offended-’
He stepped back as if her touch hurt him. ‘Nor in Sparta. No, a woman’s praise for one’s ability to kill always comes before a marriage offer, in Sparta.’
Sappho slipped out of Diodorus’s arm and made a sign to Temerix the smith. The two of them closed on the Spartan from both sides. ‘Why don’t you tell me how Spartan women live, Philokles?’ she asked.
Philokles glanced back and forth between the two of them. ‘I’m not drunk yet,’ he said, watching them as if they were sparring opponents on the sand.
Temerix smiled at the ground, embarrassed. ‘Yes, lord,’ he said, spreading his arms.
‘Don’t call me lord,’ Philokles said.
Temerix stepped back. ‘Yes, lord,’ he said.
Sappho caught at his arm. ‘Spartan women,’ she insisted.
‘Too brave for me,’ Philokles said. ‘Just like you.’ He held out his wine cup and Nicanor, after a beseeching look at Kineas, filled it again. Philokles glanced at Kineas, a smile on his face. He slammed the wine back and grinned. ‘Wants to be a better killer. Who better to ask than me, eh? And the farther east we go, the better we’ll be, until we can kill anyone we want. Maybe each other in the end, eh?’ He stumbled back and caught himself, holding his wine cup out again.
Sappho hauled on his arm. ‘You are being rude, Spartan. Tell me about the Spartan women.’
Philokles drew himself up. ‘You are not a Spartan woman,’ he said. ‘You are a woman of Thebes, hence it is unseemly for you to be out in public, discoursing with men, hence I do not have to discourse with you, as you should not be here.’
Kineas tried to think of something to say.
‘I am no longer a woman of Thebes, just as you are no longer a man of Sparta,’ she said. ‘We are Olbians, are we not? Or perhaps we are the people of Kineas.’
Philokles laughed. ‘The Kineasae! And among the Kineasae, it was customary for women to debate with men in the agora!’
Diodorus stepped up beside the Spartan. ‘It quickly became customary for sober women to debate with drunken men. Go to bed, Philokles! You’re making men look bad!’
All around them, people laughed — friendly laughter, at a situation diffused. And the next time Philokles stumbled, Temerix was there with an arm around his neck. The smith had no difficulty lifting the Spartan over his shoulder, nor did he flinch when the big man vomited wine and bile over his back.
Later, Kineas heard Philokles speaking of the role of women in a well-ordered polis, and Temerix, whose Greek was about equal to directing a wood-cutting party, grunting agreement while he washed the Spartan. Their voices went on and on, and eventually Kineas fell asleep.
Both young men returned from the shrine the next morning, and Kineas, who had not slept well, shared wine with them and prayed to the gods with them. And then he went back to bed.
When he rose again, it was to the final preparations for leaving. With Leon and Eumenes at his side, he picked the best riders from among the hoplites and put them in the cavalry. The rest were left as a core of Olbians with the mercenary recruits to hold the town. Two dozen men, too badly wounded to march but still expected to recover, were left as military settlers.
The column had food and water for ten days, and better wagons and carts than when they’d started, already staged over the last of the Hyrkanian hills and waiting in a camp at the edge of the steppes. More wagons and all the Sauromatae had already crossed the desert. They were as prepared as Leon could manage.
The same weather that saw Kineas’s column prepare to march against Alexander brought the first of the spring traders from Lycia. Just as the spring rains in the mountains washed the stream beds clear and brought old trees down the hillsides, so they washed broken men out of the hills, and mercenaries looking for employment, and desperate men fleeing distant catastrophes. Before the column rode, Kineas heard the rumours of a dozen nations spoken in three languages. A Macedonian deserter bound for home said that old Antipater was paralysed by news of the murder of Parmenion. It was said that he had gathered a Thracian bodyguard and went in fear that Alexander might order his death, too.
A Syrian Jew from Lebanon told Kineas that every satrap west of Media was raising an army.
A Cretan who had almost certainly spent the winter as a brigand said that Alexander had marched north from Kandahar before the snows melted. Rumours said that Bessus was dead and Spitamenes was negotiating for a satrapy. It was said that he had sent Alexander a dozen Amazons as a gift.
And on the final morning, when the main column was mounted and the last men were kissing their Hyrkanian wives one last time, Kineas heard from a horse trader that the queen of the Massagetae was rallying the clans east of Marakanda to fight Alexander. Kineas purchased his whole string of horses.
Diodorus shook his head. ‘Remember when we were mercenaries?’ he asked wistfully.
A pale sun rose between Kineas’s charger’s ears. On his left was Diodorus and on his right was Philokles, the worse for wine but steady enough.
‘Let’s go and find Srayanka,’ he said. His heart was higher than it had been in a month.
‘And Alexander,’ Diodorus said.
PART IV
17
‘ Your majesty?’ Eumenes the Cardian was careful entering the inner sanctum, where the Iliad sat in its golden casket and where the panoplies of Alexander’s foes decorated the walls. Alexander was becoming more withdrawn, more alien, with every campaign. Crossing the mountains, he had shown one of his bursts of superhuman activity, even of empathy, rescuing snow-blind soldiers and speaking extempore to every knot of pikemen coming down the pass. But now the godlike energy had passed and what was left was a sullen tyrant sitting amidst his favourite treasures.
He looked up, his mismatched eyes listless. ‘What, Eumenes?’
‘Spitamenes has delivered Amazons, your majesty.’ Eumenes kept his head slightly bowed. ‘And Barsine’s sister Banugul is here from Hyrkania.’
‘Hell to pay in the harem when her sister hears she’s with me.’ Alexander gave a smile. ‘I can’t say I’m altogether sorry she’s here, but you’ll have to hide her from Hephaestion,’ Alexander said. ‘Why is she here?’
‘Her tale is complex, lord. She blames her father, but also some Greek mercenary. Indeed, she hadn’t expected to find us here — she came over the mountains from Hyrkania, intending to find us at Kandahar.’
‘Greek mercenaries are never to be trusted. I thought she had more wisdom than that. Very well, make a note that I will see her. Keep her from Hephaestion. Anything else?’ Alexander was petulant.
‘As you say, Barsine will be angry when she hears.’ Barsine, like the rest of the women, had been left in Kandahar.
‘Barsine means less to me than the lowest whore carrying a bag of millet for the army. Banugul is at least intelligent.’ Alexander rubbed his head. ‘I’m distempered, Eumenes. Ignore the womanish spite.’
Eumenes shrugged. ‘She has a tale of an army, lord, coming from the Euxine.’
Alexander glared at him and the Cardian subsided. ‘The Euxine? Foolishness. The Scythians would eat their livers. Now — the Amazons. Let me see them. Are they handsome?’
‘Not really, lord.’
‘Ares, do they stink?’ Alexander rose to his feet, stripped off the Persian tunic he had on and summoned a slave with a better chiton, which he slipped over his head. Eumenes could see that he was thinner, the muscles corded like old rope. The mountains had stolen a little more of the king’s youth, just as they had killed the older veterans and aged the rest. The march over the mountains had taken the initiative from the rebels and brought
