'No,' Satyrus said. Philokles had taught him that a direct negation was a more effective denial than any amount of excuse. 'No. But I do wish to marry her.'
Dionysius nodded. 'No. Anything else?' He raised his head. 'I do hear that you've become quite the warlord,' he said. 'You took Eumeles' squadron on the other coast – by yourself, or so we are told. Amastris actually clapped her hands when she heard. Of course, she didn't clap so hard when we heard that you massacred the prisoners. Yourself.'
Satyrus shrugged, as if the massacre of prisoners was of no moment. 'If I may not have her hand in marriage,' Satyrus asked, 'perhaps you would consider a treaty of alliance – offensive and defensive.'
'Really?' Dionysius said. 'Gods below, boy – you don't lack balls. But – no. Eumeles is no friend of mine, but your next failed expedition won't come from here.'
'I'd ask you to reconsider,' Satyrus said. 'Because, if you won't, the consequences will be – severe.'
Dionysius sat up. 'Are you threatening me, boy?' he asked.
'Yes,' Satyrus said. 'Yes, I am.' The smile remained fixed in place.
Behind him, Amastris choked a sob. 'What are you doing?' she asked.
'My uncle, Diodorus, is twenty days' march away. He'll be coming over the mountains from Phrygia. Just the opposite of the way I fled – five years back.' Satyrus held the grin on his lips by force of will. 'He has a thousand horse and four thousand foot – more than enough to maintain a siege here.'
Nestor raised his arm, but Satyrus pushed on. 'In five days, the whole fleet of Demostrate will come up the coast from Byzantium,' he said, while Nestor rose to his feet. 'You can give me an alliance and allow me to use your harbour, or take the consequence.'
'I can put you to death this hour!' Dionysius roared.
'And take the consequences,' Satyrus said. Nestor's hand was on the collar of his cloak, and Nestor was pinning his sword expertly against his side, but Satyrus didn't struggle. There was no point. The dice were spinning, bouncing – the moments before they stopped – is that a six? A one?
'This town has never fallen to assault,' Dionysius said, but there was hesitation in his voice.
Satyrus kept his eyes on the tyrant. 'And it need never. If you support me now – just with your harbour, and you can pretend that I forced your hand – I will be your loyal ally for ever. Refuse me – and you may as well kill me.'
'Your naked threat is an ugly weapon,' Dionysius said. 'Sometimes the ugly is the beautiful,' Satyrus said.
Dionysius laughed. He laughed so hard that his bed-frame shook. Nestor let go of Satyrus's cloak and stepped away.
The fat man laughed, and laughed, and then he drank some wine. 'I lay here, on this very couch, and listened to you announce that you would make yourself king,' he said. 'And Eumeles is a threat to me and to every city on the south coast. Do you actually have Demostrate?'
'I do, my lord.' Satyrus nodded.
Dionysius nodded, his chins still quivering. 'You have wit, lad. But I'm not sure I believe that you have an army.'
Satyrus had nothing to lose. 'Amastris? You said you had a letter for me?'
Amastris stepped past Nestor. 'You will help him?' she asked her uncle. She sat on his couch and ruffled his hair – an oddly ugly gesture. Then she sent a slave for the letter. Time passed slowly. Satyrus had time to review all the other options he had had. And then the local helot came running back down the hall, her bare feet a whisper on the stone floors. She bowed to the tyrant, who waved his hand.
And she handed Dionysius the tablets.
The tyrant opened them – a two-fold tablet, with wax inserts on each side, four pages in all. The wax was inscribed, and he cast his eyes over it. ''Amion, merchant of Babylon, sends word to Satyrus, merchant of Alexandria, that he will send the Lady Amastris the required perfumes, and further stipulates against future payment…'' Dionysius looked up. 'I fear you will insist that this is a code.'
Satyrus shook his head. 'No,' he said. 'If you will permit me?' He reached out, and Nestor took the tablets from his master and put them in Satyrus's hand. Satyrus got a twinge from the bruise where one of the arrows had struck his breastplate. Then he had the tablets. He flexed the light wood between his hands, and popped the wax pages, one by one, from their frames.
And there was writing, small writing, covering the revealed wood. Satyrus sighed, and it seemed as if every muscle in his body relaxed. He handed the waxless boards back to Nestor, who passed them to the tyrant.
'You are full of surprises,' Dionysius said. He nodded. ''Diodorus to Satyrus, greetings. Ares and Athena bless your enterprise – I received your message today, less than a week after Seleucus paid us off for the winter. As soon as the men are sober, I will march. I will come up the royal road as far as I may, and then by the old road to Heraklea. Expect me as soon as the passes are clear. Sitalkes and Crax and all our friends speak of nothing now but our return from exile, and all of the omens are favourable.'' Dionysius raised his eyes. 'Of course, you might have planted this.'
Satyrus nodded. 'I might, at that.'
'Bah – I cannot bear to execute him. And as he says himself, that is the only other choice.' Dionysius nodded. 'Nice trick with the boards, young man. From Herodotus, I believe. But – very well. I don't care to face a siege from the age's finest captain. I will be your ally. But – if you fail, boy – don't come back here.'
Satyrus bowed again. He thought of the state of his treasury and the thin balance of good will in his fleet. 'If I fail,' he said, and the mask finally slipped, and his voice trembled, 'if I fail, lord, I will feed the fishes.'
Dionysius pursed his lips and drank some wine. 'Good,' he said. 'So we understand each other.'
18
Melitta put her little army in motion while the steppe was still frozen. The winter wind continued to blow, although it was becoming warmer every day and the sun shone longer, and the shadows along the riverbanks grew shorter and smaller. Deer began to move. It was a matter of a week or two until the ground became a sea of mud.
It was her second great gamble, and her second demand that her captains trust her. This time, after one brief speech, they obeyed. It was that easy.
The Grass Cats and the Cruel Hands came in by the hundred, led by the best armoured knights, the richest clan warriors, some owning three or four hundred animals, and their wagons rolled along at the tail of their columns. Young women, bundled in furs to the eyes, rode on the flanks, eyes alert for wolves, because the horses were thin and slow after a long winter on the sea of grass – now the sea of snow.
'There will be grain aplenty in the valley of the Tanais,' Melitta said. 'And when Upazan's riders come, we'll meet them horse to horse.'
Eumenes shook his head. 'I can possibly have the Olbians together to march before the feast of Athena,' he said. 'Even then, I'd be taking farmers away from their planting.'
Melitta nodded. 'I wish I knew where my brother was,' she said. 'And what he planned. But in this, my heart tells me that speed is everything.' She tried not to admit, even to herself, that she held Gardan and Methene in her heart – and all the farmers.
Coenus, at least, was solidly behind her. 'With your permission,' he said, 'I'll take a few of Ataelus's scouts and ride ahead. I fancy that I can find Temerix. And I think we need him.'
Ataelus nodded. 'Better I go too,' he said. He shrugged. 'Temerix and I for friends – for fighting Upazan, many years. Eh?'
Coenus grinned. 'Like old times.'
'Raise your hoplites in the spring, when the seed is in the ground,' Melitta said.
'The campaign may be over by then,' Eumenes said.
Urvara hugged him. 'You are still a young man in your heart, my love. Listen – if we go east, fast as the wind, we will still have to fight Upazan – and then Eumeles. Yes?'
Eumenes nodded.
