14
In the morning, Satyrus was so stiff that
he could only rise to his feet by grasping the pole of his
impromptu tent, and even that caused his stomach muscles to
protest. But he rose when ordered, stumbled out into the near dark
and found his beautiful new horse. He made sure she was fed and
walked her all the way back to the gully with the watering party
before he got a handful of dried figs from his sister and a slice
of honey cake from Sappho for breakfast. Melitta was astride Bion,
eating her breakfast in the saddle, and casting a great many
glances at the small tent where Banugul lay.
He repicketed his horse and sat with Hama and
Dercorix to eat, sharing the honey cake with an appreciative
audience.
‘You have to pay Apollodorus for that horse,’ Hama
said. ‘Or give it back and we’ll find you a remount.’
Satyrus rubbed his chin, which felt weirdly itchy.
‘I don’t have any money,’ he said.
Melitta came and sat with her back to his, handing
out dates. ‘We’re not poor, brother. Diodorus will give you
money.’
‘That beast’s worth a talent of silver,’ Hama
said.
‘Poseidon!’ Satyrus said. ‘Really?’
‘She’s wearing a dozen mina of silver on her
harness, boy.’ He was watching something. ‘There’s trouble,’ Hama
said, pointing a tattooed arm at a clump of Saka sitting on their
ponies across the gully. Two of them turned and rode away in a
spurt of dust.
‘Now?’ Satyrus asked Hama. He looked around. ‘Don’t
we need to do something about the Saka?’
The Keltoi man nodded. ‘Not really, lord. No one
wants more killing right now - and they have had a taste of bronze
from our pickets. Now, no time like the present. Just acknowledge
the debt, lad. That’ll be enough.’
Satyrus wiped his sticky hands on his sister’s
barbarian trousers, arousing her indignation, but he skipped out of
range and trotted off. She didn’t follow, because Herakles came out
of his mother’s tent, wearing a shining white chiton and a diadem
of gold.
Most of the hippeis had camped in the same order
that they rode, so each file became a mess and sat around their own
fire. Apollodorus was in third file of first troop. Satyrus found
him drinking camomile tea.
‘Is a talent fair?’ Satyrus asked, walking
up.
All the men in the mess group stood, as if he was
an officer.
Apollodorus frowned. ‘A talent of silver, lord?’ He
couldn’t hold the frown. ‘That’ll have to do!’
‘Herald coming in,’ another trooper said,
shovelling barley-porridge into a bowl. ‘Can’t be good news.’ He
handed the bowl to Satyrus. ‘Barley, lad?’
It was full of honey, and Satyrus ate the
whole bowl with more appetite than he thought he had, while the
herald dismounted and exchanged words with Andronicus beyond the
wagon laager.
‘Clean your bowl, lord?’ a woman asked.
The camp was almost besieged by women - not their
own women, who were inside the laager, but hundreds of hungry
refugees from yesterday’s disaster, begging food for their
children. Grim-faced pickets kept them outside the wagons, but many
of the troopers handed out their scraps.
A few single men simply walked out of the gate and
chose companions. They and their children changed status instantly,
coming in past the pickets. Satyrus watched his uncle, who in turn
was watching the process with a jaundiced eye. He shook his head,
gathered a couple of handfuls of grass and wiped the bowl clean and
handed it back to the owner. Then he walked over to Diodorus, who
stood alone, looking thunderous. Satyrus wanted to continue being a
soldier, not a boy. He hoped he’d be allowed to ride with the troop
again.
‘Good morning, Strategos,’ Satyrus said.
Diodorus finished his wife’s honey cake. ‘Nice
piece of work yesterday, boy,’ he said, dusting his hands on his
chiton.
‘I told you not to get honey on that
chiton,’ Sappho called.
The strategos looked sheepish and stepped away from
his wagon. ‘We need to move,’ he said. ‘The refugees will get
desperate tomorrow. Antigonus - the strategos, not our troop
commander - has demanded a parley.’ The hippeis seemed to get an
unending amount of mirth out of the fact that they had both a
Eumenes and an Antigonus among them.
Satyrus was delighted to be addressed in such an
adult manner. It seemed to promise well. ‘What will you do?’ he
asked.
Diodorus nodded. ‘You and I will go and meet the
great man,’ he said, ‘While Eumenes and Crax get our people out of
here. You ready to move?’
Satyrus was wearing the same chiton as yesterday
and no boots. ‘May I have a few minutes, sir?’ he asked, heart
pumping hard.
‘Five. No, three. Hurry.’ Diodorus was already
turning away to Crax, who looked clean, neat and golden.
Satyrus had missed some change in orders, because
all around him men were tying up their kit, wrapping spare gear in
cloaks and tying them in bundles, handing things to slaves.
Satyrus’s gear was the last in his area of the camp to be lying on
the ground under the hasty shelter. He pulled it all down and tried
to roll his cloak as tightly as he saw the soldiers doing, but his
sister stopped him.
‘Don’t be silly,’ she said. ‘I’ll get slaves to
pack you. Get your corslet on and your boots.’
His Thracian boots were crusted in salt and dried
hard, but he got them on, feeling the beating in his back and the
fatigue in his abdomen. His corslet was soaked through with sweat
and clammy. The cord that held his sword was almost broken and he
tied it hurriedly and tossed the scabbard over his head and made
sure it was in his armpit, and then he made himself trot to his
mare, although he didn’t want to trot anywhere. Melitta didn’t look
exhausted, and his uncle and Crax looked as fresh as the new
day.
Of course, neither of them had been beaten by their
tutors for disobedience.
It took him three attempts and some ungraceful
squirming to get a leg over the mare’s back. She stood for it,
though, and he was up. Only then did he realize that he didn’t have
his petasos hat or his helmet.
‘Zeus Soter,’ he swore, and regretted his impiety.
Too late to get his hat. He rode around the camp to the gate,
pushed his horse through the crowd of women and children, and
reined in by his uncle.
Melitta ran up, clutching his hat. He smiled at
her. ‘What would I do without you?’ he asked.
‘Get even redder,’ she said. She clasped his hand,
and then his uncle was up on a charger and they were riding, out of
the gate, through the women, past the pickets and past the gully.
Andronicus came with them, his trumpet on his hip, and twenty
troopers led by Hama.
On the far side of the gully they saw the band of
Saka. The chief motioned with his hand, as if beckoning the Tanais
troopers to come across. The gesture might have been well meant,
but it might also have been mocking.
‘I’ll go,’ Satyrus said. ‘I can talk to
them.’
Hama grunted.
Diodorus sighed. ‘Nothing less threatening than a
twelve-year-old.’
Hama spat. ‘They could kill him.’
Diodorus looked around. ‘Carlus? Go with him. Do
it, Satyrus. Our goal here is to waste as much time as possible.’
Diodorus patted him on the shoulder.
Satyrus glanced at Hama and rode forward. He angled
off to avoid the gully and then rode straight at the Saka, who came
to meet them, surrounding them and calling shrilly to one
another.
Carlus towered over him, right at his shoulder, his
spear on its throwing loop.
‘Whose band is this?’ Satyrus called out in Sakje,
and the man with the most gold reined in his pony and
laughed.
‘Astlan of the River Foxes,’ he called.
‘I am Satrax of the Cruel Hands,’ Satyrus
responded. ‘My mother is Srayanka, who fought with your Queen
Zarina against Iskander.’
Astlan raised his hand in greeting. ‘Names of
story,’ he said. ‘You do not look like a son of the people,’ he
said. He shrugged. ‘But you talk the people’s talk.’
‘We intend to make parley with Antigonus,’ Satyrus
said. ‘Will you let us pass?’
The Massagetae chief shrugged. ‘You are no enemy of
mine, son of Srayanka. Ride free.’
The Saka whooped and rode off in a thin veil of
dust.
Satyrus rode up the ridge towards the bluff, Carlus
at his shoulder. A couple of the Saka paced them, and a young woman
waved at him.
‘Greetings, cousin!’ he shouted.
She grinned. ‘Greetings, cousin!’ she shouted back,
and rode in closer. She had gold plaques on her tunic and gold in
her hair and gold foil wrapped her braids. ‘You are just a boy!’
she said when she was closer. ‘I thought you were a
spear-maiden!’
Satyrus blushed with embarrassment, but she smiled
again. Her eyes had an odd shape. ‘I’m Darya of the Golden Horses,’
she said. ‘I killed a Greek yesterday! Yiee!’
‘Satrax of the Cruel Hands,’ he called to her. I
maimed a peasant and cut down some fleeing men who wanted my
horse.
She paced him up the ridge. ‘Good hunting!’ she
called, and wheeled away, waving her bow. ‘Nice fucking
horse!’
My sister would have made her a friend for
life, Satyrus thought. He sighed.
Carlus grunted. ‘My shoulders are tight,’ he said.
‘I wait for the arrow in the back.’ He gave Satyrus a gap-toothed
grin. ‘Like riding with your father, eh?’
At the top of the ridge were a dozen horsemen, and
Satyrus was surprised to find that one of them was the young
officer he’d outrun the day before.
‘Hail, lord,’ he said, slowing his mount. ‘I come
to speak for Diodorus of Tanais.’
The young man had a blond beard and bright blue
eyes. ‘I am Demetrios,’ he said in a tone replete with
self-importance. ‘Bring your Diodorus to me.’ He looked down the
ridge. ‘You seem friendly with my Saka. I’m surprised they did not
eat you for breakfast.’
Satyrus kept his face as neutral as twelve years
could manage. ‘I will go and find my strategos.’
‘Don’t keep me waiting, boy,’ Demetrios called. His
breastplate and helmet were newly polished. His eyes were on the
horse Satyrus was riding.
Satyrus bowed from the back of his mare and turned
away.
‘Where did you get that horse?’ Demetrios shouted
after him.
Satyrus affected not to hear and rode down the
ridge and around the gully, passing back through the loose line of
Massagetae. They paid him no attention at all, although Darya waved
at him.
He cantered back to Diodorus and saluted.
‘Demetrios awaits you at the top of the ridge.’ Satyrus shook his
head. ‘I don’t like it.’
‘I don’t like it either, lord,’ Carlus said. ‘He
has a hundred men around him and he’s a hothead boy. He didn’t
offer us laurel or olive or safe passage.’
‘Demetrios is Antigonus’s son,’ Diodorus said. ‘He
honours us, in a backhanded way. And we’re buying time.’ He
motioned over his shoulder, where a distant curl of dust indicated
Sappho’s wagons rolling out, heading south and east. They started
forward around the gully, riding slowly, never faster than a
walk.
‘You know what happened last night?’ Diodorus asked
Satyrus.
Satyrus wondered if this was about his punishment.
He looked at the strategos. ‘No,’ he said. Anything to keep his
uncle talking.
‘We didn’t lose the battle yesterday. Antigonus
lost his phalanx - heavy casualties. Our leader, Eumenes, rallied
his beaten cavalry at the end of the day, and Antigonus retreated.’
Diodorus’s voice was grim, and he held his horse to a walk,
although Demetrios was plainly visible on the skyline.
‘So we won?’ Satyrus asked.
‘Listen, boy. Late afternoon, and Eumenes summoned
all his commanders to meet him. Remember? I rode away?’ Diodorus
looked at him, and Satyrus could see the fatigue in his eyes.
‘Yes,’ Satyrus replied.
‘As I rode up, the fucking Macedonians seized him.
They tried to get me. His own officers betrayed him.’
Diodorus’s face was a mask. ‘There are no rules any more, Satyrus.
No honour. Zeus Soter, they call us mercenaries faithless.’ He
shook his head. ‘So be ready for anything. Hear me?’
Satyrus wanted to ask why he’d been brought, but he
decided to let it go.
Astlan and a pair of riders rode up, looked at them
from a few horse-lengths and cantered easily away. They had bows in
their hands, but no arrows on the string - yet.
Satyrus turned out of his uncle’s small column and
trotted over to Darya, feeling bold. He reached into his quiver and
took out an arrow - one of his own red-shafted arrows fletched in
heron feathers. ‘Here,’ he said.
She smiled. She had dimples and jet-black hair. She
gave him one of her own arrows. The Massagetae of her band began to
tease her, and she swatted another girl with her bow. Then she
flashed a smile at Satyrus, who returned it with interest and
cantered back to Carlus.
‘I thought that I’d lost you for a moment,’ Carlus
said. ‘Try not to do that again.’
‘Give the boy some respect,’ Diodorus said. ‘His
Sakje may be all that is keeping us from their arrows.’
Demetrios displayed his impatience by cantering
down the hill away from his entourage. ‘Can we get this done?’ he
said. ‘My father offers you all your lives. You will take service
with us. There, it’s done. You, boy - that’s my spare horse. Hand
it over. She’s a Nisaean!’
The silver-helmeted young man reached for Satyrus’s
reins.
Satyrus backed the mare away, leaving the blond
officer grasping air. ‘Spear-won!’ he said, delighted with himself
for remembering the right word at the right time.
‘You lost, you stupid Greek. Give me my horse!’
Demetrios became aware that he was surrounded by enemy cavalry.
‘Touch me and you are all dead.’
Diodorus caught the enemy boy’s bridle and turned
his horse. ‘You’ll be worth a pretty penny,’ he said. ‘Ride for
it!’
They thundered away, through the surprised Saka and
across the ridge, past the gully. Satyrus didn’t start breathing
until they were within the circuit of their own pickets. Not an
arrow flew their way.
Demetrios was all but raving. ‘You are all dead
men! You have broken your oaths! You fucking Greek mercenaries, you
scum!’
His escort hadn’t pursued them past the
gully.
Diodorus handed the blond’s reins to Hama. ‘I
couldn’t resist. Listen, boy. We swore no oaths - you
offered us no safe conduct. Your herald didn’t have a staff. And
you did not win the battle. Now - speak your piece. Then - maybe -
I’ll let you go back to your father.’
Demetrios didn’t lack courage. He looked around
him, as if assessing the situation. ‘You’re the boy who shot past
us yesterday!’ he said to Satyrus. He grinned, suddenly, and looked
like the statue of a young Apollo. ‘My father offers you wages. And
demands the return of any booty you have taken. And the handing
over of certain people. I am not to discuss this in public.’ He
looked around him.
Satyrus admired his coolness, because the golden
boy was smiling as if he’d just been given a gift.
‘Dad says I’m a hothead. I’ll never live this down.
You will let me go? He really will kill you. Look at the force he’s
putting together!’ Demetrios pointed at the mass of cavalry already
gathering on the ridge beyond the gully.
‘What people?’ Diodorus asked.
‘Eumenes’ widow and her bastard son,’ Demetrios
said. ‘We will not mistreat her.’
Diodorus looked south along the valley. From the
top of the ridge that had held their pickets all night, he could
see that Sappho’s wagons had made fifteen stades and were still
rolling.
‘The answer is no,’ Diodorus said after a moment.
‘No, we won’t take service with your father and, no, we won’t
return any booty and, no, you cannot have Banugul. Although I wish
you fucking had her already,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘As to
being fucking Greeks, and mercenaries—’
‘I was overwrought,’ Demetrios said cheerfully. ‘I
have a temper.’
‘Your father arranged with the Argyraspids to have
my employer murdered, did he not?’ Diodorus was watching as more
Macedonian cavalry crested the far ridge.
‘The mutinous troops killed Eumenes,’ Demetrios
said. ‘What you say is a very serious accusation.’
‘Go and tell your father that if he wants us, he
can try and catch us,’ Diodorus said. ‘Now get off your
horse.’
‘This is my best horse,’ Demetrios said.
‘It is about to become my best horse,’
Diodorus said. ‘Think of it as the cost of a little lesson in war.
You still have a great deal to learn. Next time you offer someone a
truce, keep it.’
Demetrios dismounted. He turned to Satyrus. ‘Who
are you?’ he asked.
‘Satyrus, son of Kineas,’ he said.
Demetrios gave him a good-natured smile, and tossed
him his silver helmet. ‘You might as well have this to go with the
horse. That way, I’ll know you next time!’ He grinned, turned away
and started to jog across the grass to the north.
‘There goes fifty talents of gold,’ Hama said
bitterly. ‘We got a horse!’
Diodorus led them back south, towards the vanishing
column of dust. ‘Antigonus One-Eye would follow us to the ends of
the earth to rescue his son,’ he said. ‘I hope it won’t be worth
his while to pursue us otherwise.’
‘They really murdered Eumenes?’ Crax asked.
‘Someone did. I saw them grab him yesterday -
Argyraspids and some cavalry officers.’ Diodorus shook his head.
‘He deserved better.’
‘Where in Hades do we go now?’ asked Eumenes the
Olbian, who rode up from the head of his troop. ‘Hello, young
Satyrus.’ He reached out for the silver helmet that Satyrus was
still holding. ‘That’s quite a piece of kit.’
Satyrus hugged him.
Eumenes eyed the helmet. ‘Well, I’d be careful
where I wore it,’ he said, laughing. ‘Young Apollo over there will
probably want it back.’
‘He said something of the sort,’ Satyrus
admitted.
Diodorus looked around. ‘Has this outfit lost any
semblance of discipline? You people have troops to command, I
believe?’
‘Where are we going?’ Crax asked. ‘Tanais is gone,
and Eumenes the Cardian is dead. We’re out of employers!’
Diodorus gave them a tight smile. ‘Aegypt,’ he
said. ‘Down the hills to the Euphrates, up the Euphrates until we
can cut across the desert to the Jordan, and down the Jordan to
Alexandria.’
Crax shook his head. ‘That’s five thousand stades!’
he said. ‘By Hermes, Strategos, we don’t have remounts, we don’t
have food, and we’re surrounded by enemies. We don’t have a bronze
obol amongst us!’
‘Twenty days should see us to Ptolemy’s outposts,’
Diodorus said. ‘We’ll buy remounts - or take them. Look, I have the
first one under my hand.’
‘We couldn’t buy a donkey,’ Crax said.
‘Remember how One-Eye was asking for our loot
back?’ Diodorus asked, smirking at Eumenes.
Crax grinned. ‘That was a good one. What
loot?’
‘The loot I got,’ Eumenes said. ‘While you folks
were gallivanting around the battlefield, I lifted One-Eye’s
treasury.’ He shrugged at Crax’s disbelieving look. ‘All Tyche,
brother. I got lost in the salt haze, and I tripped over these
packhorses.’
They all laughed, and Satyrus, now one of them,
laughed too.
When they rejoined the column, they found Banugul
sitting on a white Nisaean with her son on a black mare. She looked
like a queen, her pale-skinned beauty scarcely aged. She wore a
considerable amount of carefully applied cosmetics, more than
Satyrus had ever seen on a free woman, and she had a cloth-of-gold
scarf tied over her hair. Her purple-blue eyes sparkled under the
shawl, and she was obviously angry.
Herakles looked deeply unhappy.
Diodorus rode up in a swirl of dust and embraced
his Sappho. ‘Beautiful job,’ he said.
She gave him a lopsided grin. ‘Men,’ she said.
‘Birth a baby and they’ve nothing to say. But get a column
moving—’
‘I wish to go to One-Eye,’ Banugul said.
Diodorus gawked at her. ‘What? He tried to kill you
yesterday.’
She shook her head. ‘I am not going to Aegypt with
a column of mercenaries,’ she said. Her tone softened. ‘There are
many men here with no reason to love me, or Alexander’s son,
either, Diodorus. I will never forget that Philokles saved me, nor
that Kineas’s daughter saved my son. But I am the satrap of
Hyrkania, and Antigonus One-Eye is now my lord. I will go and make
obeisance to him.’
Sappho laughed.
Banugul glared at her.
Diodorus rubbed his chin. ‘He asked for you and the
boy, right enough,’ the strategos said. ‘He might just kill
you.’
Banugul smiled. It was an easy smile, a light
smile, and it undid fifteen years of ageing and rendered her
Aphrodite-like. ‘He will not kill me. He needs my father, and my
brothers, and my son will give him legitimacy.’
‘I want to be a king,’ Herakles said suddenly. ‘Not
a pawn.’
‘Your father started as a pawn,’ Banugul said. And
then, in a kinder way, she said, ‘Your turn will come.’
‘I want to stay with Satyrus and Melitta,’ he
said.
Satyrus rode over to the boy and clasped his hand,
as men do. ‘We will be friends,’ he said.
Diodorus looked at Sappho, and then at Eumenes. The
young Olbian gave a slight nod. So did Sappho.
‘You’d be doing us a favour, and no mistake, lady,’
Diodorus acknowledged. ‘If you were to - to go to him, One-Eye
might just let us go.’ He looked at the northern horizon. ‘But
we’ve got Hades’ own jump on the bastard. I think we can outrun
him.’
Banugul smiled her Aphrodite smile again. ‘So many
brave men. But not today.’
Diodorus exchanged one more look with his wife.
‘Fine. I’ll send a herald.’
Banugul nodded. ‘By leaving you, I return the
favour that Philokles - and Kineas - did me.’
Sappho turned her head away. Satyrus could tell
that his aunt didn’t like the beautiful queen.
Melitta came up the column, already covered in dust
from riding around, visiting. Apparently unaware of her condition,
she rode into the command group. ‘Herakles is leaving?’ she
asked.
‘Yes,’ Sappho answered. ‘Say your goodbyes. His
mother feels she’ll do better with our enemies. The men who just
murdered her husband.’
Banugul’s head shot around, and her glare had the
power of a thousand courtly confrontations, and Sappho met it full
on.
‘Better for all of us, really,’ Diodorus was heard
to mutter. ‘Hama? Take a file from first troop, and Andronicus as
your herald.’
Melitta embraced a startled Herakles, who then
hugged her back with sudden fervour. She kissed him, which got a
grunt of disapproval from his mother. Sappho exchanged her frown
for a smile - anything that displeased the blonde Persian woman
pleased her.
‘I won’t forget you!’ Herakles called, as he rode
away. Satyrus waved to him, and then pressed his heels to his
mount, galloped up by the other boy, and handed him a javelin - one
of his own, a nice heavy one.
‘Now you’re armed,’ he said. Then he made himself
say something personal. ‘Remember what Philokles said yesterday.
Don’t try to be your father. Just be yourself.’
Herakles gripped his hand so hard it hurt, and
Satyrus was shocked to see tears in the boy’s eyes.
They clasped hands again, and Herakles rode
away.
When Satyrus rode back to his uncle, the strategos
was frowning at the dust raised by Banugul’s party. ‘I should have
sent more of an escort.’
‘You should have sent her alone,’ Sappho
said.
‘You are not helping,’ Diodorus said through
clenched teeth.
Satyrus rode away from them, back along the column
to his sister, who cried for a little, very quietly.
‘I really liked him,’ she said.
Satyrus didn’t have much of an idea what to say, so
he gave her a quick and clumsy hug from horseback and they rode on
without speaking. Silence was the order of the day, and a lot of
glances back past the dust of the column.
‘They’re all worried about the escort,’ Satyrus
said. He’d just worked it out. ‘If Antigonus murdered Eumenes the
Cardian, he could do anything, including murdering Banugul.’
His sister sobbed.
‘What did I say?’ he asked the gods.
‘Just the fucking obvious! You are so
useless.’ Melitta’s voice trembled.
Crax went out with the prodromoi to find a campsite
and still there was no sign of Hama or the escort. Crax returned
long after Melitta’s tears had dried, and she and her brother were
reconciled, and still there was no news. They made camp - a cold
and hasty camp, which consisted mostly of picketing horses and
unrolling blankets and cloaks. The mountains rose all around them,
and it was cold, and in the last light of the late summer evening,
it began to rain. Melitta pressed hard against her brother’s
back.
‘I really liked him,’ she said. ‘Herakles, I
mean.’
‘I know who you mean,’ Satyrus said.
‘Of course you did,’ Theron said kindly, from the
other side of the sleeping pile. ‘He was a nice enough boy, for the
son of a god.’
‘Go to sleep,’ Philokles ordered.
They all slept fitfully, the intermittent rain and
the cold making real sleep impossible. Melitta shivered and
Satyrus’s hips were hurting from sleeping on the ground. He pulled
his Thracian cloak over his face to keep the rain off of it and
managed to slip away.
He smelled the lion skin first, and then he saw
the club.
‘You have done well,’ said a voice deep enough
to raise the hairs on the back of his neck.
Satyrus snapped awake with the scent of wet cat fur
in his nostrils. He lay awake a long time, listening to his heart
race and to Theron’s snores, until the reality of the dream slipped
into the next one, and he relaxed, and slept.
They were all stiffer, and older, in the morning,
and the horses were tired. But just after first light, when the
sentries were calling men to wake, a young trooper rode in, weary
but obviously full of news, and went to the cluster of tents that
stood in the centre of the camp. By the time Satyrus was sharing a
bowl of yogurt and honey with his sister, the news was spreading
from fire to fire, and the sound of laughter could suddenly be
heard, and fatigue began to fall away.
Philokles came over, having been to Diodorus’s
tent. ‘Melitta? One-Eye welcomed Banugul as a queen, with open
arms, and his escort hailed Herakles as the son of Alexander.’ He
smiled at her.
She nodded. ‘Excuse me,’ she said, slipping away a
little.
‘That’s good to hear,’ Satyrus said, just to say
something.
Philokles and Theron both nodded.
‘One-Eye sent Diodorus a safe-conduct,’ Philokles
added.
‘Zeus Soter!’ Theron said. ‘So we’re going to
live?’
‘Eventually he’s going to discover that we have his
pay chest,’ Philokles said.
Not much later, the whole escort came in, with
another dozen troopers who had been accounted dead. They were
stripped of their armour, but they were mounted, and glad to be
released. Most of them had been taken prisoner while wandering lost
in the dust cloud.
Diodorus, finished with other business, strode up.
‘You don’t have to live like soldiers. You know that you can all
stay with us,’ he said. ‘We have an empty tent,’ he added, pointing
at the tent where Banugul had stayed. It wasn’t meant to be funny,
but for some reason it made all the men around the fire roar with
laughter.
Satyrus looked at his tutor. Philokles nodded. ‘I
think it is time my charges learned to live like soldiers,’ he
said.
Diodorus smiled. ‘Well,’ he said, looking at the
horizon, ‘they’ll have all the way to Aegypt to learn it.’
They all laughed together, glad to be alive, and
their laughter rose to heaven like a sacrifice, and just for a
moment, Satyrus could smell lion skin.