ridden to meet him,’ Lot said.
Kineas was startled. ‘So your war is over,’ he said.
Lot looked at his Monae, who smiled like a wolf. ‘No one followed him. Being king of the Sauromatae is not very different from being king of the Sakje, Kineax. He has the title, but he has made a decision that is unpopular, and few of us care to follow him. Now, if this Alexander wins great victories, and if Spitamenes the Persian and Queen Zarina of the Massagetae are defeated? Hmm. Then, perhaps you will see us join King Pharmenax.
‘We should be riding to Alexander now,’ said Upazan. ‘He is strongest. He will conquer.’
‘Spitamenes?’ Kineas asked, ignoring the boy. ‘I heard talk of him in Hyrkania. Refresh my memory?’
‘One of the lords of Bactria. He has given Alexander the former usurper — Bessus. Handed him over — for impiety, so it is said. Bessus is a good man and a poor general.’ Monae shook her head sadly. ‘It has been quite a year, husband.’
Upazan leaned forward. ‘This is not women’s talk, Monae. I spoke and I expect to be answered. We should go to Alexander.’
Kineas looked at the boy but said nothing.
Lot put up a hand. ‘Upazan, your time as a hostage with the Medae has left you rude. Women may share in any council.’
‘Pah — women warm beds and make babies. We are fools to allow them anything else. When I am king, we will have done with spear-maidens. ’ He spoke with the malicious enjoyment every adolescent experiences in stating a view that he knows his elders will hate. It was hard to tell if he actually believed any of it.
‘Bessus was the satrap? Bessus?’ Kineas asked.
‘Satrap? He called himself King of Kings.’ Monae shook her head. ‘He will die badly, with his nose slit. This Alexander has been fast as a snake to adopt the ways of the Medae.’
‘I feel as if I have come out of the oil pot and fallen into the fire,’ Kineas said.
‘Nothing about barbarian life is simple,’ Lot said. He laughed, but there were lines on his face, and his glance strayed to Upazan.
‘Who is Queen Zarina?’ Kineas asked.
‘A spear-maiden who made herself queen,’ Monae said. She put a hand to her throat and coughed, and then laughed easily — the world was a humorous place for her, and she showed all her teeth. ‘She loves war. She does not love Spitamenes, but she wants to defeat Alexander. She has called a muster of all the Scythians — from the Euxine to the great mountains. Sakje, Dahae and Sauromatae and Massagetae and Kandae and all their kin. There has never been such a muster since the days of the great wars against the Persae.’ She smiled. ‘And they were once one of our tribes, as well. The Persae. Clan mothers remember.’ She shook her head. ‘Zarina sees herself as queen of all the people. Will we have her? Will we obey?’ She laughed. ‘But we will all go — even your Srayanka. If only to see how many horse tails the people can muster, and show this Alexander what power is.’
Kineas caught his breath and then released it slowly.
Lot glanced around and then leaned forward. ‘What do you intend, lord?’
‘Why do you call him lord?’ Upazan asked. ‘He is some foreigner, not our lord.’
‘You have never seen him run a battle, nephew,’ Lot said, reasonably.
‘Foolishness.’ Upazan had opinions for every subject and no hesitation about showing them. He got up and left the fire. Rising, he managed to kick sand at Kineas. Kineas continued to ignore the boy.
When Upazan was gone, Kineas leaned forward. ‘First, I plan to meet with Srayanka. I understand she’s at Chatracharta, on the Oxus.’
Lot and his wife exchanged glances. ‘That’s where we expect to find the Sakje,’ he said carefully.
Kineas nodded. ‘If I understand it correctly, we can move north along the Oxus to the Polytimeros, and then — well, then I’m not too clear on the terrain.’ He shrugged. ‘But we’ll go to the muster on the Jaxartes.’
Lot leaned forward and sketched the wave and the two rivers in the dirt. ‘All the valley of the Oxus is held by Iskander,’ he said. ‘And he has forts along the Polytimeros and the Jaxartes. That is his frontier. You’ll have to ride around him to get to the muster. That’s the word on the plains — stay north of the forks of the Polytimeros, and ride well clear of the Sogdian mountains.’
Kineas shook his head. ‘Srayanka will understand this better than me,’ he said.
Again he watched his hosts exchange a look that worried him, but he was too close to finding Srayanka to worry about the campaign.
That night, well fed, half-drunk on Persian wine, his head buzzing with the gossip of the east, Kineas threw himself on his old cloak and went to sleep without effort.
He stood on the field of Issus in the dark, a flood of spectral Persians coming at him from over the river, and he relived his last moments at Arbela, his horse carrying him deep into the Median nobles, his helmet torn away, fighting from habit because he had only moments to live, at the Ford of the River God, and his body shifted uncomfortably as he slept. And then he found himself at the base of the tree. Ajax waited there with Nicomedes, and Niceas had his arms around Graccus and the two stood like men who have celebrated a great festival and now help each other home. The four of them watched him steadily as he approached.
‘Not long now,’ Ajax said. ‘Are you ready to join us?’
Niceas grunted. ‘Best find that filly of yours and ride her a few times, because there’s none of that here!’
The others laughed grimly.
‘You know what we’ve been trying to tell you?’ Ajax asked.
‘I think so,’ said Kineas. It was the first time he could remember being able to converse with the dead. Seeing them — speaking with them — made him absurdly happy.
‘Finish it,’ Graccus said. He was serious, dignified — just like himself. ‘We can hold them until you climb to the top.’
Nicomedes nodded. ‘Alexander must be stopped. You will stop him.’
And he set himself to climb. Above him, a pair of eagles shrieked
…
Kineas awoke to the feel of rough bark under his arms and thighs, and a leaden fatigue in his limbs.
On the third night in the caldera, Kineas sat under a rough shelter, with a scrap of animal parchment on which he’d rendered a rough map of the ground from the caldera to the distant Jaxartes. Philokles lay beside him, and Diodorus sat on the ground with Sappho at his shoulder on a stool. Eumenes and Andronicus sat back to back, both of them mending bridles. Leon was off questioning traders — or following Mosva.
They all looked at the map and made plans: a quick trip across the dry ground to the edge of the sea where Srayanka’s Sakje were camped, a grand reunion, and then some hard decisions.
‘If the pay doesn’t catch up with us, and even if it does, I have to wonder at whether we keep the boys together,’ he said.
Eumenes, hitherto silent, leaned into the discussion. ‘The men complain that they are too far from home. And many complain that we are not keeping the festival calendar and that the gods will not be pleased.’
Diodorus nodded. ‘There’s a lot of complaining, Eumenes. But I see it as a sign that the boys are recovering from the march here and the storming of the citadel. Never worry your head about a little bitching.’ But to Kineas he said, ‘I don’t see what we can accomplish here. The Massagetae, all the Sauromatae, the Dahae — they’ve got more horsemen than the gods. They can bury Alexander in a tide of horseflesh. What can we do with our four hundred?’
‘We have discipline they lack, and we’ve faced Macedon before,’ Kineas said. ‘But I take your point.’ He looked out at the rim of the caldera and the deep blue sky beyond. ‘The world is larger than I ever imagined.’
Diodorus nodded. ‘I’d like to find my tutors and bring them here,’ he said.
Kineas went on as if his friend hadn’t spoken. ‘But Alexander is still the monster. However great the world is, he seems to bestride it. I will go where he goes.’
Diodorus shook his head. ‘Then I guess we’ll follow you there,’ he said. He watched the sun for a moment. ‘Then what happens? I mean, when we fight Alexander. Then what?’
Kineas laughed. ‘When we beat Alexander, I will try to persuade Srayanka to ride home.’ He shrugged. ‘If I’m alive.’
Philokles shook his head. ‘Always that old tune. What we’re telling you, Strategos, is that if you want your men to follow you to the end of the world to fight the finest army to stride the earth since the long-haired Achaeans
