until we crossed the mountains. We should have gone south after Bithynia.’
Satyrus shrugged. ‘We’ll live,’ he said, and a little happiness began to grow in his heart. He turned to his sister. ‘We will live!’
They had barely spoken in days, and they shared a long embrace.
Melitta kissed him on the nose and turned to Theron. ‘We have to stop Philokles from drinking,’ she said. ‘For good.’
Theron hung his head. ‘He – he and I – it is hard to say this to a child. He thinks he failed you, and then – he feels I have spurned him for Kallista.’ He looked at both of them. ‘And there is more to this than meets your eyes. Trust me. And – trust Philokles.’
‘I do,’ Satyrus said.
‘I can see that you have a plan,’ Melitta said.
Theron wiped sweat off his face with his forearm. He paused a moment and said, ‘Perhaps I have, at that.’
Melitta turned on her brother. ‘Kallista wasn’t for you, anyway. Why not Theron? And Philokles drinks because he is cursed, not because of a silly girl with big eyes.’ She turned back to the Corinthian, and Satyrus thought that she was getting more and more like their mother.
‘Tomorrow, as soon as we have ridden over the pass,’ she said, ‘we will get off our horses all together, and search all the baggage, and destroy every drop of wine in the packs.’
‘That’s a start,’ Theron said. ‘Until we reach a place that will sell wine.’
‘One step at a time,’ Melitta said.
‘Sister, I love you extremely,’ Satyrus said. He felt as if he was putting on his former self, and the last days were a skin that was falling away.
She hugged him again. ‘I love it when you say things like that,’ she said. She was serious, so he used the embrace to pin her and tickle her ribs until she boxed his ears.
Neither of them saw Theron grin.
The next day, the soldiers said that they’d seen bandits ahead. Theron stopped them beside the road where trees gave cover and sent Philokles with Draco forward to scout. Then the rest of them pulled every pack off every mount, opened all the baskets, collected all the wine and dumped it, until the last amphora but one leaked its red contents into the purple dust.
The Athenian sat on his horse and laughed his laugh at them. ‘He’s a wine-bibber!’ he said. ‘A cistern-ass! You’ll never get it all.’
Satyrus ignored him and went back to searching. He was appalled to find how many jars of wine were secreted in the packs. Almost every armour pack had something. But he watched the two Macedonian soldiers, again amazed at the skill with which they searched.
Philip had an amphora to his mouth. He took a long pull and handed it to Satyrus. ‘Last grape until we get the Spartan off the sauce,’ he said.
Satyrus drank some and passed it to Melitta, who drank a little and handed the jar to Theron, who took a long pull and gave it to Kallista, who finished it.
‘What about me?’ the Athenian asked.
‘You can have some when you start helping, doctor,’ Philip said.
They loaded all the panniers and baskets and bundles, tied everything down and rode on.
The fun started when they made camp. When Philokles began his search, he at least pretended discretion, but then he went on with increasing desperation.
‘It’s all gone,’ Melitta said. She walked up behind him, as he searched one of the armour baskets.
Philokles turned on her, his eyes wild.
‘All gone, tutor. Every drop. It’s two days’ travel back to the last town and ten days forward. We all love you and we’ll stand by you.’ She offered her hand to him.
Satyrus watched with a lump in his throat. Theron and the Macedonians pretended to be doing something else. The doctor watched with the insolence of a man watching bad theatre.
Philokles made a grunting noise. After a few minutes it became sobbing. Then he was silent.
The silence lasted a day.
On the second night, Philokles got wine from somewhere, and he drank it. Then he was sick – violently sick. So sick that he puked his guts out.
The doctor looked him over, sprawled on his blankets. Fastidiously, he listened at the Spartan’s chest and felt his neck and wrist. He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Nothing I can do,’ he said. ‘When a man tries to kill himself with drink, he will.’
Theron glared at the Athenian and made Philokles drink salt water until he puked again. Then he sat with his arm around Philokles.
Nobody slept much.
The next day Philokles lay on the ground, barely breathing. The Macedonians walked around the camp, muttering, and Satyrus threw javelins and spent too much time squatting beside the Spartan.
‘Is he actually trying to kill himself?’ he asked Theron.
Kallista came and sat gracefully by them. ‘I tried to kill myself once,’ she said, in a matter-of-fact voice. She looked at the doctor. In an almost teasing voice, she said, ‘And I almost died of poison, once.’
Theron looked at both of them, as if considering something.
Melitta came and sat by the slave girl. ‘Where did he get wine?’ she asked.
Theron shrugged. ‘We missed something.’
Melitta looked at Satyrus, who shook his head. ‘Philip and Draco went through every basket,’ he said. ‘I watched them. They’ve been trained to search.’
Sophokles came up, laid the back of his hand on the Spartan’s cheek and shrugged. ‘You missed something. I told you that you would.’ Then he went and sat near Kallista. He laid two fingers lightly on her cheek, but she shook him off and he smiled at her.
Melitta watched Theron’s face as he caught the physical exchange. He was angry.
Satyrus watched the three of them. There was something between the girl and the doctor. Theron was now the girl’s lover. Satyrus rubbed his chin, and his wandering eyes found his sister’s. Somewhere in the contact there was a spark of illumination.
‘Of course,’ Satyrus said, his eyes and his sisters locked in silent communication, ‘we never searched your packs.’ He raised his eyes from Melitta’s and looked at Sophokles.
‘I’m not denying that I have some wine,’ Sophokles said. ‘It’s medicinal, and for my own consumption.’
Theron shot to his feet. When the Athenian attempted to move, one of Theron’s long arms pinned him. ‘Open his pack,’ he said.
‘I like the Spartan,’ Kallista said. She seemed to be speaking to the air.
‘I don’t care who you like, slave,’ the doctor said.
‘I don’t want him to die,’ she said. ‘Heal him.’
Satyrus opened the doctor’s bedroll. The outer layer was a pair of goatskins. Inside were two chlamyses, with a cup, a very elegant leather bag, and a pair of amphorae wrapped in wolf skin. The amphorae were themselves beautiful – black, with red and white figures dancing.
‘Keep your hands off those, boy!’ the doctor said.
‘Bring them here,’ Theron said in a voice of bronze.
Satyrus obeyed.
Kallista looked at Melitta for a long time. Melitta met her gaze. Satyrus watched the two of them while he walked back, and felt disoriented. He was surrounded by secrets – even his sister had them. They were staring at each other.
The doctor was staring at Kallista. Then he looked up. ‘Be careful with those,’ he said. ‘Chian wine – the best!’ His voice had an odd inflection.
‘Make him drink it,’ Kallista said. Her voice had a dreamy quality to it.
‘Shut up, slave girl,’ the Athenian spat. ‘This has gone far enough.’
Melitta shook her head. She had stopped staring at Kallista. ‘Have you chosen your side, girl?’ she asked.
