Banugul said lazily. To Philip, she said, ‘My good strategos is taking a small army east to make war on your master.’
Philip looked as if a wasp had stung him. Then his face relaxed. ‘My lady is pleased to make light of my youth. No Greek would dare to make war on Alexander.’
The slaves returned with another couch and placed it by the queen’s. Kineas didn’t notice how close she had been until he was alone on his own couch and the distance seemed like a gulf of stars, but the analytical soldier in his head was already measuring the stades to Kandahar. ‘The king has made peace in Sogdiana, then?’ Kineas said, drawing a glare from Banugul.
Philip shook his head, making a face to indicate that he was a man of the world. ‘The rump of the Persian empire continues to rebel. Spitamenes — a rebel against Darius, and now against my lord — is in league with the Scythian barbarians on the sea of grass. My lord will punish them soon.’
None of the Persian men were pleased by this speech, and Sartobases, who had a strong face and might have played Old Nestor in a tragedy, made the motion of spitting. ‘Listen, boy,’ he said. ‘Your master may have won Syria and Palestine and Egypt by his spear, but the land of the Bactrians and the Medae is not conquered.’
‘Hush, uncle,’ Banugul said. ‘We are all friends here.’
Kineas didn’t think so. He looked at Banugul with new understanding. How many plots were in this mosaiced room tonight?
‘Do you wish to ask me about Leosthenes?’ Kineas said quietly.
‘Why, did he visit you again?’ she asked, her voice light. ‘Wait until we are private.’
They were educated men and they spoke of astrology, at her bidding, of signs that they had seen come to pass, portents and dreams. Kineas admitted to having god-sent dreams and Philip listened with wide eyes as the youngest Persian told a story of intrigue and murder based on predictions drawn from the stars. Then she had her Carian singer perform. He sang in his own language and then, with a bow to Kineas, he sang the Choice of Achilles from the Iliad, and Kineas applauded him. And then the Carian sang in Persian, a simple song of forbidden love. Kineas’s Persian was good enough to catch the illicit nature of the love but not the details. He was more interested in watching old Sartobases look disapprovingly at Banugul.
It was nothing like a symposium — no ceremony with the wine, which was served by slaves, no contests and no performances by the guests. Philip watched the dark-haired slave girl who poured his wine like a falcon with a piece of meat, and began to stroke her at every opportunity, until his hostess made a sign and she was replaced. Aside, she said to Kineas, ‘Do Greek men really allow themselves to be publicly pleasured at parties?’
Kineas felt himself flush. ‘Young men — hmm. Yes. Not at nice parties.’
Banugul laughed, her irritation banished by his embarrassment. ‘You’re blushing! You’ve done this yourself?’ She laughed aloud. ‘I can’t picture it.’
Kineas sat up.
‘Don’t be a prude. It’s quite a picture.’ Banugul shook her head. The other guests were disputing Bessus’s right to be King of Kings. ‘You are so reserved-’
‘I was young. It was all fascinating. And easy. And I was challenged-’
‘Is that what you require, Kineas?’ she asked, rolling closer to him. ‘A challenge?’ Her face was a hand’s span from his. ‘Shall I dare you to pleasure yourself on one of my maids?’ she asked, eyes sparkling.
‘I am out of practice at this sort of banter,’ he replied. He rolled on to his stomach for a variety of reasons.
‘I can tell,’ she answered, casting him a half-smile of challenge over her shoulder as she turned to address another guest.
She played the hostess perfectly, demure as a Persian maiden, witty as an Athenian hetaira. All things to all men, Kineas thought. He willed himself to make his report and go.
But he did not.
Her guests took themselves off one by one, and Kineas was conscious that he was not leaving and they were — but she had asked him to stay, and the matter of Leosthenes remained between them, or so he told himself.
Sartobases was the last to go, and he raised an elegant Persian eyebrow at Kineas.
‘We have unfinished business,’ Banugul said, indicating Kineas.
Sartobases shrugged. ‘I can well imagine,’ he said to her in Persian.
‘He speaks Persian,’ Banugul said, indicating Kineas.
Sartobases bowed deeply and flushed. ‘My apologies, lord.’
Kineas shook his head. ‘None required, lord. We are in the Land of Wolves.’
Sartobases nodded, his eyes narrow. Then he was gone, and they were alone, except for twenty slaves clearing away the food.
‘Come and lie by me,’ she said lightly, as if it were a matter of no importance. She patted her couch.
‘I think not,’ he said, hating the sound of weak prudery in his voice.
‘Who says you rise to a challenge? Then make your report and go back to your barracks.’ She sat up.
‘I am sorry. I mean only-’
‘Don’t be weak.’ She smiled dismissively.
‘I find you…’ he began, hoping to excuse his refusal.
‘Now you will make me angry, Kineas. Do as thou wilt, and only as thou wilt. That is the law of kings and queens. If thou wilt not, then so be it — it is not my fault that you have chosen so.’ She slipped between formal Persian and Greek in every sentence.
Stung, Kineas sat back down on his own couch. ‘There is more to virtue and vice than doing as I will,’ he said.
She smiled at him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘All your philosophy is merely to cover the weakness of those who cannot attain all the things they desire, or master them once attained. Your virtue is merely abstinence, and the avoidance of your vice is merely the cowardice of fear of consequence.’
‘Fear of consequence?’ he asked. She was angry. And she was no longer all things to all men.
‘Alexander has found the philosophy of kings. I learned it from him. Perhaps he learned it from your Aristotle? There is no law. That is the only law.’ She was serious.
‘You will not debate me into your arms,’ Kineas said, standing up.
‘Will I not? I get more response from you like this than with honey.’ She stood too, and walked straight to him.
‘Your philosophy-’
‘To Hades with philosophy, Kineas.’ She came up close, and he could see her, backlit by the torchlight from the room’s north wall from knee to shoulder through the thin stuff of her chiton. ‘I need you to protect my little kingdom in the spring.’ She came closer and raised her face, where flecks of gold sparkled in her mascara. Her voice was low, husky and tired, but she smelled like spring. ‘In the autumn I was willing to pay the price. Now I am eager to pay it.’
Somewhere beyond her in the torchlight, a slave dropped a heavy silver platter with a noise like a man beating a metal drum, or like a goddess clearing her throat. Kineas stepped back and kissed her hand, his resolve steadied.
‘Coward,’ she said. ‘I can feel your desire. And I am no painted harlot.’
He took a breath, and all he breathed was her. ‘I am a coward,’ he said. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from hers. ‘You are no painted harlot.’
She shrugged and moved away. ‘Go,’ she commanded.
Riding down the hill, he felt nothing but shame at his own indecision.
Kineas vowed not to return.
Again.
Because his horses were thin and he needed remounts, because Coenus was due with the bullion, because the passes had been closed by snow and they were all worried by the lack of news — and because the queen had abandoned modesty, Kineas felt the urge to act. So when he saw flowers coming through the snow, Kineas summoned his friends. He served the last of his good Chian wine.
‘I want to be ready to march,’ he said. He looked around.
Every man met his eye, and the grunts of agreement were clear. At his elbow, Philokles nodded. Niceas, who
