Philokles seemed to be speaking from very far away. ‘I think we can accept the tyrant’s good intentions, Satyrus. Satyrus?’
Satyrus’s eyes were resting on the face of another child, or perhaps a young woman, whose head peeked out from behind a curtain just beyond the dais. Her face was like that of a Nereid, with an upturned nose and freckles and a cloud of dark curls. Their eyes met. Having faced death and survived, Satyrus had the courage to smile at the Nereid. She smiled back.
‘Satyrus?’ Philokles sounded gravely concerned.
‘Get my doctor!’ the tyrant said.
Standing there with a smile on his face, Satyrus became conscious that he was wounded. His ankle hurt, and there was blood coming off his shin, a moist sweat on the arch of his foot. When he looked down, it came in little spurts that sparkled in the lamp light. He watched it for a moment, and then he was gone.
Melitta thought that the worst part of the whole night was waiting to see if her brother would die. It was clear from the attentions of the guards and the slaves that the tyrant had no ill intentions, and so his wound became her whole focus. She refused sleep, drank some watered wine and watched Sophokles, the Athenian surgeon, bandage his foot after giving him something that slowed, but did not stop, the bleeding.
Melitta didn’t like the doctor. And, having heard what she had heard in the fight, she distrusted all Athenians.
When he was done wrapping the bandage, the man got to his feet. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
‘Will he-?’ she asked.
‘It is with the fates and the gods,’ he said. He turned to a slave – there were four of them in the alcoves at the end of the room. The tyrant seemed to have a great many. ‘Get me wine, and poppy juice,’ he said. To Melitta, he said, ‘You should sleep. I will give you poppy, and you will have rich dreams.’
She stepped back from him. ‘I wouldn’t accept it,’ she said. ‘I’ll stay here until he awakes.’
‘He has lost a great deal of blood, girl. He won’t awake for a while – indeed, he’ll sleep for hours. Or – he’ll die.’ The Athenian doctor shook his head.
‘I can wait,’ she said.
He put on a voice he must save for women and idiots. ‘Listen, honey,’ he said, putting an arm on her shoulder. ‘You can’t affect the outcome. You need to sleep. A little girl like you-’
She rolled out from under his hand and backed against her brother’s couch. ‘I’ve lost my mother and my kingdom and people are trying to kill me and my brother and I think I’ll just stay awake beside him,’ she said.
‘Don’t make me-’ he began.
She pulled her knife out of its sheath under her arm. She adopted the stance that Philokles and Theron had been teaching her – left arm out, knife hand close to the body and low.
‘You’re deranged,’ he said.
She nodded. ‘Perhaps,’ she said.
The doctor affected patience. ‘Don’t make me wake your guardian, girl. He’ll be quite angry.’
Melitta met his eyes steadily. ‘Theron? Call him.’ She was too tired to be afraid. ‘Better yet, why don’t you go and see to Philokles?’
‘Theron? The man with the blow to the head? He’ll be fine.’ The doctor was impatient. ‘Girl, you are interfering with my work.’
She stood aside, the knife held firmly. ‘Be my guest,’ she said. ‘I’ll just watch.’
There was a chuckle from the doorway, and Nestor, the guard captain, came in. His armour was off, and he was just another big man, now wearing a handsome chiton of Tyrian purple wool. ‘Let her alone, Athenian,’ he said. ‘She’s a titan.’
The doctor sighed. ‘She needs to be in bed.’
Nestor chuckled again. ‘She nearly gutted one of my men. Girl, you’ll get a husband faster if you wave that about less.’
‘I am not waving it about. This is the low guard, and my hands are steady!’ She wished she hadn’t sounded quite so anxious.
Nestor stepped fully into the room and his grin flashed in the lamplight. ‘Sheathe the weapon, my lady. As a favour. The doctor means no harm and neither do I.’
Melitta bowed. ‘My pardon,’ she said. She really was tired.
‘A chair,’ he said to the slaves.
‘Where is Kallista?’ Melitta asked.
‘The other girl? In the slave quarters. Is she yours? I’m sorry – I took for granted she was Kinon’s. Shall I ask her to attend you?’ Nestor made a motion and another slave ran from the room.
‘Where is Philokles?’ she asked.
‘In the next room, with the other man,’ Nestor said.
Melitta nodded. ‘When Kallista comes, I will go to bed,’ she said.
Her brother lay unmoving, as pale as the Aegyptian linen on which he lay. His lower right leg was wrapped in bandages that were slowly becoming the colour of Nestor’s chiton.
‘He’s not going to die,’ she said.
Nestor met her eye. ‘Good. I honoured his courage.’ He was very serious.
‘He doesn’t think he has any courage,’ Melitta said.
Nestor gave a small smile. ‘Many men who appear brave suffer from the same failing,’ he said. ‘Sometimes they die trying to prove themselves brave when no one has ever questioned their courage,’ he added.
‘That’s my brother,’ she said proudly.
Nestor shook his head. ‘Make sure you save him then,’ he said to the doctor, as if he could just order such a thing.
When Kallista came, she looked more like Medusa than Helen of Troy, her make-up smeared, her eyes wild and her hair unkempt. She stepped straight into Melitta’s arms. ‘They killed everyone!’ she said. She burst into tears.
Melitta held her while she sobbed, and then started to walk her to the door. ‘Take me to my room,’ she said.
‘I’ll take you to the women’s wing,’ Nestor said.
‘I want to be right here,’ Melitta said.
Nestor nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said with a yawn. With two slaves, he took her past where Philokles lay unsleeping on a couch, past Theron’s snores and into a darkened room. The slaves moved about, filling the pitchers with water and wine, lighting lamps, turning down the linens on her sleeping couch.
‘Shall I make up a pallet on the floor?’ one of the palace slaves asked.
‘If you would be so kind,’ she replied. Kallista kept right on crying.
Nestor bowed. ‘If my lady will permit, I, for one, intend to get a few dreams through the gate of horn before the sun rises.’
Melitta returned his bow. ‘Thanks for your courtesy, sir.’ She paused. ‘How long has the Athenian been a doctor here?’
Nestor thought a moment. ‘Not long,’ he said. ‘Why?’
Melitta bit back her answer, born of fatigue and unreason, she was sure. ‘No matter,’ she said. ‘Thank you for all your help, Nestor. May the gods be with you.’
He smiled and patted her head, which she normally hated. This time, it was somewhat reassuring.
When he was gone, she waved her hands at the slaves. ‘Go!’ she said.
They both looked at her. Kallista continued to sob.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘Go and attend the doctor!’
Both slaves left silently. She steered the other girl to the bed.
‘It’s my fault!’ Kallista said through her sobs.
Melitta had suspected something like this. ‘Why were you in my brother’s room? At Kinon’s?’ she asked, and her voice was sharper than she meant.
‘Tenedos told me to fuck him,’ the beautiful girl sobbed. ‘I was supposed to take a lamp and leave it burning outside the room!’ she wailed. ‘We would all be free! That’s what he said!’ She looked around wildly. ‘And now they’re all dead.’
