20
With dawn came thunder that shook the earth, rivalling the hoof beats of the returning Sakje. Fog covered the sun and swathed the riverbanks for a stade, so that a man could only see the length of his spear, and every returning Sakje warrior was a cause for alarm. Ten horses sounded like a hundred — a hundred sounded like ten thousand. By the time the fog burned off, the nerves of the Greek contingent were stretched taut — but they had become accomplished at passing the returning clans across the ford.
The king came with the sun. He was on a plain riding horse, a short chestnut, and he wore no armour and rode alone. He pulled up next to Kineas and sat silently as Memnon and his officers marched the two phalanxes back and forth on the flat ground just short of the ford.
‘I hope you approve,’ Kineas said.
‘Do you really think Zopryon will try to surprise the ford?’ Satrax asked.
Kineas scratched his jaw with the butt of his whip. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘But we’d look like fools if he did and we weren’t ready.’
Marthax rode up on the king’s far side. He was on a warhorse, with his gorytos belted on and a short sword, although he wore no armour. He pointed across the river. ‘Rain today. More rain tomorrow,’ he said.
All three of them knew that rain could only benefit Zopryon.
Hour by hour, the clouds blew in from the east, and the sky darkened. Hour by hour, the Sakje came in from the west, some triumphant, some beaten. There were empty saddles, and bodies sprawled over the backs of horses; a bare-chested woman reared her horse at the edge of the ford to show the heads she had taken, and a troop of Sauromatae, eyes red-rimmed from fatigue, halted in front of the king to show him their trophies — hair, a helmet, several swords.
The king rode among them, congratulating the victorious, speaking softly to the wounded, teasing a reluctant clan leader and praising another for brave deeds.
Kineas dismounted to drink water and stretch his legs, and then remounted. In mid-afternoon, the thunder heads finally came to them, and the long line of darkness that seemed like the herald of the Macedonians moved into the river valley, and the rain began.
A few messengers had ridden up every hour since mid-morning, their hoof beats the only sign that time was moving, but as the rain came faster and harder, the number of messengers increased. The king had moved down the hill to the ford. As Kineas watched, the king’s household knights joined him. He dismounted and two men began to help him into his armour.
Kineas rode down the hill with his own staff. He knew Ataelus as soon as the man rode out of the wall of rain to the west. Ataelus had been with Srayanka. Kineas found his heart beating faster.
Kineas pushed his horse through the king’s household. They were grim-faced. Ataelus greeted him with a weary smile. ‘Too tired for fighting,’ he said. ‘Too much damn fighting.’
The king had just settled his scale hauberk on his shoulders. ‘Srayanka is covering the last group. She’s pressed hard.’
Ataelus put a hand on Kineas’s arm. ‘Big fight — Cruel Hands and Standing Horses and some Patient Wolves. We trick them — they trick us — we trick them. Fight like…’ He swept his hand like a man stirring a pot, round and round. ‘We shoot until for no arrows. Bronze Hats fight until horses fail. Then draw off, and the Lady Srayanka lets for go. Let Patient Wolves ride. Then let Hungry Wolves ride.’ He pointed out into the rain. ‘Just there. They come. And Cruel Hands come after.’
Kineas stared into the gloom. ‘I have two troops across the stream — a hundred heavy horse. Let me fetch her in.’
Marthax nodded vehemently. ‘Good. Take Greek horse and Sauromatae, here. Go!’ With one hand he physically restrained the king. ‘You sit here and wait,’ he said. To Kineas, he called, ‘Remember, brother! This is not the battle we want!’
The king had his armour on. He spoke in rapid Sakje, his voice imperative. He was telling Marthax that he intended to ride to support Srayanka himself, with his household knights.
Kineas turned his horse back. ‘Lord, you must not!’ he said. Self-interest and the needs of the allies marched together, and he spoke with confidence. ‘This is not a risk we can take!’
The king drew himself up, his mouth was hard under the sides of his helmet. ‘Do I command here?’ he asked.
Marthax grabbed his bridle. ‘No!’ he said. And to Kineas, he shouted. ‘Ride!’
Kineas didn’t hesitate. He turned his horse and rode for the ford. He had Niceas at his heels. ‘Sound the rally,’ he said. To Sitalkes, he called, ‘My charger!’
The trumpet rang out, echoing strangely in the moist air. Kineas waved to Leucon, who could still see him. Sitalkes came with Thanatos. Kineas mounted his tall black and pushed him into the ford. The ford seemed vast in the rain. Kineas felt too slow — as if his men were riding in honey, not water.
‘Are you calling us back?’ called Nicomedes, from the far shore.
Kineas clenched his knees and rose on the horse’s back. ‘No! Form on your bank! Leave room for Leucon!’
Disembodied, Nicomedes called assent. He could be heard wheeling his men into line. Other voices could be heard to the south. The rain came down harder, trickling cold between the shoulder blades and back plate of bronze, running over the helmet to soak into a man’s hair.
Thanatos’s hooves were on gravel, and then on grass, and he was clear of the ford. He put his horse to a canter and aimed at Nicomedes’ voice. Niceas was right with him, still blowing the rally. It was hard to look straight into the rain, but Kineas finally saw Nicomedes — his cloak was unmistakable. His men were already formed in a solid block. Half a stade to the south, Diodorus was rallying his pickets and forming. Kineas reined in and pointed to Niceas. ‘Leucon right there,’ he said, pointing to the north of Nicomedes’ troop. Leucon’s men, and the troop from Pantecapaeum, were coming across the ford in good order. Beyond them, the heavily armoured Sauromatae were crossing. Just the way they moved showed that their mounts were tired.
Ataelus rode up. Kineas leaned over and put a hand on his back. ‘I need to know exactly where Srayanka is,’ he said. ‘Can you link us up?’
Ataelus grinned. He blew his nose in his hand, jumped off his horse, and swung up on a remount he had on a lead. ‘Sure,’ he said. He waved and rode off into the rain.
Kineas rode to Leucon. ‘I need Eumenes,’ he said. Leucon nodded. Kineas continued. ‘Hold the line. Don’t lose your place. If we have to charge, halt the moment you hear the signal and retire in good order. If everything goes to shit, get back across the ford. We do not want a battle tonight. Understand?’
Leucon saluted. ‘Line. Retire in order. Avoid a general engagement.’
Kineas returned the salute. ‘You’ll make a general yet.’ He turned to Eumenes. ‘Leave your troop and go to the Sauromatae. Stay with them and pass my commands. For the moment, they are my reserve. Try to explain reserve to them without twisting their reins.’
Eumenes nodded and rode away, shoulders slumped. Leucon had not yet said anything about his father’s murder — but neither had he spoken a word to his hyperetes in three days, except to give an order.
Kineas rode back to Niceas. The line was formed — three dense blocks of men, with a looser line of Sauromatae in the rear.
‘Sound: Advance,’ Kineas said to Niceas.
The whole block began to walk forward. In twenty steps, the ford was gone behind them. In forty steps, they began to lose sight of the hills beyond the ford.
A band of Sakje appeared out of the rain, riding hard. Their first appearance gave alarm, but just as quickly they were identified — Patient Wolves. They showed their empty gorytos as they rode by, and indicated by gestures that the enemy was close.
Lightning flashed. In the time it took to illuminate the faces of his men, Kineas realized that this might be it. The fight. His death.
Silly thought — equally true for every man there.
