Tyrant: Force of Kings (8 page)

After lying awake an hour, he rolled off his cloak and his two furs and walked up the beach to where his kit lay under his aspis, and took out his canteen. It was full of wine. He sat with his back against the stern, and said some poetry to himself, and then he fetched his travelling lyre and went around the headland and played it for half an hour.

He fell into the playing – some of the best he had ever done. When he had finished with his practices and his hymn to Apollo, he was sleepy, so he went back to his cloak and fell immediately asleep.

‘Am I growing more arrogant?’ Satyrus asked.

He was between the steering oars of his
Medea
, an hour off the beach at Syros, driving along over the choppy sea with the wind dead astern, all the rowers enjoying being passengers while the deck crew worked like ants to keep the mainsail and the boatsail trimmed and drawing in a tricky wind.

Anaxagoras grinned. ‘I’m sorry – how would I know? I mean, if one throws pitch on a black statue—’

Satyrus swatted him with an open hand. ‘I’m serious,’ he said.

Anaxagoras frowned. ‘Are you? All the tragedies seem to have this moment held in them, brother. And have you ever known a woman to ask you if she was gaining weight, and to want a genuine answer?’

Satyrus looked away in consternation. ‘So the answer is – yes.’

Anaxagoras shrugged. ‘Yes. That is, the siege hardened something in you. You used to be somewhat hesitant about giving some opinions – now you take for granted that your opinion is necessary in all situations.’ He held up a hand to forestall Satyrus’s explanations. ‘Now, to be sure, philos, you
are
a king, and you
are
a commander. But since you asked, may I say by way of allegory that I am a famous musician, and that I find that this does not particularly increase my ability to pronounce on how this ship sails?’

Satyrus tried to laugh – he got a smile to his face, at least. ‘Whereas I feel that my expertise as king justifies voicing my opinion on all subjects?’ he asked.

Anaxagoras shook his head. ‘See? You don’t really fancy my opinion.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘I expect I’ll be executed.’

Satyrus looked at the horizon. ‘Fuck off,’ he said. ‘I asked. I was hoping for a less adamant answer.’

Anaxagoras shook his head. ‘You knew the answer before you asked.’

Satyrus sighed. ‘I’m not taking the losses at pankration at all well.’

Anaxagoras grinned. ‘There, I can put your mind at rest. I think that you are bearing them splendidly, in that you haven’t cursed or shouted out loud. When did you last lose?’

‘Lose outright?’ Satyrus thought. ‘Three or four years, anyway.’

Anaxagoras nodded. ‘Well, it’s good for you. Builds character.’

‘My tutor, Philokles, used to say that.’ Satyrus nodded. He was stung, and trying very hard not to show it.

‘All tutors say that,’ Anaxagoras said. He put a hand on Satyrus’s shoulder. ‘May I say – at the risk of hurting you further – that it’s brave of you to ask? And that you can remedy this simply by being silent on occasion?’

Satyrus looked away, and a variety of responses occurred to him. But again, he managed a smile. ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said.

Polycrates came back from the bow, where he’d gone to catch the breeze. ‘What a perfect morning!’ he said. He nodded to Anaxagoras. ‘My lord, you keep very good company – good men, with good manners and real excellence. That Charmides …’

Satyrus raised both eyebrows.

Anaxagoras smiled. ‘Everyone loves Charmides,’ he said.

‘Where is he from?’ asked Polycrates. ‘Is he of a good family?’

Apollodorus appeared on deck in armour. ‘Very good,’ he said curtly. ‘Swords, Satyrus?’

It was days since Satyrus had practised in armour. Charmides came forward and assisted him in putting on his thorax of bronze, and he and Apollodorus began to move up and down the central gangway.

Satyrus fought with restraint, fighting the temptation to work too hard to vindicate the loss of the night before. And in a few hits, he was too deep in the moment to worry about such stuff. Apollodorus had always stretched him to his limit, and today was no different – if anything, the smaller man was better than usual, leaping high in the air, stepping up off an oarsman’s bench to land a cunning blow along the back of Satyrus’s neck.

But Satyrus, after a slow start, rose to his level. He fought so well that when the two of them came to a stop, they were on the amidships fighting platform, neither man having pushed the other to the bow or stern. Each landed a simple blow, and almost as one they removed their helmets, panting hard, and laughed.

‘Well fought,’ Apollodorus said. ‘You’ve winded me.’

Satyrus had to use his will to keep from bending double to take bigger breaths. He didn’t risk talking, but merely laughed and slapped his marine captain on the back.

Polycrates clapped his hands together. ‘May I?’ he asked. ‘I don’t have armour …’

Satyrus felt much better. He grinned. ‘You may have mine if you don’t mind the sweat.’

Polycrates sent his body slave for a chitoniskos. ‘I should say something nice about the sweat of a king,’ he said, taking the thorax, ‘but you have about soaked the thing through.’

‘You go that long against Apollodorus,’ Satyrus said. In fact, he meant no rivalry by it – Apollodorus was the best fighter and the fittest man.

‘Ah,’ Polycrates said. ‘Then I should wait until tomorrow, when he’s fresh.’

Apollodorus bridled – perhaps at being discussed in the third person. ‘I’m fresh enough right now, Athenian,’ he said. ‘Let’s see what you have.’

Polycrates wasn’t sure he liked that response – it showed in his face – and Satyrus had a moment to see what a powerful man looked like when he was displeased. He looked pompous and silly – and Satyrus knew that he had looked the same the night before when he had lost at pankration. He nodded to no one in particular. He was a day from Athens, with all the danger of the prophecy combined with his anxiety on seeing Miriam – it seems a good time to honour the gods and work on excellence.

Polycrates’ slave brought him a linen chitoniskos, a fine one with a red stripe. The Athenian stripped and put it on, and then Satyrus helped him into his scale thorax, which fitted him well enough, if a little small in the chest. Satyrus tied the cords a full two fingers looser than he would on himself – when he tied it, the rings touched.

Polycrates picked up Satyrus’s practice aspis, and moved it around. ‘Heavy,’ he said, sounding human.

‘I practise with a heavier shield …’ Satyrus began.

‘Of course you do – you fight for real.’ Polycrates flexed his knees, picked up the wooden sword, and saluted Apollodorus. ‘At your service. And I meant no slight, sir, when I said I’d wait for you to be fresh. I feel very much at a disadvantage here – you are professional soldiers, athletes, men who live like heroes from Homer, and I am a rich politician from Athens. If I spoke badly, please accept my apologies.’

Apollodorus hooked his cheek-plates down. ‘Not necessary,’ he said simply, and turned to walk down the command catwalk to the amidships command platform.

Satyrus caught a glance from the Athenian which suggested that he felt he’d been rebuffed.

‘It was a handsome apology,’ Anaxagoras said.

‘He can be a prick, though,’ Satyrus said.

Anaxagoras pursed his lips. ‘If you were alone on his ship, surrounded by killers …’

Satyrus rocked his head from side to side. ‘Good point. Hadn’t seen it that way.’

After a few moments of staring, the two contestants came together – two cautious blows, one each, both easily turned on the shield rim, and they were apart.

They batted at each other for as long as it took for the ship to sail the length of a tiny islet, and then Polycrates closed.

Or rather, he attempted to close, pushing forward with his back leg and levering his hips to shield-slam his opponent.

Apollodorus met him, but his shield was angled to the impact, and his sword arm shot out, past the Athenian’s head, and then the bigger man was on the deck, the point of Apollodorus’s wooden sword at his throat.

Polycrates slapped the deck in surrender and got smoothly to his feet – a fine display of muscle for an older man. He rubbed his hip where it had hit the wood planking.

But he was on his guard in heartbeats, and they came together again, and the next time Apollodorus tried a simple throw, the Athenian blocked it and stepped back. Each of them landed some hits – a few more to Apollodorus – and then Polycrates hit Apollodorus in the forearm, hard enough to draw blood.

In the time it takes a man to say a single word, he had his helmet off and was apologising.

‘Too damn hard – I’m sorry, comrade. You’re beating me easily and I’m trying too hard.’ He shook his head.

Apollodorus smiled. ‘I’d be a poor man if I couldn’t take the cut of a wooden sword, Polycrates. But I think I’m done for the day.’

They embraced, though, and Polycrates was more human, and better received, after the fighting on the deck.

That night they fought again on the beach – pankration again – and this time Polycrates won three straight bouts. Other men were waiting for a turn with him, and Satyrus didn’t feel he could ask for a fourth. It wasn’t just a matter of size, although the man’s reach was impressive – so was Theron’s, and Satyrus could hold Theron to a draw.

‘You are very good,’ Polycrates said, reaching to embrace him.

Something about the compliment angered Satyrus, but he accepted the embrace and went off to his lyre. He sang Sappho’s songs to the waves and the sunset, and thought of Miriam, and wondered what surprise was waiting for him in Athens.

In the morning, he called all his fighting captains together, and walked them around the headland to where the merchant ships were gathered off the beach. ‘Apollo told me that Athens will be a danger to me,’ he said. ‘I’ve given this a certain amount of thought, and if I have understood the god’s words, then Demetrios will seek to take me in Athens,’ he said.

If he expected consternation, he was disappointed. His captains knew the gossip, had heard more about his visit to Delos than might have made him comfortable.

‘We’ll be right there behind you,’ Apollodorus said.

Satyrus shook his head, seeing in his mind the punishment Demetrios might mete out on the hostages if Satyrus landed armed marines in Athens. ‘No. I don’t want to seem a threat at all. So the fighting fleet will not enter the harbour. In fact, I want to see all the warships drop off when we have Piraeus in sight. I’ll signal with my shield – all of you sail for Aegina. If all is well, I’ll meet you there in three days. If all is not well, Apollodorus has the command and must do as he sees fit. No rescues – even if Demetrios takes me, it will only be as a prelude to further negotiation.’ He looked around. ‘Let me say that again, friends: if Demetrios takes me, it is
not
an act of war. No seizing Athenian shipping, no striking at his fleet up at Corinth. You hear me, friends?’

They growled – all except Aekes, who simply nodded.

Satyrus looked around. ‘If for some reason, Demetrios has me killed – well, you are all released from your oaths, but I’d take it as a favour if you would do all the damage to his shipping that you possibly can.’ He grinned.

No one grinned back. ‘Is it that bad?’ asked Apollodorus.

Satyrus shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘If not for the prophecy, I’d have no fears for myself at all. It would be the height of folly for Demetrios to attack me. But Apollo does not speak lightly to mortals.’

Aekes shook his head. ‘Makes no sense at all,’ he said. ‘If he grabs you, you forfeit very little – and Rhodes is free to break the treaty.’

‘Not while he has all their hostages,’ Satyrus answered. ‘But still – I agree, Aekes. I’ve thought about it every night – I can’t get my head around it.’

‘Why not stay here?’ Anaxilaus asked. ‘Camp on this beach – we take the grain fleet into Athens, sell the grain, meet you here. You can wrestle with Charmides.’

They all laughed.

Satyrus shook his head. ‘I have private business in Athens,’ he said.

‘Business with long legs?’ Aekes asked, but his voice was very low. ‘Listen, lord,’ he said louder. ‘I’m not a pious man, but if the god spoke to you direct, why not just obey? Stay here? Tell us who you want to meet and we’ll bring him to you.’

‘Abraham is a hostage,’ Satyrus said. ‘You can’t bring him out of Athens, and I need to see him.’

His captains looked at him with something like suspicion.

‘I’m going to Athens,’ he insisted.

‘Without your fleet?’ Sandokes asked. ‘Haven’t you got this backward, lord? If you must go, why not lead with a show of force?’

‘Can you go three days armed and ready to fight?’ Satyrus asked. ‘In the midst of the Athenian fleet? No. Trust me on this, friends. And obey – I pay your wages. Go to Aegina and wait.’

Sandokes was dissatisfied and he wasn’t interested in hiding it. ‘Lord, we do obey. We’re good captains and good fighters, and most of us have been with you a few years. Long enough to earn the right to tell you when you are just plain wrong.’ He took a breath. ‘Lord, you’re wrong. Take us into Athens – ten ships full of fighting men, and no man will dare raise a finger to you. Or better yet, stay here, or
you
go to Aegina and
we’ll
sail into Athens.’

Satyrus shrugged, angered. ‘You all feel this way?’ he asked.

Sarpax shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Aekes and Sandokes have a point, but I’ll obey you. I don’t know exactly what your relationship with Demetrios is, and you do.’ He looked at the other captains. ‘We don’t know.’

Sandokes shook his head. ‘I’ll obey, lord – surely I’m allowed to disagree?’

Satyrus bit his lip. After a flash of anger passed, he chose his words carefully. ‘I appreciate that you are all trying to help. I hope that you’ll trust that I’ve thought this through as carefully as I can, and I have a more complete appreciation of the forces at work than any of you can have.’

Sandokes didn’t back down. ‘I hope that you appreciate that we have only your best interests at heart, lord. And that we don’t want to look elsewhere for employment while your corpse cools.’ He shrugged. ‘Our oarsmen are hardening up, we have good helmsmen and good clean ships. I wager we can take any twenty ships in these waters. No one – no one with any sense – will mess with you while we’re in the harbour.’