Nicomedes. If he doesn’t, then no action need be taken. The decision to betray us is in the mind of the archon, and you cannot affect it. So your worry is wasted.’
‘Nonsense,’ Kineas said. ‘I worry at the effect his betrayal might have on the trust of the Sakje. And I plan for contingencies — what if he does thus and such?’
‘Sometimes your worry touches on hubris. But I have strayed from the straight road of my intention. I have seen you worry since the first hour I knew you — sitting on your bench in that cursed pentekonter and worrying at what the helmsman’s intention might be. It is your nature.’
‘Again, this is not news to me.’ Kineas shrugged. ‘I am familiar with what happens inside my head.’
‘So you are. But since we left that Sakje town, you are closed. Nothing moves in your face, and your eyes seldom light. This is not worry. This is more like fear. What do you fear?’ Philokles spoke softly. ‘Tell me, brother. A burden shared is a heart eased.’
Kineas made a motion to Niceas, who had allowed himself to fall behind, and the hyperetes sounded the halt. The column halted immediately, and every man dismounted. Wineskins were passed, and now that the heat of the sun was full in the sky, men rolled their cloaks and fastened them to their saddles.
Kineas dismounted, took wine from Philokles’ skin, and stood at his horse’s head. The horse pressed his nose into Kineas’s hand, and he scratched the gelding’s head. ‘I cannot,’ he said, at length. The desire to speak of his dream of death was so powerful that he didn’t trust himself to speak more. The desire to speak of his feelings for Srayanka was equally strong.
Philokles spoke slowly. ‘We have shared our secrets. You make me afraid that — shall I say it? That you know something from Athens that threatens us all. Or from the king.’
‘You miss the mark entirely,’ Kineas said, stung. ‘If I knew some doom hanging over us, don’t you think I’d speak of it?’
Philokles stood by his own horse. He took his wineskin, and shook his head. ‘In one thing, you and the tyrant are like brothers. You would not tell us, if you thought we would be better off not knowing. You feel that your will is superior to that of most men.’
‘No commander worth an obol shares all his thoughts with his men,’ Kineas snapped.
‘The tyrant lives in every commander,’ Philokles agreed.
‘Yet you supported my views on discipline,’ Kineas said.
‘Discipline is not secrecy. Every man in the phalanx knows that his survival depends on the actions of all. No deviation can be allowed. That discipline is a public thing. The rules are available to all.’
Kineas’s heart was thudding, and his breathing was fast. He took a deep breath and counted to ten in Sakje — an exercise that was coming more and more easily. ‘You provoke me more easily than any man on earth.’
‘You are not the first man to tell me that,’ Philokles replied.
‘I am not ready to discuss the thing that I fear. Yes. You are right, of course. I am afraid. Yet — and I ask you to trust me on this — it is not a matter that need concern you.’ I am afraid of death. Somehow, just admitting the fear to himself had lightened the load.
Philokles glanced at him sharply, and then held his eye. ‘When you are ready, you should talk about it. I am a spy — I learn things. I know that you saw Kam Baqca. I suspect she told you something.’ He looked hard at Kineas. ‘And I guess she told you some ill news.’ Kineas’s face must have betrayed his inner anguish, because Philokles raised his hand. ‘Your pardon. I see on your face that I am on poor ground. I know you love the lady. If she treats you ill, I’m sorry.’
Kineas nodded. ‘I am not ready to discuss it.’ Yet his friend’s concern touched him, and he had to smile — confronted with the loss of a woman he’d scarcely touched, and his imminent death, which was more important? Men were idiots. His sisters had said as much, many times, and Artemis had concurred.
Philokles slung his wineskin. ‘You’re smiling. I have achieved something! Shall we ride to Olbia, then?’
Kineas managed another smile. ‘Where the worst thing to face is the archon?’ He waved to Niceas to sound the mount order. ‘Who said that war makes things simple?’
Philokles grunted. ‘Someone who had never planned a war.’
‘Once again, I confess that I have underestimated you, my dear Hipparch.’ The archon beamed with satisfaction.
Kineas was growing used to the archon’s abrupt swings of mood and favour. Instead of betraying surprise, or giving an answer, he merely inclined his head.
‘You have lured the bandit king to do his all in our protection — and then, before anyone is committed to a policy of war, we are allowed to negotiate a settlement? Brilliant! And Zopryon, out on the plains with bands of barbarians harrying him…’ The archon, who had been rubbing his chin, now clapped his hands together. ‘He’ll negotiate, all right. Hipparch, I appoint you our commander. I put in your hands the forces of the state. Please do your best to avoid using them.’
Kineas found that he was pleased, despite everything, to be appointed commander. He had thought that, on balance, he would get the post — Memnon, though older, hadn’t seen nearly as much fighting as he — but these things were political and often unpredictable. ‘I will, Archon.’
‘Good.’ The archon signalled his Nubian slave for wine and indicated that he wanted three cups.
Kineas glanced at Memnon, whose dark face was thunderous.
‘You aren’t pleased?’ the archon said to Memnon.
Memnon’s voice was flat. ‘Very pleased.’
The archon’s voice was all honey. ‘You do not sound pleased. Are you slighted? Should you have had the command?’
Memnon glanced at Kineas. Shrugged. ‘Perhaps.’ He hesitated, but anger got the better of him. ‘I want to push my spear into Macedon, not hide behind walls and then feign submission! What kind of plan is that?’
The archon put his chin on his hand, one finger pointing up along his temple towards heaven. His hair was cut in the latest mode, with a fringe of ringlets around the crown which accentuated the golden wreath he affected. ‘The plan of a realist, Memnon. Kineas’s plan’s greatest elegance is that the Macedonians can spend all the money and do all the dying, and then at the end we have a full range of political options. We can, if I desire it, rescue poor Zopryon — supplies, a base of operations — and use him to rid us of the bandits for ever.’ While he pronounced these words, the archon glanced at Kineas. He had a wicked smile on his face — the sort of smile a little boy wears when he knows that he does wrong.
Kineas maintained his impassivity. He was finding that the knowledge of his own death had gifted him with as much calm as fear. In fact, the fear was fading with acceptance. He had two months to live. The archon’s desire to manipulate and disconcert was of little moment.
These musings kept him silent too long, and the archon snapped. ‘Well? Hipparch? Why shouldn’t I help Zopryon?’
Kineas wrapped his left hand around the pommel of his old sword. ‘Because he would seize your city at the first pretext,’ he said carefully.
The archon slumped. ‘There must be a way to use him against the bandits.’
Kineas said nothing. The archon’s desires were now of little importance to him.
The archon brightened. ‘We must have a ceremony,’ he said. ‘At the temple. I will vest you with the command in public.’
Kineas’s fingers betrayed his impatience with their rapid drumming at his pommel. ‘We must get our citizens prepared. The hippeis, at least, must be ready to move to the camp.’
Memnon grunted.
‘I believe we can find time for a ceremony that will have important repercussions,’ said the archon. He motioned to a slave who stood behind his stool. ‘See to it. All the priests — perhaps some token of benevolence for the people.’
The slave — another Persian — spoke for the first time. ‘That will take some days to prepare, Archon.’
The archon’s face set. ‘You haven’t heard. Zopryon executed Cyrus — my emissary — on the pretext that as a slave, he was unworthy of serving as ambassador. This is Amarayan.’
Kineas looked carefully at Amarayan, a bronze-coloured man with a rich black beard and a face that betrayed nothing.
‘We will need cooperation from Pantecapaeum,’ Kineas said. ‘We will need their fleet.’
The archon shook his head. ‘There, I must disagree. Any action by their fleet would commit us, I fear.’
