Tyrant (34 page)

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Authors: Christian Cameron

BOOK: Tyrant
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‘Not in winter, it won’t,’ Kineas said. ‘and by spring, with a little effort, we can build an alliance and a force to stop Macedon on the plains of the Sakje.’ Plans trembled at the edge of his thoughts, ready to tumble out in speech if he let them, but he held his tongue.
 
The archon shook his head. ‘You’re drunker than I am.’ He drained his glass. ‘Nothing can stop Macedon. No one should know that better than you. It is a pretty dream you spin, and I’ll grant you that the threat of Macedon would bring the city to heel as if by magic, but - no. No, I’ll send you to Antipater - overland - immediately. If you are loyal, you can buy me peace. You know these people. You can get them to listen.’
 
‘I doubt it,’ Kineas said. I hate them, he suddenly thought. All the slights of being a Greek in the army of Macedon - passed over for promotion, dismissed by Alexander. It was as if every scab had been ripped off every wound ever inflicted on him.
I hate them
.
 
‘I will make you a rich man. They made you a citizen - you know that? And
elected
you hipparch. You’ve only been here a month! Of couse, I thought you were having a shot at my diadem.’ The archon held out his cup again. Cyrus hurried to get more wine. No other slave appeared. ‘My father was a mercenary. I know just how the thing is done. You won’t find me sleeping!’ The archon bellowed the last, and sprung to his feet, glaring at Kineas.
 
Kineas ignored the tyrant’s fears. ‘No matter what you offer Macedon, they will march,’ he said with patience he didn’t feel. ‘Antipater needs money and he needs a war to keep the nobles from coming after him. He still fears Sparta. That leaves us. We look easy. And control of the Euxine will strengthen Antipater’s hold on Athens - on the whole of Greece.’
 
The archon rubbed his face with both hands like a mimer removing face paint. ‘Athens - aye, Athens, from which you are supposedly an exile. Athens, which probably sent you here. To replace me? I’ve always been loyal to Athens.’
 
Kineas paused like a man crossing a swamp, who suddenly finds the going treacherous. ‘I swear by Zeus I am not here to replace you!’
 
The archon ignored him. ‘I’ll offer to become the client of Macedon - to rule in their name. Pay taxes - the same contribution Athens levied. More.’
 
Kineas looked at him with disgust. ‘Archon, Macedon can have all that if they come and take the city. And my sources say that Antipater
wants
a war. Are you listening to me?’
 
The archon tossed his wine cup on the floor, and the gold rang as it hit the stone. ‘I’m fucked,’ he said. ‘No one defeats Macedon.’
 
It sounded craven to Kineas, even though it was the very same argument he had used to the king. Coming from the mouth of the archon, the drunk and despondent, murderous archon, it disgusted him.
 
In that hour, he had become a convert. Srayanka wanted war with Macedon. The archon feared it. He wondered what god had whispered in his ear, seized his tongue. He had become an advocate of the war.
 
‘Talk to the king,’ he said. ‘He knows much.’
 
‘Bloody brigand,’ said the archon. But his tone had changed. ‘When?’
 
‘Tomorrow. The king has to ride for the high plains before the snow comes in earnest. But he wants an alliance, and he has much to offer.’
 
The archon sat up. ‘I’m drunk.’ He rose. ‘I was right about you - you are a dangerous man.’ He settled the diadem more exactly on his head. ‘What do you want, anyway? Money? Power? Restoration to Athens?’ He gave Kineas a look. If the effect was supposed to be menacing, his drunken stagger and the skewed diadem on his brow ruined it. ‘Is this Athens’ doing, horse master?’ And then he slumped a little. ‘Never mind. Whatever you want, you’ll grab at in time. You’re that kind. Right now, you don’t seem to want my little crown.’ He smiled. ‘I still do. And I suppose your barbarian bandit is my best chance to keep it. I’ll see him. Bring him in the morning.’
 
Kineas felt bold. ‘You promise his life is safe?’
 
The archon raised an eyebrow, looking like an old satyr eyeing a young maiden in the theatre. ‘You think I threaten his life?’ He passed Kineas on his way to his own chamber. ‘Or yours?’ His voice trailed back into the throne room. ‘You have a lot to learn about my city, Athenian.’
 
11
 
T
here were bruises on his ribs in the morning, and a long red welt on his left leg where skin had been ripped away, and the joints in his fingers were swollen and prickly. He couldn’t remember how some of the injuries had happened.
 
Sitalkes tended them with oil and herbs and got him dressed and armoured while Philokles and Diodorus argued.
 
‘We’re not leaving,’ he said. ‘Get it through your heads. He’s a tyrant. Tyrants fear every man’s hand. I lived. Let’s move on.’
 
‘He’ll kill you. He’ll kill us.’ Diodorus stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Macedon is coming, and we can’t trust our employer. Get us out.’
 
Philokles shook his head. ‘He’ll trust Kineas now.’
 
Diodorus raised his hands in frustration, as if invoking the gods. ‘He doesn’t trust anyone. He’s a tyrant! And it doesn’t matter, because
we can’t trust him
. Get us out!’
 
Kineas got to his feet slowly, and took the weight of his armour on his shoulders. The shoulder straps were resting on last night’s bruises. ‘The king of the Assagatje is waiting at Gade’s Farm. Two hundred gentlemen of the city will be mustering in an hour. A hint of any of this will be like sparks on tinder. Let me be clear. We are staying. We are going to prepare this city to fight. If you can’t stomach it, you have my leave to depart.’
 
Diodorus let his hands fall by his sides. ‘You know I won’t leave you,’ he said. He sounded as tired as Kineas felt. He took a deep breath, and said, ‘Kineas, can you tell me why? Why you are hazarding our lives to fight Macedon?’
 
Philokles stood very still. Quietly, he said, ‘That is the question, isn’t it? A few days ago, you told the king that we should
not
fight. What changed your mind?’
 
Kineas picked his Sakje whip off the oak table and rubbed his thumb across the gold decoration. ‘Last night, while I argued with the archon, it came to me, as if a god had spoken in my ear. Friends, I cannot explain better than that. In one moment, my mind was set. It is not so much a matter for rational argument as a - a revelation.’ He tucked the whip into the sash he wore over his breastplate. ‘My mind is clear. I intend to do this thing.’
 
Diodorus sighed. ‘The men will not be happy.’
 
Kineas nodded. ‘Any who wish to leave will be allowed to go.’
 
Diodorus shook his head. ‘None of them will leave. But they will not be happy.’
 
Kineas nodded again. ‘That is in the hands of the gods. For now, we have a great deal of work to do. Philokles, you will take Sitalkes and ride to the king, telling him we will attend him with all of the gentlemen of the city in the second hour after noon. Diodorus, the rest of us shall spend the morning throwing javelins and practising the cavalry at riding in formation. After noon, we will ride in a column out to the king and fetch him to the archon in style.’
 
Philokles said, ‘Someone had best warn the archon. And don’t forget that you were to speak with Memnon.’
 
‘Send Crax to the palace and ask Cyrus the steward if the archon will be available at the second hour after noon. Send a slave to Memnon to ask him if he can attend me here. Explain the need.’
 
Diodorus saluted. ‘Yes, Hipparch.’ He smiled.
 
Kineas smiled back. ‘Despite everything, I like the sound of that.’
 
The muster started well. There were more men missing - making their last trading trips of the year, or home sick, or making excuses. On the other hand, there were far more men mounted and armed. Niceas, Ajax and Leucon had them in their ranks in a few minutes. The rolls were called and the absent noted.
 
Kineas rode to the head of the troop. There were almost two hundred men mounted. They filled the east side of the hippodrome in four sloppy ranks. Horses moved back and forth, or shifted, and in the second rank, a stallion nipped a mare.
 
‘Welcome, gentlemen of Olbia!’ Kineas called across the turmoil. He sat straight, trying to ignore the fatigue of the last day’s ride, the scars of the fight by the wine shop. ‘I thank you for the honour you have done me in granting me this office, and further in making me a citizen of this city. I will not waste further words when none can express my feelings.’ He looked back and forth under his helmet. ‘This morning we will have our first drill. Every man will present himself, his horse, and his armour to my hyperetes, Niceas, who will advise you on how to better them. As soon as a man passes Niceas, he will join Diodorus in practising the throwing of javelins, and from there pass to Ajax, who will instruct on remounting in combat. At noon, we will take some bread and oil while we hold our mounts, like cavalrymen should. Then we will practise various formations. This afternoon, the full troop of the city will do its first duty in many years - we will ride to escort the king of the Sakje.’ A buzz of talk from the ranks. ‘Silence, please, gentlemen. During the whole of a muster, you are no longer free to chatter. Do the citizens who serve on foot chatter in the phalanx? No. They listen for orders. So you must. Any questions?’
 
A plaintive voice from the fourth ranks called, ‘I have an appointment to buy linen seed in the afternoon.’
 
Kineas smiled under the cold cheek pieces of his helmet. ‘You will miss it.’
 
‘I didn’t bring food,’ said another.
 
‘When I dismiss you, you may send your slaves for food. Next time you will know better - a muster is for the whole day.’
 
‘Are we all to have blue cloaks?’ asked another.
 
‘Niceas will inform you. Anything else?’ He looked at them.
 
They sat on their horses in silence. As a group, they were better disciplined than their Athenian counterparts, but they looked like what they were - rich men playing soldier. Kineas sighed.
 
‘Hippeis!’ He called. He glanced around. Niceas, Ajax and Leucon were all together by the stadium seats, with horses hard by and equipment laid out on blankets as examples. Diodorus and the two Gauls had paced out a run for javelin practice, and Antigonus was propping a heavy shield against a pair of spears as a target. As ready as they were likely to be. ‘Dismissed to your posts!’ he said.
 
The whole mass surged into motion. A quarter of them rode straight to him with complaints, demands and suggestions. He’d expected as much. They weren’t soldiers - they were rich men, and Greeks.
 
Kineas knew how to make short work of them. Lykeles helped him - another veteran of the Athenian hippeis musters. Lykeles rode among them, hearing their complaints and dealing with the easiest himself. Kineas was patient but firm with the rest. Half an hour sufficed to see every one of them off to one of the stations.
 
Against the tiered seats, Niceas could be heard urging the purchase of cornell-wood javelins. He had done his research, and already knew which merchants in the town could get the wood from Persia and which smiths made the best heads. He and Leucon, ably supported by Coenus, reviewed the quality and training of the men’s horses.
 
Coenus walked across the sand to Kineas and waited to speak. When Kineas glanced at him, he said, ‘We have a horse problem.’
 
Kineas grunted and pushed his helmet back on his head. ‘Mares and stallions?’
 
Coenus nodded. ‘Horses are cheap here. We should have a standard sex. Otherwise, when the mares come into season, we’ll have chaos.’
 
Kineas tugged at his beard. ‘What would Xenophon say?’
 
Coenus smiled. ‘Geldings.’
 
Kineas felt as if he had to sleep or die. He leaned down. ‘Geldings it is, then. Exempt the hyperetes and the officers.’ Having said so, he rode off to watch the first group of riders tackle the javelin throwing. They were all the young men who had ridden to the Sakje, and they made a creditable showing. Watching them gave him an idea - that he should form troops of fifty within the hippeis. All of the best men would just make one company of fifty.
 
Kyros galloped down the sand, his bay horse stretching to the task, hooves flashing. His throw was hard and true, and the shield fell with a crack like thunder.
 
‘That boy throws like the hand of Zeus,’ Philokles said at Kineas’s shoulder. ‘The king sends his regards. He will be waiting for you at the second hour.’

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