‘He’s had good teachers.’ Kineas worried that all of them in armour would frighten the city watch into some action, but it was too late, and the die was cast. ‘Ajax, are we ready to ride?’
Ajax raised his fist to his breastplate. ‘At your command, sir.’
Kineas took the lead spot, and waved his whip. ‘Let’s ride,’ he said.
He prayed to Hermes and to Apollo as he rode, asking that they preserve the peace. He worried that the tyrant had done something, said something, to provoke so much anguish and fear that a city man had fired an arrow at Ataelus. And he worried what the archon intended for the Sakje. And for his men.
He had lots to worry about.
The sun set red on the city, and their jingling column rode down out of the hills of the isthmus. Peasants, slaves and farmers came out to the edge of their fields despite the cold, and word spread like lightning, so that by the time they approached the suburb beyond the city’s fortifications, the streets were lined with people bundled in cloaks and blankets.
Kineas feared mischief, feared an accident — considered assassination, cursed his imagination. He wasn’t sure what he was afraid of, but he was afraid. He turned to Niceas. ‘You have the best lungs. Ride ahead and announce us — first to the crowd, then at the gate. The hipparch and hippeis of the city return from an embassy to the king of the Assagatje. Got it?’
Niceas nodded once, and kneed his horse into motion.
Kineas turned to Ajax at his side. ‘Let us walk our horses slowly, as if in a temple procession. But Ajax — tell your men to watch the crowd and watch the roofs. Antigonus — watch the rear.’
Slowly, they walked through the suburb. In the distance, he could hear Niceas’s voice roaring at the gate.
‘Do you know the Paean of Apollo?’ he asked. The five boys all nodded. ‘Sing it!’ he said.
There were only a dozen of them all told, but they made a good show, and the young voices carried, so that before they entered the last narrow, muddy street, the crowd had taken up the Paean. There was cheering.
The main gate was open, and Kineas offered thanks to Zeus. Two files of Memnon’s mercenaries lined the road inside the gate, and his second officer, Licurgus, saluted with his spear. Kineas’s fears began to calm. He returned the salute.
Niceas fell in by his side. ‘Memnon wants to speak to you at your earliest convenience. In secret.’
Kineas kept his eyes on the crowd, which was even thicker inside the city walls. ‘That can’t be good.’
‘I laid out a few obols to send boys to the homes of your lads. So their fathers would know,’ Niceas said.
‘Thanks,’ Kineas said. The crowd was thick, and the street narrow at the best of times. The little column had to ride single file, and they had to be attentive to avoid trampling children under their hooves. It was the largest crowd Kineas had seen since the festival of Apollo, made ominous by the loom of night and the narrow streets.
Kineas scanned the rooftops again. There were people on the flatter roofs, but they seemed to be watching the spectacle. ‘Why are we getting this hero’s welcome?’ he asked.
Niceas grunted and shrugged. ‘There’s a rumour on the streets that you’re going to overthrow the archon,’ he said. When Kineas whirled on him, he shrugged again. ‘Don’t blame the messenger — but I’ve heard it often enough. It makes you quite popular.’
‘Athena protect me,’ Kineas muttered.
They tried to watch the crowd and the roofs as they picked their way through the streets. They were careful.
Nothing untoward occurred. They rode through the gates of the hippodrome to find a smaller assembly — gentlemen of the city, many mounted and in armour. And the rest of Kineas’s men, also mounted and armed, with Cleitus and Diodorus at their head.
Diodorus looked as relieved as Kineas felt. They clasped hands, and Diodorus waved to his little troop to dismount. Cleitus smiled ruefully. ‘I guess we’re a bunch of worried hens,’ he said. He took off his helmet and gave it to his son, Leucon.
Fathers were embracing their sons. Young Kyros dismounted to regale a circle of family retainers with his adventures. Sophokles was embracing his father, and the word ‘Amazon’ carried clearly and echoed off the stone seats above them.
Nicomedes was there, mounted on a magnificent horse and wearing a breastplate worth more than all of Kineas’s possessions. He gave Kineas a wry smile.
Kineas could feel that something — something was right on the edge of explosion. All these men — mounted and armed, with full night just moments away.
‘What in Hades is going on here?’ Kineas said to Diodorus.
Diodorus unbuckled his chinstrap. ‘Hades is about it, Kineas. The archon didn’t get his taxes — at least, not yet. The assembly did some business without the archon’s approval.’
‘Like what?’ Kineas asked. He was watching the cavalryman. Their assembly was probably illegal, and such things could have serious repercussions. It occurred to him that the muster he had appointed was tomorrow. He almost missed Diodorus’s answer. ‘Say that again?’
‘The assembly appointed you hipparch,’ Diodorus said. ‘Cleitus made the motion. It didn’t go by without argument, but it did pass. I need to talk to you.’
‘Later,’ Kineas said. He smiled. He was quite happy to be the legally appointed hipparch. ‘I need to make this assembly of armed men legal. Before the archon gets the wrong idea.’ Eighty years ago, in Athens, the cavalry class had seized power in the city. It had started with a muster of the mounted gentlemen. The scars of the aristocratic revolt were still visible in every Athenian assembly.
‘Or the right one,’ said Diodorus. He knew the history of Athens as well as Kineas — or better. His grandfather had been one of the ringleaders.
Kineas glared at him. ‘Don’t even suggest it, friend.’
Diodorus held his hands up, disclaiming responsibility. ‘People are talking,’ he said.
Kineas rode to the front of the gathered horsemen. ‘Since we’re all together, and since I see so many faces from the muster, perhaps we could have a quick inspection. Niceas?’ Kineas waved with his whip. Niceas looked hesitant. Kineas voice hardened. ‘Do the thing,’ he said.
Niceas took a deep breath and bellowed. His voice rang like a trumpet, and the hippodrome fell silent. ‘Assemble the hippeis!’ he bellowed.
The boys who had made the trek out to the plains groaned, but as one they left their fathers and their friends standing on the sand and went back to their weary horses. Young Kyros had a little trouble mounting.
Nicomedes raised an eyebrow and shook his head, but he pulled his helmet on over his carefully oiled locks and fell in where he was told. So did the others. Leucon handed his father the helmet he was holding and, brandishing his baton, joined Niceas in pushing the gentlemen of the city into their ranks. At the edge of the muster Kineas saw Cleomenes, Eumenes’ father, take his helmet from a big blond slave — the gesture was an angry one.
Out on the sand, Ajax began to help Leucon and Niceas, and as fast as the city slaves lit the torches by the gates, the whole troop was assembled and mounted. There were almost a hundred of them.
Kineas looked at them and thought, Too few to have a chance of taking the city, but enough to think about it. Trouble indeed — and power. He rode to face them and raised his voice. ‘I seem to remember appointing tomorrow as the day of exercise, but I thank every one of you who turned out this evening for your display of spirit. To the men who rode with me on the plains — well done, every one of you. Your fathers should be proud men. And despite all your pains, gentlemen, tomorrow is the day of exercise, and muster will be in the third hour after the sun rises. Dismissed!’
They sat still for a moment. Then someone gave a cheer and it was taken up. The moment passed, and the assembly began to disperse. Several fathers stopped to take his hand, and a dozen men congratulated him on his appointment. It seemed normal enough. He saw Cleomenes with his Gaulic slave and he rode over to tell the man where his son was.
Cleomenes had the heavy beard of the older generation. That and the darkness made it difficult to read his expression. ‘You were gone longer than we expected,’ he said carefully.
‘All my fault. I was quite ill. Thanks to Apollo, none of the boys was struck by such an arrow. And the Sakje were very good to us.’ Kineas raised his voice so that it would carry to the other fathers. He could see Petrocolus, Clio’s father, at the edge of the torchlight. To him, Kineas said, ‘You son sends his greetings, and says they are at
