gods and men. And then I decided that if I, in my turn, could ever do her a service, then I would gain honour with the gods.’ He nodded brusquely. ‘In this way, I share in the honour of my friend, Satyrus’s father. Understand?’
Melitta nodded. ‘And you have,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ Philokles said. ‘Herakles, if you have finished that bowl, you should give it to Satyrus, so that he can eat, and I will take you to your mother.’
Herakles rose to his feet and handed Satyrus the bowl. ‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘Come back and sit with us,’ Melitta said.
Herakles smiled. ‘Thanks, Lita,’ he said.
Philokles was only gone for as long as it took him to walk to where Sappho’s slaves had pitched a small tent for Banugul and back.
‘Have you eaten?’ Philokles asked Satyrus.
‘Yes,’ Satyrus said.
‘Come with me,’ Philokles said. He didn’t say a word as they walked through the camp, until they came to a third troop mess where Theron sat stirring fish stew. Theron looked at Satyrus and then looked away.
‘Well?’ Philokles asked.
Satyrus hung his head. ‘Master Theron, I come to beg your forgiveness for my bad behaviour.’
Theron nodded. ‘Lad, I am going to offer you the same choice that a tutor once offered me. I know that your actions, and your sister’s, saved lives. I also know that the gods must have worked extra hard to save you from death, and that I gave a year of my life in worry. You understand, boy?’
‘Yes, Master Theron.’
‘Good. Here is your choice. A beating, now, or I leave your service.’ Theron stood up. He was very large.
Satyrus didn’t hesitate. ‘I’ll have the beating,’ he said, head up.
Both men nodded, obviously pleased. Theron had a switch, cut from poplar. He hit Satyrus ten times. It wasn’t a particularly savage beating – Satyrus had had worse from Philokles – but neither was it symbolic. It hurt, and then it was over.
Afterwards, he lay down on his blankets – face down, because his whole back hurt – and Melitta cried a little.
‘Why don’t they beat me?’ she said. ‘It was my idea!’
Satyrus laughed through a sob. ‘You’re a girl,’ he said.
‘Stupid Greeks,’ she said.
After a while, Theron came and massaged his back, and helped the twins put a pair of cavalry javelins up like an X with a third for a tent pole. ‘You were both very brave today,’ Theron said.
Despite the pain in his back, Satyrus went to sleep with a smile on his face.
14
I n the morning, Satyrus was so stiff that he could only rise to his feet by grasping the pole of his impromptu tent, and even that caused his stomach muscles to protest. But he rose when ordered, stumbled out into the near dark and found his beautiful new horse. He made sure she was fed and walked her all the way back to the gully with the watering party before he got a handful of dried figs from his sister and a slice of honey cake from Sappho for breakfast. Melitta was astride Bion, eating her breakfast in the saddle, and casting a great many glances at the small tent where Banugul lay.
He repicketed his horse and sat with Hama and Dercorix to eat, sharing the honey cake with an appreciative audience.
‘You have to pay Apollodorus for that horse,’ Hama said. ‘Or give it back and we’ll find you a remount.’
Satyrus rubbed his chin, which felt weirdly itchy. ‘I don’t have any money,’ he said.
Melitta came and sat with her back to his, handing out dates. ‘We’re not poor, brother. Diodorus will give you money.’
‘That beast’s worth a talent of silver,’ Hama said.
‘Poseidon!’ Satyrus said. ‘Really?’
‘She’s wearing a dozen mina of silver on her harness, boy.’ He was watching something. ‘There’s trouble,’ Hama said, pointing a tattooed arm at a clump of Saka sitting on their ponies across the gully. Two of them turned and rode away in a spurt of dust.
‘Now?’ Satyrus asked Hama. He looked around. ‘Don’t we need to do something about the Saka?’
The Keltoi man nodded. ‘Not really, lord. No one wants more killing right now – and they have had a taste of bronze from our pickets. Now, no time like the present. Just acknowledge the debt, lad. That’ll be enough.’
Satyrus wiped his sticky hands on his sister’s barbarian trousers, arousing her indignation, but he skipped out of range and trotted off. She didn’t follow, because Herakles came out of his mother’s tent, wearing a shining white chiton and a diadem of gold.
Most of the hippeis had camped in the same order that they rode, so each file became a mess and sat around their own fire. Apollodorus was in third file of first troop. Satyrus found him drinking camomile tea.
‘Is a talent fair?’ Satyrus asked, walking up.
All the men in the mess group stood, as if he was an officer.
Apollodorus frowned. ‘A talent of silver, lord?’ He couldn’t hold the frown. ‘That’ll have to do!’
‘Herald coming in,’ another trooper said, shovelling barley-porridge into a bowl. ‘Can’t be good news.’ He handed the bowl to Satyrus. ‘Barley, lad?’
It was full of honey, and Satyrus ate the whole bowl with more appetite than he thought he had, while the herald dismounted and exchanged words with Andronicus beyond the wagon laager.
‘Clean your bowl, lord?’ a woman asked.
The camp was almost besieged by women – not their own women, who were inside the laager, but hundreds of hungry refugees from yesterday’s disaster, begging food for their children. Grim-faced pickets kept them outside the wagons, but many of the troopers handed out their scraps.
A few single men simply walked out of the gate and chose companions. They and their children changed status instantly, coming in past the pickets. Satyrus watched his uncle, who in turn was watching the process with a jaundiced eye. He shook his head, gathered a couple of handfuls of grass and wiped the bowl clean and handed it back to the owner. Then he walked over to Diodorus, who stood alone, looking thunderous. Satyrus wanted to continue being a soldier, not a boy. He hoped he’d be allowed to ride with the troop again.
‘Good morning, Strategos,’ Satyrus said.
Diodorus finished his wife’s honey cake. ‘Nice piece of work yesterday, boy,’ he said, dusting his hands on his chiton.
‘I told you not to get honey on that chiton,’ Sappho called.
The strategos looked sheepish and stepped away from his wagon. ‘We need to move,’ he said. ‘The refugees will get desperate tomorrow. Antigonus – the strategos, not our troop commander – has demanded a parley.’ The hippeis seemed to get an unending amount of mirth out of the fact that they had both a Eumenes and an Antigonus among them.
Satyrus was delighted to be addressed in such an adult manner. It seemed to promise well. ‘What will you do?’ he asked.
Diodorus nodded. ‘You and I will go and meet the great man,’ he said, ‘While Eumenes and Crax get our people out of here. You ready to move?’
Satyrus was wearing the same chiton as yesterday and no boots. ‘May I have a few minutes, sir?’ he asked, heart pumping hard.
‘Five. No, three. Hurry.’ Diodorus was already turning away to Crax, who looked clean, neat and golden.
Satyrus had missed some change in orders, because all around him men were tying up their kit, wrapping spare gear in cloaks and tying them in bundles, handing things to slaves. Satyrus’s gear was the last in his area of the camp to be lying on the ground under the hasty shelter. He pulled it all down and tried to roll his cloak as tightly as he saw the soldiers doing, but his sister stopped him.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘I’ll get slaves to pack you. Get your corslet on and your boots.’
