‘He’ll kill you. He’ll kill us.’ Diodorus stood with his hands on his hips. ‘Macedon is coming, and we can’t trust our employer. Get us out.’
Philokles shook his head. ‘He’ll trust Kineas now.’
Diodorus raised his hands in frustration, as if invoking the gods. ‘He doesn’t trust anyone. He’s a tyrant! And it doesn’t matter, because we can’t trust him. Get us out!’
Kineas got to his feet slowly, and took the weight of his armour on his shoulders. The shoulder straps were resting on last night’s bruises. ‘The king of the Assagatje is waiting at Gade’s Farm. Two hundred gentlemen of the city will be mustering in an hour. A hint of any of this will be like sparks on tinder. Let me be clear. We are staying. We are going to prepare this city to fight. If you can’t stomach it, you have my leave to depart.’
Diodorus let his hands fall by his sides. ‘You know I won’t leave you,’ he said. He sounded as tired as Kineas felt. He took a deep breath, and said, ‘Kineas, can you tell me why? Why you are hazarding our lives to fight Macedon?’
Philokles stood very still. Quietly, he said, ‘That is the question, isn’t it? A few days ago, you told the king that we should not fight. What changed your mind?’
Kineas picked his Sakje whip off the oak table and rubbed his thumb across the gold decoration. ‘Last night, while I argued with the archon, it came to me, as if a god had spoken in my ear. Friends, I cannot explain better than that. In one moment, my mind was set. It is not so much a matter for rational argument as a — a revelation.’ He tucked the whip into the sash he wore over his breastplate. ‘My mind is clear. I intend to do this thing.’
Diodorus sighed. ‘The men will not be happy.’
Kineas nodded. ‘Any who wish to leave will be allowed to go.’
Diodorus shook his head. ‘None of them will leave. But they will not be happy.’
Kineas nodded again. ‘That is in the hands of the gods. For now, we have a great deal of work to do. Philokles, you will take Sitalkes and ride to the king, telling him we will attend him with all of the gentlemen of the city in the second hour after noon. Diodorus, the rest of us shall spend the morning throwing javelins and practising the cavalry at riding in formation. After noon, we will ride in a column out to the king and fetch him to the archon in style.’
Philokles said, ‘Someone had best warn the archon. And don’t forget that you were to speak with Memnon.’
‘Send Crax to the palace and ask Cyrus the steward if the archon will be available at the second hour after noon. Send a slave to Memnon to ask him if he can attend me here. Explain the need.’
Diodorus saluted. ‘Yes, Hipparch.’ He smiled.
Kineas smiled back. ‘Despite everything, I like the sound of that.’
The muster started well. There were more men missing — making their last trading trips of the year, or home sick, or making excuses. On the other hand, there were far more men mounted and armed. Niceas, Ajax and Leucon had them in their ranks in a few minutes. The rolls were called and the absent noted.
Kineas rode to the head of the troop. There were almost two hundred men mounted. They filled the east side of the hippodrome in four sloppy ranks. Horses moved back and forth, or shifted, and in the second rank, a stallion nipped a mare.
‘Welcome, gentlemen of Olbia!’ Kineas called across the turmoil. He sat straight, trying to ignore the fatigue of the last day’s ride, the scars of the fight by the wine shop. ‘I thank you for the honour you have done me in granting me this office, and further in making me a citizen of this city. I will not waste further words when none can express my feelings.’ He looked back and forth under his helmet. ‘This morning we will have our first drill. Every man will present himself, his horse, and his armour to my hyperetes, Niceas, who will advise you on how to better them. As soon as a man passes Niceas, he will join Diodorus in practising the throwing of javelins, and from there pass to Ajax, who will instruct on remounting in combat. At noon, we will take some bread and oil while we hold our mounts, like cavalrymen should. Then we will practise various formations. This afternoon, the full troop of the city will do its first duty in many years — we will ride to escort the king of the Sakje.’ A buzz of talk from the ranks. ‘Silence, please, gentlemen. During the whole of a muster, you are no longer free to chatter. Do the citizens who serve on foot chatter in the phalanx? No. They listen for orders. So you must. Any questions?’
A plaintive voice from the fourth ranks called, ‘I have an appointment to buy linen seed in the afternoon.’
Kineas smiled under the cold cheek pieces of his helmet. ‘You will miss it.’
‘I didn’t bring food,’ said another.
‘When I dismiss you, you may send your slaves for food. Next time you will know better — a muster is for the whole day.’
‘Are we all to have blue cloaks?’ asked another.
‘Niceas will inform you. Anything else?’ He looked at them.
They sat on their horses in silence. As a group, they were better disciplined than their Athenian counterparts, but they looked like what they were — rich men playing soldier. Kineas sighed.
‘Hippeis!’ He called. He glanced around. Niceas, Ajax and Leucon were all together by the stadium seats, with horses hard by and equipment laid out on blankets as examples. Diodorus and the two Gauls had paced out a run for javelin practice, and Antigonus was propping a heavy shield against a pair of spears as a target. As ready as they were likely to be. ‘Dismissed to your posts!’ he said.
The whole mass surged into motion. A quarter of them rode straight to him with complaints, demands and suggestions. He’d expected as much. They weren’t soldiers — they were rich men, and Greeks.
Kineas knew how to make short work of them. Lykeles helped him — another veteran of the Athenian hippeis musters. Lykeles rode among them, hearing their complaints and dealing with the easiest himself. Kineas was patient but firm with the rest. Half an hour sufficed to see every one of them off to one of the stations.
Against the tiered seats, Niceas could be heard urging the purchase of cornell-wood javelins. He had done his research, and already knew which merchants in the town could get the wood from Persia and which smiths made the best heads. He and Leucon, ably supported by Coenus, reviewed the quality and training of the men’s horses.
Coenus walked across the sand to Kineas and waited to speak. When Kineas glanced at him, he said, ‘We have a horse problem.’
Kineas grunted and pushed his helmet back on his head. ‘Mares and stallions?’
Coenus nodded. ‘Horses are cheap here. We should have a standard sex. Otherwise, when the mares come into season, we’ll have chaos.’
Kineas tugged at his beard. ‘What would Xenophon say?’
Coenus smiled. ‘Geldings.’
Kineas felt as if he had to sleep or die. He leaned down. ‘Geldings it is, then. Exempt the hyperetes and the officers.’ Having said so, he rode off to watch the first group of riders tackle the javelin throwing. They were all the young men who had ridden to the Sakje, and they made a creditable showing. Watching them gave him an idea — that he should form troops of fifty within the hippeis. All of the best men would just make one company of fifty.
Kyros galloped down the sand, his bay horse stretching to the task, hooves flashing. His throw was hard and true, and the shield fell with a crack like thunder.
‘That boy throws like the hand of Zeus,’ Philokles said at Kineas’s shoulder. ‘The king sends his regards. He will be waiting for you at the second hour.’
The boys were competent, but the rest of them were not. Nicomedes set the standard by falling during his first remount and missing the shield every time he rode by it. He affected an air of humorous disdain, but he hid his irritation poorly. Kineas guessed he was unused to failing at anything.
Like every other gentleman on the sand.
Ajax rode up alongside the city’s fashion leader and twirled a javelin in his fist. He shouted — Kineas couldn’t hear the words, but it was a tease — and rode at the target, scattering slaves who had intended to help their master. Nicomedes cursed, pulled himself up with a fist in his horse’s mane, and followed, and Ajax threw true. Nicomedes’ throw was wide by a hand’s breadth. His curses flowed across the arena.
‘The old men ride like sacks of goat shit and the middle-aged men are so afraid to get themselves dirty they remind me of fucking priestesses,’ said Niceas. ‘And that’s before we try riding in formations.’
Kineas tried not to smile. ‘The boys aren’t bad. I want to put all the best men in one company of fifty. Make
