Tyrant: King of the Bosporus (46 page)

Satyrus stumbled. ‘You don’t like her!’ he said.

Helios shrugged again. ‘I am less than the sandals on her feet,’ he said. ‘My likes or dislikes are nothing to her.’

Satyrus looked up, and saw the light on the balcony. There was someone moving there, too.

‘The fleet sails at dawn,’ Helios said. ‘You ordered it.’

Satyrus nodded. He turned away from the palace. ‘To bed,’ he said.

Dawn, and a warm breeze off the land carried the hint of rain. Diodorus, Crax and Sitalkes stood on the beach with a dozen other officers, telling off files of pikemen on to the pirate vessels and any other ship short of a full load of marines. The Rhodians were already in the water, and behind them, Satyrus’s own ships were just getting their sterns off the beach.

Horse transports were loading the cavalry chargers – thin mounts
who would die if too long at sea, and would need grain and rest when they landed. Satyrus was staking it all on this throw. He was out of time. He stood on the helmsman’s bench of the
Golden Lotus
and looked aft. ‘Good to have you aboard,’ he said to Draco, who stood just behind him.

Draco laughed. ‘Amyntas will be jealous that I have you all to myself,’ he said.

‘Theron needs him more than I do,’ Satyrus said.

Stesagoras came up. ‘Where do you see me stowing all these marines?’ he asked. He was speaking to Neiron as helmsman and trierarch, but he pitched his complaint to carry to Satyrus.

Satyrus watched the panorama of his fleet forming for another few heartbeats and stepped back off the bench.

‘Put the extra marines aft, with the helm,’ he said. Twenty marines to a ship was too many for fine fighting, but it would give them a decisive advantage in a boarding fight.

‘We’ll be low in the water,’ Neiron said quietly.

‘Poseidon has sent us a fine breeze and a beautiful day,’ Satyrus answered. His eyes found Helios, standing by with a gilt-bronze shield.

‘Give the signal!’ he called.

Helios found the sun with the surface of the shield – a flash that could be seen for stades – and gave three long flashes.

Sixty-six warships. At least twenty fewer than his enemy had. And his decks were crammed with marines, which meant that he could not afford to be caught in a hit-and-run battle of seamanship.

Neiron had the helm. Up forward, Philaeus began to call the stroke.

‘I’m impressed,’ Draco said.

‘You’d be more impressed if you were with Eumeles,’ Satyrus said.

Draco grunted. ‘No, lad. I’m impressed with
you
. But I’ll bite – how many ships does he have?’

Neiron didn’t take his eyes off the bow. ‘Eighty-five. And perhaps more if the Athenian ships serve with him.’

Draco nodded. ‘Aye, that’s what the lads are saying.’

Satyrus was always impressed with the accuracy of soldiers’ gossip. ‘And what do they say our chances are?’ he asked.

Draco laughed. ‘Oh, the odds don’t make no never mind, lad. Everyone knows you’re Tyche’s darling. Fortune’s favourite, eh? Luck’s better than numbers any day.’

Satyrus’s stomach told a different tale. ‘Luck can slip away,’ he said.

Draco nodded, pursing his lips in approval. ‘Aye. That it can, and no mistake.’ He smiled. ‘But anyone can see you still have yours.’

Satyrus had to admit that it was hard to remain worried when you could watch the four solid columns of triremes form up and sail away on a favourable breeze with stripped merchantmen as horse transports in between the columns.

Draco watched the coast and the citadel of Heraklea. ‘But I’d swear we’re going east,’ he said.

‘You may make a sailor yet.’ Neiron grinned.

‘Pantecapaeum is north!’ Draco said.

‘Too much of a risk. More than a thousand stades. With a wind like this, we might make it in a day – but more likely we’d spend the night at sea.’ Neiron was the navarch’s helmsman. He’d made the course.

Draco shrugged. ‘So? We spend a night at sea.’

Satyrus cut in, ‘Draco, a night at sea is no laughing matter. First, storms come up on the Euxine without any warning. A storm almost killed my father when he first came here, and we could get our fleet scattered in an hour – could lose half our ships. We only need to lose about ten and we’ve lost.’

Neiron nodded. ‘Aye – and we can’t cook at sea.’

Draco grinned. ‘Of course. I’m a fool.’

‘Most Macedonians are,’ Neiron said, but his smile took the sting out. ‘Tonight we’ll be on the beach at Sinope. That’s the end of any surprise we ever had – and the dog among the chickens, too. I’ll wager a gold daric against a silver owl that every merchant in the port runs when they see us coming.’

Draco shrugged. ‘So?’

Satyrus cut in again. ‘Until we land at Sinope, we’re fairly secret. Heraklea and Pantecapaeum aren’t exactly friends. We don’t think Eumeles knows how many ships we have, or their power.’ He rolled his hand back and forth. ‘Once we touch at Sinope, everyone knows what we have and we have to go for the jugular.’

‘Sinope to the entrance to the Bay of Salmon is eight hundred stades,’ Neiron said. ‘One good day’s sail. If the weather holds – we’ll land by the Bay of Salmon, rest the night, and eat.’

‘And the day after tomorrow, we’ll row up towards Pantecapaeum with full bellies,’ Satyrus said. His hands shook just saying the words.

Draco looked back and forth between them. ‘Two days?’ he asked.

‘At the soonest,’ Satyrus said.

Draco sat down on the helmsman’s bench and started to unbuckle his thorax. ‘I’ll just catch a nap, then,’ he said.

The sun was still high in the sky when they raised Sinope. Satyrus watched the sea-marks come up and then he turned to Helios. ‘Get the shield,’ he said.

Neiron was stretching his right leg. He’d wrestled two falls with Draco and done better than Satyrus had expected, and now the two men were talking while they stretched in the late-afternoon light. ‘What do you have in mind, Navarch?’ he called.

Satyrus walked to Stesagoras, who had the helm. ‘I’m going to order battle formation,’ he said.

Stesagoras nodded. ‘Philaeus!’ he called. ‘Look alive! Get your brutes in their harness.’

There was the thunder of bare feet on smooth wood as the oarsmen, who had been enjoying a day of relative peace, sailing calmly along the south coast of the Euxine, were ordered to their stations.

‘Signal “Man your benches”.’ Satyrus waved at Diokles, who had
Black Falcon
just astern.

Helios got up on the stern bench and took the cover off his shield. He flashed it.

Satyrus clambered up next to him. ‘Gods, we need work,’ he said. ‘Send it again.’

Three more repetitions got the benches manned, although Satyrus assumed that most of the pirates had accomplished this by emulating the ships closest to them rather than by reading the signals. In addition, it became clear that some of the pirates were well out of formation.

Panther sent a long signal. The whole signals system was Rhodian, and Satyrus had enough trouble understanding a long signal to pity the captains who’d never seen such a thing.

Helios had no such issues. ‘“Better than I expected,”’ he translated. ‘Letter for letter,’ he added.

‘Signal “Form Bull”,’ Satyrus said, and Helios flashed the order.

It was just as well that Eumeles’ fleet was not waiting in ambush off the coast of Sinope. The sun was well down in the west and it seemed
possible that the rowers were going to miss their meals when Satyrus gave up, cancelled the order to form the Bull and sent the ships into the beach. Every merchant ship had long since fled, many of them heading north.

‘The dog is among the chickens,’ Neiron said when they had a fire lit and food in their bellies. ‘The eagles have flown at the pigeons. Chaos is come again.’ He laughed. ‘That was the worst manoeuvre I’ve ever seen.’

‘Wasn’t totally wasted,’ Satyrus said.

‘How so, lord?’ asked Panther, who had come up with his captains.

‘None of the pirates chased the merchant ships,’ Satyrus said.

Panther looked at him with new respect. ‘Navarch, you have a point. What’s for tomorrow?’

Satyrus raised his hand to forestall Neiron. ‘Along the coast east, under oars,’ he said.

Neiron shook his head. ‘The weather’s perfect,’ he said. ‘We can be off Pantecapaeum in two days.’

Demostrate was there, too. ‘Yes, but should we? I’m with you, lad. Let’s row along the coast and get the lard off their backs.’

Satyrus smiled. ‘Next one of you who calls me lad will have the privilege of a little pankration, man to man.’ He made himself grin. ‘That display out there was so pitiful that I have to expect that Eumeles will hear about it in roughly twelve hours and make his adjustments accordingly.’ He walked a few steps and turned. ‘The playing-off of pirates and Rhodians is over now. You are all my captains, and I expect you to spend the next week learning the signal book and the tactics we’ll use when we find Eumeles at sea.’

Demostrate shook his head. ‘That’s not for my boys, lad—’ He stopped.

Satyrus walked over. ‘Strip,’ he said.

Demostrate narrowed his eyes. ‘If I sail away, you have no fleet,’ he said.

‘I have no fleet anyway,’ Satyrus said. ‘Your precious pirates proved it just now, when they couldn’t form a line of battle. Strip.’

Demostrate shook his head. ‘I’ll apologize,’ he said softly. ‘But if you make me fight, you’ll have to kill me.
Lord.
’

Satyrus nodded curtly. ‘Apologize then.’

Demostrate nodded. ‘I apologize, lord,’ he said. ‘I’ll not slip again.’

‘Fuck him,’ Manes said. ‘Fuck him and fuck all this pansy shit. I say we kill the Rhodians and sack Sinope and stop playing at kings.’

Satyrus had been so busy plotting the rise of his kingship that he had all but forgotten Manes.

A foolish mistake. The sort of mistake that could cost you your kingdom.

Time to correct that right now.
He took a deep breath, crossed the circle of officers as fast as the ripple of comments spread and stood in front of Manes.

‘Get a sword and a shield. We fight. Now. And when you are dead, I claim all your ships and men as mine.’ Satyrus was so angry he had no trouble meeting the bestial glare. ‘You heard me – or are you the same chicken-shit who ducked fighting me in Byzantium?’

Manes bellowed.

Satyrus turned his back and walked towards Helios – watching his squire for a sign. Helios gave him his aspis and his sword. Satyrus fitted the shield snugly on his arm, gripped the
antilabe
in his left hand and drew his father’s long kopis so that the blue blade glittered in the last sunlight. Then he turned.

‘Ready?’ he asked and began walking across the now silent circle of officers towards Manes.

Manes turned to Ganymede, who handed him his shield. His sword was immense – longer and broader than a Keltoi cavalry sword.

Crax stepped in front of Satyrus, with Carlus at his shoulder. ‘Let one of us do this,’ he said. ‘Carlus could put him down in a heartbeat.’

Satyrus shook his head. ‘This is for me, friend. I need the pirates to fight. I need them to drill and cooperate. When I kill him,’ he pointed the tip of the kopis at Manes, ‘they’re mine.’

‘And if you die?’ Crax asked quietly.

‘Then kill him, take the fleet and make Melitta queen of the Bosporus.’

Crax shook his head and stepped back.

Manes stepped out from the circle.

Satyrus lowered his shield and charged him.

Around him, he heard the crowd roar, but then all he heard was his own footsteps on the sand. Manes stood rooted to the spot for too long, clearly unable to believe that a smaller man was charging him.

Satyrus didn’t hesitate. He ran right in and slammed his aspis against the face of Manes’ shield even as the man bellowed like a bull, hoping to frighten him. Then Satyrus rolled to the right, using the centre of his shield against the rim of Manes’ shield. He cut under with the kopis, and the long blade scored immediately on Manes’ leg.

Satyrus stepped back, so that Manes’ counter-blow swished through the air without even cutting his shield.

Satyrus saw that he’d cut the pirate chief deeply. He wanted to let him bleed and he backed a step. Manes took this for weakness, leaped forward and struck
fast
, landing two more blows on his shield. They were powerful blows that took chunks from the face of Satyrus’s shield and hurt his arm, and Satyrus realized with a sudden prickle of fear that his arm couldn’t take many more like that. He retreated and Manes advanced, bellowing, striking out again with the great sword like the claw of a giant lobster –
Slam! Slam!
– into the face of his shield, no effort at swordsmanship at all, just simple, overwhelming strength.

Satyrus struggled with his own fear of the man – a fear now reinforced by feeling his physical power.

He had to stop retreating.

Manes stumbled, a reminder that he, too, was hurt – that Satyrus had cut his leg. Satyrus shook his head and the giant blade slammed into the face of his shield again –
Bam! Bam!
– and he felt a scream of pain that shot up his arm and through his body, and he went
forward
into the pain, his arm barely able to support the shield slammed into Manes’ chest. Satyrus was a hand’s breadth shorter than the pirate, and his shield rush was a puny thing, except that his sword arm shot out in a long overhand cut – past Manes’ blade raised in desperate parry – then rolled and
snapped
, so that the blade of the Aegyptian sword cut
back
into the base of Manes’ skull. It was a perfect cut, and the unsharpened back edge of the kopis smashed into the heavy muscles at the base of the pirate’s neck and his left arm dropped nerveless, his shield falling off his arm.