Melitta nodded. ‘It’s true. And my father and Philokles released him. They’re guest-friends, I think. Right?’
‘That’s right,’ Philokles said. ‘That’s why Diodorus is a little more than just a mercenary to Ptolemy.’
Kinon shook his head. ‘You took him prisoner? In a battle? Next you’ll be telling me that you knew Alexander!’
‘My father did,’ Satyrus said. ‘But please go on. Perdikkas is dead, and Antigonus One-Eye has his army.’
‘Exactly.’ Kinon got the bowl and balanced it expertly while talking. ‘Antigonus has the whole field army behind him, and Ptolemy won’t get another miracle in the Delta. He has no soldiers to speak of now, just some military settlers and some useless Aegyptians. He won’t last the season. I’ll miss him – he’s the only one of those Macedonian fucks who wants to build something instead of just killing.’ As he drank, his Boeotian accent got thicker, and now he sounded like a character in a comedy.
Philokles shrugged. ‘And Eumenes is left with the rump?’
‘Less than the rump – although he’s wily. Antipater had him once and he escaped.’ Kinon snapped his fingers for more drink. By this point, he had Kallista sitting on a stool beneath his couch, and he played with her hair while he spoke. Melitta had already excused herself like an Athenian matron.
Philokles laughed again. ‘I remember his wiles,’ he said. ‘He and Kineas chased each other all over Bactria.’
Kinon sighed. ‘And then there’s Greece, of course. Now that Antipater is gone, and we had Polyperchon as a replacement – too old, and not smart enough to live – Athens made a bid for independence back, oh, six years or so. They defeated Antipater’s army and frankly they looked to overthrow the whole system. That united all the Macedonians for a while.’
Philokles shrugged. ‘And Kineas’s old friend Leosthenes died.’
Kinon looked knowing. ‘Died – or got very sick and slipped away when the whole alliance started coming apart. There are people who claim to have seen him. But the chaos that he caused in Thrace and Greece is why One-Eye has time to move against Ptolemy – because Polyperchon is still rebuilding. The Athenians showed that the Macedonians could be beaten. And there’s a new man on the stage – Antipater’s son, Cassander – he’s a different matter. Bad to the bone, that one – smart like a lion and rotten like an old corpse.’
Theron shook his head. ‘I paid no mind to politics when I was at Corinth. It wearies me, friends. And all of you know these men – these great men – like fellow guests at a symposium. I’m going to retire, friends, secure in the knowledge that the only people of consequence I know are athletes, and none of them is much of an adornment at a dinner party.’
When he rose, he gave Satyrus a long look. Satyrus got the message. ‘I thank you for hospitality and good talk, wisdom and beauty.’ He slipped the last in with a look at Kallista.
Kinon nodded. ‘Tomorrow we’ll have a look at the agora.’
‘Perhaps the palaestra?’ Theron asked.
‘Of course!’ The host patted his stomach. ‘I may remember the way there!’
And with that laugh, Satyrus stumbled off to bed. He managed to make it to the couch in his room, and then his wits turned off like a snuffed lamp.
In the morning, they threatened to stay off. Melitta came to wake him, prodding him under the ribs with her thumbs and tickling his feet until his groans turned to counter-attacks. She giggled, backing away from his couch, and he discovered that he had a splitting headache.
‘Time to get up, sleepyhead,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ he said, clutching his temples.
An older slave, heavy with muscle and black as an Athenian vase, came in and began to tidy his chamber. Satyrus wanted to get off his couch, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it.
‘Could you fetch us some water?’ Melitta said. ‘You’re twelve, Satyr, not twenty. You drank far too much wine last night.’
‘I don’t think it was the wine,’ Satyrus said plaintively. ‘I think I’ve hurt my head, or caught a cold.’
The black slave snorted. He was only gone for a few moments and then he returned with a silver pitcher of water and a bronze cup. ‘Drink up, master,’ he said with a grin.
Satyrus raised his head. ‘Why are you smiling? My head hurts!’
‘Drink all the water in this pitcher,’ the slave said. ‘I’ll get you another when you are done. Then your headache will cure itself. I promise.’
Satyrus managed to drink down two pitchers of water, and then he and Melitta made their way out into the rose garden where all the guests were reclining. Melitta watched him with a superior smile. ‘More wine, brother?’ she asked.
‘Hard head, boy?’ Philokles asked. ‘Worst age for a male, Satyrus. At twelve, you are invited to behave like a man, but you can’t. Best be wary of the wine.’
Theron raised an eyebrow at the Spartan, and the two men glowered at each other for a bit. ‘Advice everyone could heed.’
A young male slave came in, sheathed in sweat, with a scroll. Kinon took it and opened it, his eyes scanning the page, and he frowned.
‘I asked our tyrant, Dionysius, to grant us all an audience.’ He rolled the scroll and scratched his chin with it. ‘He has declined the honour, saying that the time for meeting is inauspicious, which is a load of mule dung and no mistake.’ He handed the scroll to the same black slave who had waited on Satyrus after he awoke. ‘Zosimos, have this scraped clean and put in the stack.’
Zosimos took the scroll and vanished through the pillars of the colonnade.
Kinon glanced around, pulled out a gold toothpick and went to work on his teeth. Satyrus looked away. A female slave offered him wine, and he hastily put his hand over his cup. ‘Might I have some more water?’ he implored her.
She went to a sideboard and returned with a gleaming silver pitcher and a slight smile. He accepted both gratefully.
‘Something is amiss,’ Kinon said. ‘Nonetheless, I’m sending to Diodorus by courier so that he is warned of your circumstances. I’ll send a caravan with the armour – three days at the least, I’m afraid. What do you need?’
Philokles leaned forward. ‘Clothes, weapons, remounts. Some cash. Kinon, I am merely being candid – pardon my bluntness.’
Kinon shook his head. ‘No need to apologize. I am rich, and my friend Leon could buy and sell twenty of me, and together, your burden isn’t a flyspeck. Arms and armour are easy – we make them. Why don’t I have Zosimos take you to the shop? None of the gear will be silver chased or inlaid, but it is all solid and workmanlike. Take what you need or have Zosimos order it with our smith.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘I don’t like the fact that the tyrant won’t see you.’ He looked around. ‘Where is Tenedos?’
One of the female slaves darted into the colonnade and Tenedos, the steward, emerged, chewing on a stylus. ‘Master?’ he asked, very much in the tone of a man annoyed to be interrupted.
‘What shipping came in today, Tenedos?’ Kinon asked.
Tenedos took a breath and Satyrus thought that he hesitated. ‘Pentekonter from Tomis, laden with wine, property of Isokles of Tomis.
Merchantman from Athens, laden with pottery and fine woollens and some copper, property of a mixed cartel of Athenian merchants and some of our friends. The copper is ours. Military trireme, no lading.’
Kinon sat up and swung his legs over the side of his couch. ‘From Pantecapaeum?’ he asked.
‘By way of Gorgippia and Bata, if the oar master is to be believed.’ Tenedos tucked his stylus behind his ear.
Philokles swung his legs over the edge of his couch. ‘Ares!’ he said. He sounded tired.
Kinon shook his head. ‘This is Heraklea, not some grain town on the north shore of the Euxine. We have laws here, and a good ruler, even if he is a tyrant. But they’ve got to him. Tenedos, I should have told you – now I am telling you. I wish to know anything you learn of this ship, of its master and its navarch and who they visit. Understand?’ ‘Yes, master,’ Tenedos said, sounding both competent and long-suffering.
Philokles nodded. ‘If you will lend me young Zosimos, I will see to some armour. He looked at Satyrus. ‘Fancy some armour and a light sword, boy?’
