‘We’re looking for Polystratus’s wife,’ I said pleasantly enough. ‘We didn’t expect to find her moved.’
Diomedes smiled. ‘I thought you might come looking. So I came out to help.’ His grin covered his face. ‘She’s been apprehended by the law, and she’s back at work with her rightful owner. I’m sure that you didn’t know that she was an escaped slave.’
Polystratus choked.
I looked at him.
‘The law seized the farm as penalty for the crime of hiding an escaped slave,’ Diomedes continued. ‘And now that the felon has returned, I have a royal warrant for his arrest.’ He held out a scroll.
I reached to take it, but Diomedes swished it away. Somehow this juvenile act enraged me where everything else had merely made me cold.
Diomedes leaned in close. ‘Perhaps this time you’ll notice when we cut you, you fuck. Because we will cut you until you cease to exist. No one pisses on Attalus and lives.’
I had no idea what he was talking about. But I knew that my friends could take his Thracians. On the other hand, he was the royal’s favourite.
I looked back at Polystratus. ‘Is this true?’ I asked, but I could see on his face that it was. ‘You stupid fuck – why didn’t you tell me? I’d have bought her freedom.’
Polystratus bit his lip. I remember that it was odd to have the boot on the other foot. He was the older man, the adviser – Nestor to my Odysseus. Suddenly he was the supplicant.
Polystratus had been at my shoulder for a year, and I owed him . . . everything. And I had seen Kineas and Niceas, remember. Polystratus was not a peasant. He was a man. My man. Who had helped save me from myself.
I turned back, seized the scroll with one hand and tipped Diomedes into the winter mud by the simple expedient of reaching down, grabbing his foot and flipping him up. I pulled my spear from the bucket at my shoulder with my free hand, pointed it at his chest and looked at the Thracians.
‘Move, and I’ll have the lot of you sold as slaves.’ I said it in their language, and I meant it.
The street was mucky, full of winter rain and ordure, pigs’ guts and cow manure.
The Thracians rustled, and my friends had their swords in their hands.
I flipped the scroll open one-handed and read enough of the royal warrant to know that Diomedes was full of shit. I knew the laws – better than most men. I put the point of my boar spear against Diomedes’ chest. Every movement of my horse pushed it a little farther into his skin. ‘Just lie there,’ I said. I read the document to the end.
‘Nothing here about arresting my man,’ I said. ‘Nor anything naming you as an officer of the court.’ I smiled down into the mud. ‘So you’re a brigand with a band of Thracians.’
‘You stupid
‘I doubt you’re that good in bed,’ I said. ‘Get up.’
He got to his feet, backed away.
I was beginning to see where his insinuations led, even as he scrambled to remount his horse.
‘You burned my city house?’ I said. Had I been Achilles, I would have killed him then and there. But I am not Achilles. I’m Odysseus, and things were falling into place, like the pins and cogs of one of the astrological machines I’d seen in Athens.
‘Oh, very good,’ he hissed. ‘At last, you begin to see.’ He was mounted, and in the middle of his Thracians. I regretted letting him up. ‘We’ll kill your people. And you. Attalus is going to rule Macedon. You are going to suck my cock.’
‘You are a dumb bastard,’ I said, because thanks to that outburst, I could see the whole thing.
He turned and rode away, and the Thracians surrounded him. He was already hectoring them for their cowardice, but hired muscle is never the equal of determined freemen.
Well – actually that’s not true. Hired muscle often wins. But in the long run . . .
Attalus was planning to be king. What had he put into Philip’s head?
‘Back to the palace,’ I said.
We rode hard. We crossed the fields at a trot, staying on the field dividers to keep out of the mud, and we were back on the streets of Pella well before Diomedes.
Into the foreyard of the palace.
I turned to Polystratus. ‘We’ll find your girl. For now – get ready to move. Stable the horses, but stay close.’
With Nearchus and Black Cleitus at my shoulder, I entered the palace through the stables and moved along the main corridor. Of course we had the passwords, but I could feel the eyes of the companions on my back.
On the other hand, I was an officer, the head of one of the great families. If I chose to use it, I had a great deal of power. I thought that perhaps Attalus had underestimated me.
I made for Alexander’s rooms. He was lying on his couch, reading, with Hephaestion on a chair polishing his helmet.
‘Lord, there’s a plot,’ I said.
Alexander rolled off his bed. ‘I know there’s something.’
I shrugged. ‘I don’t know anything for certain. But my city house has been burned, all my slaves sold. My man, Polystratus – they moved against him in law, seized his wife and sold his lands. And he’s a freeman and a veteran.’
Alexander frowned. ‘Nasty, but not a plot against me.’
‘Diomedes came out to crow,’ I said.
Alexander raised an eyebrow. ‘Attalus.’
‘Diomedes said Attalus will be king,’ I said, and Alexander snarled like a lion. Hephaestion put a hand on his shoulder.
And a frightened page came into the room. ‘The king!’ he squeaked.
Philip pushed in on the page’s heels. Behind him was Attalus, with Diomedes, still splashed with mud.
‘Ptolemy!’ Philip said.
I pointed at Diomedes. ‘Only my loyalty to you, sire, kept me from killing this dog on the road,’ I said, because a good offence is always the best defence.
‘He says—’
‘Lord, he tried to lay hands on me and admitted to destroying my property and selling my people as slaves – while I did your bidding in Athens,’ I said.
King Philip’s eyes narrowed when I spoke over him – but he listened. Remember – I represented a great family and a lot of loyal service. And a lot of tax money. And political power.
‘I wish to swear a case against him,’ I went on. ‘I withheld my hand from killing him, but I demand justice.’
Philip’s face worked. He looked at Diomedes.
‘Lies!’ Diomedes said. ‘Lord, I—’
Nearchus, at my shoulder, bowed. ‘My king, I was there. It was as Lord Ptolemy says.’
Attalus spluttered. ‘They are all pages – they’re in it together!’
Alexander stood up. ‘Attalus – I do not remember inviting you into my rooms. Please leave. Diomedes, you as well.’
Philip looked back and forth. ‘Ptolemy – no need to swear a case against Diomedes, is there? What is this, some boys’ quarrel?’ He smiled at us.
Attalus narrowed his eyes. ‘Lord Ptolemy has been telling people that he is your bastard son and has as much right to the throne as Prince Alexander.’ Attalus grinned so that the fat hid his eyes. ‘Or better,’ he drawled, ‘since he says that he can prove you are his father.’
Philip made a strangled sound.
I can go either way – rage or cold calculation. But Athena stood at my shoulder. ‘My king – Attalus is gravely mistaken. I have never made any such claim. And anyone who looks at me can see my parentage in my nose.’ I laughed.
I have learned that a laugh – an unforced laugh, or a damned good imitation – is the most disarming technique in the world. And my nose was an excellent witness.
