'Now for revenge!' Thyrsis said, leaping to his feet as if he'd never shot his bow or ridden a stade all day.
'One more ride,' Scopasis shouted, and then they were all on their feet. Many changed horses. Many cursed.
Urvara leaned on her sword hilt and drove the point into the grass. 'We're done.'
Melitta was sorry, but she forced a smile. 'I can see Eumenes,' she said, pointing across the river, where a long column of horsemen were splashing into the river. 'Send him to me.'
Then she took her warriors and went back to the pikemen.
Nikephoros had plenty of time to see her coming, and at her orders all the Sakje shot carefully and slowly, riding close to be sure of every shaft, and the pikemen halted and closed even tighter. Melitta rode to Graethe. 'Take your Standing Horses and get arrows from the Grass Cats,' she said. 'Then come back.'
He waved his axe in acknowledgement and rode away.
Her numbers halved, she led her people past the phalanx again. Only fifty or so arrows flew, but men fell.
The phalanx shuffled into motion again.
She cursed the lack of arrows and rode past a third time. This time, pikemen leaped out of the spear wall and killed Sakje, dragging the victims down with charging thrusts of their spears – but every brave pikeman died, spitted or shot by the following riders.
And again the phalanx retreated, opening a gap.
She rode by a fourth time but scarcely a dozen arrows flew, and the phalanx didn't even stop. Nikephoros was on to her. He was going to march away.
But Graethe returned and led his men straight to the attack, and his first run blocked out the first stars with arrow shafts, and fifty more pikemen fell. Again they halted and closed up.
'They may be the best infantry I've ever seen,' Coenus said. 'They won't break. By the gods, they're good.'
Graethe rode back. 'Now what?'
'Give every warrior one arrow,' she said. 'We'll hit both of their flanks together and try to make them fold.'
Graethe agreed, and they rode out to the flanks. On the left, where Melitta rode, she could see horsemen crossing the last ridge. She had no idea who they were, but they were clear in the last light of the sun.
'Rally at the ford if we do not break the Greeks!' she shouted.
There was no answering shout. Her people had no life in them – they rode, and obeyed. That was all. Every face had the lines of exhaustion.
She led them wide to the left and the Greeks began to march, and then she turned inward, just as Graethe's men did the same on the right. This time they would go straight at the Greeks instead of riding along the face of their formation. If men flinched, if the arrow storm took enough lives, a rider might slip into the ranks, and then another behind, and then…
The Cruel Hands were across the ford. She could see Parshtaevalt leading his warriors forward – a thousand fresh Sakje with full quivers.
But the sun was gone, and the last light was augmented by the beacon on the fort and the line of fires burning on the beach. They had a few minutes of ruddy light, and then it would be dark.
Nikephoros had halted and was again closing his files.
Melitta put her heels to Gryphon and they went forward.
And the infantry held them. Not a Sakje died, but they were tired. A young warrior who might, in the morning, have risked his life to thread the little gap where the phylarch died with a barb in his throat reined up and turned away instead. And as the very last light died, the Sakje rode away.
It was not for nothing. All along the beach, Eumeles' second squadron lit the night sky with the fires in their hulls. And Nikephoros, driven from his camp without a fight, turned his still unbeaten phalanx from the burning gates and marched away north and east. A rider joined the phalanx, a lone man in a purple cloak. Melitta was watching him as his cloak turned from purple to black in the failing light.
'Eumeles!' a voice by her elbow called. The man turned his head and then rode on, joining the retreat of the phalanx. She turned to see who had shouted.
'To Tartarus with him,' Satyrus said, and threw his arms around his sister.
25
They camped on the field with the dead. Temerix came in an hour after dark with all his men and reported that Upazan had crossed the river to the north and was coming up fast.
Satyrus was bigger than she remembered. He seemed to have swollen to fill the role of king. She let him do it. Men called him Wanax, the old title, and Basileus, and he was like a demi-god. She felt tired and dirty next to his magnificent armour, his perfect physique and his unscarred face.
Before the night was an hour old, he had set the camp and together, the two of them walked from fire to fire, visiting Sakje and Olbians, farmers and sailors.
'My men are annoyed that they have to put out the fires they started,' Satyrus joked. His ships were still working, transporting the Olbian infantry over the river after disgorging all the Macedonians who had served as marines. 'We could have had all Eumeles' ships. But we didn't know you and Urvara could hold so many men for so long.'
Melitta smiled. 'We did it with our teeth,' she said. 'Don't you sleep?'
'We're going to fight in the morning,' he said. 'I don't want any mistakes. Most of our people fought today, Lita. If we don't put spirit in them-'
'You could start by putting some of that spirit in me, brother,' she said. 'If I thought I could, I'd desert. I'm done.'
He put his arms around her, and she stayed there. 'You are superb,' he said. 'You were going to do it all without me, weren't you?'
'We thought that you were dead, until we landed and heard the news,' she said.
He smiled. 'Listen, honey bee. We've got them. We've got them.' He pulled his shoulder blades back sharply and flexed his arms. 'Their fleet is gone. Upazan is nothing – a horse lord with his power base a thousand stades away, deep in our territory.'
She shook her head. 'Spirit is all, Satyrus. If we lose tomorrow, we are the ones who are finished.' She paused. 'I wish Diodorus were here.'
They were between fires. Behind them, Olbians shouted and poured libations. They were fresh men, and their father's friend Memnon, hoary with age and still hard as a rock, led them in the hymn to Ares.
Memnon came and embraced them both. 'Tomorrow, we will put Eumeles in the dust, where he belongs, the cur,' he said.
'May Ares protect you, Memnon,' Melitta said. 'You have grown old in his service – and few of his servants grow old!'
Memnon looked around. 'I had to come,' he said. 'I couldn't miss this. My last fight, I suspect – some kid will put a spear in my throat and I'll curse the dark when it falls.' He thumped his chest. 'I was at Issus with the Great King. This will be my tenth battle in the front rank.'
Satyrus was moved by the old man. He put a gentle hand on Memnon's back. 'May Herakles protect you. You deserve better than a death in battle.'
Memnon laughed and went back to his men. 'Better a spear to the throat in the storm of bronze than dying of the shits in painful old age, lad,' he called.
At the north end of the camp, Ataelus's clan was a silent, mournful knot – those who were awake. As they walked there, Satyrus stopped, looking out over the sea in the moonlight. He could hear the sound of wild beasts rooting in the bodies.
Satyrus set his face. 'About Diodorus – you are right – and right to remind me.' He shook his head. 'I left the
