buildings in the smugglers’ cove were on fire and armed horsemen were riding through the streets, trampling anyone who got in their way. He grabbed his axe, whirled—

Only to find Damitra standing there.

“Mistress says it’s time to go,” she said. Lugorix took the old woman’s hand and led her down the corridor. As they went down the steps, they were joined by Matthias.

“It’s the Athenians,” he snarled. “They’re killing everybody. Except the women.”

“But why should they do”—Lugorix stopped. He knew damn well why. The only people that mattered at this point were Eurydice and Barsine. Everyone else was expendable, and given that the ratio of men to women in this place was about ten to one, rounding up all the women and then sorting them out later made a nasty kind of sense. He and Matthias half-dragged Damitra around the corner and into the doorway.

Mardonius was lying in that doorway, two arrows protruding from his back, blood pooling from his mouth.

“Save her,” he said. “Save her…”

But that was as far as he got before he died. Damitra leaned forward, placed her hands on his temple and muttered something in Persian.

“We don’t have time for this,” said Matthias. She ignored him, kept on muttering for about ten seconds. Then she stopped and shut Mardonius’ eyes.

“He was a good man,” she said softly.

“I’m sure he was, but we need to go,” said Matthias. He and Lugorix led the old lady through the doorway, out into the streets.

Which were a total shambles. Most of the surviving smugglers and ne’er-do-wells had retreated to the rooftops, from where they hurled a whole array of rocks and debris and furniture down onto the Athenian horsemen. But the Athenians had responded by hurling flaming torchbrands into the buildings, and the fire was in the process of spreading to the roofs. Smoke was everywhere. But that smoke gave the three trying to make their exit enough cover to move along the side of Mardonius’ house, around the corner and out onto the docks—where the full extent of their predicament become apparent. The entrance to the cove was entirely blocked by Athenian ships; they’d obviously blockaded the harbor before the soldiers moved in, to ensure that the trap would be complete. Lugorix led the way inside the warehouse.

The
Xerxes
was at the end of the pier. A squad of Athenian soldiers had just dragged Barsine off the ship and onto the dock. But even as they did so, a figure leapt off the boat after them, limbs flying in every direction, hurling Athenians into the water and along the dock. The remainder rallied, slicing away at the figure, who leaped backward like an Olympic gymnast. But there was only so much room on the pier to maneuver. Lugorix and Matthias were already running forward, Damitra not too far behind them. As they reached the combatants, Lugorix’s eyes went wide as he realized who the figure in black was.

“Well don’t just stand there,” snarled Eurydice.

He didn’t intend to—he brought Skullseeker up in a scything motion, chopped an Athenian in two. Matthias was right beside him, his blade flashing, while Eurydice redoubled her strange yet highly effective hand-to-hand combat. The Athenians were now caught between two threats, and the fight in them broke. They tried to run, but had nowhere to go, except into the water, which was where most of them started jumping. But now more Athenians were appearing at the entrance to the shed. Eurydice leaped back onto the
Xerxes
.

“Cast off,” she yelled. Lugorix and Matthias used their weapons to slice through the ropes while Damitra helped a shaken Barsine onto the ship and the Athenians raced along the dock toward them. One drew back a bow, took at aim at Lugorix. Matthias yelled a warning; Lugorix stepped aside as the arrow flew past him and straight at Barsine. She didn’t even see it coming. But Damitra did.

So she stepped in front of it.

The arrow hit her in the chest, knocking her onto the deck. Barsine shrieked and dropped to her knees beside her. But Eurydice was already starting the ship up—there was a clanking as the gears shifted and the motors ignited and steam poured out as the
Xerxes
began moving out into the water. Lugorix and Barsine carried Damitra below while Matthias unleashed his bow and returned fire, shooting the Athenian archer through the face and bringing down an officer for good measure. The rest of the Athenians drew back as the ship accelerated out into the harbor, buildings burning all around it as it made speed for the open ocean—straight toward an Athenian ship blocking the way. Lugorix stuck his head out of the hatch to see it turning, bearing down on them, a massive galley with
opthalmoi
-eyes painted on either side of the menacing looking ram. Its oars flew through the water as it picked up speed. Barsine looked up from the stricken Damitra and yelled instructions to Eurydice, who began pulling on some levers. All of a sudden there was a hiss—Lugorix felt the ship shake; he saw what looked like a very fast fish streak away from the
Xerxes
and into the darkness.

Next moment the Athenian warship exploded.

One moment it was there; the next moment it was enveloped in sheets of fire as it basically just folded up and sank, the
Xerxes
surging past it. Lugorix couldn’t believe how things had come to this; just a few weeks before this, they’d been tempted to pick up Athenian stragglers off the coast of Egypt. Now somehow the Athenians had become the villains. Or maybe these Athenians were in the pay of the Macedonians, or they were acting on the orders of those who were, like so many of them seemed to be. The other ships were trying to give chase, but the
Xerxes
was without lights, moving steadily out into the ocean. The Athenians lost the scent rapidly. The
Xerxes
had made it.

Damitra didn’t.

The sea felt different to Lugorix.

It looked the same, though. It was the same Mediterranean that they’d traversed to get from Egypt to Athens, and from Athens to Syracuse. Same blue-green stretching off to the horizon. But something had changed across the last twenty-four hours and Lugorix didn’t know what it was. When he finally got a chance to discuss it with Matthias—and to try to clear the air—it turned out there wasn’t much to discuss.

“Forget it,” said Matthias.

“Never mind then,” said Lugorix.

It was well past midnight, their second night out of Syracuse. The two of them were standing on the aft-deck of the
Xerxes
. This was Lugorix’s watch period, but Matthias had come on deck anyway. He looked haggard and tired.

“That wench is draining me dry,” he muttered.

“You’re tagging the daughter of Aristotle and you’re asking for sympathy?”

“No,” said Matthias. “Just a break. Meaning I’m not in the mood to listen to your ramblings about how the
sea feels weird
.”

“Well, it does.”

“Said the Gallic landlubber. Don’t tell me you believe all this talk about monsters?”

Lugorix scowled. This was what annoyed him about Greeks. They had this thing called
skepticism
, and skepticism was supposed to mean they didn’t believe in anything they’d never seen. Which was all very well. But not when it led them to disbelieve in anything that didn’t fit their definition of the word
rational
. These days that was a very shaky concept.

“I don’t know
what
to believe,” said Lugorix. “That’s the point. We’re in uncharted waters now.”

“Actually we’re not,” said Eurydice.

She’d come up behind them with all the stealth of a wraith. Matthias practically jumped out of his skin. She was dressed in a green robe that it looked like she’d just thrown it on. Her hair was unkempt and she was no longer wearing that nose-ring. She was holding a strange device—a bronze disc covered with markings and notches that Lugorix immediately knew was some kind of sorcery. She held it up to her eye, made adjustments as she sighted along it at one of the stars.