Tyrant: Storm of Arrows (37 page)

Young men and women who had ridden abroad rose to tell of what they had heard at the great camp at Marakanda and from traders on the trade road. They spoke too long, as the young often do, but despite this, the excitement of the circle grew.

And then Diodorus stood. His Sakje wasn’t good, and he called on Eumenes to translate for him. ‘They don’t know us here,’ he said. He turned to Qares. ‘The Massagetae do not spurn Spitamenes for his treachery, because they do not know Srayanka and how far she has come.’ He turned to Darius. ‘Spitamenes does not know the campaign we waged last year.’ Finally he turned to Kineas. ‘Alexander does not know us.’ He looked at the circle - Sakje faces, ruddy with firelight, their hair sparkling with gold ornaments, and Greek faces, their beards long and often shot with grey, and Keltoi with their bronze and gold beards. Kineas watched them all - even without Srayanka, he felt as if he had returned home. These were the comrades of his last campaign, and here among them he might have been a few stades from Olbia on a different arm of the sea of grass.

Diodorus paused, and allowed the pause to lengthen. ‘It is too bad they do not know us, because if they did, none of them would have allowed this to come about.’ He waited for Eumenes to finish his translation. ‘A year ago, I heard Satrax say this when Macedon drew near.’ He paused again, and in good Sakje, he said, ‘Let them feel the weight of our hooves.’

Around the fire, Olbian and Sindi and Sakje shrilled their war cries together. Diodorus turned to Kineas. ‘Lead us against the foe,’ he said.

Kineas rose. ‘I propose that we rescue Srayanka,’ he said. Forty voices bellowed agreement. Kineas raised his hands for silence. ‘It will require patience and discipline, like the campaign against the Getae, and luck, like all war.’

The circle of forty bellowed approval.

Kineas turned to Qares, the queen of the Massagetae’s messenger. ‘We will come to the muster. Srayanka has given oath to it, as has Prince Lot of the Sauromatae. But first we must do what we can to rescue our lady.’

Qares shook his head. ‘You may be too late, and come only to see the crows feast.’

Kineas nodded. ‘It may be as you say. But without Srayanka, we would never have come east. Tell your queen that we come, and the Sauromatae come - after we have tried our best to rescue Srayanka.’

Qares looked around the circle and chose to be silent.

‘I want to send scouts south,’ Kineas said. He pointed to Ataelus. ‘Ataelus will go east to the Massagetae with Qares.’ He nodded to Philokles with his chin. ‘Philokles will take a patrol south to Alexander,’ he said, and their eyes met. In his friend’s face, Kineas read distaste - and acceptance. With his Spartan education and his looks, Philokles could walk right into any mercenary unit in Alexander’s army and be accepted.

‘And I will ask Darius to ride to Spitamenes,’ he said.

Darius raised his eyes and looked first at Philokles and then at Kineas. He nodded, but his nod was hesitant.

Kineas’s eyes went back to the circle. ‘We will move south into the valley of the Oxus, staying concealed from everyone except the Sauromatae to the best of our ability. Ataelus assures me that this can be done. There we will await the reports of our scouts. One of the three will get us news of Srayanka. Only then will we act. Until then, there will be no raids, no private acts of revenge.’ His eyes left the Greeks and went to Parshtaevalt and the Sakje clan leaders. Young Bain, the wildest of the chiefs, met his eye.

‘I mean you, Bain,’ Kineas said. ‘If you raid without permission, you will be cast out.’

Bain glared. ‘Will we have revenge?’ he asked.

Kineas nodded. ‘I promise it,’ he said.

Bain rose to his feet. ‘I, Bain, the Bow of the West, swear not to raise my hand until the scouts return.’

The other chiefs, men and women, nodded approval.

The next morning, Ataelus, Philokles and Darius all rode forth from the riverside camp with retinues of tribesmen, guides and strings of horses. Kineas was left to sit beside the river, drilling his cavalry and gnawing his cheek with worry by day and dreaming of war and disaster and death by night.

After a week, Lot’s outriders came into camp and the two groups merged. The grass was too far gone where the Sakje had camped and both tribes moved north and west along the river. Their scouts found swathes of trampled grass and the passage of thousands of hooves on the main trade road, which crossed the Oxus just north of the Polytimeros.

The Sakje were moving east.

Kineas pressed on east for five days and then rested his Sakje and his Olbians, with Lot a day’s march away, closer to the bank of the Oxus. Their horse herds were too large to allow them to camp together easily when the grass was sparse, although there was a constant traffic both ways, a traffic in which Leon and Mosva played a role. The war and the trek had made for intermarriage and friendship bonds, and Kineas had seen that the tribes were not so much racial as customary, and when a family preferred one chief over another, they moved their horses to his herd and joined it.

The next night, the whole force was united on the banks of the Oxus. Where their horse herds mingled, brown water flowed in a watercourse three times as wide as the early summer stream, which divided and then reunited in twenty channels, creating thousands of islands, some covered in grass, others in trees. The smell of honeysuckle and briar rose flooded the senses, and the sound of ten thousand horses cropping the rich grass of the riverside meadows drowned out all other noise. At night, tamarisk fires smelled like cedar of Lebanon. All the water tasted of mud.

He used his new-found authority with the Sakje to select the best warriors from among all the clans and tribes that had followed Srayanka. He placed them together in a company of two hundred under Bain. Bain was a superb warrior and that made him a Sakje leader. Kineas would rather have had Parshtaevalt to command the picked men, but he was the chosen leader of the Cruel Hands and Kineas needed him there.

Bain did not take naturally to drill, but he did take to command, and Diodorus, who had worked with both adolescents and barbarians, quickly let the young knight know that his position of command rested on his ability to keep his riders interested in the Greek drills.

‘They’ll never be very pretty,’ Andronicus said. He was working into Niceas’s role as the command hyperetes. Every time Kineas heard his Gaulish Greek at his elbow, he missed Niceas, but Andronicus had the skills to do the job. ‘But they already use the wedge, and they can rally on the trumpet call, and those two skills will win battles.’

Diodorus had grander plans, as he showed Kineas the next afternoon. Two troops of the Olbians formed up with Bain’s Sakje in line behind them. At a trumpet signal, the Sakje began to fire arrows
over
the Olbians, who lunged forward into a charge, supported by the volleys of arrows coming over their heads.

Diodorus rode back to Kineas and pulled off his helmet. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘Like the
hippotoxotai
in our father’s time.’

Kineas had noted that Barzes, a Hyrkanian they had picked up at Namastopolis, had lost his horse to a friendly arrow. He pointed this out. ‘If the Sakje get a surprise - if you slam into an unexpected obstacle, or your charge falls short - you get to eat a lot of your own arrows.’

‘Don’t be a stick,’ Diodorus said. ‘It’ll change cavalry warfare.’

Kineas shrugged. ‘You’re wily Odysseus,’ he said. Then he grinned. ‘Looks good to me.’

Diodorus smiled. ‘If I’m Odysseus,’ he said, ‘I suppose you’re Agamemnon.’

Kineas made a face. ‘Ouch,’ he said.

With Lot’s picked men and his own cavalry, he had almost eight hundred veterans of last year’s campaign. He drilled them, amusing the Sakje and boring the Sauromatae, teaching them a few simple trumpet commands, wedge and rhomboid, how to charge and how to rally quickly, until they were all on the verge of revolt, and then he gave them two days of feast and squandered the remaining grain on feeding the chargers.

Samahe came in with word that Lot’s western scouts had made contact with Coenus. He was far away beyond the Salt Hills, but he was across the desert and he already had an escort of Sauromatae. Word of his approach did more for the Olbians than a hundred speeches, because he brought gold for their pay and wine, as well as news of home.

Samahe was covered with dust and the smell of horse sweat preceded her into Srayanka’s wagon by several heartbeats. Kineas gave her a cup of wine, which she consumed with the satisfaction of a connoisseur.

‘Summer on the plains,’ she said. ‘Stink-fucking desert.’ She tossed off the rest of the wine. ‘Not like home, where grass stays for summer. High grass is
gone
.’

‘Ataelus will be back soon,’ Kineas said, and she smiled.

‘I stink like dog,’ she said. ‘Bath in roses for him!’

Her pleasure at the imminence of her mate made Kineas feel as if his heart was opening inside his chest. He smiled at her, but his mind called out
Srayanka!

He worked to prepare to rescue her. But he didn’t believe in it.

Kineas sacrificed to the gods and prayed, and on the eighth day he was standing in the brutal sun, wearing a straw hat as wide as his shoulders and grooming his horse with a Sakje brush, a marvellous tool woven like rope from horse tail with bristles of a mysterious animal that apparently lived in the far north. He had groomed four horses for thousands of stades and the brush remained as stiff and fresh as the day Urvara had given it to him, in the hours before the great battle at the ford. He treasured it. Now he was thinking of her and Srayanka when he heard voices calling from the main camp. He saw a rider coming out of the sun, with pickets calling for him on either hand, and he ran up the riverbank to his camp, still holding his brush.

Nihmu rode out of the sun. She was exhausted, her eyes set deep in her head with dark smudges under them as if she’d been struck. She was as thin as a stick of tamarisk, and when she dismounted by Kineas she drank all the water he could give her. The water seemed to make her grow a little, and suddenly she grinned like the sun bursting forth from a sky of clouds. ‘Ready your horses, King! Ataelus says, and Philokles says, that they have found a way to rescue the lady.’

Kineas felt his heart begin to pound in his chest, its pressure so great that it might not have beaten for days or even weeks before that moment. ‘How?’ he asked, seizing her hands.

Nihmu flicked the hair from her eyes. Her braids had decayed in hard riding and she had a halo of bronze hair around her face. She gave a weary shake of her head. ‘Not for telling me. Gods, I sound like Ataelus.’ She smiled. ‘Haven’t thought in Greek for many days, lord. I was told that you should bring the people along as quickly as you can to the forks of the Polytimeros. That’s all I know. And I am to tell you that Iskander is in the field, that Craterus is on the Polytimeros, that Spitamenes lays siege to Marakanda.’ She repeated these last in her sing-song voice of rote memorization.

‘Go to bed, girl,’ Kineas ordered. He turned to Diodorus. ‘Send Eumenes to Lot with the news. Tell him we’ll ride in the morning.’

Diodorus nodded. ‘Where exactly are the forks of the Polytimeros?’ he asked quietly.

Kineas rubbed his chin. ‘Best get some guides from Lot, too.’

Then he lay down in his cloak, out under the stars instead of in her wagon, and he waited for the veil of sleep to come over him.

He awoke to the sound of ten thousand strong jaws cropping grass. He lay in the grass and despair rose around him like early morning mist, and settled on him until he choked and wept. But when he fell asleep again, he ...
passed his dead friends and jumped into the tree again and climbed without much interest. He saw the top above him and marvelled at how far he had come. He looked down and saw a plain below him, stretching away to mountains that rose like a wall and went on for ever, and he knew awe. And then he stretched forth his hand to climb . . .