His silence, and something in his eye moved her. She leaned forward, threw her arms around him, pressed her cheek against his, so that he felt the warmth of her and the bite of her gold gorget against his neck.
‘Tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I will find you, or you will find me, and the Sastar Baqca will be lifted.’
He thought of many things to say. He realized, because he was a brave man, that what he wanted was her comfort — and that the best thing he could give her was his silence about the dream, so that she would ride to her battle with her hope undiminished. He pressed her to him.
‘You shaved,’ she said, patting his cheek as their horses pulled them apart.
‘Always look your best for battle,’ he said. ‘It’s a Greek tradition.’ He tried for humour, but she nodded seriously.
With that inane exchange, they parted. They were commanders — they had roles to play.
Kineas looked at her one more time — and she was looking at him. Her eyes — across a widening length of grass — and then she turned to bark an order. He took a deep breath, and rode for the horse lines.
22
Arni had the command of all the slaves. The wagons were moving, and the remounts were coming along, but Arni had Kineas’s warhorse ready, and stood at the animal’s head, despite his other responsibilities.
‘Master ordered me,’ he said. He gave his lopsided smile. ‘Blankets and gear with the baggage. Here’s both your best javelins — and your armour. Clean tunic — Ajax said your best. So it’s your best.’
Kineas grinned, his heart was lifted by seeing Srayanka, and because part of him didn’t believe in fated death, and because, right or wrong, he’d planned the summer away for this battle, and it was his. He slid off his mount. It took too long to change his tunic, too long to get his feet comfortable in the long boots of the heavy cavalryman, too long to close his breastplate and tie his sash. Upriver, they might be dying now.
He took his fancy gilt helmet and put it on the back of his head, and threw his best cloak — blue as her eyes — over his shoulder.
‘Start the fires as soon as you come up,’ Kineas said to Arni. ‘Choose the camp yourself. You’ve seen it done often enough. Get there in time to feed us, and I’ll see you a free man. Tell your men — if we win, every one of you will be free.’
‘My master said the same,’ Arni said with satisfaction.
Diodorus came up with his helmet on. ‘Ready,’ he said. He gave Kineas half a smile. He was exhausted — and so would his men be.
Not as tired as the Macedonians, he reminded himself.
Kineas relinquished the reins of his best riding horse to Arni and mounted Thanatos. ‘Pick a good camp,’ he said, and set the stallion to run.
It was easy to follow the army. They had beaten a road in the tall grass as wide as Memnon’s phalanx. It ran along the river for a few stades and then went straight as a bowstring at a tangent, cutting across the long sweep of the bend.
Kineas was impatient of the speed of Diodorus’s troop. He forgave them their fatigue — they’d earned it — but he needed to be there. He found himself pulling ahead, and finally, he turned, rode back to Diodorus, and shook his head. ‘Pardon me, old friend. I have to go.’
Diodorus waved. Kineas pointed with his whip at Niceas, and the two of them set off at a gallop.
He caught the phalanx at the top of the ridge that dominated the river valley. He waved to Memnon and kept going. Memnon would not expect a chat. He rode down the ridge, passing the first wagons that Arni had dispatched where they were delayed by soft ground. Men were cutting brush and tying it in bundles to hold the weight of the wagons. Kineas rode on. Beyond, the bulk of the phalanx of Pantecapaeum was clear of the marshy ground and there were officers shouting at them to close up, close up. Men were taking their shields off their backs and putting them on their arms.
Battle was close.
From here, on the last heights of the ridge, Kineas could see that there was fighting at the ford. Archers were firing on both sides, and there were bodies on the ground. He could see his own cavalry formed well clear of the ford itself, and he could see a body of infantry — it had to be Philokles — running up to form a line, stragglers trailing away behind them. Few men could run thirty stades over bad ground without pausing, even after a life of training. They might be so tired from the run that they’d be useless in a fight — but they were there.
Niceas pulled up behind him. ‘Orders?’ he asked. He looked calm, but one hand beat at his trumpet and the other was at his neck, rubbing at the smooth face of his owl. His horse dropped its head and its sides heaved. Kineas’s stallion’s head was up and alert — he appeared as though he’d gone for a walk.
Kineas patted his neck. ‘You, my friend, are a champion.’ He looked back at the chaos around the wagons and Memnon’s phalanx behind. He shook his head. ‘Tell Memnon to leave a few files to help the wagons and press on,’ he said. ‘I’m going down.’
From here, the whole field was clear. The river god’s shrine was a cairn that stood on a short isthmus that stuck into the stream near the ford like the thumb on a wrestler’s hand. The thumb and all the ground around it where it met the main bank were thick with big, old trees — oaks and big willows. Just north — upstream — of the thumb was the ford — in the light of the setting sun, the ford was obvious, perhaps because there were slingers standing in it to cast, but the water flowed, wide and shallow, and logs and a big rock betrayed the path of the ford. East of the ford, on the near bank, the river’s floodplain stretched for stades — hard to judge in the red light of evening, but the grass was short, and the ground flat and damp.
The ford was half a stade wide, and the far side was as flat as the near side — flat and treeless. Perfect ground for the taxeis. There wasn’t a sign of the Macedonian main body, and he could see for ten stades. He saw cavalry, and some peltasts, and men in cloaks — Thrake, he suspected.
He took one last look and pushed Thanatos down the last of the rise, through the reeds at the edge of the marsh that dominated the south end of the floodplain, and up a short rise on to the firmer grass along the river. He rode looking at the ground. His stallion’s hooves squelched as he cantered, but it was firm enough under the surface water — and it would be drier tomorrow.
He cantered easily across the front of Philokles’ two hundred — and they cheered. He raised his fist to them in salute as he rode past. He rode up to Nicomedes, who sat with Ajax in front of the line.
Nicomedes looked very fine — clean, neat, and calm — but the strength of his handclasp displayed his nerves. ‘By all the gods, Kineas — I’ve never been so glad to see any man.’ He grinned. ‘Command of armies? You can have it. I’ve been in command an hour and I’ve aged a year.’
Ajax tipped his helmet back. ‘He was cautious,’ he said as a tease. Behind him, Heron trotted up to the command group and saluted. Kineas returned the salute and rode over to the gangly young man. ‘Well done, sir. Well done.’
Heron stared at his hands. When he met Kineas’s eye, his own were bright. ‘Did my best,’ he said. ‘All I did was listen to your veterans.’
Niceas laughed. ‘The world’s full of men stupid enough to fuck that up,’ he said gruffly. ‘Take the hipparch’s praise — you earned it.’
Kineas slapped his back, and his hand rang on the other man’s armour. ‘Well done,’ he said again, and transferred his attention to Nicomedes.
Nicomedes pointed to the ford. ‘I refused to be tempted into a fight in the water. If their slingers want to engage our Sindi, so be it. The Sindi seem happy enough with the fight, and none of us are being hurt.’
Kineas nodded curtly. ‘You were correct. We only need to hold. I think they will try one rush before sunset.’ He glanced at the line. Many of Philokles’ men were down on their knees, or leaning to the ground, breathing hard — but more of them were already standing tall, shields resting on their insteps, spears in hand.
Kineas gestured to Eumenes, who rode up immediately. ‘Who have you appointed as your hyperetes?’ he asked.
‘Cliomenedes,’ Eumenes replied. Indeed, the boy was right behind him. The youngest of the boys who had made the winter ride — probably still among the youngest in the troop. Yet Kineas had seen his sword at work among the Getae — he wasn’t really a boy.
