It was. ‘Good. And armour. The panoply will be as much as a hoplite’s — heavy breastplate and back, and a helmet with cheek pieces.’
Isokles was fingering his beard. ‘How much? I want him to have good equipment and good horses. They can keep a man alive.’
Kineas nodded sharply, all business on familiar ground. ‘Exactly. I have no notion what things cost in Olbia, but with all the Scyths there I hope that good horses are plentiful and cheap. Still — a hundred owls?’
Isokles laughed. ‘Ouch. Look, Ajax, why didn’t you just ask to have a ship built for you?’ He held out his hand. ‘No, I jest. A hundred owls in a purse, and another fifty for you, Kineas, against expenses.’
Kineas knew it was customary for Hipparchs to hold extra money on campaign for the sons of the rich, but he had never benefited from it. ‘Thank you.’
‘I don’t want him to seem poor besides the sons of the rich in Olbia. Send for more if things are expensive.’
Calchus rose from his couch. ‘I, too, have something for you, Kineas.’ He beckoned to the doorway, and a young male slave came in. ‘This is Crax. A Thracian. He claims to be good with horses, and he can handle a spear. You need a slave — a man of your position looks naked without one. ^’
‘You are too generous,’ said Kineas, who had not owned a slave of his own in years. He didn’t know what to say. Crax looked more like a potential recruit than a slave — good carriage, good muscles, young, and his stance suggested that slavery had not beaten his aggressiveness out of him.
‘Well, I insist. We all want you to succeed — go, please the tyrant, win a few talents, and come back here. And I’ll be honest — Crax is a bit much for my foreman to handle. Nothing for you, I’m sure.’
Crax stood like a soldier at attention. Cavalrymen had a saying — no worse gift than an unbroken horse. ‘Thank you, Calchus. Thank you for the hospitality and the care you gave my men and horses, and now this. I’ll repay you when I can.’ He gestured to Crax. ‘Fetch my cloak and sandals, will you?’
Crax marched out of the room.
‘So soon? You and Philokles have so much to add to spice our conversation, ’ said Isokles.
‘I apologize for leaving you so early, but I’ll be riding with the dawn.’
‘And taking my son. Well, I’ll enjoy his company another hour.’
Kineas nodded to Ajax. ‘Join us when the sun is rising by the paddock. I’ll provide you a horse until we can buy you a string.’
Ajax looked as though it was all too good to be true. ‘I can’t wait until morning.’
Kineas looked at Isokles and shook his head. ‘I can.’ He nudged Philokles.
Philokles showed no sign of feeling the nudge. ‘I’ll just stay here and enjoy my last night of civilization,’ he said. He raised his wine bowl to have it filled.
4
The sun shot over the distant hills between one girth strap and the next, and suddenly the light was different and every blade of grass in the yard had its own shadow. Kineas counted heads — all present, all looking eager, even the old soldiers. Ajax had a slave with his own horse, which he had insisted on bringing, a pretty Persian mare. Crax went up on one of the spare chargers as if born to the saddle, which he probably was, and carried Kineas’s two javelins easily in the same hand as his reins. Ataelus had a bow on a belt at his hip and a riding whip, and he moved his bay around the grass like most men walk, the man and the horse a single animal. Niceas mounted and passed the reins of the baggage animals to the slaves. Kineas rode with him up and down the column. A dozen men, twenty horses and baggage — too big a target for bandits, all the men obviously armed. Kineas liked the look of them, felt happy to have them all. He left Niceas in the middle of the column with the remounts and the baggage and rode to the head where the Scyth waited.
Calchus was not up. Only a handful of slaves were moving around the house, most of them carrying water. Isokles was there to see his son leave, leaning on the paddock wall and chewing grass.
‘Embrace your father,’ Kineas said to Ajax.
Ajax dismounted and they embraced for a long time. Then he came back and vaulted into the saddle.
Kineas raised his hand. ‘Let’s ride,’ he said.
The road from Calchus’s farm became a track the width of two cart wheels within a few stades, and continued as such all day as it turned inland from the sea and headed north and west. At first, Greek farms lined the road, each house set well back amid olive groves and fields of wheat. After a few hours, the Greek farms vanished, to be replaced by rustic villages where the women worked in the fields and men wore barbarian dress, although there were plenty of Greek goods to be seen at every house — amphorae, bronze goods, blankets and wool fabric.
‘Who are they?’ asked Kineas.
Ataelus didn’t understand the question until it was repeated with a gesture. ‘Bastarnae,’ he said. He said a good deal more, with occasional Greek words interposed in his own barbarian tongue — bar bar babble smash bar bar bar destroy! And bar babble warriors. From which Kineas understood that they were fierce warriors when roused. He had heard as much.
They didn’t seem particularly fierce.
When the sun was sinking, they found a bigger house in the third village and asked for lodging. They were well received by an obvious chieftain and his wife, and one silver owl of Athens paid for fodder and food for the whole party. Kineas declined to sleep in the house, but accepted dinner, and despite the barrier of language, enjoyed himself. Philokles declined dinner.
‘My fucking thighs are bleeding,’ he said.
Kineas winced. ‘You’re a Spartan.’
Philokles swore. ‘I gave up on that closed-mouth, endure-the-pain shit when I was exiled.’
Niceas laughed. ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said. ‘In about a week.’
But they provided him with salve, and Niceas saw to it that the salve made its way to Ajax as well.
In the morning, they were away again at first light. They continued to ride past villages and fields. Twice they passed Greek men with carts headed into the town they had left with goods for market.
Late afternoon brought them to the ferry at the Danube. The river, just one of its many mouths, was as wide as a lake. The ferryman had a small farm and had to be summoned to his duty. It took them an hour to unpack the horses and pack the ferry and then they were away, rowed by the ferryman and his slaves while the horses swam alongside. It was a difficult, complex operation, but Kineas and his veterans had crossed too many rivers to be unprepared, and they made it without the loss of baggage or horse.
The mast of the ferryboat cast a long shadow by the time they were across. Niceas put the men to unpacking, and Kineas, done with the worries of the crossing, sat under a solitary oak tree and watched. The ferryman took no part in the unloading, although he did encourage his slaves to help.
Ataelus didn’t touch the baggage. Neither did he show any signs of drinking wine. He recovered his wet horse, curried her, and mounted. Then he sat, an immobile centaur.
The ferryman spoke good Greek, so Kineas waved him over. ‘Can you tell me about the next two days’ travel?’
The ferryman laughed grimly. ‘You just left civilization, if you call Aegyssus civilization. On the north bank it’s just you and the Dacae and the Getae and the Bastarnae. That boy of yours — Crax? He’s Getae. He’ll run tonight, mark my words — and cut your throat if he can. The Getae will want your horses. If you keep following the edge of the hills over there and keep clear of the marches, you’ll come to Antiphilous in four or five days. There’s not a farm or a house between.’
Kineas turned his head to watch Crax. The boy was working hard under the orders of Antigonus the Gaul. They were laughing together. Kineas nodded. ‘Fair enough.’
‘Your party is too small. The Getae will be stuffing your heads with straw by tomorrow.’
‘I doubt it. But thanks for your concern.’
The ferryman shrugged. ‘I’ll take you back over. Course, I’ll have to charge you again, but you can wait at my place until another party comes. ^’
