Their sobs lasted through much of the tuna, and then they dried their eyes and ate. Satyrus began to build himself a mask of bronze in his mind. Philokles’ new helmet had a high peak and long cheekpieces that covered his face in the front, imitating a moustache and beard and a Thracian hat. Satyrus chewed the excellent tuna and some rich salmon sauce on oysters and good, thick barley bread and thought of the armoured mask, and how it would cover his face, hide his fear. If I cannot be brave, he thought, I will pretend to be brave. That is my duty. He looked at his sister, who was obviously enjoying her food, pouring quantities of honey vinegar over the fish in a way the cook had never intended, to suit her sweet tooth, and he wondered why the gods had given her so much courage.
He drank several cups of wine, on purpose. Then, when the men were preparing to do some serious drinking, Satyrus got off his couch holding a krater. He walked to the middle of the garden, and the others fell silent. He was nervous – he was taking a chance, although he couldn’t see just how.
‘Kinon, this may be our last night as guests. Tonight I spill a libation to Zeus, master of all, who loves a man who has guests. And I offer libation to Athena, my patroness, and Herakles, my ancestor, and all the gods.’ Satyrus felt just a trace of nerves, like elation. The wine covered the rest.
‘Hear him,’ Theron said.
‘Well said,’ Philokles agreed.
‘And before all the gods, I offer this oath. That neither age nor weakness nor infirmity, nor the number of my enemies, nor any other power of the earth, the heavens or the underworld, will keep me – keep us, the twins – from our revenge on anyone who ordered,’ his mask slipped and his voice broke, ‘ordered our mother’s death. They will die. We will rule the Bosporus. They will rue the day they chose to start this war.’
Philokles watched him with sad eyes. ‘Alas, boy, such an oath, once sworn, carries power. Even now, the Furies listen, and they move the strands of fate. What joy did you just forfeit? What doom have you created?’
Melitta rose and went to stand by her brother. ‘I stand beside my brother in this oath. We care nothing for the consequences, dear tutor. We will have revenge. Eumeles who was Heron will die. Upazan will die. Cassander of Macedon will die. Every hand against us – to the end of the game-’
‘Stop!’ Theron begged. ‘By the gods, will you children stop before the gods punish you first?’
Melitta appeared to be filled with fire. Her face caught the last of the sun, the deer on her arms twinkled like stars and her dress was an unearthly white. ‘We will stop for nothing,’ she said. Her words sounded oracular. A gust of wind swept through the garden, moving the roses and making the torches flare into great gouts of flame.
Kallista clapped her hands. ‘The gods hear you, Melitta!’ she said, and then looked embarrassed at her own temerity.
Philokles glanced at Theron on the next couch. ‘You sure you want to stay with these children?’ he asked. There was no irony to his question.
Theron sighed. ‘I feel the weight of doom,’ he said. ‘Until this moment, I was the son of a fisherman.’
‘Now you are the ally of the twins,’ Philokles said.
Kinon shook his head. ‘Swearing revenge is all very well for my rose garden,’ he said. ‘But keep that to yourself in front of Dionysius. He plays this game. He plays it well. He outmanoeuvred Alexander and he has kept us free of Perdikkas and now Cassander. Don’t make him send you away – because he will not harbour you if you endanger his policy.’
‘What is he like?’ Philokles asked.
‘He’s the fattest man you’ll ever meet,’ Kinon said. ‘And perhaps the most brilliant and ruthless. Some say he is the soul of Dionysius of Syracusa come again. He’s his brother’s heir and no mistake. And he is not afraid of anything.’
Theron drank his wine down. ‘For all that, he’s a tyrant,’ he said. ‘I’m a man of Corinth. Timoleon overthrew that Dionysius of Syracusa.’
Kinon looked around. ‘We do not say such things in Heraklea.’
Theron shrugged. ‘You may not say such things,’ he said. ‘I am a man of Corinth, the city of tyrant- slayers.’
Philokles glared at the athlete. ‘Perhaps we should call it the city of poor guests, mmm? Think again, Theron. This man has given us gifts we cannot repay, and how do we return them? With rudeness?’
Instead of becoming angry, Theron winced. ‘My apologies, host. Philokles is correct.’
They spoke more about politics, and Satyrus watched Kallista as she sat by her master.
‘We should go to bed, if we have to be princes for the tyrant in the morning,’ Melitta said.
Satyrus nodded and yawned, eager to be an adult and without the strength to be one. ‘Bed,’ he said. Kallista smiled at him, and he smiled back. He would never see her again – it all seemed so unfair. But he rose and said his good-nights, and thanked Kinon with his sister for his spotless hospitality, which made the man smile.
He stumbled on the smooth marble of the colonnade, and he didn’t even undo the brooches on his chiton, but merely peeled it over his head and handed it to yet another slave and slipped on to his sleeping couch. The spring air had a touch of chill and he pulled his Thracian cloak – carefully cleaned by the staff – over himself, and he was asleep.
7
Satyrus woke instantly to a sound in his room. The room was dark, with the doorway illuminated by the light coming from the courtyard and filtering down the colonnade. Something moved across the doorway and Satyrus was alert, his heart beating hard.
‘It’s just me,’ Kallista said from the middle of the room.
Satyrus’s heart didn’t beat any the slower, although for different reasons.
She slid on to his couch, found the Thracian cloak and wriggled under it, and her breasts brushed against his chest. She giggled, put a hand between his legs and put her mouth unerringly over his.
He was caught between fear, excitement and an odd anger – this was not the way he wanted Kallista. If he wanted her at all. And yet, he did – as his erection testified.
She put a hand on his chest and pinched one of his nipples hard, the way his nurse had done when she was angry, but while the pressure was the same, the result was different. She took one of his hands and placed it on her breast – ahhh – a smoothness and softness that was almost unbelievable, a sort of Olympian perfection. His cock leaped to attention under her smooth hand. She laughed.
In the courtyard, a man screamed ‘Alarm!’ and there was a crash, like a log hitting a wall. The whole building shook.
‘Aaaagghh!’ the same voice screamed. Satyrus knew that scream – a man with death in his guts. His erection vanished and his mind moved fast and he was off the couch in the dark, hand sweeping the wall until he found his sword hanging on its baldric from a peg. He put the belt over his head and grabbed the cloak off the bed.
‘What in Hades are you doing?’ Kallista said.
‘Aaaagh-’ The next scream was cut off suddenly, and then there was another crash and a cheer – a terrible sound, and then running feet. Satyrus threw the cloak over his arm and went to the doorway, brushing the curtain aside.
There was a man in the colonnade with a weapon. He wore a helmet that glinted in the distant light of the garden, and he was less than an arm-length away, a big shadow against the stygian dark of the corridor.
‘Get some light in here!’ the man shouted, his voice filling the corridor. ‘Follow me!’
Satyrus wanted to hesitate, but before the fear could catch him he cut low, just as Philokles had shown him again and again, his left hand stretched forward with the wrapped cloak to block a counter-blow. And the man caught his movement and his weapon came down into the wool cloak, numbing his arm, but his sword went behind the man’s greave and as Satyrus recovered he pressed the cut, ripping the tendon at the back of the leg just as he’d been taught.
The man went down in a tangle of bronze and limbs and Satyrus stepped clear just as the man voiced his pain. ‘Aiyyee! Ares! Gods, I’m cut! Aiyyyeee! Ah ah ah!’
They’re wearing armour, Satyrus thought, and then the fear caught him and he stood paralysed. He tried to open his mouth, tried to call.
