Tyrant: Storm of Arrows (57 page)

Zarina was a short woman with iron-grey hair in straight braids woven tight with gold foil, the only sign of her royalty that she wore on her person. On a lacquered armour stand behind her sat a coat of iron scales with alternating rows of gold, with a golden gorget as rich as Srayanka’s and a golden helmet surmounted by a gryphon whose eyes were picked out in garnets. The child - clearly her squire - replaced the gorytos on the armour stand and brought her a long-handled axe with a double blade. She rubbed her thumb across the blades, first one and then the other, and smiled. As she smiled, she raised her eyes and in one glance took in Qares and then the group with him.

‘You found them!’ she said, stepping forward. The tent fell silent as she raised her voice and every head turned.

Srayanka went to meet her. She inclined her head - the closest any Sakje managed to a bow.

Zarina took both of her hands. ‘You must be the Lady Srayanka of the Cruel Hands,’ she said in Sakje. She had a deep, hoarse voice for a woman, but her tone was warm.

‘I am Lady Srayanka. I have brought four hundred of my people to the muster, and my husband has brought two hundred Greeks, who are our allies. And Prince Lot,’ she turned to invite Lot forward, and the Sauromatae lord bowed his head with a smile.

‘Zarina and I are old friends,’ he said.

‘And bitter foes,’ Zarina said. ‘Sometimes.’ Their eyes locked and the tent was silent. Zarina’s tent - the entire tent - was alternating red and white silk panels, heavily oiled and almost translucent. The light from the coloured panels fell differently on the people in the tent - the queen was brightly lit under a white panel, while Lot was covered in red, like blood. He bowed again.

‘So you have not followed that charlatan Pharmenax?’ she said to Lot. ‘Does he still call himself the king of all the Sauromatae?’

‘Prince Lot has been fighting Iskander all summer,’ Qares put in.

Kineas could see that the claim of an old enmity was founded on something. There was tension in her stance, and Lot was stiffer than usual.

‘Only a fool would follow Pharmenax,’ Lot said.

‘I forbade you to go west,’ Zarina said.

‘I said I would return with allies,’ Lot shot back. ‘And I have.’

Bahareh stepped forward, distracting the queen, and the two embraced.

‘But I forbade it,’ Zarina said.

Kineas thought that she was speaking to Bahareh alone. The Sauromatae woman punched the queen’s shoulder. ‘He did as he said he would. Eh?’

Zarina’s brows narrowed, but then her face cleared. ‘So you have. Welcome!’

As if every breath had been held, there was a sigh throughout the tent and then conversation started again.

Queen Zarina beckoned and Kineas stepped forward in his turn. Close up, he became aware that she had the darkest green eyes that Kineas had ever seen on a human being. Her hands were as hard as a woodcutter’s. ‘You have truly come all the way from the Sea of Darkness?’ she asked.

‘Mother of the clans, we have indeed ridden from the Western Sea,’ Srayanka responded. ‘I promised to come, and I am here, though less than a tithe of our strength has come with me.’

Zarina waved her hand as if this loss of strength was of no import. ‘And the cities of the Western Sea sent a contingent? So that Greeks will ride to fight Greeks? This has been reported to me all summer and still I find it a wonder.’

Zarina’s gaze returned to Kineas and gave him the sort of careful examination that a Sakje gave a horse she considered buying - or stealing. ‘You are baqca,’ she said. ‘This I have heard.’

Kineas bowed. ‘I am the strategos of Olbia,’ he said. ‘A war leader.’

‘Hmm,’ Zarina replied. Then she dismissed Kineas as other leaders were introduced by Srayanka - Diodorus, whose red hair and beard made the queen laugh, and Parshtaevalt, and Leon, whose dark skin she touched several times. Next came Ataelus. She raised an eyebrow. ‘Surely you are of my people?’ she asked.

Ataelus gave his Greek shrug. ‘Many years ago I rode west, lady,’ he answered. ‘Now I serve the Lady Srayanka.’

Zarina pursed her lips and motioned for the next man to be presented, and Philokles stepped forward. She looked him up and down. ‘You are a
Zpar-tan
?’ she asked.

‘I am,’ Philokles answered, obviously pleased that here, at the edge of the known world, the barbarians still knew the word
Spartan.

‘Hmm,’ she murmured. The two women in armour laughed - a tough-looking pair. One of them pushed past to feel Philokles’ arm muscles. She nodded approval. ‘That’s what a man should look like,’ she said to Srayanka. ‘Why didn’t you marry that one?’

Srayanka snorted. ‘He didn’t know how to ride!’ she laughed.

Zarina laughed so hard she had to cross her arms on her gut. When she recovered, she was still smiling broadly. ‘I welcome all of you to my camp,’ she said. ‘I’ll see if my slaves can find space for you for dinner. Tonight we set the battle order. Are your horses ready to fight?’

Srayanka nodded. ‘Ready enough. We miss the grain of home. None of our chargers are at their best.’

Zarina nodded. ‘We’re at the end of the grazing. Iskander is at the end of his. The fight must come soon.’

Dinner was simple and reminded Kineas of dinners with Satrax - spiced mutton served in the same bronze cauldron in which it had been cooked, and every man and woman dipping their flatbread into the pot. The mutton was delicious, but there was no wine and no oil. No one spoke. The gathered guests ate quickly and efficiently, and then sat quietly until Zarina rose to her feet.

‘Now,’ she said to her guests, ‘we will discuss how to show Iskander our strength.’

The meeting of the chiefs of all the Scythians reminded Kineas that he was truly among barbarians. Everyone spoke at once - on and on. No considerations of tactics ever rose to the surface of the meeting, but rather, chieftains demanded precedence in battle - the left of the line, the right of the line, the position guarding the standard - based on ancient custom or hard-won privilege shouted and debated from one bearded warlord to another.

Queen Zarina appeared indifferent, watching her tribal leaders with obvious pride, sure of her strength. Kineas stood silent, with Diodorus, Srayanka and Philokles around him, whispering from time to time in disgust at the chaos and the arrogance.

Lot gave a wry grin. ‘I’d forgotten what it was like,’ he said.

Ataelus shook his head. ‘Fight for too long with Greeks,’ he said. ‘Sakje for talking.’

‘Do they know who Alexander is?’ Diodorus asked. ‘Do they think they can just ride around the plain and shoot arrows and call it a victory? ’

Philokles had remained silent for over an hour. ‘I admire these people,’ he said, ‘but no one here has proposed that we simply ride away and leave Alexander to starve on the high plains. Where is the wisdom of the Assagatje? Where is their Satrax?’

Srayanka pulled on a braid, fretting for her children. ‘I had forgotten what we were like in my father’s time,’ she said. ‘Truly, Kam Baqca and Satrax made us something greater. And you, my husband. The three of you made each leader see his place.’

‘Perhaps if you spoke to the queen?’ Diodorus said to Srayanka.

Srayanka shook her head. ‘I am as much a foreigner here as any of you Greeks. I will go and see to our children. My breasts are heavy.’ She kissed Kineas lightly.

Lot made a face as if he smelled something foul. ‘I know Zarina of old,’ he said. ‘You won’t find it easy to tell her anything. She esteems women above men, but not as much if they bear children.’ He looked at Srayanka, who nodded agreement. ‘She esteems men, but only for their strength, not their wisdom, even in war.’ Lot glanced at Philokles. ‘The Spartan might approach her with a message. She was impressed by his size and his name. And Lady Bahareh has known her for years.’

The chieftains went on shouting until the sun had set, and scouts came in to report that Iskander had moved bolt-shooters up to the banks of the river and was assembling bladders and rafts. Srayanka rode away. Kineas rubbed his beard and listened to the growing excitement. Rumours of Alexander’s imminent attack only fed the shouting, and the queen watched with a tolerant amusement that proclaimed her more interested in being the warlord of these chiefs than in working to defeat the common foe.

Diodorus shook his head. ‘They’re going to get their heads handed to them. Ares’
balls
, Kineas - have we ridden fifteen thousand stades so that we can watch Alexander dispatch another horde of tribes the way he did the Thracians? Let us be gone - the rout will be ugly.’

Kineas was tired of standing. ‘There is some god-sent irony,’ he said, ‘that we can all but see how Alexander will attack, and no one here cares to listen to us.’ He shrugged and took his companions out of the great tent and into the gathering gloom of the Sakje camp, where three thousand fires twinkled along the curve of the river. The air smelled of horse and burning wood.

‘We should ride back while the sun gives us a little light,’ Kineas said.

‘I would try to speak to the queen, if you gave me leave,’ Philokles said. He glanced at Bahareh and Ataelus.

‘When have you ever needed my permission?’ Kineas slapped the Spartan on the shoulder. ‘This is not as bad as you all seem to think. Their very chaos will serve them against Alexander. It is almost impossible to plan a battle against a hundred generals. New forces will ride on to the field all day, and each will commit themselves as they see fit, unbound by precedent or structure.’

‘What would you have the queen know?’ Bahareh asked.

Kineas was looking for their horses, tethered in a herd of magnificent horseflesh brought by two hundred chiefs. He was pleased that Thalassa held her own, surrounded by admiring Massagetae children and a dozen respectful adolescents. A severe-looking young woman handed him her reins and nodded. ‘That is a horse,’ she said. ‘You sell her?’

Kineas grinned, his thoughts suddenly infected with an image of Thalassa’s foals. ‘Never,’ he said in Sakje. ‘But I wish you may find as fine a horse.’

They nodded to each other and Kineas used his spear to vault into the saddle, showing off for the children like a much younger warrior. He leaned down to Bahareh. ‘Ask the queen’s permission for us to ride north along the river to the next ford, to guard against a flanking move. Tell her we think that Alexander will send his best cavalry and his hardest infantry across with the dawn, tomorrow or the next day, and that he will send a force to cross upriver - to the north. Ask her to allow us to stop the northern thrust.’ He caused Thalassa to circle, to the admiration of all.

‘That’s all?’ Philokles asked. ‘Alexander’s coming across and we’ll hold the northern ford?’

Kineas nodded. ‘That’s all. Trying to tell these people how to fight Alexander would be like trying to tell an Athenian how to argue. Any half-measures we push on them will only impede them.’

Bahareh looked at Kineas with respect. ‘You are wise. I expected you to tell the queen how to fight.’

Philokles nodded. ‘Wait for us. Either she will see us, or she will not. Either way we will be brief.’

Diodorus smirked. ‘Show her your muscles and you won’t be so brief, Spartan. All night, maybe.’

Philokles punched the Athenian in the knee, just hard enough to hurt. ‘She values men in her bed to just the extent that I value women,’ the Spartan said. Bahareh coughed in her hand. Philokles waved to Ataelus, who shrugged at Kineas and followed Philokles, and then his faded red cloak swirled and he was gone in the dusk.

Kineas rode his charger up and down. A boy came up on a tall horse, a captured Nisaean of which he was justly proud, and Kineas, in the grip of some daimon, accepted his offer of a race. Torches were brought and ten more riders materialized from the gloom, while Diodorus cursed him for a fool. ‘Are you a boy? With a battle tomorrow?’

‘Hush,’ Kineas said. ‘I am making a sacrifice to Poseidon.’

Diodorus pursed his lips. ‘As long as you aren’t just showing off,’ he called, as Kineas rode to the starting spear.

The race was like swimming in darkness and fire from the first surge of Thalassa’s hindquarters to the last pounding moments as the leading knot of them burst through the circle of light by the finish to a roar so loud that it rose above the debating in Zarina’s tent like an offering to the Horse-God, to whom Kineas sent his prayer winging while the Sakje embraced him for his victory.

Diodorus sat on his charger, shaking his head. ‘Are you twelve years old?’ he asked.

Kineas shook his head. ‘Let us make that sacrifice to Poseidon.’ Kineas managed to convey that he wanted to purchase a goat and the animal was brought. A Massagetae baqca, resplendent in caribou antlers and a silk robe, led them past Zarina’s tent to the camp altar. Kineas sacrificed the animal himself, slashing the beast’s throat and stepping free of the blood with practised ease. He raised the hymn with Leon and Diodorus:

 

They sang to the end, Kineas grinning like a man half his age. Philokles came up singing the hymn, and with him were many of Zarina’s commanders, and at the back of the group, Zarina herself, talking and waving her hands at Ataelus, who wore a deep frown.

Kineas stood by the altar with Thalassa beside him, surrounded by Massagetae and Dahae warriors, many of whom reached up to touch his horse. He saw a girl clip a few hairs from her tail and he was about to step in when he found himself face to face with Zarina.

‘Now I see how my young cousin could marry a Greek,’ she said. She nodded. ‘Go north if that is where you see the enemy, Kineax. I have heard the Spartan - I have understood.’ She shrugged. ‘No queen has ever faced a battle this great - with the whole might of the people. I am not a Persian, to kiss and cuddle my chiefs until they go sullenly to some carefully ordered place in the battle line. Nor am I the Qu’in, with chariots and horses and lines of men like pieces on a game board. I am the queen of the Sakje, and my chiefs will fight like dogs for a place in the line. Do as you will - you are a man of war. Those are my orders to you, as they are the orders I give to every chief - you are a free man. Do as you will.’