Tyrant: Destroyer of Cities (39 page)

Aspasia nodded. ‘Do your best for us. That’s all I can ask. And … Satyrus. I have eyes. Miriam—’

Satyrus made the same face he had made with the bitter medicine. ‘Miriam is not for me,’ he said.

‘Praise to the Cyprian that you know that. I thought that you did. How can you be so wise and so foolish?’ She asked.

Satyrus laughed. He kissed her hand. ‘Human, I think.’

Korus cleared his throat and came in. ‘Time to eat, then train,’ he said.

Noon, and a rest. Satyrus sent Helios to assemble all of his officers, and Abraham agreed to be present.

‘Starting tomorrow, we exercise at the gymnasium,’ Korus announced after he had run.

Satyrus raised an eyebrow. ‘For as long as there
is
a gymnasium,’ he said.

Korus pulled out a coarse linen towel and started to rub him down. ‘What the fuck you mean by that? Lord?’

Satyrus was face down on a
kline
by then. ‘I mean that the gymnasium will be one of the first buildings pulled down,’ he said. ‘This town will need building materials – ready-made. Dressed stone. Garden walls will only go so far.’

‘Ares,’ grunted Korus. ‘My livelihood.’

‘Come and work for me,’ Satyrus said.

‘Hunh,’ Korus grunted. ‘Getting some meat on your bones. Good for you. I’m that much closer to freedom.’

Exhausted, dressed like a gentleman for the first time in five months, Satyrus sat on a woman’s chair while Neiron, Abraham, Anaxagoras and Helios as well as Draco and Amyntas, last seen boarding the captured grain ships so long ago it seemed like a different lifetime, and Charmides, came in, led by Abraham’s slaves, embraced him and settled onto couches. There were other men, as well – men it lifted his heart to see. Sandakes, the handsome Ionian, all but glistened with oil. He commanded
Marathon
, last seen vanishing into the storm wrack off Cyprian Salamis, the night of the lost battle. And Daedelus of Halicanarssus was there. He was not, strictly speaking, one of Satyrus’ men, but a mercenary captain with his own ship, the big penteres
Glory of Demeter
. Satyrus embraced them both. With them were three of his other captains – men he knew well enough; Sator, son of Nestor of Olbia who had
Thetis
, one of his best quadremes; Xiphos the Younger, also of Olbia, a former slave who had fought his way up to the position of trierarch – a crude man and hard to like, tall, stooped and scarred, but a dependable captain, commanding
Nike
; and Aristos the Lame, another Athenian gentleman fallen on hard times. His wooden foot and leg gave him his name, and the constant pain they brought him fuelled his infamously bad temper. He had
Ariadne
.

‘I can’t tell you how heartened I am to see all of you,’ Satyrus said.

Neiron gave him a hard smile. ‘Good to know we have a few ships left,’ he said.

Satyrus refused to be bowed. ‘Yes, it is. Daedelus – what in Tartarus are you doing here?’

‘Heard you were hiring. I picked up some prizes, brought them here to sell – I was cruising the pirates – independently, you might say.’ He smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. ‘The storms caught me here in autumn, and the blockade sealed me in.’

Satyrus smiled at Sandakes. ‘I missed you. We had a few fights off Aegypt.’

Sandakes returned his smile. ‘I heard that it might have been best for me and my crew that we missed the second storm – the first blew us west of Sicily, lord. It took us a month to beat back – I went all the way down to Africa because the rumour is that Athens is actively supporting Demetrios, and her fleet is on the sea.’ He shrugged. ‘We came in here after you – you were already flat on your back, and Neiron ordered me to stay.’

Satyrus looked at his other captains, all three of whom had been missing since the fight with the pirates off Cos. They all shrugged. ‘Lord, we went to the rendezvous and then the storms caught us.’ Xiphos was more belligerent. ‘You suggesting we’ve done something wrong? Eh?’

Satyrus wasn’t offended – far from it; the sight of them made him feel better than he had in days. The sound of Xiphos’ hard voice made him feel better than he had in weeks.

‘Not at all. I’m delighted that you have preserved your commands – it raises my hopes that some other ships might have been saved.’ He glared at Neiron, who glared back. Then he swept them all with his eyes.

‘Korus!’ Charmides called out into the silence, and then blushed. He clearly hadn’t meant to be heard.

‘How’s the leg?’ The trainer asked.

‘The better for your work. I’d like to do more. Do you have time?’ he asked.

Satyrus smiled. ‘I seem to own all of his time, Charmides. But if you’ll share, I will.’

‘He’s wonderful,’ Charmides proclaimed with the enthusiasm of youth. ‘Saved the muscle of my leg after the wound.’

‘He’s certainly effective,’ Satyrus said. ‘Gentlemen, allow me to call you to order. Ship states – Neiron?’

Neiron had a wax slate in his hands. ‘I could have given you all this,’ he said.

‘I’m sure you could – I’m sure you are an excellent navarch. I want to do it this way. Humour me.’

Neiron exhaled strongly. ‘
Arete
is in most respects ready for sea. We’re twenty-four oarsmen short. Full load of water in the jars, full load of oil. Can’t say the Rhodians haven’t been gracious. Bolts for the artillery. I’d like to make up the oarsmen and the deck crew, and you know as well as I that we’re very short on officers.’

Satyrus nodded. He went around the room. ‘Daedelus? You with us?’

The mercenary smiled. ‘You paying?’ he asked. Satyrus grimaced. ‘Yes.’

Daedelus nodded. ‘Then I’m yours.’

In general, their reports were the same – they’d had the winter to refit, at least before the blockade tightened, and aside from manning, all of them were fully supplied, fully armed – in most cases, in better shape than when they’d left the Euxine almost a year before.

‘Apollodorus, how many marines do we have?’ Satyrus asked.

Apollodorus indicated Draco, who stood. ‘One hundred and fifty-eight of our own, lord. Lord Daedelus had been kind enough to train his men with ours this winter – another thirty-eight. Given the rumours of the coming siege, and the town offering, we’ve acquired a great deal of new armour, and have practised fighting in it – leg armour, bronze-plate cuirasses. And lots of practice on the engines.’ He nodded. ‘With the officers in armour, I can put two hundred armoured men on the walls.’

‘What’s the garrison?’ Satyrus asked. ‘How many hoplites can the citizens provide?’

Apollodorus winced and looked at Abraham.

Abraham shrugged expansively. ‘Fewer than six thousand, with every metic and every
thetes
in the town armoured and standing on the wall. The town is offering many of us citizenship – I’ve accepted. Memnon and Panther are asking the
boule
to free the able-bodied slaves, arm them and make them hoplites.’

Satyrus nodded. Other cities did the same. The casualties would open huge holes in the male population. ‘And?’ he asked.

Abraham made a face. ‘Things aren’t bad enough yet. The oligarchs believe we’ll negotiate a settlement – they don’t want to make
unnecessary changes
.’ Abraham all but spat as he said the words.

Apollodorus shook his head. ‘We’re fucking doomed,’ he said.

Daedelus smiled. ‘Can I withdraw from our contract, lord? We haven’t been paid yet.’

Xiphos rose to his feet. ‘Fuck that. Lord – I’m your man, hilt and blade. But we have five … six good ships. Give us a dark night and a fair wind and we’re gone, and none of Demetrios’ lubberly captains can stop us. Why die here, like a fox trapped in her earth? Let’s get back to Tanais – to Olbia.’

Satyrus looked around. Sandakes kept his council – he was an aristocrat born and bred, and he had the training to keep his thoughts hidden – but it was plain that he agreed. Neiron looked away. Draco grinned and looked at his lover, Amyntas. Amyntas shrugged.

‘Famous fight,’ Amyntas said. ‘Men say it’s the biggest siege since Troy.’ He grinned at Draco – an impudent, boyish grin that looked odd on a fifty-year-old man. ‘I’d like the glory – one more time.’

‘You’re mad,’ Draco said. ‘Sieges aren’t glorious – it’s all dirt and dust and choking smoke and disease.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘Let’s put the discussion on cutting and running on hold,’ he said. ‘I’m not against discussing it, but I want all the news first. I’ve missed five months of my life – I didn’t even realise that half of you were here. Abraham – you’re the merchant prince. You collect news. How strong is Demetrios? And what of the rest of the world – Athens? Tanais? Alexandria?’

Abraham gestured and Miriam entered, dressed beautifully in the Greek fashion, her long legs barely covered by transparent wool. Behind her were twenty slaves, paired males and females, with platters of barley bread, spiced chicken in the African manner and wine – quite a bit of wine. She stood among them, moving from couch to couch, making every man feel at home. Satyrus noticed how Amyntas, who disliked women as a matter of manliness, smiled at a joke she was telling him. Draco had a rough chivalry that she employed to shift a table. Xiphos she disarmed – Satyrus couldn’t see what she said, but the brutal fighter grinned like a boy and blushed. Anaxagoras rose to help her, stood by her elbow as she gave the slaves orders like a general, and then went to a corner of the room to sit in a chair and take up his kithara. Then she went and sat by him, almost at his feet, and Satyrus suddenly saw that they were close – quite close. The way they sat showed a long intimacy – of course, they were both musicians, and they had been together five months.

He was overcome with unaccustomed jealousy – a feeling he scarcely recognised and immediately loathed. Anaxagoras was a gentleman of means, an honourable man, unwed, a legitimate match for the sister of a citizen of Alexandria and Rhodes, a rich man with twenty ships.

They began to play, and the sound of music changed the gathering. Xiphos might have made a comment – he spurned what he called the ‘fake graces’ of the gentlemen captains – but Miriam had disarmed him already, and instead he listened, caught in the web the two instruments spun, and he was not alone. Daedelus played – Satyrus remembered it from beaches across the Ionian sea – and his fingers moved in sympathy, as if he desired to play himself, and certainly Sandakes felt the same.

They drank wine, ate their spiced chicken and their barley rolls, and the music died away to laughter and applause.

‘Soon enough we’ll have neither barley nor chicken,’ Neiron said.

‘You are the very life of the party, aren’t you, Neiron,’ Satyrus said.

‘I think—’ Neiron began.

‘Shut up,’ Satyrus said. He was human enough to allow the bile created by his jealousy to flow out over Neiron, and he regretted it, but on another level, the man had it coming. ‘Either you are one of my captains, or you are
not
. I am absolutely sure you did a fine job commanding in my absence. You think me ungrateful? You do me
another
disservice. I am not. But by the gods, Neiron, I made the decision I had to make – as I have in the past. I am
deeply
sorry men died. Men I
loved
. Dionysus!’ For a moment, Satyrus choked on his emotion and he was ashamed of the outburst, but hardly anyone was listening except Neiron, who looked as if he’d been struck by lightning, white-faced on his couch, and Miriam, who happened to be pouring him wine. ‘Zeus Sator! Herakles, my ancestor – you think I am
careless
?
I am not
. But now I am in command. These men – and this town – need heart. Soul. Passion. Belief. Not carping and short answers.’

Neiron stirred – and Miriam vanished, fully aware she should not have heard any of this.

‘I think that you were wrong to take us to sea in the second storm,’ he said. But then he shook his head. ‘But you are king, not I. I apologise for my attitude, lord.’

Satyrus took a deep breath. ‘Thank the gods, Neiron. I couldn’t win here without you. But I need you willing, and not doubting my every thought because I’m
rash
.’

Satyrus smiled at the other men – they’d mostly noticed that something was happening, but Anaxagoras had intercepted their stares with a bawdy story that made Miriam blush as she arranged her slaves, and caused Aristos to roar and shake with laughter.

‘Finish up,’ Satyrus said. ‘We need to hear from Abraham.’

The men settled down. The double file of slaves swept in again, collected everything – down to the last crumb – with an efficiency that bespoke good training and some elan, rare in slaves, and swept out again.

Abraham cleared his throat. ‘You play beautifully, Anaxagoras. I have seldom heard the like.’

Other men joined him in praise.

The musician bowed. ‘All praise is sweet. Your sister has a unique talent – few women are so accomplished.’

‘Few receive the training. My father said it was the best way to shut her up. She has quite a mind.’ Abraham smiled, and Anaxagoras smiled back.

It is all arranged
, Satyrus thought.
I should be pleased. Why am I not pleased?

‘At any rate,’ Abraham went on, ‘let us look at the world.’ He went to stand alone in the centre of the circle of couches. ‘Of Tanais, Pantecapaeaum and Olbia I know little – but the little I hear is not bad. Your sister is not returned to Tanais – not yet returned from her journey east. So much I heard from Leon’s factor in Alexandria.’ He glanced around and shrugged. ‘This news is no better. Dionysus of Heraklea is dead – he died just four weeks ago.’ That got everyone’s attention: small news in the big world, but mighty news for the men from the Euxine. ‘Amastris is now queen.’

Satyrus felt a qualm. ‘And I am here.’

‘So you are,’ Abraham said. ‘Amastris has sent five ships to support Demetrios.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘She has to. Her father had a treaty.’

Abraham raised an eyebrow and moved on. ‘Ptolemy is alive. He retains control of Aegypt. I had a bird today from the mainland – and may the messenger still be alive who sent it. Ptolemy is preparing an armament, to come here. And Leon is alive, and at Alexandria.’