Despite days of physical labour and several restless nights, Kineas woke with the last of the night and walked outdoors to find the first sleepy slaves carrying water from a well into the kitchen. Philokles had spent the night on the porch, like a servant, but it didn’t seem to have affected him much, since he was still asleep, snoring loudly. Kineas watched the dawn, and when there was light enough to see, he walked down the lane behind the house to the paddock. The pasture beyond had two dozen horses, most of which he was pleased to see were his own. He walked along the paddock until he saw what he had expected to find, a small fire burning in the distance and a man standing near it with a short spear in his hand. Kineas walked over the broken ground until the sentry recognized him, and then all the men were awake, nine men with heavy beards and equally bandy legs.
Kineas greeted each in turn. They were professional soldiers, cavalrymen with dozens of years of war and accumulated scars and none of them had the money or the friends to aspire to the status of the cavalry class in a city — Antigonus, the Gaul, was more likely to be enslaved than made a citizen in any city, and he, like his friend Andronicus, had started with some other mercenaries sent out by Syracuse. The rest of them had once been men of property in cities that either no longer wanted them or no longer existed. Lykeles was from Thebes, which Alexander had destroyed. Coenus was Corinthian, a lover of literature, an educated man with a secret past — a rich man apparently unable to return home. Agis was Megaran and Athenian, a well-born pauper who knew no other life but war. Graccus, Diodorus and Laertes were the last of the Athenian citizens — the last of the men who had followed Kineas to Asia. They were penniless exiles.
Niceas, his hyperetes for six years, came up last and they embraced. Niceas was the oldest of them, at forty-some years. He had grey in his thick black hair and a scar across his face from a Persian sword. He’d been born to a slave in an Athenian brothel.
‘All the lads who are left. And all the horses.’
Kineas nodded, spotting his favourite pale grey charger out in the paddock. ‘All the best of both. You all know where we’re going?’
Most of them were still half asleep. Antigonus was already stretching his calf muscles like an athlete. They all shook their heads with little interest.
‘The Archon of Olbia has offered me a fortune to raise and train his hippeis — his cavalry bodyguard. If he is satisfied with us, we’ll be made citizens.’ Kineas smiled.
If he expected them to be moved, he was disappointed. Coenus waved a hand and spoke with the contempt of the true aristocrat. ‘Citizens of the most barbaric city in the Euxine? At the whim of some petty tyrant? I’ll just have mine in silver owls.’
Kineas shrugged. ‘We’re not getting younger, friends,’ he said. ‘Don’t spurn the citizenship until you see the city.’
‘Who’s the enemy, then?’ asked Niceas, absently fingering the amulet around his neck. He’d never been a citizen anywhere — the whole idea was a fantasy to him.
‘I don’t know — yet. His own people, I think. Not much up here to fight.’
‘Macedon, maybe.’ Diodorus spoke quietly, but with great authority.
Diodorus knew more about politics than the others. Kineas turned to him. ‘You know something?’
‘Just rumour. The boy king is off conquering Asia and Antipater is thinking of conquering the Euxine. We heard it in the Bosporus.’ He grinned. ‘Remember Phillip Kontos? He’s commanding Antipater’s Companions, now. We saw him. He tried to hire us.’
The other man nodded. Kineas thought for a minute, his head down on one fist as he did when something puzzled him, and then spoke. ‘I’ll get you the wherewithal from the house. Write a couple of your famous letters and get me some information. In Ectabana and in Athens, no one ever mentioned that Antipater would march.’ Diodorus nodded curtly. Kineas looked them over. ‘We lived,’ he said suddenly. There had been times when it seemed pretty certain that none of them would.
Niceas shook his head. ‘Just barely.’ He had a cup of wine in his hand, and he hurried to slop a libation on the ground for his apparent ingratitude to the gods. ‘Here’s to the shades of them that didn’t.’
They all nodded.
‘Good to see you all again. We’ll ride together from here. No more ships for me.’ They all walked out to the horses, except Diodorus, who stayed as sentry. It was one of their invariable rules — they always had a sentry. Learned the hard way. Justified too many times.
The horses were in good shape, their hooves hard from the rock and sand in the soil, their coats shiny. They had fifteen heavy horses and six light, as well as several pack animals — a former charger past his best years but still willing, two mules they’d captured raiding Thracians with the boy king and never quite lost. To Kineas, every horse had a story; most were Persian chargers from the spoils of the fight at the Issus River, but there was a bay he’d bought in the army market after the fall of Tyre, and the metal-grey charger, the biggest mare he’d ever seen, had been left wandering riderless after a skirmish at a ford on the Euphrates. The big horse reminded him of the other grey — the stallion he’d taken at Issus, long dead of cold and poor food. War was unkind to horses. And men. Kineas found himself moved by how few of them were left. But his chest was tight with the joy of seeing them.
‘Well done, all. I need a day or two — we’re not due in Olbia until the Kharisteria, so we have time. Let me get my legs under me, and then we’ll ride.’
Niceas waved his arms at them. ‘Leaving in a day? Lots to do, gentlemen. Tack, armour, weapons.’ He began to issue suggestions very like orders, and the other men, most of them born to wealth and power, obeyed him, although he had been born in a brothel.
Kineas put his hand on his hyperetes’ shoulder. ‘I’ll bring my kit down and join you this afternoon.’ Another habit — every man cleaned his own kit, like hoplites. ‘Send Diodorus to me. I’m going to the gymnasium.’
Niceas nodded and led the rest of them to work.
In what passed for the city, they had three things built of stone: the wharfs, the warehouses and the gymnasium. Kineas went to the gymnasium with Diodorus. Philokles joined them as they left, and Calchus insisted on acting as their guide and sponsor.
If the size of his establishment hadn’t immediately given away his wealth, his reception in the agora and the gymnasium was ample evidence. In the agora, he was greeted with respectful nods and several men solicited his favour as he walked through. At the gymnasium, the other three men were immediately admitted free of charge at Calchus’s insistence.
‘I built this,’ Calchus said with pride. He proceeded to catalogue the building’s merits. Kineas, perhaps closer in his mind to Athens, thought it was satisfactory yet provincial. Calchus’s boasting grated on him. Nonetheless, the gymnasium offered him the best opportunity to exercise that he’d had in months. He stripped, dropping his borrowed garment on top of his sandals.
Calchus guffawed. ‘Too long in the saddle!’ he laughed.
Kineas stiffened with resentment. His legs were a trifle over muscled at the top, and his lower legs had never been much to look at. To his fellow Hellenes, who worshipped the male form, his legs were less than perfect, although he had to go to a gymnasium to be reminded of it.
He began to warm up. Calchus, by contrast, had a hard body, carefully maintained, although he had the beginning of a roll of fat at his waist. And he had long legs. He began to wrestle with a much younger man on the sand of the courtyard. Spectators made ribald comments. The young man was apparently a regular.
Kineas gestured to Diodorus. ‘Fancy a couple of falls?’
‘At your pleasure.’ Diodorus was tall, bony and ascetic looking. He was not any Hellene’s idea of beauty either.
Kineas circled, waiting until the taller man stepped towards him to attack and pushed in to meet him and get inside the man’s long reach. Diodorus took the momentum of the attack into his arms and threw it over his hip, and Kineas crashed his length in the sand.
He got up slowly. ‘Was that necessary?’
Diodorus was embarrassed. ‘No.’
Kineas gave a bitter smile. ‘If you’re trying to tell me that your wrestling is of a different order than mine, I already knew that.’
Diodorus raised his hand. ‘How often do I get a chance to use that move? You walked into it. I couldn’t help myself.’ He was smiling, and Kineas rubbed the sore spot on his back and stepped forward for another hold. He felt a tiny twist of fear — the niggling fear that he carried into every contest, every fight.
