Cyrus gave a small fraction of a nod.
The archon looked at him carefully. ‘I appear to have been mistaken in my estimation of you,’ he said. ‘Tell me of this war. Apollo be my witness, these last days have been unkind enough. More bad news may send me mad.’
‘Macedon is marching here. The king of the Sakje is waiting to speak to you of alliance. And Apollo and Athena by my witnesses, I am not plotting to take this city.’
Kineas felt the reaction from the fight. Just six days ago he had argued against war with Macedon. Something in his head had changed during the fight in the alley, or perhaps here in this room that choked him with riches and incense.
The archon held out his hand and Cyrus put another cup of wine in it. Then he looked up. ‘Where is this bandit king?’
Kineas met the tyrant’s eyes. ‘Hard by the city ditch, at Gade’s farm.’
The archon put forth his arm in a dramatic gesture of negation and shook his head. ‘Why? Why is Macedon marching to take my city? I already paid a hefty bribe to send them elsewhere.’ He looked up and met Kineas’s eye. ‘We can’t fight Macedon.’
Kineas stood unmoving. Did he agree? He had already begun to plan his campaign on the endless grass. With tens of thousands of Sakje horsemen, one of whom had dark blue eyes… Suddenly he realized that his thoughts had been fully changed, as if by one of the gods. His pulse raced. It was like insanity. ‘Talk to the king,’ he said carefully.
‘Do you know that the assembly used to meet at my whim and vote anything I asked?’ The archon looked into his wine cup, and then at Kineas. ‘They loved me, Kineas. I protected them from the bandits on the plains, and they grew rich in peace, and they loved me. Now they simmer to revolt — for what? That fop Nicomedes could no more protect them from the bandits than a whore in the agora. And you, with your talk of Macedon and war — what can some bandit from the grass tell me of Macedon?’ he said. ‘Perhaps it doesn’t matter, anyway.’ He sounded drunk, and maudlin, and tired. ‘I’ve ridden this horse too long, I think, Athenian. I can no longer remember how to get their agreement.’ He waved out the doors of the megaron at the city beyond, and laughed bitterly. ‘Antipater can come and depose the assembly, perhaps. And set up a new tyrant. Nicomedes, perhaps.’
Kineas approached the ivory stool, words coming unbidden to his head as he saw both of his campaigns form in his thoughts; the one to defeat Antipater, and the other to push this tyrant to make a stand. He thought of Achilles on the beach, his rage at Agamemnon, and then his acceptance of the council of the Goddess, so that he spoke in honeyed words.
Because, like it or not, Athens had hired him from exile for this very task. They’d lied about it, of course. But it was clear to him — as clear as if Athena had just whispered it in his ear — that Licurgus and his party had sent him to Olbia to stop Antipater.
Aye. Honeyed words. They came to him as if on a whisper, and he used them. ‘The threat of Macedon should serve to unite your city,’ he said, and he saw on the archon’s face that his arrow had struck home. ‘And the king could be a better friend than you think, Archon. Peace on the plains, and more grain in our ships.’
The archon grunted. ‘I doubt that my city will be saved by the bandits,’ he said, but he had his chin in his hand and he was looking thoughtful. ‘But as soon as it is known that Antipater is marching, this city will empty.’
‘Not in winter, it won’t,’ Kineas said. ‘and by spring, with a little effort, we can build an alliance and a force to stop Macedon on the plains of the Sakje.’ Plans trembled at the edge of his thoughts, ready to tumble out in speech if he let them, but he held his tongue.
The archon shook his head. ‘You’re drunker than I am.’ He drained his glass. ‘Nothing can stop Macedon. No one should know that better than you. It is a pretty dream you spin, and I’ll grant you that the threat of Macedon would bring the city to heel as if by magic, but — no. No, I’ll send you to Antipater — overland — immediately. If you are loyal, you can buy me peace. You know these people. You can get them to listen.’
‘I doubt it,’ Kineas said. I hate them, he suddenly thought. All the slights of being a Greek in the army of Macedon — passed over for promotion, dismissed by Alexander. It was as if every scab had been ripped off every wound ever inflicted on him. I hate them.
‘I will make you a rich man. They made you a citizen — you know that? And elected you hipparch. You’ve only been here a month! Of couse, I thought you were having a shot at my diadem.’ The archon held out his cup again. Cyrus hurried to get more wine. No other slave appeared. ‘My father was a mercenary. I know just how the thing is done. You won’t find me sleeping!’ The archon bellowed the last, and sprung to his feet, glaring at Kineas.
Kineas ignored the tyrant’s fears. ‘No matter what you offer Macedon, they will march,’ he said with patience he didn’t feel. ‘Antipater needs money and he needs a war to keep the nobles from coming after him. He still fears Sparta. That leaves us. We look easy. And control of the Euxine will strengthen Antipater’s hold on Athens — on the whole of Greece.’
The archon rubbed his face with both hands like a mimer removing face paint. ‘Athens — aye, Athens, from which you are supposedly an exile. Athens, which probably sent you here. To replace me? I’ve always been loyal to Athens.’
Kineas paused like a man crossing a swamp, who suddenly finds the going treacherous. ‘I swear by Zeus I am not here to replace you!’
The archon ignored him. ‘I’ll offer to become the client of Macedon — to rule in their name. Pay taxes — the same contribution Athens levied. More.’
Kineas looked at him with disgust. ‘Archon, Macedon can have all that if they come and take the city. And my sources say that Antipater wants a war. Are you listening to me?’
The archon tossed his wine cup on the floor, and the gold rang as it hit the stone. ‘I’m fucked,’ he said. ‘No one defeats Macedon.’
It sounded craven to Kineas, even though it was the very same argument he had used to the king. Coming from the mouth of the archon, the drunk and despondent, murderous archon, it disgusted him.
In that hour, he had become a convert. Srayanka wanted war with Macedon. The archon feared it. He wondered what god had whispered in his ear, seized his tongue. He had become an advocate of the war.
‘Talk to the king,’ he said. ‘He knows much.’
‘Bloody brigand,’ said the archon. But his tone had changed. ‘When?’
‘Tomorrow. The king has to ride for the high plains before the snow comes in earnest. But he wants an alliance, and he has much to offer.’
The archon sat up. ‘I’m drunk.’ He rose. ‘I was right about you — you are a dangerous man.’ He settled the diadem more exactly on his head. ‘What do you want, anyway? Money? Power? Restoration to Athens?’ He gave Kineas a look. If the effect was supposed to be menacing, his drunken stagger and the skewed diadem on his brow ruined it. ‘Is this Athens’ doing, horse master?’ And then he slumped a little. ‘Never mind. Whatever you want, you’ll grab at in time. You’re that kind. Right now, you don’t seem to want my little crown.’ He smiled. ‘I still do. And I suppose your barbarian bandit is my best chance to keep it. I’ll see him. Bring him in the morning.’
Kineas felt bold. ‘You promise his life is safe?’
The archon raised an eyebrow, looking like an old satyr eyeing a young maiden in the theatre. ‘You think I threaten his life?’ He passed Kineas on his way to his own chamber. ‘Or yours?’ His voice trailed back into the throne room. ‘You have a lot to learn about my city, Athenian.’
11
There were bruises on his ribs in the morning, and a long red welt on his left leg where skin had been ripped away, and the joints in his fingers were swollen and prickly. He couldn’t remember how some of the injuries had happened.
Sitalkes tended them with oil and herbs and got him dressed and armoured while Philokles and Diodorus argued.
‘We’re not leaving,’ he said. ‘Get it through your heads. He’s a tyrant. Tyrants fear every man’s hand. I lived. Let’s move on.’
