Tyrant: King of the Bosporus (37 page)

‘I doubt it,’ Sappho said. ‘And I think that you should let me try.’

Satyrus looked at Hama. ‘Well?’ he asked.

Hama shook his head. ‘Lord, don’t involve me in this. I obey. I would kill her for you, if you asked. And yet – I agree with the lady, too. About what a chief can become. I have seen a good chief become a bad chief, but I have never seen a bad lord become a good one.’ He shrugged. ‘For me, I wish we had caught the doctor.’

Satyrus flicked his eyes to his helmsman. ‘And you, Neiron?’

Neiron shook his head. ‘Land has problems that don’t exist at sea. I prefer the sea. But I’ll say this. When we go to sea – no enemy here will be a danger to us unless they have a faster ship and a better crew. We’ll be gone with the tide. By the time this woman has power and money again,’ the old seaman shrugged, ‘we’ll feed the fishes – or you’ll be king.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘Good advice.’ He looked at his aunt. ‘From all of you,’ he said. And sighed. ‘I do not want to be a monster.’

‘Good,’ Sappho said.

Satyrus took a deep breath. ‘But – word of our sailing must not leave the city when we go. Hama, Sappho – can you keep Phiale from sending a letter? A tablet? A scroll? One slave, slipping out on a merchanter? And Sophokles—’

Neiron put a hand on his navarch’s shoulder. ‘They can’t. But they can try – and they can, by the gods, make it harder.’

Satyrus shook his head. ‘We need time. If Eumeles is warned . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Life is risk.’ He managed a smile. ‘I’m twenty, and I’m losing my nerve. Very well, Auntie. You have her.’

‘Thank you.’ She touched his cheek. ‘Hama and I will do our best.’

In the morning, Satyrus presented himself to Gabines, Ptolemy’s steward, for his appointment. He expected to wait – in Aegypt, no one was ever granted his first request to meet the lord of the land.

To his own surprise, he found himself ushered immediately to the lord of Aegypt’s presence. Ptolemy sat under the magnificent fresco of the gods and heroes, on a carved ivory stool, as if he was just the archon of the city and not its uncrowned king.

‘Satyrus!’ he said, rising from his stool to clasp Satyrus’s hands. ‘We feared the worst. And we still miss your uncle.’

Satyrus bowed his head. ‘My lord, I am working to remedy my uncle’s absence. And I am preparing a spring campaign to topple his captor.’

Ptolemy settled and Gabines motioned at the slaves for wine. ‘See to it that your planning is better than the last time!’ Ptolemy said.

Satyrus flushed. ‘We had a spy in our midst,’ he said.

Gabines, the lord of Aegypt’s spymaster, leaned forward. ‘Do tell, young man.’

Satyrus took his wine, tasted it appreciatively and nodded.

‘A stool for the prince of the Euxine,’ Gabines ordered.

Satyrus had to smile.

‘And we hear that you won yourself several victories,’ Ptolemy said. ‘After your initial defeat. Eumeles is reported to be beside himself.’

Gabines raised a hand. ‘My lord, I would like to hear of this spy,’ he said.

Satyrus nodded and sat on the stool that was brought for him. ‘You know Phiale, the hetaira?’ he asked.

‘Not as well as I would like,’ answered the lord of Aegypt. He laughed loudly, showing all his teeth.

Satyrus frowned. ‘She spied for Eumeles, with Sophokles, the Athenian physician.’

Gabines nodded. ‘Sophokles is gone,’ he said. ‘I had him at a certain location, but now he has fled. My informant puts him on a ship to Sicily.’

Satyrus’s head snapped around. ‘You knew he was in the night market?’ Satyrus asked.

‘Yes!’ Gabines said. ‘And if your uncle had been here, he’d have had enough sense to ask me before he acted.’

Ptolemy nodded. ‘You are not king, here, lad. You were precipitate.’

It is not easy to keep your temper when you are young, and everyone older than you seems to be in a conspiracy to put you in the wrong. Satyrus flushed, and he felt the heat on his cheeks. He covered the onset of anger by sipping more wine.

Gabines shook his head. ‘Next time, you’ll know better, lad. Can you
prove
the involvement of Phiale?’

Satyrus nodded. ‘I think so, although Philokles would say that it depends on what you require as a standard of proof. Her slave attempted to suborn mine. We have this slave, and she has writings of her mistress – writings which Phiale says are forged.’

‘Circumstances are against the woman,’ Gabines said, scratching his beard. He glanced at his master. ‘I don’t recommend that you get to know her any better, my lord.’ He looked at Satyrus. ‘What do you propose to do to her, young man?’

Satyrus sat back and smiled. ‘Nothing.’

The lord of Aegypt and his steward exchanged smiles. ‘Really?’ Gabines asked.

Satyrus nodded. ‘My aunt his given her word that Phiale will cause me no more . . . discontent.’ He savoured his wine. ‘Can you tell me of Eumeles?’

Gabines was silent for a long moment. Satyrus noticed that he could hear the slave behind him, breathing. It was that quiet.

‘Eumeles is incensed that you destroyed his squadron at Tomis. And he has had word of you from Byzantium, and from Rhodos. And from here.’ Gabines raised his eyes. ‘But he is far more afraid of your sister. We hear that he is hiring mercenaries already.’

‘Where is my sister?’ Satyrus asked.

‘We don’t know,’ Ptolemy put in. ‘Somewhere in the back-country. There’s a song in Pantecapaeum, or so my agent there tells me – a song about her killing seven men in single combat.’ Ptolemy shook his head. ‘I remember her as such a nice quiet girl.’

Satyrus couldn’t help but grin. ‘That’s Lita.’ He nodded to Gabines. ‘By spring she’ll have an army. When the ground is hard, she’ll have a
go at Marthax – the king of the Assagatje. By high summer, if all goes well, she’ll be ready to face Eumeles.’

‘If Eumeles doesn’t make an alliance with this Marthax,’ Gabines said. He shrugged.

‘And you, lad?’ Ptolemy asked.

‘I have asked Diodorus to meet me at Heraklea on the Euxine,’ Satyrus said. ‘I intend to raise a fleet and go over to the attack when the weather changes.’

‘Just like that? Raise a fleet?’ Ptolemy asked.

‘I have an agreement with Demostrate, the pirate king.’ Satyrus sipped his excellent wine. ‘And with Rhodos.’

‘Pirates and Rhodos don’t mix, lad!’ Ptolemy said.

‘And I’m hoping to add Lysimachos.’ Satyrus leaned forward. ‘He has few ships, but I need his good will – and I can clear Eumeles off his part of the seaboard. And move the pirates off his lines of communication. He needs me.’

Gabines nodded. ‘We need him as well. Without his little satrapy, Antigonus One-Eye can move freely between Asia and Europe – and Cassander is doomed.’

‘Yet Cassander supports Eumeles,’ Satyrus said.

Ptolemy shrugged. ‘We’re allies, not brothers. Eumeles is no friend of Aegypt’s – as you well know.’

‘You have the lord’s blessing to take the Euxine – if you can,’ Gabines said. His eyes flicked to the slaves. ‘But our hand cannot be seen in it. We cannot spare you any ships.’

‘Really?’ Satyrus asked. ‘I thought that you might lend me—’

Gabines shook his head. ‘Lord Ptolemy needs every oar in the water for his expedition to Cyprus,’ he said.

Satyrus looked at Ptolemy, not his steward. ‘Is this true, lord? I had counted on ten or fifteen triremes from here.’

Ptolemy leaned forward. ‘You failed,’ he said bluntly. ‘You had a go at Eumeles, and failed. He captured two of my ships and the repercussions were annoying. I can’t afford to go through that again – with Cassander.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘I need ships,’ he said. Then he shrugged. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But I have your permission to proceed?’

Ptolemy shook his head. ‘I give no permission,’ he said. He shrugged as broadly as an actor. ‘I can’t control you!’

Satyrus couldnt help but laugh. ‘My lord, it seems to me that if I succeed, you’ll claim to have been my benefactor, and if I fail, you’ll disown me and show how you offered me no aid.’

Gabines nodded. ‘Precisely, young man. What we will do,’ Gabines said, ‘is to cover your back. We were,’ he cleared his throat, ‘embarrassed by the attacks on your sister. Nothing like that will happen again.’

Ptolemy nodded.

Gabines leaned forward like a conspirator. ‘But I will keep a man on this Sophokles. And I will ensure that no agent of Eumeles can communicate from here – for ten days after you sail.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘That is worth some ships,’ he said. ‘May I ask how you can do that?’

Gabines shrugged. ‘We are ready to send our first scouts to look at the coast of Cyprus – and a diversion up the coast of Syria. We will stop all shipping for ten days.’

Satyrus whistled and shook his head. ‘The blessings of my patron, Herakles, attend you in every endeavour,’ he said.

Ptolemy grinned. ‘My patron as well, lad.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘I still need the ships. I believe that my uncle Leon would say that promises are easy.’

‘When you are a king, you’ll quickly get the hang of this posturing,’ Ptolemy said. He rose and clasped hands with Satyrus like an equal. Then he leaned forward and whispered into Satyrus’s ear. ‘May Tyche bless you,’ he whispered. ‘I have two ships – good ships, quadriremes with heavy hulls – going at auction later today. And a pair of triremes that my architects have condemned as too small for modern war.’ He stepped back and winked. ‘They will all four be sold at salvage rates.’ He held Satyrus’s hand in his. ‘It’s the best I can do.’

Satyrus grinned. ‘Bless you, lord,’ he said.

Ships sold for their wood are rarely auctioned off with all their rigging and oars – nor do their crews ordinarily stand by the auction, waiting to be hired by the new owners – yet these things happened. Satyrus and Isaac Ben Zion were the only buyers at the auction.

‘Don’t bid against me on the big quadrireme with the engine in the bow,’ Ben Zion said. ‘It’s for Abraham.’

Satyrus stripped Leon’s establishment of officers without hesitation, taking the cream of his merchant captains, helmsmen and oar masters
for the new ships. He was delighted to find a captured trireme, the
Wasp
, lying on the beach.

‘How’d he come here?’ Satyrus asked, and sailors scrambled to tell him how Sarpax had taken him with a pentekonter at the mouth of the Euxine. Satyrus tracked Sarpax to a brothel and recruited him to command the
Wasp
for the summer, against Eumeles.

‘Can you shoot as well as your sister?’ Sarpax asked. He laughed, and the pearl in his ear glowed. ‘Will it bring Master Leon back?’

‘Yes,’ Satyrus said, and they clasped hands, and the thing was done.

Satyrus also took the
Hyacinth
, sister ship to the
Golden Lotus
, another triemiolia out of Rhodos, the flag of Leon’s Massalia squadron, bringing his squadron to seven.

He had dinner with his officers – all men he knew from Sappho’s table. ‘
Oinoe
?
Plataea
?’ Sappho asked from her couch. ‘T hose are the names of nymphs.’

‘No – battles at which Athens did well.’ Satyrus raised a cup of wine. ‘Here’s to the Painted Stoa, friends. And to Philokles’ friend Zeno. He gave me the idea for the names.
Oinoe
and
Plataea
are the fours
. Marathon
and
Troy
are the threes.’

Sandokes, the new navarch of the
Oinoe
, was an Ionian from Samothrace. He had beautifully curled black hair, a pair of gold chariots hung from his ears, and his body showed the muscles of a man who took special care at the gymnasium – despite which, he was one of Leon’s favourite captains, a man who had made the run to Massalia four times and had once taken a merchanter outside the Pillars of Herakles. He knew Sarpax of old, and the two shared a couch.

Aekes, who also had the reputation of being Sandokes’ friend, was of an opposite temperament. He had salt-washed hair and wore a simple leather chiton made of two deer skins sewn together, like a farmer. He was clean enough, and his arms and legs showed the muscle of a working seaman, but no earrings graced his ears, nor did he appear to have any special clothes to wear to a symposium. What he did have was a long Celtic sword in a bronze scabbard that rested against his couch, and a reputation as a successful pirate-hunter. He commanded the
Hyacinth
. He was said to have been born a Spartan helot, but no one ever questioned him about it. Satyrus knew that he had been close to Philokles, and had donated a hefty sum for the Spartan’s statue in the library – as yet uncast.

Dionysius – one of dozens of men in Alexandria to bear that name, or perhaps hundreds – was one of Satyrus’s childhood friends. He lay near Sandokes, whom he idolized. He was taking the
Marathon
. Satyrus had hesitated to take him again – Dionysius had almost lost his ship at the battle off Olbia, and he’d spread the rumour of Satyrus’s death. But Dionysius had paid the cost of the ship and the rowers from his father’s fortune, in hard cash – and the truth was that Satyrus’s fleet was beginning to cost so much that he could see the bottom of Uncle Leon’s coffers.

Anaxilaus was a scientific captain, a friend of many of the philosophers at the library, a man of education who nonetheless followed the sea. He had red hair, which alone enabled him to stand out among guests, and his excellent manners betrayed his Sicilian origins. His father and grandfather had both been tyrants in Italy, and Anaxilaus often joked that he’d gone to sea because it was safer than staying at home. He had
Troy
. His younger and much handsomer brother Gelon would have the
Plataea
until he got him to Byzantium for Abraham. He’d been promised a trireme there. He lay opposite Apollodorus, who fancied himself a gentleman and insisted on naming his pedigree to the Sicilians – in detail.