Funeral Games (24 page)

Satyrus met the ogre’s eye. ‘I hope that I will always remember that beauty is not the only good,’ he said.

He started to turn away, but he caught the smile that flashed over the tyrant’s face. ‘When you are ready to be a king, come to me,’ Dionysius the tyrant said. ‘I think I would be happy to be your ally.’ With that, despite his bulk, he moved quickly, vanishing into his guards.

‘Not bad,’ Melitta said. ‘I think you’re starting to play the prince.’

‘I’ll have to live long enough to grow into the part,’ he shot back, but then he grinned at her. ‘Watch out, Lita. I could grow to like it.’

Nestor escorted them to the door. ‘Draco!’ he called out. Many of the diners were gathered outside, being searched with brusque efficiency by the tyrant’s guard. There was a fair amount of silent outrage.

Draco ran up and saluted. ‘Captain?’

‘Take these two back to their rooms,’ he said. ‘I will make arrangements on your behalf. Be ready.’ He spoke tersely and turned away.

Satyrus glanced at Melitta. She shook her head. ‘He means, don’t go to sleep,’ she whispered.

‘Right this way, lady,’ the soldier said. When they were clear of the guests and the other soldiers, he led them by the servants’ ways and the slaves’ stair to their rooms. There were soldiers at every junction in the palace.

‘This happens a little too often for me,’ he said. ‘Word to the wise - the guards saw a man going up the slaves’ stairs about twenty minutes back. They shouted - should have just charged the fucker - and he got away.’ The Macedonian shrugged. ‘More poison? Going to bag that slave girl? Who the fuck knows? I’ve never seen the like of this, except at court at home.’

Satyrus paused at the door of his room, suddenly overwhelmed with an irrational - or perhaps wholly rational - fear of a dark room. ‘Would you have someone search my room?’ he asked.

Draco sighed. ‘I’m not even on duty. Can the search of your room wait until morning?’

Satyrus whirled. ‘No, it cannot. Listen - someone just tried to poison me. Earlier, someone had a go at my sister and managed to poison Kallista - er, her slave. My mother is probably dead in Pantecapaeum, I’m cut off from my friends and my patrimony, and I’m at the end of my tether and I want you to get your arse into that room and check it out, or get someone who will. Understand me?’ His voice was shrill, and his tone was murderous, and he regretted the whole speech the moment it was out of his mouth.

Draco stiffened. ‘Yes, my lord,’ he said, woodenly. He summoned two more guardsmen, had a whispered conversation and then, with lamps in hand, they searched the room, ripped the coverings off the couch and searched them for needles, and summoned a pair of slaves to remake it. Then they did the same for Melitta, moving the snoring Kallista.

When they were done, Satyrus tried to make amends. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

Draco shot him a look of contempt. ‘Just my
job
, my lord. I’ll be on my way.’

Satyrus paused. ‘Yes, it is, Draco. Sorry for the inconvenience, but it
is
your job.’

Draco stalked off.

Philokles and Theron joined them in Melitta’s room. They dropped their packs and sat on them. Then Philokles went with Satyrus to his room and they collected his gear and moved it to his sister’s room.

Before they could get it all arranged, there was the rattle of armed soldiers in the colonnade, and Nestor appeared through the curtain.

He entered, followed by a slim figure wrapped to the head in cloaks. ‘The tyrant himself is otherwise engaged,’ Nestor said.

‘He sent me to prove his determination on your behalf,’ Amastris said, emerging from her wraps. She smiled hesitantly. ‘And because I wanted to say goodbye. Nestor will escort you to the stables. Father wants you gone immediately - while he has the palace locked down and no one can speak of your flight. Then he intends to sell every slave in the palace. That boy - the one who served you - was one of ours.’ Her eyes met Satyrus’s, and she smiled at him. He had to lean against the wall. ‘He shouldn’t even have been in the room. He’s not a server - just a cook’s boy. But none of the slaves seem to know anything.’ Her shrug told a great deal. ‘So father is selling every one of them in the morning.’ ‘Ares!’ Philokles said. ‘Every slave in the palace?’

Nestor’s face hardened. ‘I’ll find the man responsible. And we’ll never get to the slaves while they’re still on the staff.’

‘The man responsible is the Athenian, Stratokles,’ Satyrus said. ‘And his agent, the slave Tenedos.’

Nestor shook his head. ‘Stratokles has fled the city, and is a citizen of Athens. We have the house watched, but there is not much more we can do. It now appears that this slave, Tenedos, may have been his messenger to someone inside the palace.’

‘Surely you can take action against him! Arrest him!’ Satyrus blurted.

‘Athens, young prince, does not take well to the prosecution of its ambassadors.’ Nestor snapped his fingers, and a pair of soldiers brought a cauldron of stew. ‘Or their murder. I have eaten from this pot. The wine is my own. Please eat.’

Satyrus didn’t hesitate. He took a loaf of bread from one of the soldiers, picked up a bowl and began to eat. Melitta did the same. Philokles and Theron joined in.

Amastris took a bowl and joined them. She shared the room’s only chair with Melitta, like sisters. ‘My father says, “I smell Olympias and her pet, Cassander.” Olympias serves dark powers. She loves poison.’ She glanced at Melitta. ‘We all fear Olympias. She has been a figure of fear to me since I was born.’

‘Many of your soldiers are from Macedon,’ Melitta said.

Nestor nodded. ‘It will be looked into. You need to be gone from here before someone gets you.’ He looked at Philokles. ‘How long have
you
been with the twins?’

‘All our lives,’ Satyrus answered. ‘He was my father’s friend. You cannot possibly accuse him.’

Nestor shook his head. ‘My lord, I accuse no one, but I must ask everyone. So you are the same man as figures in tales of Kineas? Good.’ Nestor nodded at Philokles and turned back to Satyrus. ‘I think that if he drank less, he’d be more trustworthy; but he seems a solid man.’

Philokles went red and then a blotched red and white.

Impervious to the Spartan’s rage, Nestor glanced at Theron. ‘How about this athlete? Theron?’ Nestor pointed at him. ‘How long have you known him?’

‘He has been with us from the attack at Tanais,’ Satyrus said. His voice was very low. He looked at Melitta.

‘He would never betray us,’ she said. ‘He’s had a hundred chances to kill us.’

‘Nestor, why are these things happening?’ Amastris spoke in a low voice, almost husky.

‘Why, my lady?’ Nestor shrugged. ‘People play games for power. Olympias and her friend Cassander play them for the love of playing. Olympias is like a cat - she likes to hurt her prey. And they want to own us - and Sinope and the north shore, as well.’ Nestor’s mouth was a hard line. ‘The last time Olympias stretched her talons out towards the north, your father cut them off,’ he said to Satyrus. ‘Zopryon was her lover.’ He chuckled. ‘Of course, everyone at the court of Macedon was her lover at one time or another,’ he continued.

Satyrus was gazing at Amastris, who looked even more like a Nereid. She was gazing back, the pressure of her green eyes on his almost too intense to bear, like strong sunlight on a sunburn.

Satyrus wanted to touch her curls and see what kept them bound so close to each other.

She smiled at him. ‘I like your sister,’ she said, as if she had been his friend for millennia, and as if the two of them were alone in the room.

‘Me too,’ Satyrus said. He ruined the line with some weak giggles.

Nestor put a possessive hand on Amastris’s shoulder. ‘Amastris will rule here one day. Amastris, this handsome boy is a penniless exile, and you will
not
pay him the slightest attention. You are going to Ptolemy to find a husband - a powerful husband with a fleet.’ He said these words with the amusement of a father.

‘I know,
Captain
,’ she replied. She smiled at Satyrus again.

‘Look all you like, young man,’ Nestor said. ‘She is our greatest asset in this game of thieves, and she is not for you.’

‘We’re looking for a middle-aged tyrant with a good fleet. Syracusa, perhaps,’ the Nereid said. ‘I’ve been raised to it. I can name the rowing positions. I think I’d make a decent navarch.’ She laughed and turned her grass-green gaze on Melitta. ‘If your brother ever restores his fortune, you’ll be in the same boat, Melitta. He’ll marry you off to secure his coast.’

‘Not if he wants to live through the night,’ Melitta said. She reached over and ruffled her brother’s hair and met Amastris’s eyes. ‘Your father is not what he appears,’ she said.

‘If he were what he appears,’ Nestor said, ‘he’d have eaten you for dinner tonight. But he regrets that someone has the power to show him weak. You two must be gone. The choices are by ship or by caravan. It is your life, young man - which will you choose?’

‘I may be a foolish boy,’ Satyrus said, ‘but I think that if I can make it safely to my father’s friend Diodorus, I will be safe. Many of the men I grew up with are among Diodorus’s mercenaries.’ Even as he spoke, Satyrus relived the last two weeks. He pursed his lips and looked at his sister.

‘Will we ever be safe?’ she asked, speaking the same thought that bounced around in his head.

Philokles was still silent with anger, hitting his wine cup hard.

Theron put a hand on the Spartan’s shoulder. ‘I think we’re safer by land.’

Philokles shrugged. ‘All I have chosen goes wrong,’ he said. ‘I’m just a drunk.’

Melitta went and stood in front of the Spartan. ‘Is that how it is going to be, Philokles?’ she asked. ‘If you won’t think, won’t help and keep drinking wine, I’d just as soon leave you here.’

Theron shook his head violently, out of the Spartan’s sight line.

Satyrus stepped in. ‘Philokles, please help us. You saved our lives again and again the last few weeks. Get us to Diodorus.’

‘Land,’ Philokles said thickly. ‘Let us ride.’

Satyrus turned to the captain of the guard. ‘We will go by land. Now, if you will help us. We’ll need a mule litter for the slave girl.’

Nestor nodded. ‘All is ready, my lord.’ He looked at Satyrus’s leg, and meaningfully at Kallista, who was still pale and could barely eat.

‘You are, all of you, injured,’ he said. ‘If my lord allows it, I think that you should take the doctor.’

Melitta shook her head. ‘I don’t like him.’

Philokles shrugged. ‘I take your point - drunkard that I am. You think that we need his skills.’

Melitta made a noise and Philokles cut her off. ‘Doctors do not grow on trees,’ he said.

‘May you be safe!’ Amastris prayed.

‘We will be safe when we have power,’ Satyrus said.

‘That is not the lesson that Philokles would teach, if he were sober.’ Melitta struggled for composure. She looked at her new friend. ‘Pardon me, Amastris. Sometimes, I remember that I have no home.’

The other girl gave her a quick hug.

When the hasty meal was over, Nestor summoned Amastris’s maids to take her to her own wing of the palace. She hugged Melitta. ‘Write to me in Alexandria,’ she said. ‘You have adventures! I marry some old man with a fleet.’ She smiled. Then she frowned. ‘Hestia protect you, I didn’t mean that you
should
have adventures. Stay safe! Hestia keep you safe, and Artemis, who protects virgin girls.’ She blushed, and hugged Melitta again. She was a year older than the twins, but Melitta was a head taller, and Satyrus was taller yet.

Satyrus reached out a hand to her - the bravest act of his life - and she took it. ‘You - be safe,’ she said, stammering a little, and blushing.

‘And you, my lady,’ Satyrus said. He kissed her hand, as he had seen Theron do with Kallista.

She giggled. ‘My father would kill you,’ she said, and followed her maids.

She left something hard in Satyrus’s hand - a ring. It was quite a ring, made of gold with garnets around a big red stone carved with a tiny, perfect representation of a man with a club and a lion skin - Herakles. He looked from it to her - he’d never held anything so precious.

‘Hermes protects travellers!’ she called from the doorway. ‘But Herakles triumphs!’

316 BC

S
tratokles lay on a couch in the shade of a flame tree and watched the sun set against the towering storm clouds to the north. His mind was on a thousand things, but the beauty of the sunset infected him, and he called for a tablet and a stylus. But all that came to him were snippets of other men’s poems and tags of Menander. He laughed.

Lucius, lying on the other couch, coughed and shook his head. ‘Not much to laugh about.’

‘That’s just where you are wrong,’ Stratokles said. ‘We’re alive. Other men are dead, and we, my friend, are still alive.’

‘Can’t tell you how - how much I appreciate that you came back for me,’ Lucius said. His tone conveyed more insult than flattery - his tone told Stratokles that he never expected, once wounded, that his employer would pick him up and fight his way out.

‘What a cock-up, and no mistake,’ Stratokles said. ‘To be honest, I must be responsible, but I cannot see how. Anyway - I like you, Lucius. I’m tired of thugs. You’re a gentleman.’ He shrugged. ‘Not sure why I went back for you, myself.’

Lucius started laughing. ‘Oh, fuck, that hurts,’ he said, and wheezed. ‘So - what next?’

‘We heal up. You’ll be out a month - more, I expect. I’ll be able to hobble about in a week, but it’ll be a month before I can exercise.’ He shrugged. ‘Then back to Athens and fucking Demetrios of Phaleron, who will tell me how I could have done it all much, much better.’

‘He’s your boss?’ Lucius asked.

‘You are a fucking barbarian, anyone ever tell you that?’ Stratokles laughed and snapped his fingers for wine. A Thracian girl with flame-red hair bustled out on to the terrace, poured his wine and vanished. ‘Demetrios of Phaleron is the tyrant of Athens. A scion of Phocion. Friend of Kineas, whose children we just so notably failed to murder.’ He sighed. ‘An extreme oligarch whose policies will overthrow two hundred years of democratic traditions in Athens.’ He raised his wine to Lucius. ‘My boss.’