happened. The twins were swept along by the big Keltoi and Diodorus, down the narrow gap between two courtyard walls and into a back gate. Satyrus had a dim recollection of having visited this house by daylight – buying spices with Leon – and he saw an Arab man standing in the courtyard, wearing a white wool robe.
‘Thanks, Pica,’ Diodorus said.
‘I see nothing, friend,’ the Nabataean replied. He laughed.
Then they went out of the front gate and found themselves down by the docks. They were almost opposite Leon’s private wharf.
‘Now we need some luck,’ Diodorus said. They ran from warehouse to warehouse along the waterfront.
‘This is living!’ Melitta crowed.
Satyrus saw men moving just one alley to the north, and a shrill whistle sounded.
‘Hermes,’ Diodorus said. ‘He’s hired every cut-throat in the city.’
‘Uhh,’ Carlus grunted. ‘I could go and thin the herd.’
‘Do it. We’re going for the Lotus – Leon says there ought to be six boat-keepers aboard.’
‘Uhh,’ Carlus said. ‘I find my own way.’ And then he was gone.
They dashed across the open road to the gate of Leon’s wharf. ‘Open up!’ Diodorus called.
Nothing.
Running feet behind them and a whistle like the cry of a falcon.
‘Open up! In Leon’s name!’ Diodorus cried. He had his sword in his hand – a wicked kopis with a long, heavy blade. He banged the backbone of the weapon on the gate, and started to look up along the wall, searching for a place to climb. Satyrus was several seconds ahead of him, up and over the wall and then drawing his own weapon.
The rush of feet grew louder – bare feet, mostly. And then there was a sound like an axe hitting soft wood, or like an oar slapping water in the hands of an inexperienced oarsman – and another, the same. And then a third, and this time the sound was accompanied by a shrill scream that cut across the night like fabric being ripped asunder.
Satyrus got the gate open and looked out past Diodorus as the man pushed in. Carlus – no one else was that big – was killing men silently. The victims were not so silent, but there were more whistles after the scream.
‘Sorry, lord,’ said a voice at his elbow, the house porter. ‘It sounds like murder!’
‘Get the gate shut. Help me.’ Melitta and Satyrus helped the porter shove the gate, and it made a clang as it latched. They were in Leon’s precinct.
‘Is there a boat party on the Lotus?’ Diodorus asked.
‘No – that is, yes, lord.’ The man got the beam back across the gate. ‘Alarm, lord?’
Diodorus nodded. ‘Better have it,’ he said.
The man at the gate was short, broad and had the slightly stooped look of the professional oarsman. He picked up a billet of wood and started to hit an iron bell. ‘Alarm!’ he called.
Diodorus took the twins by the shoulders.
Melitta was still facing the gate, unwilling to be dragged towards the ship. ‘What about Kallista? Or Carlus? By Athena, Diodorus!’
‘They are in a great deal less danger for not being with you, my dear. Well, not Carlus. I think he has sacrificed himself. Be brave, girl. This is the real thing.’ Diodorus paused to tighten his sandals. ‘Stupid things. Never wear anything you can’t fight in.’
‘I don’t want to run,’ she said.
‘Then you’ll die.’ Diodorus had no more patience. ‘Listen to me, girl. In a minute, a dozen paid thugs are going to come over that wall on ropes. They’ll kill everyone here. We’re getting on a boat and getting out. Understand? The moment to stand and fight will come another day.’
Melitta was silent. ‘What about the men who are here?’ she asked.
Diodorus started to run. ‘Figure it out,’ he called as he dragged her towards the looming bulk of the Golden Lotus. Satyrus followed them, sword naked in his hand.
He hailed the deck from the pier, and the watch was awake. ‘What news?’ called an Athenian voice.
‘Leon told me to ask for Diokles!’ Diodorus said.
‘Here, mate! What do you need?’ Diokles was apparently the man coming down the plank.
‘We need the boat under the stern and two men to row us around to Lord Leon’s. Right now. And there’ll be armed men coming over the wall any moment.’ Diodorus punctuated his speech with glances over his shoulder.
Diokles didn’t hesitate. He grabbed a rope and pulled and in moments they were in a light boat – lovingly painted in red and blue, a display piece that nonetheless had serviceable oars. He pushed four men into the boat. ‘Kleitos, row them round to Leon’s – I’m going to cut the hawsers and pole off. Robbers won’t swim to get to the Lotus, and if they do,’ the man’s teeth shown white in the dark, ‘I’ll just gaff ’em like fish.’
‘Save the slaves,’ Diodorus said.
‘Sure!’ Diokles laughed. ‘They brought the wine.’ And then they were rowing, four pairs of arms pulling hard so that the low boat shot across the harbour.
Listen as they would, they heard no sounds of fighting behind them. Diokles shouted and the slaves and workers on the night shift ran aboard the Lotus as if drilled to it, and then – nothing.
The row home was uneventful, and then they were going up the water-steps to the back of Leon’s villa and into the dining hall, where Nihmu and Sappho and many of the household’s older servants were already dining.
Satyrus seated himself on a couch and untied his sandals. His feet were filthy. Her mouth had tasted of youth – very different from Phiale’s cinnamon and clove. Despite the nearness of death – or because of it – Amastris was at the surface of his thoughts.
‘She found you, didn’t she?’ Melitta asked, lying carefully on the couch they shared. She was careful of the covering, because her beautiful chiton had a long smear of something that looked to be tar and another even worse. ‘I can smell her scent even now. And you look as if you’ve been struck by lightning – or Aphrodite.’
Kallista came up beside him and made a show of picking up his sandals. Even as she did so, she dropped an oyster shell in his lap. A scrap of papyrus curled out of the corner of the shell, and Satyrus rolled on to the couch while scooping it up. ‘Thanks, Lista!’ he said. ‘You made it back!’
‘Always happy to help the goddess,’ Kallista said primly, and then flashed him a smile. ‘We’ve been back half an hour.’ And then, soberly, ‘Master Philokles killed a man. I saw it. And Master Coenus killed another.’
Leon was outlining the terms of Satyrus’s exile to his wife. Satyrus glanced down at the papyrus.
All it said was Stay safe and return.
Satyrus was grinning like a fool.
Nihmu met his eyes and smiled. ‘You look very happy for a boy who has just been attacked on the streets and exiled,’ she said.
Satyrus attempted to modify his expression.
‘You’ll have to send her a response,’ Melitta said. She poked him in the soft flesh over his hip so that he writhed in ticklish agony. ‘Kallista can carry it while we pack.’
‘No, I can’t,’ Kallista said. ‘Perhaps tomorrow. Master Leon says no slave is to leave the compound for any reason until further orders.’
‘What can I tell her, anyway?’ Satyrus asked. In a breath, he began to see the complications of kissing Ptolemy’s ward, the daughter of the Euxine’s most powerful tyrant. Men had tried to kill him in the city he’d come to think of as his own. He felt disoriented, as if the world had slipped off its axis.
‘Tell her you love her?’ Melitta said, and poked him again.
‘I’m to go as a marine!’ Xeno called from an adjoining couch. ‘Who cares if you’re exiled! You’ll be a navarch! We’ll fight pirates!’
‘I’m going too,’ Melitta said.
Xeno’s smile was rapturous. ‘We’ll protect you, despoina,’ he said. Then his face fell as he realized how badly this comment had gone down. Satyrus rolled over and saw his sister’s anger.
‘I don’t want to be protected, you overgrown boy!’ Melitta spat. ‘If you had as many brains as you have pimples, you’d understand!’
Crushed, Xeno rolled on his couch and faced the other way, the flush on his face spreading right across his back.
