Stratokles nodded. ‘Then you should load your ships and sail away.’
Satyrus nodded.
‘Except …’ Stratokles smiled at his own sense of drama. ‘Except that if you play no part in the last act, you can’t expect to be included in the settlement – and they
all
covet your kingdom. Lysimachos, Antigonus, Cassander, Demetrios … all of them.’
Satyrus nodded. ‘I can defend my own,’ he said.
Stratokles shrugged. ‘Of course you can. But wouldn’t it be better if you didn’t have to? If you wait, war will come to you – your farmers and your vineyards. Or – you pick one to win. Now. And I think you’ve already made the choice by taking this city. You can save Lysimachos – save his army, save the allies. And name your price.’
Satyrus nodded. ‘I’ve thought this, too.’
‘Well, the time is now.’ Stratokles nodded. ‘If you decide to sail away, I’ll come with you. But to be honest’ – he gave a wry smile – ‘if you elect to save Lysimachos,
please
consider allowing me to be the bearer of the tidings. It would give me a great deal of pleasure to be the means of saving him.’
Satyrus exchanged a look with Miriam.
‘Stratokles is actually an honest man,’ Miriam said. ‘In a terribly bent way.’
Stratokles bowed to her. ‘I begin to understand your choice, Satyrus.’
Commotion in the gateway, and Melitta arrived with Scopasis at her side. She embraced her brother, and then Miriam. ‘So?’ she said. ‘You sent me a beautiful messenger, brother.’
Anaxagoras had stripped to run, and he stood there looking like a statue of Apollo.
‘Show off,’ Satyrus said.
Anaxagoras shrugged. ‘I really can’t help it,’ he said. ‘It’s hot, and you told me to run.’ He nodded at Satyrus. ‘What’s your excuse?’
Melitta laughed, passed a hand down her lover’s back, then stopped herself. ‘Tell me,’ she said to her brother.
Satyrus took her aside. ‘Lysimachos has lost a battle, perhaps just a skirmish, but his army is broken up and he’s coming this way over the pass from Magnesia. He asks us for rescue.’
Melitta looked steadily into her brother’s eyes. ‘Your choice, brother,’ she said. ‘I made this war for you. You said, “Rescue Miriam”.’ Melitta’s eyes flickered over the still figure of the brown-haired woman. ‘She appears rescued. Now you want to save Lysimachos?’ She shrugged.
Satyrus acknowledged her point of view with a shake of his head. ‘I begin to think it’s time to choose a side and see to it that they win.’
‘We chose a side in Aegypt.’ Melitta shrugged as if to indicate that it hadn’t done them any good. ‘My side rides the plains and cares nothing for this war. Eh?’
Satyrus nodded. ‘Demetrios means to conquer the whole world,’ he said.
Melitta smiled. ‘Much good it will do him. The world will swallow him. No one but the Sakje know how much world there is.’
Satyrus fingered his beard. In the doorway, Miriam slipped away, and Menedemos of Rhodes bowed to her, eyed her breasts, and then came in. Charmides appeared with plain wool chitons, gave one to Anaxagoras and held out another for Satyrus.
‘Satyrus!’ Menedemos called. ‘You’ve outdone yourself.’
Satyrus shrugged.
Melitta raised an eyebrow. ‘As far as I can tell, Stratokles planned the thing and I did all the fighting, ‘she said. She flashed Stratokles a smile. ‘I may have to think better of you, Athenian. At the very least, I’d rather you were at my side than on the enemy side.’
Stratokles flushed with obvious pleasure – so obvious that Melitta laughed.
‘Are you clay in the hands of every handsome woman?’ she asked him quietly, looking up at him.
He sighed. ‘Now my secrets are discovered.’
Across the room, Menedemos took Satyrus’s arm and Satyrus stopped trying to listen in. Instead, he explained about Lysimachos.
The Rhodian nodded. ‘And you?’ he asked.
Satyrus looked around. Nikephorus was just coming in with Theron. Abraham gave him a nod from the doorway.
Satyrus cleared his throat and clapped his hands, and the room quieted.
‘Friends,’ he said.
They all turned away from other conversations, and looked at him.
This is power
, he thought to himself.
I wonder if I will ever have more than I have today.
He saw young Herakles at the back, and smiled. The boy looked … as if he’d done some growing up.
‘First – thanks!’ he said. ‘Well done, everyone. Diokles? Apollodorus? Casualties?’
Diokles had a wax tablet in his hand.
‘
Marathon
is a complete loss – hulled twice.
Ephesian Artemis
and
Pantecapaeaum
badly damaged. On the positive side, we captured sixteen useable hulls: fifteen triremes and a quadreme. Leaving the captures aside, we’re short about six hundred rowers from all causes – casualties, illness, desertion.’ He paused. ‘Sandokes died with
Marathon
.’
Satyrus glanced at Nikephorus – more to tell him he was next than anything else – and looked back at Diokles.
‘Please send my praise to every rower. That was a brilliant action, carried out at extreme risk and against odds. And tell them there’s loot from the city and shares in the value of the captures – and pay out a silver drachma per man tonight.’
Diokles grinned his old, piratical grin. ‘Better than your praises, I’m afraid, Lord.’
Satyrus returned it. ‘I remember. Apollodorus?’
The marine shrugged. ‘We lost one quarter to one third of our boys. Typical sea fight. I have five hundred marines fit to fight, and another hundred who need a week to recover – or die. If you choose to crew those ships you took, my boys’ll be spread thin.’
Satyrus nodded. ‘How soon could your fit men march?’
Apollodorus pursed his lips. ‘Tomorrow. Not sooner.’
Satyrus looked to Nikephorus. The Greek mercenary nodded. ‘Two dead, six wounded, and three thousand spears marching up from the ships now.’ He allowed himself a small smile. ‘Lord, you and yours did the hard fighting. My lads just held the gate.’
Satyrus flashed on Achilles with Memnon’s head in his lap. ‘Yes,’ he said. He sighed. ‘Menedemos?’
‘We barely fought. If I have five dead, I’ll be surprised.
Summer Rose
took a hit from one of their penteres but she’ll be right as rain by tonight.’ He shrugged. ‘My marines weren’t engaged.’
Satyrus glanced around. His fatigue was such that he thought that if he closed his eyes he’d go directly to sleep, and he had so many aches and pains they seemed like a chorus. He really didn’t want to make any decisions, and he didn’t want their admiration, either. He wanted to go and see Achilles, and he wanted to lie with Miriam … and sleep.
He looked at Melitta.
She gave him a slow nod.
‘Tomorrow at dawn we march east,’ Satyrus said. ‘It was not my initial plan but we will leave a skeleton guard in the citadel – Rhodian marines, if Menedemos will accept the command. I’ll take all my men – marines and phalanx – to rescue Lysimachos. Melitta will see to the fleet. We will send a messenger to Ptolemy – best done by ship. Find Leon. If we can link Lysimachos and Ptolemy …’ Satyrus paused. The die was cast. ‘Then we can end this war. And I have come to the decision that the war needs to end.’
The buzz of reaction told him he’d made a popular decision, if not the right one – except Apollodorus, who spat, and left the room; and Stratokles, who met his eye and shrugged.
‘Ready for a ride?’ Satyrus called to Stratokles. ‘Take your scout and … Charmides, are you fit to ride?’
The young man grinned. ‘For anything.’
Stratokles nodded. ‘I’d like a good bodyguard and Herakles.’ He smiled. ‘I’m going to make Lysimachos crawl.’
Satyrus grunted. ‘Not too much,’ he said. ‘I want him to love me.’
Miriam reappeared, dressed as a matron. She gave him a smile, and he treasured it, but he stood, his side screaming in pain, and forced his back straight. ‘I lost some men today,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘I want to see to them. Abraham, will you serve with me? I have ships that need captains.’
Abraham smiled. ‘I will serve until One-Eye is done – until there is peace. But then?’ He shrugged. Looked at Miriam. ‘My father is dead, Satyrus. I am the head of my house. My life is not with you.’
Satyrus smiled. ‘I might surprise you. Why not buy a nice house in Tanais? Run your empire from there?’
Abraham tilted his head to one side. ‘Planning for the future?’
Satyrus nodded. ‘I’d like to marry Miriam, if you’ll have me.’ He looked at her across the room. ‘And if she’ll have me, I suppose.’ He laughed.
Abraham took a deep breath. ‘If my father was alive …’ he said. ‘You will become a Jew?’ he asked.
Satyrus sighed. ‘I can’t do this now. I know nothing of being a Jew, Abraham. I say that without judgement. I am a servant of Herakles. I would never be a hollow worshipper of any god. But I would never interfere with your sister’s worship.’
Abraham frowned. ‘You are right – this is not the time or place. In our religion, she may not wed anyone … who is not of our kind.’
Satyrus found that his fists were clenched, and he unclenched them. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I have business.’ He took the chlamys that Anaxagoras held out, slipped a sword belt over his shoulder, and made his way to the door, his side twingeing at every step.
‘Uh, oh,’ Anaxagoras said.
‘Herakles my ancestor, give me strength.’ Satyrus muttered. ‘He’s my
friend
.’
Anaxagoras put a hand on Satyrus’s shoulder. ‘He means to do
good
,’ he said. ‘You are a pious man who keeps the laws of the gods – would you have him different?’
Satyrus nodded. ‘I know what you say is true but that was not unease. That was intransigence.’ He shrugged. Apollodorus was leaning outside, drinking wine.
‘You don’t like my decision,’ he said.
Apollodorus shrugged. ‘I’m tired of it,’ he said. He took another drink.
Satyrus put an arm around the small marine. ‘Let’s get it over with – for everyone, then.’
Apollodorus nodded. ‘I’ll fight for that. About the only thing left I’ll fight for – except my friends.’
Satyrus looked around. ‘You’ll know where the wounded are,’ he said.
Apollodorus nodded, knocked back another cup of wine. ‘That’s right. Let’s go.’
The three of them made their way through the late afternoon sun, that threatened to grill them through their light wool chitons like herrings or anchovies fresh-caught and seared on an iron skillet.
They climbed to the temple centre. The wounded were in the Asklepion. Satyrus walked among them, trying to cast off the bone-deep fatigue. He let a pair of doctors look at the injury under his arm, and he clasped hands with fifty wounded men. And at last he found Achilles, sitting with Odysseus.
The smaller man had a heavy bandage wrapped around his abdomen and his eyes were the blank eyes of a man with a great deal of opium in him.
Achilles looked up. ‘King,’ he said.
‘Achilles,’ Satyrus said. ‘I’m sorry. I chose to open the gate.’
Achilles nodded – one short nod, with a variety of meanings. ‘Memnon’s dead,’ he said. ‘Ajax hasn’t come to. Might be dead, might be fine – no fucking clue. And Odysseus here … I saw his guts, and I ain’t never seen a man recover from that.’ He didn’t meet Satyrus’s eyes.
Apollodorus put a hand on the mercenary’s shoulder. ‘You don’t know me,’ he said. ‘I’m Apollodorus of Olbia. I’m a priest of the Hero Kineas. Let me help.’
‘There was just the four of us,’ Achilles said, as if it explained everything.
Apollodorus looked at Satyrus, and his look told Satyrus to walk away.
‘You and Memnon and Odysseus and Ajax – you saved us,’ Satyrus said.
Apollodorus nodded, as if to say,
That’s good, now go away
.
‘Who’s this Kineas, anyway?’ Achilles asked.
‘Kineas said that the nobility of the warrior lay in offering to do an ugly job so that other men would not have to,’ Apollodorus began. ‘He also said that in the eyes of the gods, he who does more is of more worth.’ He didn’t sound drunk now – his eyes were steady, and he had both of Achilles’ shoulders. ‘Your friends were men of worth.’
Achilles began to weep.
Satyrus walked away into the evening.
‘Don’t do something you’ll regret,’ Anaxagoras said behind him.
‘I liked those men, and they’re dead.’ Satyrus walked to the edge of the restraining wall. Above him was the Temple of Artemis, and the city of Ephesus fell away below his sandals.
‘They were professional soldiers,’ Anaxagoras said. ‘You told us the odds when you laid out who went where. They elected to come with you – for money.’
Satyrus shrugged. ‘At least one is dead, now.’
Anaxagoras looked out at the first stars. ‘I think you are more injured by Apollodorus than by their deaths,’ he said.
Satyrus turned and looked at the man. ‘You know, I don’t always need the whole fucking truth poured on me. Yes, watching Apollodorus drink himself to courage hurts me, and yes, hearing him be a priest of
my father
frightens me. But I don’t really need to talk about it.’ He looked out at the night. ‘They died so that I could have what
I
wanted – Miriam. What if that’s for nothing?’
‘Make it for something. Save Lysimachos, defeat Antigonus, end the war.’ Anaxagoras shrugged.
‘You make it sound simple,’ Satyrus said.
‘You know where we’re standing?’ Anaxagoras said. ‘The portico of the old Temple of Artemis. Where Heraklitus taught. “War is the king and father of all – some men become kings, and others are made slaves. All of creation is an exchange – fire for earth, and earth for fire.”’
Satyrus smiled. ‘You are a fucking pedant, anyone ever tell you that?’
Anaxagoras met his smile. ‘I’ll go a step further and say that if Abraham had guaranteed you your marriage, neither Achilles nor Apollodorus would have hurt you. I tell you this as your friend – she loves you. You love her. It will happen.’
Satyrus felt dirty – bitter, angry and dirty. And he knew that Anaxagoras was right. He took his friend’s hand. ‘Did I mention that you’re an annoying pedant?’ he said. He embraced him, and then, unseen by the army and his own increasing horde of sycophants, he slipped into the temple, made sacrifice to Artemis and to Herakles, to Athena and to Aphrodite, and then went down the hill, to the army, to his friends, to the war he had started.