Destroyer of Cities

27

Daedelus came out of the late-summer dawn mist like Poseidon’s chariot. His ships were at ramming speed, and Demetrios’ guard ships died under their rams. The distant screams of the trapped rowers were like the sound of gulls, and Satyrus might have slept through the whole thing, but Jubal caught the fighting with his sharp eyes and woke everyone in the tower.

Satyrus knew the Labours of Herakles instantly. He whooped like a child watching a race, laughed aloud when the fire pots began to smash into Demetrios’ beached ships. And his smile was just as broad when the man himself stepped down from the deck of his ship onto the wharf.

‘You bastard!’ Satyrus said, embracing the mercenary. ‘Where have you been?’

But he couldn’t maintain any kind of fiction of anger — less so, even, when the grain ships began to enter the harbour. Six of them.

‘These are Phoenician ships?’ Satyrus asked.

‘Demetrios didn’t seem to need them,’ Daedelus laughed. ‘Have you no news?’

Satyrus shook his head. ‘None!’

Daedelus nodded. ‘Leon is at Syme with six thousand men and forty ships. Demetrios has made two tries at him and failed both times — he can’t spare the ships. And your sister and Nikephorus are raising the Euxine cities — we hear they have another twenty ships and all your mercenaries.’

Satyrus laughed. He felt ten years younger.

‘Wait — you haven’t heard the best. Diokles is in Alexandria, refitting.’ Daedelus smiled.

Satyrus paused a long, long time — maybe twenty heartbeats. ‘Diokles?’ he asked softly.

‘All those sailors you sent to Poseidon?’ Daedelus shook his head. ‘Diokles has seven heavy ships.’

‘Dionysus?’ Satyrus asked, hope bursting from his chest.

Daedelus shook his head. ‘Sorry lord, no. He was lost. And every man aboard. But Oinoe, Plataea, Atlantae, Ephesian Artemis, Tanais, Troy, Black Falcon and Marathon are refitting at Leon’s yard.’

Satyrus breathed a prayer to Poseidon.

‘Let’s celebrate,’ Satyrus said.

‘I brought wine,’ Daedelus said, ‘but Leon hits the beach with his diversion in about an hour, and I have to be ready to sail. But from now on, you’ll know we’re out there. Demetrios doesn’t have it all his own way at sea. And we hear that the Greek cities are begging his father for aid — Cassander is hitting them hard, undoing five years of their work.’

‘I never imagined I’d be on the same side as Cassander,’ Satyrus said.

‘I never thought I’d help save Rhodes,’ Daedelus said.

Satyrus took the news straight to the boule. The council was bitterly divided — many of the town’s leaders wanted to try to negotiate a surrender while they were still holding out, and it had become more and more obvious that the oligarchs intended to starve their own lower classes into forcing such a surrender — the most craven strategy Satyrus had ever seen. He wasn’t sure they were even doing it consciously.

Nicanor seemed to fight Satyrus automatically, and he made no pretence of his contempt for the man he always referred to as ‘our young royal’.

Despite which, news of six grain ships was received with universal acclaim. Nicanor rose and proposed that all the grain be placed in the central store immediately.

Menedemos rose and argued that one-half of it be served out immediately as a donative, and to raise morale.

Satyrus let them wrangle. The hardest part for him — aside from his desire simply to take command and issue orders for their own good — was that each side had excellent arguments which were perfectly sensible and yet, most of the men on each side made these arguments with a cynical lack of conviction and a devotion to their own faction that lowered them daily in his estimation. Even Menedemos — the best of them, to Satyrus’ jaundiced eye — was so devoted to his democrats that he could lose track of what was best for the survival of the city. Damophilus was a great man with a spear in his hand, but in the council he spoke only for party interests. The only man who cared solely for his city was Panther. And he was dead.

Satyrus waited his turn to speak, and eventually he rose. ‘I neglected a point which may affect your deliberations,’ he said, and he did a poor job of hiding his contempt. ‘Daedelus and Leon will be back in two days, just after dawn, with a second load of grain and two hundred more soldiers. And they have landed a hundred more marines already.’

‘What time?’ Nicanor asked.

‘That will depend on wind and tide, I assume, Nicanor.’ Satyrus tried to sound pleasant.

Celebrations were short-lived. Fresh grain put heart into the lower classes, and the presence of a friendly fleet — a fleet which had some of Rhodes’ own ships in it — raised everyone’s expectations.

But two days later, they watched Daedelus’ squadron try and run a second convoy into the town, and get decisively beaten. Demetrios’ ships were waiting, manned, on the beach, and when the first trireme sail nicked the horizon, they launched, all together.

To avoid be overwhelmed by the in-sweeping flanks, Leon had to back water, and he lost four triremes and did no damage — and all six grain ships were lost, within sight of the port.

Morale plummeted.

And Demetrios, as remorseless as death, or time, moved his heavy engines forward across the hard ground south of the south wall. They began to move on the sixty-fourth day, and by the sixty-seventh day, they were almost in range.

Satyrus climbed the tower. The last light of day was shining on the besiegers, and their horde of slaves were dragging the final pair of heavy machines across the hard sand, raising a long column of dust.

‘Watch them,’ Jubal said.

At the front edge of the enemy machines was a full taxeis of pikemen, fully armed, their weapons throwing long shadows. They were just three stades away, neatly formed, standing to protect the machines. Even as they stood there, Satyrus wondered how they would react if he emptied his garrison at them in one mad dash to take the engines. When they started to throw their great rocks, the town was doomed.

Or at least, the suffering would begin again.

Jubal had filled the top of the tower with engines, and raised canvas and wood screens to hide them. The two captured on the mole had been strengthened, lengthened and now allowed the nautical mathematician four shots in his battery. He refused to commit more engines to the tower, which he said wouldn’t last the day.

‘My job is to kill as many of his engines as I can,’ Jubal said. ‘You watch.’ He pointed. ‘You see they? They’s his engineers. Look.’

Just beyond the engines themselves, the enemy engineers were examining something on the ground. It wasn’t a complex machine. It was a large rock, deeply embedded in the sandy soil, painted bright red.

‘They found your aiming rock,’ Satyrus said sadly.

Jubal smiled, and he bore a striking resemblance to a wolf. ‘They foun’ it,’ he said. ‘But they don’ know what she be.’

He did some calculations in the last light, based on the distance the enemy engines were parked from his rock.

Jubal opened fire when the Pleiades were high in the sky. His first cast was a rock coated in tar and set alight — using a major portion of the town’s spare tar. But it landed with a crash in the darkness and flames roared from the tar, and based on its position, Jubal began to issue orders, glancing from time to time at his wax tablet.

The canvas and hide sides dropped away from the tower.

His engines began to fire. The first four rocks elicited screams and crashes, and then the night was full of pandemonium and fire, and Satyrus released his sortie — just twenty men. They ran out of the postern, crept as close as they dared and began to shoot arrows at any man who was silhouetted against the flames.

After that, the tower engines fired as fast as they could, but they didn’t seem to add to the chaos in the dark.

Satyrus went down out of the tower to Anaxagoras and Apollodorus, waiting with blackened faces and armour on in the open ground behind the postern gate. All his elite marines were there, reinforced by the men brought by Daedelus — almost three hundred ready to rescue the archers if they got into trouble.

Idomeneus came back in through the postern, shouting the counter-sign.

‘The king?’ he asked.

‘Here,’ Satyrus answered.

Idomeneus was panting so hard he couldn’t speak. ‘They’ve run — abandoned the engines.’

Satyrus and the marines were out of the gate as soon as they had fire. He almost forgot to tell Jubal to cease fire.

Fifteen engines were destroyed by fire or by bombardment: two weeks’ work by every slave in Demetrios’ camp. The next day they saw the great man survey the carnage on horseback. He issued orders, and his men raised a deep cheer.

No hesitation in that camp.

Satyrus saw Amastris riding at his side. He spat.

Neiron raised an eyebrow. ‘Sure she’s not just doing what a monarch has to do?’ he asked.

Satyrus shook his head.

When Demetrios’ engines came out again, two weeks later, they rolled forward under cover of night. Jubal sprayed them with fire — he sent burning wads of straw and pitch, he sent rocks, he threw hails of stones. Men died.

But in the morning, sixteen engines stood where thirty had been. And as soon as they could see, their rocks began to hit the tower.

Jubal’s men were already out. He’d loaded and aimed all four engines, and he waited, alone, adjusting aim — he wouldn’t take a chance. Then, one by one, his four engines let loose, and each shot hit — one ploughed a red furrow through the slaves, one crushed a dozen veterans like a boy crushes ants, and two crushed engines.

And then he swung down on a rope and watched as the remaining enemy engines pounded his precious tower. It took them all day, and another day — and then with a rumble, the tower fell.

The people of Rhodes saw it as a defeat. Jubal just laughed.

For nine days the machines crushed the south wall under their rocks, and on the tenth day, when there wasn’t a house standing around the wall, the taxeis came forward.

The archers emerged from cover and bled them for a while, and then withdrew. The pikemen pressed forward, unopposed, but by now they knew what to expect, and they went up the breaches with their heads bowed and into the rubble of the town, and when they found the hidden wall just beyond the range of the engines, they simply fled. Many dropped their pikes.

Satyrus watched them run from some archers, and smiled. His smile wasn’t very different from Jubal’s.

The next day, the enemy machines pressed forward until their missiles could fall on the new wall.

Well behind the new wall, free men were already excavating the next wall. And the enemy machines were just forward of an old barn, a huge stone building that served as a cover for men wounded in the endless archery sniping.

The marines needed a rest, and Satyrus took the ephebes. Nicanor tried to forbid him to use them, and Satyrus took him aside in the boule.

‘I have a tunnel,’ he said. ‘It runs from just under the wall at the west gate out into the hardpan just past the gully. From there, the ephebes will be able to run straight into Demetrios’ camp.’

Nicanor nodded. ‘I see.’

Satyrus got his men. And he nodded to Helios as he emerged from the boule, where his hypaspist stood with Miriam. Both of them nodded back.

Then he went to the agora, found the ephebes and led them to the house he’d ordered to be purchased five months before.

Jubal was ready with fire and pitch — every support was coated. The moment the sortie returned — or was beaten — the tunnel was to be destroyed.

Then Satyrus briefed the ephebes on their mission, and briefed Idomeneus and three of his best scouts on their mission.

It took them too long to crawl down the tunnel, which was as narrow as a man’s waist in too many places. Satyrus went in after Idomeneus and his scouts. The tunnels scared him — they were dark, cold, like the land of the dead, and when his cuirass scraped along the walls, he felt as if it would all fall on his head. But Anaxagoras was the man behind him.

They emerged in the dead ground by the walled enclosure near the old barn. Idomeneus and his three men vanished — first up the ladder — into the darkness.

Satyrus was next. He got up the short ladder and lay down. Anaxagoras lay next to him, and then the ephebes began to emerge. Satyrus could feel his nerve fraying away — it was all taking too long.

About half his men were out of the tunnel when the slaves tripped over Anaxagoras.

‘What the f-’ one muttered.

Satyrus rose to his feet as quickly and silently as he could and beheaded the man who had spoken.

‘Zeus S-’ the second man started to shout, and he got Satyrus’ backswing.

Silence.

But there was a third slave, and he screamed.

‘Now,’ Satyrus yelled. ‘Go for the engines!’

The ephebes rose and ran out of the yard. They were fifty men against an army — but a sleeping army that had no idea the ephebes could be so close.

‘Now what?’ Anaxagoras asked. They were virtually alone, except for two boys who’d come up out of the tunnel after the ephebes rushed off to burn the engines.

‘Gather the next fifty and go and rescue those boys.’ Satyrus tried to sound calm.

They could hear men shouting for other men to rally.

Satyrus’ patience held out to the tune of thirty-five more ephebes. He could hear fighting everywhere, and he needed to get moving. ‘Follow me,’ he said, and led the young men into the dark.

He paused at the gate to the enclosure. ‘Anaxagoras — go back. Tell the rest of them to turn around and go back, and then tell Jubal to fire the supports.’

‘No,’ Anaxagoras said. ‘Send one of these boys. Where you go, I go.’

Satyrus laughed. ‘You are insubordinate, sir.’

‘You’re right. No way am I going back to Miriam and saying, “He nobly sent me back, and meek as a lamb, I went”.’ Satyrus saw the flash of his teeth.

‘Right.’ Satyrus turned to one of the many young men — all thinner and harder than they had been half a year before. He searched for a name, and found it. ‘Plestias? You’re my messenger. Turn ’em round, all back to the start, and fire the supports.’ He touched his helmet to the young man’s and saw the hesitation, the desire and the pleasure at being saved and the disappointment all at war in his eyes by the light of the first engine to burst into flames.

Then he led the rest of them into the darkness.

They didn’t do as much damage as he hoped. The engines were hard to light — Demetrios’ men fought hard. But Satyrus got most of his boys away cleanly, leaving five engines afire. The white chalk on their helmets showed up well enough, and when he blew Neiron’s sea whistle, they turned and fled north, all the way to the new postern gate.

He lost six men.

Jubal pointed at the fire raging at the edge of the wall, and they all heard the rumble as the tunnels collapsed under their feet.

Idomeneus came up out of the darkness from the west gate, saluted and raised an eyebrow. ‘Exactly as you said,’ he grinned. ‘You have some sort of spell that allows you to see into Demetrios’ tent? There was a taxeis of pikemen waiting just where you said.’

Satyrus shook his head. ‘The opposite. He’s had a look into ours. When the gate opened. When Daedelus made his second try at the harbour.’ He motioned to the archer. ‘Come with me.’

And then he gathered fifty ephebes and fifty of his own marines and set off at the double.

Helios met him near the Temple of Poseidon. ‘Lord?’

‘I missed you, but I’m alive. We only got five engines.’ Satyrus kissed his hypaspist on the cheek. It always pleased him to see how much the young man loved him.

‘The lady and I had an adventure as well. And Mistress Aspasia — the lady invited her to join us.’

‘Because she’s not a nasty foreign Jew,’ Miriam said, dropping down off the remnants of a wall. Like most citizen women under fifty, she’d taken to wearing a man’s chitoniskos, Artemis-like. The moon glowed on her legs.

She is very like my sister, Satyrus thought, and found the thought uncomfortable.

‘No one would doubt your word, Despoina,’ Helios said.

‘That’s what you think,’ Satyrus agreed. ‘Aspasia?’

‘You look better,’ the priestess growled. ‘Heavier. Meaner. Yes, we saw it all. He sent a pigeon.’

‘Not a slave?’ Satyrus asked.

‘A bird. All the merchants have them.’ Aspasia shrugged.

At his back, Neiron spat. ‘What in Tartarus are we about, here?’

Abraham pushed forward, too. He’d spent the watch on alert with the citizen hoplites — the full-grown men — and he was angry. ‘What is my sister doing out — Miriam, that manner of dress is shocking!’

Miriam kissed him. ‘No, dear brother. A month ago it might have been. In another month we’ll make love in the streets. Listen to Satyrus, now.’

Other men were coming up — there was Memnon, no more pleased to find his wife in the streets than Abraham had been — and Damophilus and Menedemos and Socrates.

Satyrus took Damophilus’ arm. ‘How many of the boule are here? Round them up.’

‘I do not take orders from you,’ Damophilus shot back. Then he relented. ‘We were all on the walls — they should be here.’

Satyrus raised a hand for silence. Helios had a pair of torches now, and he stepped up behind his master.

‘This is for us,’ Satyrus said. ‘Not for the Neodamodeis or the mercenaries.’

Memnon understood immediately. You could see it in his face. And Menedemos.

‘Gentlemen, when the west gate was opened to Demetrios, I smelled a rat. So did Panther. We took some action — to be honest, we hid certain things from the boule. Some weeks ago, I was fool enough to give Daedelus timings out in open council — and Demetrios was waiting for him. Last night, I told a member of the boule in detail how I would make my attack with the ephebes.’ He paused to let that sink in. ‘I lied. By some stades. Idomeneus, tell them what you saw.’

The Cretan stood forth. ‘I went to the west wall — to the gully where Lord Satyrus told me to wait. There was almost a full taxeis waiting there — waiting in blackened armour. If I hadn’t been warned, I would never have seen them.’

Satyrus grinned mirthlessly. ‘They call it the poisoned pill, gentlemen. My tutor, Philokles, taught me the technique. Tell different men different lies, and wait to see who acts on which.’ He turned. ‘Lady Aspasia?’

‘We saw Nicanor send a pigeon, immediately after the boule met,’ she said.

At Nicanor’s name, the crowd of citizens shifted nervously.

Satyrus led them to Nicanor’s house. The man himself was not at home, an old slave reported.

‘Fetch him out,’ Satyrus said to Apollodorus.

‘This is illegal!’ Memnon said.

Satyrus motioned to Apollodorus. To Memnon, he said, ‘The laws of the city will mean nothing if the city is destroyed.’

There was a shout — the ring of a blade — another shout of anger, curses. And then Apollodorus emerged, a piece of his plume cut away. ‘He’ll be out shortly,’ Apollodorus said cheerfully.

‘Your creatures killed my slave!’ Nicanor said. He was in a chiton and a Persian over-robe. His arms were pinned by two Cretan archers.

‘I took the liberty of securing his garden first,’ Idomeneus said. He and Apollodorus exchanged a look.

Satyrus nodded. ‘Nicanor, I accuse you of treason to the town. You opened the west gate and murdered the captain there. You informed Demetrios of our fleet movements. You attempted to have the taxeis of ephebes destroyed tonight.’

Nicanor met Satyrus’ eyes easily enough. ‘Well, well. We shall have quite an exciting trial. People may learn a great deal.’

Satyrus rubbed his chin. ‘There will be no trial,’ he said.

Memnon pushed forward. ‘We are Rhodians!’ he said. ‘There will be a trial. Nicanor — if you have done this, the curse of every man and woman in this town is on your head.’

‘Really?’ Nicanor asked. His words were mild. Satyrus heard in them the words of a man with nothing to live for. ‘Really? Or do they curse you and the young tyrant here for keeping them in this cesspit? We could have surrendered months ago-’

Satyrus shook his head. ‘No. We tried. You tried.’

Nicanor turned on him and spittle flew. ‘You — you carrion crow! All you want is war and death! It is sport to your kind. Not to us. My sons are dead. My wife is dead. I alone try to save this town when every one of you labours to destroy her. What do you have? You have nothing. The temples? All destroyed. The gymnasium? You pulled it down with your own hands. The agora is choked with slaves and shit. You eat shit. Look at the Jew’s sister, dressed like a whore! And Memnon’s wife — shit. You are no longer Greeks, no longer men. You are not even Hellenes. You are animals, you have lost even the semblance of civilisation. Because this Tyrant has taken your minds. Years ago, I told them to abandon Ptolemy and go with Antigonus. Had anyone listened, we would have had none of this. Now, everything we have ever had is gone, and it no longer matters whether you hold Demetrios off or whether he comes and his pigs rape every one of you to death, for the city is destroyed.’

Satyrus waited, impassive except when the man called Miriam a whore. ‘Was that your defence?’ he asked. He flicked his eyes back and forth to the two archers holding Nicanor. They were veterans.

‘I need no defence. And when the Demos hear what I have to say in court, they will surrender the town faster than you can stop them.’ He looked around. ‘As you, the so-called worthies, ought to have done. Put halters around your necks and go and face the Golden King.’

He looked at Satyrus. ‘And you — perhaps you made all this up? You and the metic woman and the Jew?’ He grinned with confidence. ‘You will regret this.’

‘Not for the reasons you think, Nicanor,’ Satyrus said, and his right hand rose under his armpit, his sword leaped from his scabbard and Nicanor clutched at his throat as blood burst from his severed neck.

The archers held his arms and his knees buckled.

Satyrus turned. ‘I wanted it done in public. I did it myself, so that no other man need soil his hands. We do not need a trial — Nicanor would have won, even as he lost, poisoning one man against another.’

Memnon’s face was parchment-white in the moonlight. ‘You’ve — killed — him.’

Satyrus nodded. ‘Listen to me, now. I have the soldiers and the crowd, and I could, very easily, declare myself Tyrant. To be honest, I think you people need a single voice and a strong hand. And yet, Nicanor said many things that were true — and here’s the worst. We are losing the city. We may endure, and endure, and still have the heart of your city perish. So I think that we should try to rule through the boule, and I will take the chance that you gentlemen will feel that I need to be arrested.

‘But hear me.’ Satyrus looked around. They were silent — in shock, he thought. Nicanor’s blood was dripping onto his foot. ‘I demand — I beg that this night and this callous murder mark the end of faction. There is only one good, friends — the survival of the city. No party is more important than this, and if the city falls, you must believe me, the besiegers will leave nothing. Nicanor was deranged by grief. I am not. Put your factions on the shelf, link hands and swear to the gods to carry this thing through to the end like brothers and sisters, or by Herakles, I will wash my hands of you and sail away.’

Roughly — deliberately — he turned and wiped his sword blade carefully on Nicanor’s cloak until the blade was clean. Then he put it back in his scabbard.

‘Goodnight,’ he said.

His officers closed around him, and his hetairoi around them. It was some consolation that they trusted him. Killing a man in cold blood was always hard — probably a sign that he was not completely mad, but he felt cold, angry, hopeless. And Miriam looked at him as if he were a mad dog.

He might have dwelled on her disapproval, but Anaxagoras and Abraham walked with him step by step.

‘Had to be done,’ Abraham said.

Quite possibly the sweetest words of Satyrus’ life.

He stopped against a mostly intact building and threw up.

‘The ephebes are still with us,’ Anaxagoras said.

‘I think I just gave you Miriam,’ Satyrus said, without thinking.

‘What’s that?’ Abraham asked.

I am a fool, Satyrus thought. ‘Nothing, for the moment, brother,’ he forced out, because his head could only take on one crisis at a time. Help me out, Demetrios. Launch a night assault.

‘Wake up!’ Helios said, and rubbed his cheek.

Satyrus came awake easily, swung his feet off the bed and reached for his sword.

‘What?’ he managed.

Helios held a cup of warm juice. At this point, Satyrus had no idea where the man came up with juice. ‘The boule is meeting immediately. You are requested.’

Satyrus rose. ‘Dress me well,’ he said. ‘Not like a democrat. Like a king. Get me Neiron, Abraham, Anaxagoras — and Apollodorus. And Idomeneus.’

He finished the juice, swigged water, used a twig of liquorice on his teeth and Helios laid out his best chiton, a flame-coloured cloth with tablet-woven edges in white and gold thread, with hem borders — woven scenes from the Iliad. A chiton with the value of a ship.

He waited while Helios tied his best sandals — the Spartan style, in leather dyed to match the cloak. When Helios kirtled up his chiton, he did it with a matching red leather belt that fitted — again. For the first time in a year. And over the chiton and belt he slipped his best sword belt, although the sword that hung from it was a plain enough weapon — he’d broken three swords in the siege.

Helios oiled his hair and braided it into two braids, and wrapped them on his head. He put over his shoulders the matching chlamys — long, the deep red of new-spilled blood, with black ravens and yellow stars, the signs of his house.

Satyrus examined himself in a hand mirror. ‘Very satisfactory,’ he said. He walked to the tent opening. ‘You come too, Helios. I want you to hear this.’

He went out into the small courtyard formed by his tent, Neiron’s and Apollodorus’. There was a fire, taking the autumn chill off the air, and a circle of his men — his best. His companions. His friends. It made his heart soar, that he finally had friends, not just followers. Neiron — Draco — Anaxagoras.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, and they murmured their greetings.

‘We’re ready,’ Abraham said.

Satyrus shook his head. ‘I’ve called you together to prevent just such a misunderstanding,’ Satyrus said. ‘I expect no trouble from the boule. But they may act against me — indeed, they may arrest me. They may even feel that they have to arrest me, against their own desires.’ Satyrus raised his arms and indicated his finery. ‘I’m trying to dress to remind them who I am — but I may fail. If they take me, gentlemen, you are to submit absolutely to their instructions.’

That got a reaction. Idomeneus spat. ‘Like fuck!’ the Cretan said.

‘Listen, friends,’ Satyrus said. ‘We’re here to do a job. I’ve said this from the start — I’m King of the Bosporus, not King of Rhodes. If you quarrel with these men, the town will fall. We win — as a team — when Demetrios sails away from these walls, and our grain warehouses and all the merchants who deal with us are safe. We win if we beat Demetrios here, because by winning here, we assure he will never come to our homes in the Euxine. Arrest me, put me on trial — if you continue to fight on, if Jubal springs his lovely trap-’

‘Jubal has a trap?’ Neiron asked.

‘I’ve avoided talking about it until Nicanor was. . put down.’ Satyrus shrugged. ‘Obey me, friends. Just this once — no heroics, no running amok.’

Idomeneus was the first to embrace him. ‘I’ll obey,’ he said, ‘but what you’re really saying is that the stupid wide-arses intend to arrest you!’

Satyrus was mobbed by his friends, which he enjoyed thoroughly. It helped wipe some of the blood from his hands. ‘Yes,’ he said ruefully.

Neiron embraced him last. ‘We’ve had our differences,’ he said.

Satyrus had to smile. ‘Better to say, “there have been times we’ve agreed”.’

‘But you were right to kill him. You’re a tyrannicide, not a tyrant. And many here feel as I do.’ There were tears in the man’s eyes.

Beyond Neiron was Abraham. ‘They’re fools,’ he said. He and Satyrus embraced.

And outside the courtyard was Miriam, hollow-eyed with fatigue.

Satyrus’ heart rose when he saw her. She didn’t shirk meeting his eye, and he felt that he had to say something.

‘I had to do it,’ he said. It sounded lame, put like that.

She stepped up to him and kissed him, causing her brother to go white with shock. ‘Someone had to do it,’ she said. ‘As usual, you did it yourself.’

‘You are the very mistress of ambiguity,’ he said. Her chaste kiss felt like a new bruise. He wanted to lick his lips. Or hers.

She smiled from under her eyelashes, and then he was walking away, as if nothing had happened.

The boule did not arrest him, or order him to trial, or to be executed.

They appointed him polemarch, the war commander of the city.