People were nodding.
Kineas continued. ‘I have one more argument to make. There’s no point in riding to the Jaxartes only to arrive on blown horses who need a month on the grass to fight. The desert is certain — we will take losses. The Polytimeros requires that Athena — and Tyche — smile on us.’
Lot rose to his feet. ‘You are persuasive,’ he said. ‘And I will follow you in battle. But in this thing, I must go my own way. The desert is the surest way. Beasts will die, but unless we’re unlucky, no man or woman will die. The Sauromatae will cross the desert.’
Srayanka rose in turn. ‘The Sakje will ride the Polytimeros, if the Olbians will go that way.’
Diodorus looked at Kineas. ‘Do I actually get a vote?’
Kineas nodded.
Diodorus scratched at his beard. ‘If we have to fight, I’d rather fight in the condition we’re in right now. I’m with Kineas. I think we can brush the Macedonian outposts aside and move three hundred stades a day. Unless they have a force prepared, we’ll be past their outposts before they can catch us.’
Kineas looked around. He saw no outrage, and sensed that enough had been said. ‘Then let us divide those who will go to Zarina from those who will go to the winter grass. Say your farewells. Because I mean us to ride the day after tomorrow.’
To Diodorus and Philokles, Kineas made another argument, ladling mutton stew at the mess fire later that night. ‘We’re going to the muster of the Scythians,’ Kineas said. ‘Our Greek cavalry will be out of place, and in action they might be mistaken for foes.’
Nihmu, not a member of their mess and not an invited guest, plopped down with her riding blanket, smelling of honeysuckle and horse sweat, and neatly intercepted the bowl of stew. ‘Thanks, Strategos,’ she said. ‘I dreamed you were to cook, and so I came.’
Kineas glared at her and the other men laughed.
Philokles laughed with the others, mopping the bottom of his wooden bowl with flatbread. After he laughed, he looked thoughtful, his blond beard seeming alive in the firelight. Nihmu put her back against his while she ate.
Diodorus shook his head. ‘They don’t look like the boys who rode out of Olbia, Kineas. Look at them on parade in the morning. You’re not the only man in Sakje armour. We have Greek helmets — so do most of the Sakje. Eh? Hard to find a man who doesn’t have a grass wife to sew for him — leather tunics on most, and some in barbarian leggings.’
‘They still look Greek to me,’ Philokles said. He raised his bowl to Kineas. ‘Good mutton,’ he said.
‘On his grave stele, we can put “Kineas — Strategos and Cook”.’ Diodorus laughed.
‘Even the Keltoi?’ Kineas asked, trying to get back to the subject at hand. He’d meant it as a joke, but it made the other two thoughtful.
‘No,’ Philokles said. ‘No, the Keltoi don’t look Greek. It is a way of sitting — or perhaps it is the tattoos.’
Diodorus gave a wry smile and held out his bowl for more. ‘I long to see your Carlus recline at a symposium. Hah! He’d break the couch!’
Kineas smiled. ‘I suggest we send the Olbians back to Hyrkania under Eumenes, with orders to take command from Lycurgus and Heron. Or,’ and here he found that his voice faltered, ‘or under one of you.’
Diodorus narrowed his eyes, making him look even more like a fox than usual. ‘This is your revenge for all my carping? No. I won’t miss the battle.’
Kineas shook his head. ‘There may not be a battle.’
Philokles shook his head in turn. ‘Where you go, I go, if only to keep you from your wife’s foolish superstitions.’ He strained to see Nihmu. ‘And yours.’
‘Eumenes?’ Kineas looked at them.
‘He’ll obey,’ Diodorus said.
‘It will depend on what course Urvara takes,’ Philokles said. ‘He loves her.’
Kineas realized that, as usual, Philokles was awake to signs that he, Kineas, should have noted. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘And that’s why he and Leon are friends now.’ He laughed.
Diodorus rubbed his beard. ‘I suspect the barbarian lottery is less fair than it appears,’ he said. ‘Shall I fix it?’
Kineas nodded. ‘Excellent idea, but let Srayanka do it.’
Diodorus nodded.
‘Let Srayanka do what?’ she asked, walking out of the darkness and into the firelight.
Kineas pointed at Philokles. ‘He says Eumenes and Urvara are — together. ’
Srayanka pretended to inspect Philokles’ empty bowl by firelight. ‘Not too foul. May I have some of this mutton?’ She held out her bowl to her husband. Then she said, ‘They are not together — yet.’ She grinned.
Kineas handed her a full bowl from the bronze kettle at his feet. It was wearing out, the two cast gryphons that held the bucket’s bail needed new rivets, and if his cauldron needed a bronze smithy, then every cauldron in the army was in the same shape. One of thousands of things they needed.
His eyes met hers, and they shared something about food and cooking — quarter-smiles that agreed that there was nothing remarkable about a wife returning from setting night patrols to be fed by her husband, the general. ‘The children?’
‘Surprisingly asleep,’ Kineas said. ‘They were so quiet I had to look at them twice to be sure all was well.’
Srayanka walked away with her mutton, heading for the wagon. To see for herself.
‘So we’re settled?’ Kineas said. ‘We send some Olbians home as insurance for the Sakje. The Keltoi and the mercenaries and any volunteers from the former hoplites may stay under Diodorus and Andronicus. The men who stay get the pick of the horses and are to do their best to trade for barbarian armour.’
Philokles raised an eyebrow. ‘What of Temerix?’
Kineas winced. ‘Easy man to forget when he’s not in combat. I assume he’ll come with us to the east.’
Diodorus nodded. He pursed his lips and then said, ‘All of those Sindi can ride like centaurs. Let’s get them all decent horses — we have the stock. Not much use for psiloi out on the plains.’
Kineas ate his own mutton and drank an infusion of herbs in water rather than wine, which was in short supply. Philokles chewed bread and Diodorus looked at the stars, until Srayanka returned. Nihmu sang a little song to herself and then fell asleep, her head in Philokles’ lap.
‘They are fine,’ Srayanka said, returning.
‘We’d like to mount the Sindi on Sakje remounts,’ Kineas said.
Srayanka nodded. ‘How many? Two per man?’ she asked.
‘At least,’ Diodorus answered. Like all the Greek officers, Diodorus had become addicted to the Sakje system of having three or four remounts for every rider. It made the army virtually tireless.
‘Two hundred horses. I have as many,’ she said. ‘And more. I will ask certain Sakje to give a horse — many have been served by the dirt people, and this should be a reward.’
Diodorus nodded. ‘Thank you, Srayanka. They deserve it.’ He sat back. ‘Since — Niceas died — Temerix has not received the consideration due him. I’m trying to fill the gap.’
‘I’m embarrassed to be so reminded,’ Kineas said.
And the twins woke with one voice, and all conversation was at an end.
25
‘ Craterus is at the Forks of the Polytimeros,’ Coenus reported.
The sun was rising on a new day, and Kineas was already hot and sticky. He wore only his tunic, pulled on hastily when he heard that there was a scout coming in. Coenus was covered in dust, his usual foppishness ruined, his face a comic mask where runnels of sweat had carved lines across the coating of grey-brown grit.
He had insisted on leading a patrol because he was, he felt, ‘out of practice’.
Kineas sent Nicanor for all the leaders. ‘You saw him?’
‘In person.’ Coenus gave a dusty grin. ‘He’s not somebody you soon forget! A thousand cavalry — perhaps
