Srayanka went to meet her. She inclined her head — the closest any Sakje managed to a bow.
Zarina took both of her hands. ‘You must be the Lady Srayanka of the Cruel Hands,’ she said in Sakje. She had a deep, hoarse voice for a woman, but her tone was warm.
‘I am Lady Srayanka. I have brought four hundred of my people to the muster, and my husband has brought two hundred Greeks, who are our allies. And Prince Lot,’ she turned to invite Lot forward, and the Sauromatae lord bowed his head with a smile.
‘Zarina and I are old friends,’ he said.
‘And bitter foes,’ Zarina said. ‘Sometimes.’ Their eyes locked and the tent was silent. Zarina’s tent — the entire tent — was alternating red and white silk panels, heavily oiled and almost translucent. The light from the coloured panels fell differently on the people in the tent — the queen was brightly lit under a white panel, while Lot was covered in red, like blood. He bowed again.
‘So you have not followed that charlatan Pharmenax?’ she said to Lot. ‘Does he still call himself the king of all the Sauromatae?’
‘Prince Lot has been fighting Iskander all summer,’ Qares put in.
Kineas could see that the claim of an old enmity was founded on something. There was tension in her stance, and Lot was stiffer than usual.
‘Only a fool would follow Pharmenax,’ Lot said.
‘I forbade you to go west,’ Zarina said.
‘I said I would return with allies,’ Lot shot back. ‘And I have.’
Bahareh stepped forward, distracting the queen, and the two embraced.
‘But I forbade it,’ Zarina said.
Kineas thought that she was speaking to Bahareh alone. The Sauromatae woman punched the queen’s shoulder. ‘He did as he said he would. Eh?’
Zarina’s brows narrowed, but then her face cleared. ‘So you have. Welcome!’
As if every breath had been held, there was a sigh throughout the tent and then conversation started again.
Queen Zarina beckoned and Kineas stepped forward in his turn. Close up, he became aware that she had the darkest green eyes that Kineas had ever seen on a human being. Her hands were as hard as a woodcutter’s. ‘You have truly come all the way from the Sea of Darkness?’ she asked.
‘Mother of the clans, we have indeed ridden from the Western Sea,’ Srayanka responded. ‘I promised to come, and I am here, though less than a tithe of our strength has come with me.’
Zarina waved her hand as if this loss of strength was of no import. ‘And the cities of the Western Sea sent a contingent? So that Greeks will ride to fight Greeks? This has been reported to me all summer and still I find it a wonder.’
Zarina’s gaze returned to Kineas and gave him the sort of careful examination that a Sakje gave a horse she considered buying — or stealing. ‘You are baqca,’ she said. ‘This I have heard.’
Kineas bowed. ‘I am the strategos of Olbia,’ he said. ‘A war leader.’
‘Hmm,’ Zarina replied. Then she dismissed Kineas as other leaders were introduced by Srayanka — Diodorus, whose red hair and beard made the queen laugh, and Parshtaevalt, and Leon, whose dark skin she touched several times. Next came Ataelus. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely you are of my people?’ she asked.
Ataelus gave his Greek shrug. ‘Many years ago I rode west, lady,’ he answered. ‘Now I serve the Lady Srayanka.’
Zarina pursed her lips and motioned for the next man to be presented, and Philokles stepped forward. She looked him up and down. ‘You are a Zpar-tan?’ she asked.
‘I am,’ Philokles answered, obviously pleased that here, at the edge of the known world, the barbarians still knew the word Spartan.
‘Hmm,’ she murmured. The two women in armour laughed — a tough-looking pair. One of them pushed past to feel Philokles’ arm muscles. She nodded approval. ‘That’s what a man should look like,’ she said to Srayanka. ‘Why didn’t you marry that one?’
Srayanka snorted. ‘He didn’t know how to ride!’ she laughed.
Zarina laughed so hard she had to cross her arms on her gut. When she recovered, she was still smiling broadly. ‘I welcome all of you to my camp,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if my slaves can find space for you for dinner. Tonight we set the battle order. Are your horses ready to fight?’
Srayanka nodded. ‘Ready enough. We miss the grain of home. None of our chargers are at their best.’
Zarina nodded. ‘We’re at the end of the grazing. Iskander is at the end of his. The fight must come soon.’
Dinner was simple and reminded Kineas of dinners with Satrax — spiced mutton served in the same bronze cauldron in which it had been cooked, and every man and woman dipping their flatbread into the pot. The mutton was delicious, but there was no wine and no oil. No one spoke. The gathered guests ate quickly and efficiently, and then sat quietly until Zarina rose to her feet.
‘Now,’ she said to her guests, ‘we will discuss how to show Iskander our strength.’
The meeting of the chiefs of all the Scythians reminded Kineas that he was truly among barbarians. Everyone spoke at once — on and on. No considerations of tactics ever rose to the surface of the meeting, but rather, chieftains demanded precedence in battle — the left of the line, the right of the line, the position guarding the standard — based on ancient custom or hard-won privilege shouted and debated from one bearded warlord to another.
Queen Zarina appeared indifferent, watching her tribal leaders with obvious pride, sure of her strength. Kineas stood silent, with Diodorus, Srayanka and Philokles around him, whispering from time to time in disgust at the chaos and the arrogance.
Lot gave a wry grin. ‘I’d forgotten what it was like,’ he said.
Ataelus shook his head. ‘Fight for too long with Greeks,’ he said. ‘Sakje for talking.’
‘Do they know who Alexander is?’ Diodorus asked. ‘Do they think they can just ride around the plain and shoot arrows and call it a victory? ’
Philokles had remained silent for over an hour. ‘I admire these people,’ he said, ‘but no one here has proposed that we simply ride away and leave Alexander to starve on the high plains. Where is the wisdom of the Assagatje? Where is their Satrax?’
Srayanka pulled on a braid, fretting for her children. ‘I had forgotten what we were like in my father’s time,’ she said. ‘Truly, Kam Baqca and Satrax made us something greater. And you, my husband. The three of you made each leader see his place.’
‘Perhaps if you spoke to the queen?’ Diodorus said to Srayanka.
Srayanka shook her head. ‘I am as much a foreigner here as any of you Greeks. I will go and see to our children. My breasts are heavy.’ She kissed Kineas lightly.
Lot made a face as if he smelled something foul. ‘I know Zarina of old,’ he said. ‘You won’t find it easy to tell her anything. She esteems women above men, but not as much if they bear children.’ He looked at Srayanka, who nodded agreement. ‘She esteems men, but only for their strength, not their wisdom, even in war.’ Lot glanced at Philokles. ‘The Spartan might approach her with a message. She was impressed by his size and his name. And Lady Bahareh has known her for years.’
The chieftains went on shouting until the sun had set, and scouts came in to report that Iskander had moved bolt-shooters up to the banks of the river and was assembling bladders and rafts. Srayanka rode away. Kineas rubbed his beard and listened to the growing excitement. Rumours of Alexander’s imminent attack only fed the shouting, and the queen watched with a tolerant amusement that proclaimed her more interested in being the warlord of these chiefs than in working to defeat the common foe.
Diodorus shook his head. ‘They’re going to get their heads handed to them. Ares’ balls, Kineas — have we ridden fifteen thousand stades so that we can watch Alexander dispatch another horde of tribes the way he did the Thracians? Let us be gone — the rout will be ugly.’
Kineas was tired of standing. ‘There is some god-sent irony,’ he said, ‘that we can all but see how Alexander will attack, and no one here cares to listen to us.’ He shrugged and took his companions out of the great tent and into the gathering gloom of the Sakje camp, where three thousand fires twinkled along the curve of the river. The air smelled of horse and burning wood.
