riders. This one had a handle made of something very heavy, yet pliable. He could feel it moving under his hands. Alternating bands of worked leather and solid gold were wrapped over a pliable core. The worked leather showed a scene of men and women hunting together on horseback that wound up the handle from an agate stone in the pommel to the stiff horsehair of the whip. It was a beautiful thing, too heavy to hit a horse, but a useful pointer and a pretty fair weapon. He flexed it a few times. His young men were mounting behind him. They looked better for a week riding with the Sakje and today they all had their armour, helmets and cloaks. He took his place at their head, still playing with his whip.
Ajax saluted. He was already a competent hyperetes — the men were formed neatly, and Kineas saluted back. ‘You’re a fine soldier, Ajax,’ he said. ‘I’ll be sorry when you go back to marry your rich girl and trade your cargoes.’
Ajax flashed him his beautiful smile. ‘Sir, do you ever pay a compliment without a sting in the tail?’
Kineas flexed the whip again. ‘Yes.’ He smiled at Clio, the nearest trooper. ‘Clio, you look like an adult this morning.’ and to all of them: ‘You gentlemen ready for a hard ride? The king intends to do this in two days. That’s going to be ten hours in the saddle. I can’t let anyone drop out. Are you ready?’
‘Yes!’ they shouted.
The Sakje stopped whatever they were doing to watch them for a moment. Then they went back to their preparations.
Philokles came up, mounted on one of the Sakje chargers — a fine animal, with heavy muscles. ‘The king gave me this horse. I must say, he’s a generous fellow.’ He looked around and then whispered, ‘Not your greatest fan, Kineas.’
Kineas raised an eyebrow.
Philokles spread his hands and bowed his head, a gesture universal among Greeks — I’ll say no more on the subject.
Kineas shook his head and returned his mind to the matter at hand. ‘I couldn’t find a horse your size. That’s a superb animal, Philokles. Don’t waste him in the snow.’
‘Bah, you’ve made a centaur of me, Kineas. With this beast between my legs, I could ride anywhere.’ Philokles gave him a broad smile. ‘If you don’t wipe that grin off your face, Kineas, people might mistake you for a happy man.’
Kineas glanced at the Spartan, ran his eyes over his horse. ‘You might want to get your girth tight first.’ Kineas slid down, got under the Spartan’s leg, and heaved. ‘And roll your cloak tight. Here, give it to me.’
Philokles shrugged. ‘Niceas always does it for me.’
‘Shame on him. Shame on you.’ Kineas flipped the cloak open over the broad back of the charger, who shied a little when he saw the flapping cloak in the corner of his black eye. Then Kineas folded it, rolled it tight and hard, and buckled it to the high-backed Sakje saddle.
‘In the infantry, we just wear the damn things,’ Philokles said.
‘Tie it like this, behind your saddle and you have something to lean your ass on when you’re tired.’ Kineas was looking at the Sakje saddle that Philokles had acquired. It had a much higher back than any Greek tack. Most Greeks were content with a blanket. He remounted and gathered his reins.
‘Nice whip,’ Philokles said. ‘That didn’t come from the king.’ He flashed a wicked smile.
‘Philokles,’ Kineas said, putting his hand on the Spartan’s rein.
The king rode up on his other side and interrupted him. ‘We’re ready if you are,’ he said curtly.
‘In what order would you like us to ride?’ Kineas looked at his own disciplined Greeks and the milling Sakje nobles. They were showing off for women, or men, performing curvets and rearing their horses. Two were already off, having a race, and the snow erupted from under their hooves in the early sun.
The young king shrugged. ‘I thought that I would send out a pair in front, like any decent commander. And then, since this is a peaceful mission, I thought you and I could ride abreast, perhaps with this talkative Spartan for company. I shall practise my Greek, Philokles shall learn more of my land, and I can teach you how to use the Sakje whip.’ The king indicated the whip in Kineas’s hand. ‘That looks familiar to me,’ he said with Greek sarcasm.
‘At your command, sir,’ Kineas said. He raised his hand.
‘Forward,’ said the king in Greek, and then: ‘ Fera! ’
10
The sickness was almost gone from his body, praise to the deadly archer Apollo for passing him by and to Kam Baqca for saving him — and the coughs scarcely troubled him. The journey back to the city was pleasant despite the chill and the deep snow on the plains, because the king’s men were good companions, and because his Olbian boys were becoming something like soldiers. For two days, Kineas had nothing to worry about. The king’s men chose camps and erected felt tents from the two heavy wagons that carried all of the party’s baggage. Kineas rode and talked, and in brief intervals alone, thought of Srayanka. Whatever coldness was between him and the king, it disappeared soon after they left the camp.
The holiday ended forty stades from Olbia.
‘We spotted a patrol!’ young Kyros shouted, as soon as he was close enough to be heard. He slowed his horse, sweeping in a wide arc in front of the king, and gave a belated salute.
Kineas waited with apparent indifference until the young man brought his horse to a stand in front of them.
‘Four men, all well mounted. Ataelus says they are your men from the city.’ Kyros looked a trifle downcast. ‘I didn’t see them. Ataelus did. He’s watching them.’
Kineas turned to the king. ‘If Ataelus saw them, they’ll have seen him and they’ll be with us shortly.’ Even as he spoke, two riders crested the next ridge and began a rapid descent.
Kineas knew Niceas by the set of his shoulders and the way he rode, even on the horizon of a snowy plain, and as soon as he spotted his hyperetes cantering down the ridge towards the Sakje king’s party, he began to worry.
‘That man rides well,’ said the king at his side.
‘He’s been in the saddle all his life,’ Kineas said. He gave a cough.
‘To keep watch on the roads in winter is no easy task,’ the king said. He tugged his beard thoughtfully.
Niceas rode up at a fast trot, and saluted. ‘Hipparch, I greet you,’ he said formally.
Kineas returned his salute and then embraced him. ‘You are better,’ he said.
Niceas smiled. ‘By the grace of all the gods, and despite the meddling of Diodorus with various potions, I’m a new man.’ Then he seemed to recollect the company he was in. ‘Pardon, sir.’
Kineas, used to the rampant informalities of the Sakje, had to make himself think like a Greek. ‘The King of the Sakje — my friend and hyperetes, Niceas. Like me, an Athenian.’
The king held out his right hand, and Niceas took it. ‘I’m honoured, Great King.’
‘I’m not a great king,’ Satrax said, ‘I am king of the Assagatje.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘I do intend to be a great king, in time.’
Niceas looked back and forth between his commander and the barbarian king. Kineas read his hesitancy and motioned to the king with his whip, already a part of him. ‘Niceas has private news for me, O King. May I have your permission to ride aside with him for a little space?’
Satrax waved his riding whip in return. It was a Sakje habit — they talked with their whips. ‘Be my guest,’ he said.
‘I like him,’ said Niceas as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘Nothing Persian about him. But Ares’ frozen balls, he’s young.’
‘Not as young as he looks. What in Hades brought you out to freeze your hairy ass in the snow?’ Kineas was taking both of them out of the column at a good standing trot, and his words were shaken by the motion of the horse.
Niceas was silent until they both reined in at the top of a low ridge. Below them the king’s two heavy wagons toiled along, drawn by a double yoke of oxen. ‘You were supposed to be back in three days — a week at longest.’ He looked around. ‘The assembly didn’t accept the archon’s taxes. Now there’s trouble. Nothing solid — yet. But
