Kineas sighed. ‘If the Macedonian fleet is not kept in check, we will not have any options at midsummer.’
The archon tapped his fingers against his face. ‘Oh, very well. I will ask that they bring their ships here.’
Kineas shook his head. ‘They must do more than that, Archon. They must patrol south around the coast, seek out the Macedonian squadron, and destroy it. In addition, I’d like you to close the port.’ He continued to watch Amarayan. ‘There are, no doubt, spies here. I don’t want them to communicate with Tomis.’
The archon spoke slowly, as if humouring a child. ‘Closing our port would be ruinous to trade.’
‘With respect, Archon, we are at war.’ Kineas willed his hand to stop playing with his sword. ‘If all goes well, the grain can be shipped in the autumn.’
‘Athens will not be pleased if we hold their grain ships all summer.’ The archon looked at Amarayan, who nodded.
‘None of the autumn wheat will be coming down the river anyway,’ Kineas countered. ‘The king of the Sakje is holding the grain to supply his army.’
‘Army?’ spat the archon. ‘Bands of savages on the grass are not an army!’
Kineas remained silent.
Memnon stifled a laugh. ‘Archon, you cannot pretend that all is normal. Zopryon is marching here with the intention of taking the city.’
Kineas added, ‘Athens would rather miss a season of grain than lose us to Macedon for ever.’
Amarayan leaned forward and whispered to the archon. The archon nodded. ‘I will think on it,’ he said. ‘You are dismissed. You may inform our citizens to prepare themselves to take the field. In five days,’ he glanced at Amarayan, who nodded, ‘we will celebrate the spring festival by appointing you formally to lead the allied army. Perhaps after that, I will close the port.’
Five days. By then the three ships in port would have loaded and gone, carrying whatever messages they had.
Kineas gave a salute and withdrew. In the citadel’s courtyard, under the eyes of a dozen of the archon’s Kelts, Kineas caught Memnon by the shoulder. ‘There will be a battle,’ he said.
Memnon stopped. He was armoured and held his helmet under his arm, his curly black hair was cropped short and his black cloak flapped in the wind. His eyes searched Kineas’s face. ‘You plan to force one?’
Kineas shook his head. ‘I would avoid battle with Zopryon if I can. But the gods-’ Kineas stopped himself, unsure what to reveal. But he needed Memnon, and Memnon needed to know. Kineas couldn’t endure a summer of open hostility with the man. ‘The gods sent me a dream. A very vivid dream, Memnon. There will be a battle. I have seen it.’
Memnon continued to watch him warily. ‘I am not one for gods and dreams,’ he said. ‘You are a strange man. You puzzle me.’ He stuck his thumbs in his sash. ‘But you are not a liar, I think. Do we win this battle?’
Kineas feared to say too much — feared that by saying something, he might change it. ‘I — think so.’
Memnon stepped closer. ‘You dreamed of it, but you only think you know the result? How can this be?’
Kineas let out his breath and shook his head. ‘Ask me no more. I don’t want to discuss it. I only wanted to say that, for all the archon’s prevarications, we will fight. When midsummer comes, we will not submit.’ Kineas glanced over his shoulder. ‘Where did the new Persian come from?’
Memnon smiled briefly, showing his teeth, two of which were broken, and then he spat on the paving stones of the courtyard. ‘Cleomenes gave him to the archon — a fully trained Persian steward. This one was born a slave. He will become very dangerous,’ Memnon said, flicking his eyes towards the citadel. Then he gave Kineas a hard grin. ‘As will the archon, if he finds that he’s not actually at the helm.’
Kineas shrugged. ‘I think that events will take the decisions out of his hands.’
‘I want a battle. I don’t much care how we come to it. All this skirmishing on the grass is well enough for the horse boys, but my lads need a flat field and a long day. We won’t be raiding camps.’
Kineas nodded. ‘Your men are the heart of the city’s citizens. Every week we keep them in the field is a week in which Olbia has no blacksmiths and no farmers. I think,’ Kineas hesitated, wondering for the hundredth time how accurate his numbers were, ‘I think that you can wait a month to follow me. Ten days to march to the camp — you should still be there twenty days ahead of Zopryon.’
Memnon fingered his beard. ‘Twenty days, plus a ten day march — that’s a good amount of time. Enough to harden them, train every day — not so much that they’ll be worn down.’ He nodded. ‘What if Zopryon doesn’t keep your timetable?’
Kineas started to walk to the gate. He didn’t want all of his thoughts reported back to the archon — although he doubted the Kelts knew much Greek. ‘He hasn’t much choice. An army his size, horse and foot — you know as well as I how slowly he’ll move. If he bides his time then he won’t get here in time to even threaten a siege. If he rushes, men will starve.’
Memnon walked with him, out through the citadel gate and down the walls to the town. ‘Your reasoning sounds excellent.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘Alexander would take his time coming and to Hades with the consequences. He’d assume that he could take this city — even in late autumn — and that he could use it to feed his troops even if he had to put the people to the sword.’
Kineas nodded as he walked. ‘Yes.’
Memnon stopped in the agora and turned to face Kineas. ‘So why won’t Zopryon do the same?’
Kineas pursed his lips, rubbed his beard. ‘Perhaps he will,’ he said. ‘Perhaps that’s why we’ll fight a battle.’
Memnon shook his head. ‘You sound like a priest. I have no fondness for priests. Dream or no dream — this will be a hard campaign. Mark my words — I’m an oracle of war.’ He laughed. ‘Thus speaks Memnon the oracle — Zopryon will do something we haven’t considered, and all your timetables will be buggered.’
Kineas was stung — Memnon’s dismissal of his calculations annoyed him — but he had to admit the truth of the man’s assertions. ‘Perhaps,’ he growled.
‘Perhaps nothing. You’re a professional soldier — you know it as well as I. Plan all you like — Zopryon will win or lose at the point of the spear.’ Memnon seemed to grow in size as he spoke. He was passionate. ‘And all the horse boys in the world can’t stop a Macedonian taxeis. When push comes to shove, it’s my hoplites and those from Pantecapaeum who will stand or not stand.’ The thought seemed to delight him. ‘I’ll need to arrange a muster for the Pantecapaeum troops — meet their commander, plan some drills, and see if they have some iron in their bellies.’
Kineas was pleased that Memnon was engaged. He slapped the man on the shoulder. ‘You’re a good man, Memnon.’
Memnon nodded. ‘Hah! I am. They made me a citizen — can you believe it? I may yet die in a bed.’
For a few moments Kineas the commander had forgotten the imminence of his own mortality. Memnon’s words brought it straight back. He sobered. ‘I hope you do,’ he said.
‘Bah! I’m a spear child. Ares rules me, if there are any gods and if any of them care an obol for men — which I doubt. Why die in bed?’ He chuckled, waved, and walked off into the market.
Pantecapaeum was very much in Kineas’s thoughts the next few days. He sent a letter with Niceas as the herald, addressed to the hipparch of the city, requesting that the man meet him to plan the campaign and suggesting a tentative schedule of marches. He told Niceas to bring him a report on the city’s preparedness.
Niceas returned the same day that the three ships sailed. Kineas was on the walls, watching Memnon drill the hoplites in opening gaps in their ranks to permit the passage of Diodorus with the horse.
Philokles came up behind him. ‘Athens will be pleased to get the last of the winter wheat.’
Kineas grunted. ‘Zopryon will be pleased to get a spy report from here outlining every aspect of our plans.’
Philokles yawned. ‘Somebody here is. Two Macedonian merchants came in on the last ship — the pentekonter on the beach.’
Kineas sighed. ‘We are a sieve.’
Philokles laughed. ‘Don’t despair, brother. I took some precautions. ’
Kineas looked out over the walls. The hoplites had been too slow in opening their files, and Diodorus’s troop was caught against the face of the phalanx, dreadfully exposed. In a battle, that small error of marching would have meant disaster. Memnon and Diodorus were shouting themselves hoarse.
Kineas looked back at the Spartan. ‘Precautions?’
