Eumenes avoided his eyes. ‘I do not think it was Spitamenes who ambushed Pharnuches.’
Hephaestion spluttered on his wine. ‘What?’ he asked. ‘Don’t be foolish. I interrogated some of the survivors myself.’
Eumenes was tired to death of Hephaestion, so he wasn’t as careful as he ought to have been. ‘Really? And did any of them mention the enemy had Greek cavalry?’
‘What’s this?’ Alexander asked, his voice harsh as an executioner’s sword.
Hephaestion shrugged. ‘Diomedes, the surviving Companion, said he fought a Greek. I think the man’s deranged.’
Eumenes shook his head. Hephaestion glared at him. Eumenes ignored the favourite and looked at the king. ‘Diomedes says that the whole thing was a rescue of the Amazons, and it was done by Dahae and Greeks.’ Daring, he added, ‘I asked Kleisthenes to help me with the questioning. He thinks that the best-armoured of the enemy cavalry were Sauromatae, who we haven’t encountered before.’
‘By my father’s thunder,’ Alexander cursed. ‘The king of the Sauromatae sits in my camp and eats my food and his warriors serve Spitamenes! Send for Pharasmenes!’ To Eumenes he said, ‘I curse the loss of the Amazons. They were something a man could hold in his hand. Some visible proof of our conquests, like elephants. Something to show.’
Hephaestion flushed.
Alexander gave a half-smile. ‘I want them back. Or replaced with others as fine. If I have to take the army across the Jaxartes, I will.’
‘Not, I think, the best use of our assets,’ Eumenes murmured.
‘You are not indispensable, Greek. I command here. I have crushed the rebels and retaken all our forts.’ Alexander looked off into the distance. ‘When I break this Queen Zarina, there will be Amazons for every man in the army.’
Eumenes knew the storm was coming. He raised his head and met it square on. ‘You will find it almost impossible to raise more mercenaries, ’ he said.
‘Greek soldiers are like snow in the mountains,’ Alexander said contemptuously.
Eumenes wouldn’t back down. ‘Every satrap is raising an army. The lesson of Parmenion has not been lost. And we are a long way from Greece, majesty. We don’t pay the most, and we kill them like cattle. A thousand with Pharnuches, two thousand in the Jaxartes forts — and those are just our most recent losses.’
‘The Thessalians are on the verge of mutiny,’ Craterus put in. ‘Thankless bastards.’ Bitterly, he said, ‘And young Ptolemy says the phalanxes aren’t much better.’
Eumenes looked around. ‘Thankless? They were our very best cavalry. ’
‘But they loved Parmenion better than they loved me,’ Alexander said. ‘Best to send them home.’
‘And replace them with what?’ Craterus said. ‘More Persians?’
‘Bactrians. Sogdians. These are not soft-handed Persians. These are men of war, like our Macedonians. Mountain men, like us.’ Alexander used much the same voice he would use in gentling a child.
Craterus raised his voice. ‘Ares’ balls, Alexander! Don’t fool yourself. They’re fucking Persians! Orientals! They’re counting the hours until they stab us all in our sleep!’
Eumenes fought back a smile. Craterus was speaking his lines as if they had been written for him, and he, not Eumenes, would now suffer the wrath of the king.
But Alexander surprised them all by remaining calm. ‘I understand your concern, Craterus — and yours, Eumenes. But I must have cavalry for this war, and to leave the Sogdians unemployed would be to invite them to join my enemies.’ He put his leg up. He’d received an arrow through the leg — a clean wound, but it kept weeping pus and yesterday a bone fragment had emerged. It made the king feel mortal and fallible.
Eumenes exhaled slowly. ‘May we at least secure Marakanda behind us before we cross the Jaxartes?’ he asked.
Alexander nodded. ‘I’ll take a flying column myself.’ He glanced at Hephaestion, seemed on the edge of saying something and then shook his head. ‘No, it will have to be me — another disaster like the one on the Oxus and the whole fabric will start to unweave. I’ll be gone two weeks. Spitamenes hasn’t the stomach to make a stand — he’ll break the siege. If I am fast enough, I’ll catch him. If not, I’ll come back and we’ll try to wrong-foot the barbarians and have a go at the Massagetae.’ He gave them a smile that was meant to be reassuring. ‘She’ll have Amazons.’
24
The next morning brought Kineas news of another side to his wedding feast. Words had been spoken and blows exchanged, and there was anger in the air — sidelong glances, trouble on the horse lines, voices raised.
Kineas listened to the story from Ataelus, who had a bad cut on his arm, and watched the men and women behind Ataelus spreading the gossip with their eyes. The prodromoi were a tight-knit group who saw themselves as the elite of the whole force. Ataelus was turning them into a clan of his own — a process about which Srayanka had warned him. Kineas had learned enough about Scythian politics to know that weak leaders lost followers to strong leaders, and that even when a clan had a great leader, some men and women would drift away to greener pastures.
‘Garait — for kissing this woman,’ Ataelus said. ‘Derva of the Sauromatae? You know her?’
Kineas shook his head, caught in ignorance of his troops. ‘No,’ he said.
Ataelus shook his head in turn. ‘Derva was paradatam to Aurvant of the Sauromatae. But she was kissing Garait.’ He shrugged and winced, as the wound in his shoulder hurt him. ‘So Aurvant is for going to Upazan, who is his chief.’
Srayanka came up behind her husband and put her hands on her hips. ‘Not a good story, Ataelus,’ she said in Sakje.
He bowed his head, but said, ‘These young people are my people. Derva has denied her paradatam for the required number of days.’
‘And then what happened?’ Kineas asked.
Ataelus frowned. ‘Upazan and Garait for shouting,’ he said in Greek. He met Kineas’s eye. ‘Upazan hits Garait, and Leon hits Upazan. Upazan draws a sword. Cuts at Garait. I step in to stop foolish boy-talk and get this.’ He gestured with shame at his wound. His bow arm was in a sling.
‘What does Leon have to do with this?’ Kineas asked, his temper fraying.
Srayanka’s eyes narrowed fractionally and she shook her head. ‘Leon loves Mosva of the Sauromatae.’
‘I know that!’ Kineas said.
‘So does Upazan,’ Srayanka said, as she would speak to a not-very-bright child. ‘What do you want, Ataelus?’
‘I ask for killing Upazan,’ Ataelus said formally at the end of his testimony. ‘Man to man and horse to horse.’
Kineas looked at Srayanka, who simply shook her head. ‘Am I your queen, Ataelus?’ she asked.
Ataelus looked back and forth between Kineas and Srayanka. He had always made a point of his status as a Massagetae, not a Sakje. A visitor, not a subject. But he was thoroughly Kineas’s man — Kineas had made him. This, too, was Scythian politics.
The day was hot, but there was an edge of something on the wind and lightning flashed out over the desert. Kineas leaned forward to speak, but Srayanka put a hand on his shoulder to stay him.
Ataelus made a mute appeal to Kineas, and getting no response, he said, ‘Yes.’
‘Really? You are Sakje?’ She was relentless.
‘Yes,’ said Ataelus.
Srayanka flashed a smile at Kineas. ‘As he has declared himself to us, he is subject to our justice.’ She nodded. ‘It would be bad manners to allow you to fight Lot’s sister’s son. Bring me this Garait.’
Garait was brought forward, his braids carefully plaited, in his best tunic.
‘How many horses do you have, Garait?’ Srayanka asked.
‘I have twenty horses of my own,’ he answered in Sakje, but his pride was audible to every person in the
