Funeral Games (63 page)

Satyrus digested this in silence.

‘Say something!’ Melitta said.

‘Theo is dead,’ he said. ‘Killed by men sent to kill me. I left him standing in the street.
I didn’t do it - I just let it happen.
’

‘It’s not all about you,’ Melitta said.

‘No,’ Satyrus agreed, and drank more wine. ‘I’m learning that.’

‘I’m sorry about Theo. What did his father say?’ Melitta asked.

‘Nothing. He was frightened.
Frightened!
What is this city coming to?’ Satyrus took a breath and drank more wine. ‘Why Xenophon, though? I mean, he’s my best friend, you’ve spent my whole adult life teasing him and telling me about his shortcomings, and he’s enough of a gentleman to feel - things. You won’t marry him, I assume?’ Satyrus wished he sounded a little more adult.

Melitta was silent. Then she said, ‘I don’t plan to marry anyone among the Hellenes, Satyrus.’

‘Going to go to the sea of grass without me, Lita?’ Satyrus knew that he’d had too much wine.

‘If I have to,’ Melitta said. ‘I want to be a queen, not a girl.’

Satyrus shook his head. ‘That’s just where we differ, sister. I’d like very much
not
to be a king.’

‘You wallow a lot, you know that? It’s not all about you! You didn’t kill Theo. You didn’t kill your precious Peleus. Sometimes you make me want to punch you.’ Melitta shook her head. ‘You get everything I want - and you don’t even like it!’

‘After this campaign—’ Satyrus began, but Melitta cut in savagely.

‘After this campaign? After we sail to Rhodos? After we make war on Antigonus One-Eye? How long do I have to wait?’ Now they were shouting at each other.

Satyrus raised his hands, spilling some wine in his frustration. ‘What’s so bad?’

‘What’s so bad? How did you spend the day? Recruiting? To save the city from Demetrios and his one-eyed father? Was it frustrating? Did useless merchants turn you down? Fighting for your life against assassins? Lost a friend?’ She was shouting now. ‘I
sat at home and wove some wool.
’

He was silent.

‘In my spare time I worried that I was pregnant,’ she muttered. ‘I want to go and fight Demetrios. I want to ride free, or be a helmsman, or recruit young men to fight. But most of all I want the attention of the men and women worth a conversation. Tonight, I confessed my transgression to Sappho. Do you know what she said?
Best not tell Satyrus until the battle is fought
. Philokles treats me like a
girl
. Why? Because I have breasts and my body can make a baby! Why doesn’t somebody recruit me? Demetrios is going to have forty elephants and we don’t even have
one
, and by Apollo, I may be the best archer in this city. What are we doing about raising a corps of archers?’

‘Maiden archers?’ Satyrus said, looking to win a smile and failing utterly.

‘Is the loss of my virginity painful to you, brother? Was our family honour strapped between my thighs?’ Melitta swelled with rage.

Satyrus shook his head. ‘Stupid joke. Sorry, Lita.’ He made himself reach for her, refusing to be cowed by her anger and believe that she really aimed her darts at him, and she was in his arms, her head on his shoulder, and at the speed of their embrace they stopped being at odds.

Melitta rocked back and forth for a little while, and Satyrus watched the stars behind her head blur with his own unshed tears and then return to normal.

She stepped back. ‘I know it’s not your fault. But suddenly everyone in this house is treating you like a
man
. Whereas I get to be a perpetual
child
.’

‘I can’t get you a corps of archers, maiden or not,’ Satyrus said. ‘But when Leon lands his marines, I know a ship that could easily land one more archer. But Lita - this isn’t a fair battle. We’re the trapped dogs - Demetrios has everything his way.’

Melitta raised her chin. ‘I was there when we took two pirate galleys,’ she said.

‘True enough,’ Satyrus said, and kissed the top of her head. ‘Why Xenophon? He’s so nice - he’s going to follow you like a dog for the rest of your life.’

She shrugged. ‘Hard to describe, really. He knew that I had saved his life - thanked me for it. Comrade to comrade, even though he had fought like Achilles and I was a mere girl.’ She shrugged again. ‘And I saw - things. The same things - gods, you know as well as I. I was
dead
when your spear put that man down. I felt
dead
. And then - I was alive.’ She hung her head. ‘I don’t care a fig for my virginity, brother. But I agree that actions have consequences, and I insist that Xeno should not pay the price - the bride price or any other price.’

Satyrus slugged back his wine. When they were children, they had fought - and then one big hug and it was over. Tonight, he felt the loss of that simplicity, because she was closed to him on some level, and because
no
, he had not really forgiven her. But his failure to forgive her weighed on him, like a failed sacrifice.

She felt his hesitation. She stared at him.

He stared back. Once, they had been eye to eye. Now he was half a head taller.

‘Will you really help me get away?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ he said. He imagined her lying dead, trampled by an elephant as he had seen back in the great battle on the salt plains. He shook his head - too much wine. ‘Fuck it, Lita. Yes, you have as much right to lie with a man as I do to lie with a woman. I, too, have spent too much time with Hellenes.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘It’s going to be hard to talk to Xeno.’

‘Imagine how I feel,’ Melitta said. She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and went back inside. She turned back and smiled. ‘I have a rendezvous for you. With Amastris. I was going to throw it in your face if you played high and mighty with me.’ She shook her head. ‘Which you didn’t. So I feel like a fool.’ She reached in her bosom and pulled out an oyster shell. ‘Tomorrow night,’ she said.

The slip of papyrus leaf had two lines from Menander, and Satyrus smiled, because the lines named the hour to anyone who had seen the play.

‘By the steps of the Temple of Poseidon,’ Melitta said. ‘Do you love her?’

Satyrus looked at his sandals. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled. And yet . . .

‘Don’t be foolish, brother. Don’t get caught. I don’t think - I shouldn’t say this! I don’t think you’re Amastris’s first boy, man, what have you.’ She shrugged, clearly unhappy at having said what she had said.

‘What?’ Satyrus asked. ‘But—’

‘I’m sure it is different for men,’ Melitta said. ‘Listen - don’t go. It’s not worth the risk.’

‘This from my sister who wants me to smuggle her into the archer corps to fight elephants?’ he said.

She smiled. ‘That’s a hit and no mistake, brother. Very well - go if you must. But she won’t show. Not the first time. The first time will just be a test of your devotion, I’m her friend - I know these things.’ She turned and slipped away, leaving him with an oyster shell and a feeling of confusion.

 

The next morning, the wind still carried the sting of the sea in its tail, and it blew hard enough to cool the sweat on two thousand backs and breasts as they drilled without shade. Panion, the commander of the Foot Companions, stood at the head of the taxeis with Philokles and Theron and half a dozen Macedonian officers.

‘They’re absurd,’ Panion said, loudly enough to carry into the first three ranks. ‘Children and slaves. One-Eye’s veterans will go through them the way his elephants will push through our cavalry.’

His Macedonian officers laughed ruefully or disdainfully, depending on their faction. Philokles said something softly, and Panion shrugged. ‘Work as hard as you like, Spartan. I’ll put them in the second line, or somewhere where their flight won’t cost us much. Perhaps we can use them to carry baggage?’ He laughed, and the six Macedonians laughed again.

Philokles fingered his beard. ‘I need more sarissas,’ he said. ‘We don’t have enough.’

‘Ptolemy sent too much equipment off to Cassander,’ Panion said with a shrug. ‘Make do with what you have. After all,’ he said cheerfully, ‘if Ptolemy’s kingdom relies on this lot, we’re doomed.’

Philokles said something quiet, and Panion shook his head. ‘I think you forget your place. I am a
Macedonian
. Your people once had a certain reputation for war, I’ll allow. But I assure you, sir, that no amount of drill will make these slaves into soldiers, and that I don’t give a flying fuck for their morale.’ Panion looked around him and spat in contempt.

Later, he and his staff reappeared as Philokles forced the phalanx through another wheeling movement - badly executed, like every wheel.

This time, the Macedonian went along the first two ranks. He called every Macedonian out of the ranks. He stopped at Satyrus.

‘You?’ he said. Then, when he’d recovered his confusion, he gave Satyrus a smile. ‘You don’t belong here, with this rabble,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

Satyrus could see Amyntas shuffling nervously among the young Macedonians. ‘What rabble?’ Satyrus said.

‘Aegyptians.’ Panion shrugged. ‘Good for farm work.’

‘Seems to work to train Macedonians,’ Satyrus said.

‘Yes,’ Panion said. ‘But they’re men, not slaves. These boys are Macedonians.’

Satyrus wiped the sweat from his eyes. ‘Not a one of them was born in Macedon, sir,’ he said, meeting the commander’s eyes. ‘I recruited them here in Alexandria. For
this
phalanx.’

Panion narrowed his eyes. ‘Another uppity Greek,’ he said. ‘Very well - swelter on, boy. Revel in your remaining hours.’ Then, louder, ‘You Macedonians, come with me.’

When Panion was gone, Philokles continued to drill the men, and as the shadows lengthened, he tried to provide the physical training that would allow Aegyptians to go up against men in the peak of fitness. They weren’t weak - many of them had fine bodies and heavy muscles from labour - but Philokles walked around, urging them to lift greater weights or run farther.

The men were listless - worse than usual - and when the sun touched the rim of the world, Philokles dismissed them, obviously keeping his temper in check. Satyrus fell in next to the Spartan as they walked back in the last light of evening.

‘Half of them won’t come back,’ Philokles said after they had walked a stade. ‘That fool, that posturing ninny. I should have put my sword up his arse on the spot.’

‘Philokles!’ Satyrus said. ‘Master, I have never heard you speak in this manner.’ He managed a grin, his first since Theo died. It had occurred to him that Panion might have had something to do with that death. ‘You are not always a philosopher.’

‘Do you know what the Macedonian officers discuss?’ Philokles said. ‘Putting on a good show. Fighting long enough to get the best possible terms from Demetrios. Remember what happened to Eumenes? When part of his precious Macedonians decided not to fight. It’s happening here, lad. Another week or two and our taxeis would be worth something, too. They shape well - better than many Greeks. Strong backs, these Aegyptians. But Panion just told them that they are slaves to him.’ Philokles spat. ‘Six weeks’ work, for nothing. And he took half of the cream of your boys. Every one of those Macedonian boys knew which end of a spear to wield.’

‘We still have the Greeks and the Jews,’ Satyrus said.

Philokles gave half a smile and put a hand on his former student’s shoulder. ‘So we do,’ he said. ‘I don’t think they’re enough, and I think that we need ranks and ranks of strong, faithful and courageous Aegyptians behind us, or it won’t matter. But I should swallow my own medicine and deal with these troubles when they present themselves. What do we do for sarissas?’

Theron leaned in. ‘For now, the first three ranks can use their hoplite equipment - all the Hellene ephebes have them, and even the Jews came with heavy spears.’

Philokles agreed. ‘Shorter spears in front is not a way to build the confidence of your front ranks, lad. Do you know what it is like to face a Macedonian taxeis? Unless they’re disordered, every file has six or eight spearheads sticking out in front. They move, just from the natural movement of the men carrying them - like the ripple of grass in the wind. Hard to face. Terrifying.’

‘You told me yourself that with an aspis and discipline, you had no problem penetrating the wall of spears.’ Satyrus had heard the tale of the fight at the fords of the Borysthenes a dozen times or more, from different men. He knew that Philokles and the elite men of two Euxine cities had held, and then beaten, a Macedonian phalanx.

Philokles made a face. ‘Veterans should know better than to tell such tales. We were lucky - and brave. There were good men in that taxeis - hard men, and men in the very peak of athletic training. I had ten Olympians.’ He looked out to sea, his spear-butt making a rhythm as he tapped it on the paving stones. ‘I was a younger man myself. Look at me! It has taken me six weeks just to get the lard off my stomach. Fifteen years ago, I’d have had muscles like your cuirass - like you have, wrestler.’ He pointed at Theron, who wore his chitoniskos off one shoulder, showing the near-perfect musculature of his torso.

‘We have Theron. He’s an Olympian.’ Satyrus was interested by the fact that he was now cheering up Philokles, a complete reversal from the day before.

‘Ahh, Theron,’ Philokles said. They were at Diodorus’s gate, which was the closer of the two properties to the drill field. ‘Three days until we march. Where are you heading, young man?’

‘A nap,’ Satyrus said. ‘I have this magnificent physique to maintain. ’

Theron slapped him on the back.

‘Don’t forget to appear at the gymnasium,’ Philokles said. ‘Read something before bed. I have never had a child of my own, lad, but when you speak of having a nap, I suspect that you have somewhere to go tonight. Hmm?’

Blushing, Satyrus hung his head, a complex rush of embarrassments flooding him.

‘Remember what Diodorus said. I do not, note, order you to obey his stricture - only to understand that disobedience will have consequences, for you and for others. Understand me?’