combined — but his squadron had the best discipline of the four. Kineas watched them go with a heavy heart — he wanted to go, but he had to finish his work with the allies.
Philokles, Memnon and Cleitus stood with him until the last spare horse and the last mule cart passed through the gates.
Memnon continued to appear a foot taller. He turned to Kineas and saluted — without a trace of sarcasm — and said, ‘I’ll just take my lads out for an hour, with your permission?’
Kineas returned his salute, hand on chest. ‘Memnon, you do not need my permission to drill the hoplites.’
Memnon grinned. ‘I know that. God help you if you thought otherwise. ’ He pointed at the waiting men, formed in long files in the streets of the town. ‘But it’s a good game for them.’
Philokles agreed. ‘Those who obey will be obeyed,’ he said.
Memnon pointed at him. ‘Right! Just what I mean. Socrates?’
Philokles shook his head. ‘Lykeurgos of Sparta.’
Memnon walked off, still laughing.
Memnon found much to admire in the hoplites of Pantecapeum — their phalanx he accounted very good, and their elite young men, two hundred athletes in top shape — the epilektoi — made him grin. ‘Of course, their officers are a bunch of pompous twits,’ he said through his snaggle teeth.
The hipparch of Pantecapaeum was about the same. He was a tall, thin, very young man with a dour face and a large forehead — usually a sign of immense intelligence.
‘My troops will remain exclusively under my command,’ he said. ‘You may communicate your orders to me, and if I feel that they are appropriate, I will pass them to my men. We are gentlemen, not mercenaries. I have heard a great many things about you — that you force the gentlemen of Olbia to curry their own horses, for instance. None of that foolishness will apply to my men.’
Kineas had expected as much from their exchange of letters. ‘I will discuss all of these points with you, of course. In the meantime, may I inspect your men?’
The allied hipparch — Heron — gave a thin smile. ‘If you wish to view them, you may. Only I inspect them. Only I speak to them. I hope I’ve made myself clear.’ Kineas knew him instantly — a man for whom intelligence replaced sense, and whose fear of failure made him distant and arrogant. All too common in small armies. Kineas had known from the first how lucky he was with Nicomedes and Cleitus — and Heron was the proof.
Kineas nodded. His mind was refreshingly clear of anger — and long years with the arrogance of Macedonian officers had accustomed him to this sort of thing. Instead of a reaction, he turned his horse and began to walk it down the front rank of the hippeis of Pantecapaeum.
The hippeis of Pantecapaeum were fifty years out of date in their equipment. Like the hoplites of Olbia, they were wearing equipment that their grandfathers would have used — light linen armour or no armour, small horses, light javelins. Most of the riders were overweight, and at least a dozen were sitting back on their horse’s haunches — what Athenians called ‘chair seat’, a posture that was easier on untrained riders but hard on the horse. Kineas noted that they had no cloaks at their saddlecloths, and that the squadron, just seventy men, had a surprising mix of horses.
He smiled, because he suspected that if he had seen the hippeis of Olbia a year ago, the few who turned out might have looked like this. He reined up and turned to Heron.
‘We’ll train you. You’ll have to work on your equipment. I’ll treat you as one of my troop commanders for as long as you deserve it.’ He rode up close to the man. ‘I’ve seen years and years of mounted warfare, and this is going to be a hard campaign. Obey me, and you’ll keep most of your men alive. Go your own way, and you are of no use to me.’
Heron stared to the front for a few seconds. ‘I will consult with my men,’ he said stiffly.
Kineas nodded. ‘Be quick, then.’
Kineas sent a slave for Cleitus, and spent an ugly half hour on the sand with an angry troop of allied horsemen. He gave them orders and they were sullen, or simply ignorant. Their hyperetes — Dion — seemed willing enough. Heron retreated — first to the far edge of the sand and then to the gate.
Cleitus appeared at the head of his squadron, it being an appointed drill day for the cavalry left in the city. They filed into the hippodrome, making it look empty compared to full muster days, but the fifty of them made a superb contrast to the men of Pantecapaeum.
‘Thank the gods,’ Kineas said. He was somewhere between frustration and rage. He had Niceas to do this kind of work, and always had. Kineas pointed at the allied horse. ‘Can you train them for me? Two weeks?’
‘Surely you can train them faster — and better — in camp.’ Cleitus looked around. ‘Where’s Heron? Did you kill him?’
‘No. He’s brave enough — just pig-ignorant.’
Cleitus shook his head. ‘He’s the son of an old rival of mine. He grew up soft. Too soft.’
Kineas shrugged. ‘So did I. Listen — they need armour, and they need the same big geldings we have. You can do all that here — I can’t. I’ll get them remounts at the camp, but the armour has to come from here.’
Cleitus scratched his chin. ‘Who’s paying?’
Kineas grinned. ‘Let me guess. The thin kid — Heron — is rich?’
Cleitus laughed. ‘Rich as Croseus.’
Kineas shook his head. ‘I wish all my problems had such easy answers. Tell him I’ll keep him as hipparch — even apologize — if he pays. Otherwise, send him home and pick a new one. Dias looks competent. ’
Cleitus nodded. ‘Dion. Dias is the trumpeter. He is. He’s just dishonest. ’ He waved to his friend Petrocolus, who trotted up, looking a decade younger.
‘What’s up?’
Cleitus pointed at the men of Pantecapaeum. ‘I knew we were getting off too easily when we were left as the garrison. Now we get to train them.’
Petrocolus eyed them with the disdain of the veteran for the amateur. The sight made Kineas smile. ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said.
Kineas saw the archon one more time before he left. The archon refused to be serious, mocking Macedon and Kineas by turns. He was drunk. He accused Kineas of wanting to take the city and made him swear he’d defend it. And then he demanded Kineas’s oath that he would not try to overthrow him.
Kineas swore and was eventually dismissed.
‘You can be so naive,’ Philokles said, when he heard the whole story. They were finally riding out, just the two of them with Ataelus for a scout.
‘He was pitiful,’ Kineas said.
Philokles shook his head. ‘Note how he put you on the defensive. He made you swear a vow. He swore none.’
Kineas rode in silence for a stade. Then he shook his head. ‘You’re right.’
‘I am,’ Philokles said. He grinned. ‘Nevertheless, you can’t have hurt things. Perhaps you purchased a few more weeks of trust. My people in the citadel say that he fears an assassin — Persian courts are full of them.’
Kineas rode in silence again, and then said, ‘I fear the archon and I fear for him.’
‘He’s useless and self-destructive and he will betray us. Are you ready for it?’ Philokles asked.
‘We’ll have the army. Let’s beat Zopryon. Worry about the archon later. Wasn’t that your advice?’ Kineas drank some water. He looked out at the sea of grass. Somewhere, around the curve of the Euxine, Zopryon was coming — forty to fifty days away. Imagine — every day that he kept Zopryon at bay was another day of life. It was almost funny.
‘Does Medea know?’ Philokles asked.
‘What?’ asked Kineas, startled out of his reverie.
‘The Lady Srayanka. We call her Medea. Does she know about your dream?’
Kineas shook his head. ‘I thought it was you lot. You got the goldsmith to take her as a model?’
Philokles grinned. ‘I’ll never tell.’
‘Bastards, the lot of you. No, she doesn’t know, at least from me.’ Kineas watched the horizon. He ached to ride to her — day and night, until he got to the camp. Good, mature behaviour from a commander. He reached out a hand for the water skin and said, ‘Kam Baqca and the king have forbidden us to — be together.’
Philokles turned his head away, obviously embarrassed. ‘I know.’
