He had taken the spur of ground immediately south of the king’s camp, a spur that pushed out into the deeper water north of the ford as a rocky peninsula. The tents of the Olbians were arranged in a neat square, with a line for the horses and another line for fires, and beyond the fires, a line of pits — latrines. It was straight from one of the manuals, like a mathematics exercise transformed into hard reality. To the north of the hill he pointed out another square, a stade on a side, marked with heavy pegs and almost clear of Sakje animals. ‘For the hoplites, when they arrive.’
‘Well done,’ Kineas said.
He walked among the fires, greeting men he knew, clasping hands and basking in their joy at seeing him. At the centre of the camp stood a wagon.
‘The king presented it to you,’ Diodorus said.
The wagon was painted blue from its wheels to the heavy boards of the sides. The felt tent that covered the roof was a dark blue, and the yokes for four oxen were blue. Steps led from the ground to the back flap of the felt cover.
Kineas handed his horse to a slave and leaned in. The box was small — just a little wider than the height of a man and twice as long. Inside was a bed, set into the wagon’s wall and protected by hangings — felt, figured with deer and horses and griffons — and a low table. The floor was thick with Sakje rugs and cushions.
‘I took the liberty of testing the bed for a few nights,’ Diodorus said. He grinned. ‘Just to make sure it worked.’
‘And?’
‘It does. It makes you want to stay in it. By the gods, Kineas, I am glad you are here. If ever I thought I could do your job, I was mistaken. A thousand crises a day-’
He was interrupted by Eumenes, who clasped Kineas by the hand and then turned to Diodorus. ‘We were told there would be grain for the chargers today. Where will we get that?’
Diodorus pointed at Kineas with both hands. ‘Welcome to Great Bend, Hipparch,’ he said. ‘You are in command.’ He mimed lifting a great weight off his back and placing it on Kineas. Eumenes, Philokles and Ataelus all laughed.
Kineas smiled at all of them. ‘Diodorus, where is this grain dole?’ ‘No idea,’ he replied.
‘Go find out,’ Kineas said with the same smile.
Diodorus shook his head. ‘Why didn’t I think of that?’
Kineas’s first week in the camp at Great Bend was a constant exercise in humility. His men — trained to near perfection by a hard winter and now being carefully tempered in the camp — were as good as any Greek cavalry he’d ever seen. The Sakje were an order of magnitude better.
Kineas had seen the Sakje in sport and contest, riding over the grass, racing, shooting for pleasure. But he had never seen a hundred warriors lying in the grass with their ponies lying beside them, invisible in a fold of the ground until their chief blew a bone whistle and, before the shriek died away on the air, every man rolled his pony upright and was mounted. It was one of a hundred tricks they had that used their god-like riding skills, and Kineas understood exactly why the earliest poets had thought them to be centaurs.
On the second day, Srayanka and a dozen of her warriors returned from a hunt. She eyed him coolly and challenged him to shoot a course with her, javelin against javelin.
‘I have practised,’ she said in Greek.
He rode almost as well as he had in the first contest, landing five of six javelins in the shields, the last one a hand’s breadth too high. Srayanka raced through the shields faster, and missed none. Her eyes sparkled when she slid off her mare. ‘So?’ she said.
I practised five years to throw that well, he thought. But he mastered his disappointment and praised her.
She smiled up at him. ‘Loser give winner gift,’ she said.
Kineas went to his wagon and emerged with his first sword, the plunder of Ectabana, the blade long since repaired. He handed it to her.
Ataelus spoke, and Srayanka replied. They shot back and forth several times as she turned the weapon in her hands.
‘You give gift like chief,’ she said in Greek. ‘Like king. I dream of you, Kineax.’
‘And I of you. I carry your gift,’ Kineas said, and her eyes strayed to his whip.
‘Good!’ she said. She waved her whip at her companions, and they mounted and raced off across the grass, hooting and shouting.
‘Nice little wife,’ Philokles said.
‘Why didn’t I ever think of using swords as courtship gifts?’ Nicomedes asked the air.
‘Don’t you people have work to do?’ Kineas asked.
The Black Horse clan came into the camp on the fourth day — a thousand warriors and another eight thousand animals. They arrived in full panoply and Kineas had his first sight of Sakje nobles dressed for war.
The first hundred riders — the chief’s companions — wore scale armour from shoulder to knee, heavy coats of leather with bronze and iron scales attached like the scales on a fish, or like tiles on a roof. The richest men on the biggest horses had the same armour on the chests of their horses, as well as full-face Greek helmets with enormous plumes.
And every man of the chief’s companions rode a black horse. They were magnificent, and as well armoured and mounted as the cream of a Persian host. They each carried a bow in a gorytos, and a heavy lance, as well as a brace of javelins.
Niceas, watching at Kineas’s side, said bitterly, ‘What in Hades do they need us for?’
Srayanka was impatient for the rest of her Cruel Hands to ride in from her pastureland to the west. They were late, and she was losing prestige every day they delayed. Her retinue said as much, and so did Ataelus.
They came on the sixth day after Kineas’s arrival. They did not make much of a show — the herds were as large as any other tribe, but the warriors looked tired, and a convoy of travois carrying wounded men and women led the herds.
She was gone among her people for an hour, and then the king summoned all the chiefs to meet in his laager.
‘Zopryon has sent the Getae to burn the Sindi,’ Srayanka said. ‘My people were hard pressed to hold them, and my tanist chose to come to the rendezvous rather than fight alone.’
The king nodded grimly. ‘Kairax is a good man. But your people are tired, and you have many wounded.’
Srayanka frowned. ‘We can ride back tonight,’ she said.
Marthax shook his head. ‘If your people had been on time for the muster, we’d never have known,’ he said. ‘As it is, your people took the brunt of the raid and your farmers are paying in blood and fire — but we’re warned.’ Eumenes translated as fast as Marthax could speak. Kineas, after a week in camp and more dreams of talking trees, understood Marthax before the translation was done. The army’s language barrier was falling — slowly.
‘We must strike back,’ Srayanka said.
All of the Sakje were with her, even the king. Kineas let them talk, and then cut in. ‘Zopryon is using the Getae to test your strength, and to see — if he’s lucky, or you are foolish — if he can scare you into breaking up your army to protect your farmers.’
‘Fucking Getae,’ Ataelus said. A phrase that never needed to be translated.
‘Fucking Getae indeed,’ Kineas said. He ignored Srayanka’s glare. ‘They know where to find your farmers. They know just how to hurt you — yes? And if Zopryon sent them, they’ll raid in a wide arc across the north — probably the whole of their strength — right to the walls of your town. How many of your chiefs will stay home to fight them rather than march through them to the muster? And Zopryon won’t have to feed them — while they cover his army against your raids.’ Kineas paused. ‘It’s a good strategy.’ Privately, Kineas knew it was the strategy of a man who was fully informed of the Sakje plan — by Cleomenes. His stomach bubbled.
Satrax rubbed his temples. ‘Why didn’t we foresee this?’ he asked Kam Baqca.
She shook her head. ‘As you know, more is hidden than is revealed.’
‘Very well,’ said the king. ‘What do we do?’
Marthax and Srayanka spoke together. Both said the same thing. ‘Fight.’
‘You disagree?’ the king said to Kineas.
