Funeral Games (78 page)

‘We destroyed your infantry,’ Satyrus said.

Demetrios nodded. ‘Shall we fight? Single combat? You look like a hero to me.’

Satyrus’s tired smile flashed into a grin. Demetrios’s charm was like a force of nature. For just a heartbeat, he
wanted
to fight the magnificent enemy in hand-to-hand combat.

‘Delighted,’ Satyrus said. ‘If you’ll dismount?’

There were trumpets sounding behind the left flank, and Demetrios’s troopers were starting to shuffle.

‘No, I don’t think I’d better,’ Demetrios said. He smiled, as if Satyrus had scored a point. ‘Pity - I think we might be a match, and I’d like to have something to show for today.’

Satyrus stepped out of the ranks so that he wouldn’t seem afraid. ‘Another time, perhaps?’ he shouted. Men in the ranks were calling out.

Demetrios reared his charger and saluted - the Olympic salute. ‘Next time then, hero.’ He turned his horse and rode away.

‘Hero?’ Satyrus said.

Apollodorus was grinning.

He was still grinning when Ptolemy rode through the dust. ‘Young Satyrus,’ he said. ‘I think we’ve won. Why are your men so far from your place in the line? What news?’

Satyrus shook his head. ‘We’ve won, lord.’

Ptolemy grinned, his ugly face transformed. ‘I thought we might have, at that. Seleucus saved my arse in the dust, and things seemed to get better. So - the boys stayed loyal!’

‘All the ones who matter,’ Satyrus said, and there was a thin cheer.

As official news of victory spread, the men of the Aegyptian taxeis collapsed like curtains cut from their rods. Men knelt in the dust, or even lay down. And then someone began a hymn - the Aegyptian hymn to Osiris. Most of the men knew it, even the Greeks - and the haunting melody was taken up.

‘Zeus Soter, boy,’ Ptolemy said. There were tears on his cheeks, and he slid from his mount.

Drawn by the singing, more men rode out of the haze. The dust cloud itself began to thin.

‘Ares!’ Seleucus shouted. ‘The right-flank cavalry is already in their camp!’ He seemed to see the infantrymen for the first time. ‘Well fought, soldiers! No one will call
this
a cavalry battle.’

Ptolemy clasped Satyrus’s hand. ‘Where’s your tutor, boy? Your polemarch?’

Satyrus’s heart seemed to stop, because he hadn’t given Philokles a thought in what seemed like hours. ‘Down, sir,’ he said. ‘I’m in command. ’

Ptolemy’s grip tightened. ‘Good man,’ he said. He
embraced
Satyrus. ‘I knew you were a young man of talent.’ Then he looked up at Seleucus. ‘Round up anyone who can still ride. We’re going to press the pursuit.’

Seleucus laughed. ‘No, lord. We’re going to loot the camp. The men have already made that decision. But I’ll offer a reward for the elephants.’

‘We have half a dozen,’ Satyrus said. He bowed to Ptolemy, and when the great man had remounted and ridden away, he felt as if he had to lie down in the sand. He felt like collapsing, but instead he turned and walked back to Abraham. ‘Take the men back to camp. Do
not
let them join in the looting. I’m going to find Philokles.’ Satyrus looked at his men, who looked more like a defeated army than a victorious one. The Foot Companions weren’t much different. ‘Get men to bury the dead. And find our wounded. Send for the shield-bearers.’

Abraham nodded.

Satyrus walked off, alone.

 

As they rode out of the cordon, the scene turned to one of debauched violence that made the night market appear to be safe and orderly and the looting of the Exiles a model of decorum. Men drank anything they could find and behaved like animals for no reason or every reason, and Melitta stayed close to her own, riding behind Coenus as he kept to the centre of the great avenues of the tent camp. Twice, Hama and Carlus killed other men from their own army.

‘This is horrible,’ Melitta said.

‘This is the river in which we swim,’ Coenus said. He spat. ‘Most men are little better than animals.’ As if to make his point, an orange glow lit them. Behind them, the town had caught fire. It burned, and Melitta heard the screams of the trapped villagers. Ptolemy’s army laughed as they screamed, and butchered those who ran. Macedonians from Ptolemy’s army killed the Macedonian wounded of Demetrios’s army.

They rode clear of the camp, past the horse herds and into the tail of the enemy rout.

Coenus reined in. ‘This is insane, girl!’

Melitta rode straight past him. She knew she could find Stratokles. Amastris wasn’t her real goal any more - although images of the rape of the woman in the camp filled her head when she thought of her friend. She rode faster, pressing past frightened camp followers and wounded soldiers. At her shoulder rode a dozen of her father’s best men - and no one turned to face them.

 

Philokles lay wrapped in his cloak, his head in Theron’s lap. He had Theron’s chiton wrapped around his groin, and Theron’s chiton was Spartan red. Theron was weeping.

Satyrus ran the last few strides with a sob and threw himself on the ground. ‘Philokles!’ he said.

His tutor’s eyes met his, and he grasped the man’s hand. ‘You broke them!’ he said.

Theron’s voice was thick and hoarse. ‘He doesn’t care about that!’ he choked.

‘I tried to be a moral man,’ Philokles said softly. ‘But I died killing other men.’

‘You are a hero!’ Satyrus said through his tears. ‘You are too hard on yourself !’

‘I love you,’ Philokles said so softly that Satyrus had to put his head down to listen. ‘Tell Melitta I loved her.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said, suddenly ashamed. ‘We love you. All the time.’

Philokles made a noise in his throat. ‘Just so,’ he whispered. He took a deep breath. ‘Examine your life. Love your sister. Be true.’ He looked at Theron for a moment, and then he slumped a little, tried to move his hips and gave a short scream.

Blood poured over the ground so fast that Satyrus’s feet were drowned in it.

‘Kineas!’ Philokles said. His eyes went to the sky.

 

And there, on the edge of dark, Melitta saw the satyr’s profile by the light of the burning town - Stratokles. He was wearing a cloak, mounted on a fine mare, and his cut nose revealed him. Even in the dark, Melitta could see that he had Amastris mounted in front of him.

She grabbed at Coenus. ‘Stratokles!’ she called. ‘There he is!’

Coenus turned his horse. It took him a long moment to see what she saw, and then he was riding at the Athenian.

Stratokles heard the hoof beats and turned his horse. He had his guards, and they turned with him.

‘Stratokles!’ Coenus called.

Melitta put an arrow on her bow.

The Athenian actually smiled. He lowered his sword. ‘Gods, my luck has held! Listen! I surrender!’ His grin broadened. ‘A man of honour, in all this rout!’

Coenus slowed his mount to a walk and his men moved to surround the Athenian’s companions. ‘Drop your sword,’ Coenus said.

Stratokles shook his head. ‘Let’s have an understanding,’ he said, exchanging a look with one of his companions. ‘I have someone very valuable here. And I know things - things very important to your Ptolemy. Understand?’

‘I understand you killed my mother,’ Melitta shouted.

Stratokles turned his head. ‘Like fuck I did, honey. One of Eumeles’ guardsmen did that - after she cut off my nose.’ He shook his head, annoyed. ‘Nothing personal about it, girl. Just politics.’ Stratokles whispered something to his captive and she squirmed. ‘Give me a safe conduct and I’ll give you the girl,’ he said.

Melitta found that it wasn’t that hard, even after a long day, to keep her bow at full draw, but Amastris’s movements were spoiling her aim. ‘Look at me, Stratokles,’ she said.

He didn’t look at her. He touched his booted heels to his horse’s sides, and the mare backed up. ‘I don’t think you’ll shoot through the tyrant’s daughter to get me,’ he said. To Coenus, he added, ‘I’m perfectly willing to surrender, just not to be murdered.’

‘No need to surrender,’ Lucius said in his low voice from behind them. ‘Sorry I’m late, boss.’

‘I have your life in my hand, Stratokles,’ Melitta said.

Lucius had a blade at Hama’s throat. ‘Lady, look around you. I have ten men to your six.’ He shook his head. ‘And you can’t keep that arrow drawn all night.’

Coenus laughed grimly. ‘You don’t know her. Stratokles, call off your dog and I’ll call off mine.’

Stratokles nodded. ‘Done. Amastris is going with you. Lucius, did you get the other one?’

Lucius grunted. ‘Of course.’

Stratokles laughed. Around them, there was fighting, and the sound of a camel screaming filled the night. ‘Time we all went our separate ways.’

Coenus glared at Melitta. ‘Put up!’ he said.

‘He killed my mother!’ Melitta said. ‘I want him dead. You are all fools if you think that my life is worth my oath and my revenge. I don’t mind dying!’

Coenus’s arm touched hers and she lowered her arrow. She saw Stratokles motion at his man, and the big Italian let his sword fall away from Hama’s throat.

Stratokles tipped the princess on to the sand. ‘See? I keep my part of the bargain,’ he said. He bowed from the saddle. ‘Princess? I hope we meet again.’

Amastris picked herself up. ‘I’ve learned a great deal from you, sir,’ she said.

Stratokles laughed. ‘I won’t even charge you for it.’

Stratokles turned his horse, nimbler now with just one rider, and rode for it. His men followed him.

Melitta shook her head. ‘You have a lot to answer for,’ she said to Coenus.

Coenus shrugged. ‘You’ll thank me yet,’ he said.

 

One of Lucius’s men spat as they slowed. There was no pursuit.

‘All that loot and nothing to show for it,’ he complained.

Stratokles was tired, but the encounter in the sand had filled him with fire and he laughed again. ‘Nothing?’ he asked. ‘We have Alexander’s son.’ He pointed at the huddled figure of Herakles, bundled in Lucius’s arms.

Men whistled softly.

Stratokles led the way up the coast, riding like a conqueror.

‘I
rather liked him,’ Amastris said.

Melitta didn’t answer. With Coenus and Hama, she and her escort trotted across the battlefield at the edge of night. There were beasts out already - vultures and worse creatures feasted on the dead. Melitta saw elephants being herded by frightened men, and hordes of Macedonian prisoners - thousands of captured pikemen from the shattered centre. She rode past them.

‘What are you thinking?’ Amastris asked.

Melitta said nothing, only pressed her charger harder. She had a feeling Moira was lying heavily on her. That feeling pressed harder the faster she rode, until she saw a circle of men standing in the last light. They were the only men on the battlefield who were not looting, except for some slaves already busy burying the dead.

They parted for her horse, and there was her brother.

Alive. She breathed in and out.

Philokles.

‘He’s dead,’ Satyrus said. He looked old, even in the ruddy light of the burning town. ‘He said goodbye to you.’

Melitta fell into her brother’s arms.

‘Xeno asked for you, but you weren’t here,’ Satyrus said.

‘Amastris needed to be rescued. I - failed to kill Stratokles.’ It was like telling Sappho how she had spent her day. Satyrus’s expression was
wrong
.

Behind her, Coenus choked and gave a great cry.

‘No!’ Melitta said. But she didn’t need to look at the cloak-wrapped body next to Philokles to know who it was. Xenophon’s death was stamped on her brother’s face for ever - the death of his youth. She could see it with the same inevitability that she could see that she carried the dead boy’s child.

‘We never—’ Satyrus said, and then he turned his face away. ‘It’s not about me,’ he said bitterly.

‘What are you all doing?’ Amastris asked. ‘Satyrus? Is that you?’

Satyrus stepped away from his sister and took his love in his arms. ‘Amastris!’ he said.

Amastris kissed him and looked around. ‘I’m sorry for them,’ Amastris said softly. ‘But Ptolemy won, love. You won.’

‘Not tonight,’ Satyrus said. He looked up at the sound of hoof beats, and saw the Exiles coming with a baggage train of loot and captured slaves. And then Diodorus was there, and Leon, and other men who loved Philokles and Xenophon.

T
he army of Aegypt gathered its heroic dead for return to Aegypt. Ptolemy collected his looters and his army and thrust north, scattering Demetrios but failing to catch him, and came back to Gaza rich in loot and plunder and leaving Palestine a flaming disaster behind him.

Satyrus and Melitta, like most of the survivors of the battle, spent a day unable to move, and then were pressed into duties - burying the dead. Hauling food.

There were never enough slaves, after a battle. And the danger of renewed conflict was, at first, very real. Demetrios saved most of his cavalry. His patrols began to prowl the shore north of Gaza.

Weeks passed. Ptolemy took his cavalry on a deep raid into Palestine, and cities opened their gates to him. Diodorus rode at his side, and the loot was legendary. But finally, Ptolemy turned for home, and the Phalanx of Aegypt led the march, fourteen hundred veterans. When they entered Alexandria, they sang the Paean, and the crowds cheered them as they cheered no other troops, and Namastis embraced Diokles and Amyntas and Satyrus and Abraham when they were dismissed as if they were all brothers.

And fathers and mothers wept for the dead.

But the war, and the world, marched on.

Alexander’s funeral games had cost a few thousand more lives. But there was still no shortage of contestants.

 

A week after they returned to Alexandria, Leon sent Satyrus to the slave market with twenty talents of pure gold and Diokles and Abraham as his lieutenants. ‘Buy the best of the Macedonian prisoners,’ Leon said.