Funeral Games

5

T he factor’s steward said that Leon was not there, and his factor, when summoned at Philokles’ insistence, was none too pleased to speak with them. He was a middle-aged Heraklean merchant named Kinon, and he viewed the four mounted travellers outside his palatial house with distress and suspicion. Kinon was as wide as he was tall, and not all with fat. He wore a fortune in jewellery on his person, with a jewelled girdle and gilt sandals. Two armed slaves stood behind him, and the heavily studded gate was only opened wide enough for the three of them to stand abreast.

Kinon spoke brusquely. ‘I do not expect Leon for some weeks. Indeed, I do not know if Heraklea is on his summer sailing itinerary at all. Good day to you.’

Philokles slipped down from his horse and stood in the gateway so that it was difficult to close the gate politely. ‘We’ll accept your hospitality anyway,’ he said.

‘I haven’t offered my hospitality,’ Kinon said.

‘Leon is my guest-friend. I need the shelter of a roof, as do these children and their trainer. Are you turning me away?’ Philokles seemed bigger and far more noble than usual.

Kinon looked at them. ‘What proof do you bring that you are the guest-friend of my employer? Get you gone before I send for the tyrant’s guard.’

Philokles shrugged. ‘I helped free your master from slavery,’ he said. ‘He was the slave to Nicomedes of Olbia. Kineas of Athens and I-’

‘Kineas? You are that Philokles, the Spartan?’ Kinon took a step forward, slapping his head. Satyrus, watching, couldn’t decide whether it was a theatrical gesture or a real one, or perhaps both together.

‘I am Philokles, of Olbia and Tanais. These children are the children of Kineas, and a curse on you for making me say that on a public street.’ Philokles didn’t seem so drunk.

‘Keep your curses for those who mean you harm,’ Kinon said, but he turned red. ‘A thousand apologies. Come in. What are such noble guests doing here with so little ceremony? Now I know that Leon would require me to show every courtesy. Could you not just have said, or sent a note?’

The armed slaves helped bring the horses into the house’s business yard. The house steward was already raising his hands to heaven.

‘Where shall I stable so many horses?’ he asked the gods. And Melitta didn’t like how his eyes lingered on her.

Kinon dismissed his worries with a wave of the hand. ‘Guests are from the gods,’ he said. ‘So are their beasts.’

‘I could not send a note because I did not wish it to be known that we were here,’ Philokles said. ‘My charges are in a dangerous position. Tell me the news. What is the tyrant’s relationship with Pantecapaeum?’

‘Eumeles, who used to be called Heron?’ Kinon was pleased to be master of the situation, and pleased, now that he had guests, to show off his possessions. Two more slaves came out of the slave quarters at the back of the business yard. They took over the animals while a young girl brought wine mixed with mineral water, fizzing on the tongue. It made Satyrus think of the bath at the temple of Herakles.

‘He’s the one,’ Philokles said. He tasted his wine and bowed, indicating his pleasure. Troops of slaves, it seemed, emerged from their quarters to take the baggage off the horses and march it into the house.

The steward reappeared. ‘I have prepared rooms for them, master,’ he said.

Kinon nodded, his lips pursed, until another girl appeared from the arch that led to the garden-courtyard, this one beautiful like a young Aphrodite, with wide eyes above a narrow, arched nose and lips that seemed too lush to be real. Satyrus looked at her, and her fleeting glance – slaves rarely raised their eyes – caught his in a flash of green. She smiled a little. She had a garland in her hair and five more in her arms. With her eyes down, she gave Satyrus a garland. ‘My master welcomes you,’ she said, and her eyes touched his again.

Satyrus blushed and took the garland. He could see every contour of her body under her simple linen chiton. All women, and all men, were naked under their garments, and almost no one except the sick wore undergarments, but this seemed to be the first time that Satyrus had ever noticed such a thing. He dropped his eyes and missed her flash of a smile.

Theron didn’t. He took his wreath and grinned. ‘That, sir, is a beautiful girl.’

Kinon patted her shoulder with unfeigned fondness. ‘Beautiful and modest. I bought her for a brothel, but I don’t think I’ll ever sell her.’ He gazed on her with a connoisseur’s appreciation. ‘There is more to life than profit.’

‘Your sentiment does you great credit,’ Theron said. ‘What is your name, girl?’

‘I am called Kallista,’ she breathed.

‘What could be more natural for her?’ Kinon said. ‘Now your Eumeles – you must know – our Dionysius hates him, as does his brother. It is very – personal. Yes?’

Philokles drank the rest of his cup of wine and handed it to a slave. ‘That is the best news that I have heard today, Master Kinon.’

‘There is no “Master” here,’ Kinon said with courtesy. ‘This is your house. May I engage you as guest-friends of my own account? The children of Kineas and Srayanka?’

Melitta’s eyes flickered at her brother – do it! – and he stepped forward. He imitated Philokles’ gesture, handing his wine cup to the air and assuming that a slave would appear to take it. It worked.

‘I am Satyrus, son of Kineas of the Corvaxae of Athens and Olbia. Herakles fathered my ancestors on the Nereid who dwelt on the slopes of Gagamia in Euboea. Arimnestos of the Corvaxae led the Plataeans at Marathon and won undying honour there. Kallikrates Eusebios Corvaxae led the exiles from Plataea. He and his son gave their lives for Athens.’ He reached out and took both of Kinon’s hands. ‘I ask your guest-friendship, Kinon of Heraklea, and I gift you with mine, and my children’s.’

Kinon clasped his hands. The merchant’s hands were soft and a little moist, but his grip was firm. ‘So might the heroes themselves have spoken. Indeed, for a youth, you sound more like a man of Gold than a man of Iron. I am honoured with your guest-friendship, Satyrus Eusebios of the Corvaxae.’ He took a wine krater and snapped his fingers, and one of the slaves who had been carrying a sword appeared with an offering bowl. Kinon poured a libation. ‘I swear to Hera, to Demeter who loves all guests, and to your ancestor Herakles that I will be your faithful host and guest.’

Satyrus pinched the libation bowl between his thumb and forefinger. ‘Grey-eyed Lady of Wisdom, and the strong-armed smith who works bronze and iron, keep this man and be my surety that I will be a faithful guest and friend.’

‘I feel as if I have Peleus’s son, Achilles, as a guest,’ Kinon said. ‘From an irritation, this has become a pleasure. Please follow me to a more comfortable situation.’ He led the way through the main arch, and they went from the businesslike courtyard with shed and slave quarters to a garden with roses and three colonnades. There was a fountain in the centre, and couches had been arranged on a clear space of gravel amidst the rose bushes. They were not quite in bloom, but the buds were formed.

‘You are in luck,’ Kinon said, as they looked at his garden. ‘The roses will bloom tomorrow or the next day. How long will you stay?’

Having sworn the guest oath, Satyrus was now the centre of their host’s attention. He looked at Philokles, who made a small sign with his hands.

‘Just long enough to see the roses,’ Satyrus said with a smile.

Kinon smiled back, a little too warmly, and Satyrus wondered if he had sent the wrong message to the man.

‘I think we could all do with a bath,’ Philokles said.

‘Goddess!’ Kinon was genuinely shocked. ‘I’ve been remiss. Did you ride all the way here?’

Theron spoke up. ‘We came on a merchantman from up the coast,’ he said.

Kinon exchanged a glance with his steward, and Satyrus wondered what it meant. ‘Is that Draco Short-Legs? From Sinope?’

Philokles nodded. ‘The very one. May I bore you with another question? I crave news.’

‘Speak to me, sir. May I call you Philokles?’

‘You may. If all your wine is as good as what you just served us, we’ll be great friends. Have you heard of our friend Diodorus?’

‘The captain of mercenaries? Who on the Euxine does not know the man? Indeed, I just sent him fifty new Boeotian helmets made to his order in our shops.’ Kinon nodded. ‘He’s more than just a soldier. He’s a good man of business. And his wife is a delight.’

Philokles laughed for the first time in days. ‘Sappho?’ He shook his head. ‘She is superb.’

Diodorus had defied convention and married a hetaira. The situation was more complicated than that – Sappho had started her life as a respectable woman of Thebes, and only when the city was sacked had she been sold into harlotry. Diodorus loved her, and made her his wife. In fact, he’d gone farther, taking her into society with the same boldness with which he led a cavalry charge. And Sappho herself was intelligent, direct and plain-spoken in a way that most women were not. Younger, she had been a beauty. Now she was a mother of two daughters and she could still turn heads at a symposium.

‘I think we’ll be good friends,’ Philokles said. ‘If only we might have a bath.’

An hour later, they were back in the rose garden. Satyrus was as clean as he’d been since the Temple of Herakles, and Melitta wore an Ionic chiton, long and flowing and pinned with a set of mother-of-pearl brooches cut like Nereids.

Kinon eyed her critically. ‘I purchased it for Kallista,’ he said. ‘But when I heard your brother speak of your ancestry, I though that you had to wear it.’

Melitta looked at him gravely. ‘Has anyone ever told you that you are very like Odysseus for wisdom?’ she said.

Kinon laughed. ‘Ah, flattery. How I love it. That was well said, mistress. ’ He waved at the couches. ‘Will you recline, mistress?’

Melitta shook her head. ‘A chair, I fear, host. I lack the experience to control my garments at a feast, and I would not stain Kallista’s dress for anything.’ She smiled at the slave girl.

‘Yours, now, mistress,’ Kinon said. ‘I would not lend a guest a garment. ’

Melitta blushed. The linen and the pins were worth more than everything she currently owned. ‘Thanks,’ she stammered.

Kinon arranged her chair himself and pulled Kallista by the hand. ‘Will you wait on the young mistress, my beauty?’ he asked, as if she were a member of the family. Raising his eyes to his guests, he said, ‘I do not treat her as a slave in the privacy of my garden.’

Theron shrugged. ‘I could rest my eyes on her for ever,’ he said.

Satyrus would have liked to have said that. He settled for a nod.

Philokles laughed. ‘This is the effect of Leon!’ he said, a little too loudly. He had been drinking for an hour.

Kinon settled on to the couch opposite the Spartan. ‘You understand? ’

Philokles smiled. ‘I am a Spartan bastard,’ he said. ‘I understand all too well.’

Theron took wine from a slave and leaned on his elbow. ‘I would like to understand,’ he said.

Kinon nodded. ‘Leon began as a free man and was made a slave. When he became free, he determined to free more men. And women. We call them our “families”.’ He grinned self-consciously. ‘I am not likely to have any other kind of family,’ he said. ‘I was a slave.’

‘Theban?’ Philokles asked.

‘Ahh. The Boeotian accent.’

Philokles nodded. ‘And your respect for Sappho.’

‘Yes, I knew her – before.’ Kinon shrugged. ‘Slavery is neither the beginning nor the end of life. But Leon made me free, and put me in a position to become as rich as I am.’ He shrugged. ‘I will give the same gift to Kallista, when she is old enough to find a husband and not a brothel.’

Philokles spilled a libation on the gravel. ‘To freedom!’ he said, and slipped the krater on to the back of his hand. He drank the bowl dry and flipped the leavings across the garden with a practised flick of the wrist, so that the drops of wine rang as they struck the bronze slops urn.

‘To freedom,’ echoed all the other diners. More drops of wine crossed the roses, but no one else hit the urn.

‘You’re good,’ Kinon said.

‘I spend a lot of time practising,’ Philokles said, his voice light.

Melitta leaned across her brother and whispered in his ear. ‘Kinon is flirting with Philokles,’ she said.

‘Hush,’ Satyrus said, shocked. He saw the slight smile on Kallista’s face, and he blushed – and she blushed. Their eyes were locked, and he had to make himself look away.

His sister glanced back and forth between her brother and the slave girl. She shook her head. ‘Brother,’ she hissed.

He hung his head. Their mother had strict rules about servant girls – and boys.

Theron and Philokles talked with Kinon long into the night. At some point, between wine and shared anecdotes, Philokles stopped hiding their situation, and Kinon expressed immediate sympathy. They began to map out how the twins could travel, either to Athens, where Satyrus owned property that was untouchable by Eumeles of Pantecapaeum, or to Diodorus, who was, it appeared, in the field with the army of Eumenes the Cardian.

Philokles was sober enough when it came to politics, but Theron, who had drunk less, finally shook his head.

‘I think I need to hear all that again,’ he said, pleasantly enough.

Kinon looked at Theron as if he was a fool. Satyrus sat forward. ‘Please,’ he said. ‘I, too, would like to understand.’

‘It’s all been the same since the Conqueror died,’ Kinon said bitterly. ‘Alexander conquered, well, damn near everything!’ He took a drink, tried to hit the bronze urn with his dregs and failed. Theron took the bowl.

Kinon shrugged at his own failure. ‘When Alexander died, he left chaos. In Macedon, Antipater was regent – for Alexander, yes? And throughout the old Persian empire – Darius’s empire – Alexander had left satraps. Petty kings who ruled over wide areas. Some were the old Persian satraps. Some were Greeks, or Macedonians. The system depended on a strong hand on the reins, and Alexander’s hand was very strong.’

Theron took the bowl and drank the whole of it, rolled it on his wrist and his flick caught Kallista on the top of her hair. She leaped from her couch and tossed water back at him, and they all laughed. It took time to settle down again. Satyrus couldn’t help but notice how transparent her linen was when wet.

‘Shall I go on?’ Kinon asked.

‘Please,’ Satyrus said. It was his turn with the bowl. He sipped carefully.

‘So the army met in council – all the spearmen, and all the cavalry, and all the officers – and none of the Persians or auxiliaries. Trust me, that will make trouble in time. At any rate, Alexander left no heir – no one who could run his empire. He has two children – one by Roxane, and another by-blow by a Persian noblewoman – some say she’s a common harlot, others that she is a princess.’ Kinon looked around, because Philokles was smiling. ‘You know her?’

‘Nothing common about her,’ Philokles said with a smile. ‘She’s – remarkable.’

‘At any rate, the army vote to hand the empire to Alexander’s brother, the halfwit. But he can’t rule himself, much less the world. And there are rumours – still – that Antipater was about to revolt anyway, that Eumenes and Seleucus were about to divide up the world – anyway, there are ten thousand rumours. The fact is, Alexander died and there was no one in charge. So all of his generals decided to fight over the empire. Perdikkas had the army – he had been Alexander’s top soldier at the moment of the conqueror’s death. But Antipater had the Macedonian army, the army that had been kept home.’ ‘The army that defeated the Spartans,’ Philokles said. ‘Only needed odds of five to one. Useless fucks.’

Satyrus was done drinking. He’d been careful, and consumed the whole cup without spilling a drop. He laid the cup along his arm as Philokles did, and he snapped it forward – and the handle broke. The cup smashed on the marble floor. His sister gave him the look reserved for siblings who behave like idiots, and Kallista burst out laughing.

Slaves hurried to clean up the mess.

Philokles roared. ‘Good shot, boy! Only, next time, hold the rim, not the handle.’

Kinon laughed like a good host. ‘Another cup, Pais!’ he called to the slave nearest the door.

‘Bring a metal one,’ Theron added.

Satyrus squirmed. Melitta decided to rescue him. ‘So Antipater had an army, and Perdikkas had an army.’

Kinon nodded. ‘A sober young lady. Antipater had Macedon, and Perdikkas had the rest – so it appeared. But one of Alexander’s generals-’

‘The best of them,’ Philokles put in.

‘I must agree,’ Kinon said with a civil inclination of his head. A new cup appeared and was handed to Philokles. ‘Ptolemy had taken Aegypt as his satrapy. He had a large Macedonian garrison and he began to recruit mercenaries.’›

‘Like Uncle Diodorus!’ Satyrus said.

‘Just like.’ Philokles nodded and sipped wine.

‘So Perdikkas decided to defeat Ptolemy first and take Aegypt to provide money and grain for his army. Which had been Alexander’s army.’ Kinon looked at Satyrus. ‘Still with me?’

‘Of course,’ Satyrus said. ‘And Perdikkas failed, got beaten and was murdered by his officers.’

‘No one ever called Macedonians civilized,’ Philokles said.

‘Now Antigonus has the army that used to belong to Perdikkas – except for the part that Eumenes the Cardian has. Antigonus means to unseat Ptolemy. Ptolemy! The least harmful of the lot! And a good friend to Heraklea!’

‘Perhaps Antigonus will lose?’ Philokles said. ‘I know Ptolemy. He’s a subtle man.’

‘You know him?’ Kinon laughed again. He was drunk now. ‘I am in the company of the great.’

Philokles finished the cup, flicked his wrist and his wine drop scored on the bronze rim of the urn like a bell tolling. ‘I know him pretty well,’ he said. ‘I took him prisoner once.’ He laughed, and Kinon looked shocked.

Melitta nodded. ‘It’s true. And my father and Philokles released him. They’re guest-friends, I think. Right?’

‘That’s right,’ Philokles said. ‘That’s why Diodorus is a little more than just a mercenary to Ptolemy.’

Kinon shook his head. ‘You took him prisoner? In a battle? Next you’ll be telling me that you knew Alexander!’

‘My father did,’ Satyrus said. ‘But please go on. Perdikkas is dead, and Antigonus One-Eye has his army.’

‘Exactly.’ Kinon got the bowl and balanced it expertly while talking. ‘Antigonus has the whole field army behind him, and Ptolemy won’t get another miracle in the Delta. He has no soldiers to speak of now, just some military settlers and some useless Aegyptians. He won’t last the season. I’ll miss him – he’s the only one of those Macedonian fucks who wants to build something instead of just killing.’ As he drank, his Boeotian accent got thicker, and now he sounded like a character in a comedy.

Philokles shrugged. ‘And Eumenes is left with the rump?’

‘Less than the rump – although he’s wily. Antipater had him once and he escaped.’ Kinon snapped his fingers for more drink. By this point, he had Kallista sitting on a stool beneath his couch, and he played with her hair while he spoke. Melitta had already excused herself like an Athenian matron.

Philokles laughed again. ‘I remember his wiles,’ he said. ‘He and Kineas chased each other all over Bactria.’

Kinon sighed. ‘And then there’s Greece, of course. Now that Antipater is gone, and we had Polyperchon as a replacement – too old, and not smart enough to live – Athens made a bid for independence back, oh, six years or so. They defeated Antipater’s army and frankly they looked to overthrow the whole system. That united all the Macedonians for a while.’

Philokles shrugged. ‘And Kineas’s old friend Leosthenes died.’

Kinon looked knowing. ‘Died – or got very sick and slipped away when the whole alliance started coming apart. There are people who claim to have seen him. But the chaos that he caused in Thrace and Greece is why One-Eye has time to move against Ptolemy – because Polyperchon is still rebuilding. The Athenians showed that the Macedonians could be beaten. And there’s a new man on the stage – Antipater’s son, Cassander – he’s a different matter. Bad to the bone, that one – smart like a lion and rotten like an old corpse.’

Theron shook his head. ‘I paid no mind to politics when I was at Corinth. It wearies me, friends. And all of you know these men – these great men – like fellow guests at a symposium. I’m going to retire, friends, secure in the knowledge that the only people of consequence I know are athletes, and none of them is much of an adornment at a dinner party.’

When he rose, he gave Satyrus a long look. Satyrus got the message. ‘I thank you for hospitality and good talk, wisdom and beauty.’ He slipped the last in with a look at Kallista.

Kinon nodded. ‘Tomorrow we’ll have a look at the agora.’

‘Perhaps the palaestra?’ Theron asked.

‘Of course!’ The host patted his stomach. ‘I may remember the way there!’

And with that laugh, Satyrus stumbled off to bed. He managed to make it to the couch in his room, and then his wits turned off like a snuffed lamp.

In the morning, they threatened to stay off. Melitta came to wake him, prodding him under the ribs with her thumbs and tickling his feet until his groans turned to counter-attacks. She giggled, backing away from his couch, and he discovered that he had a splitting headache.

‘Time to get up, sleepyhead,’ she said.

‘Oh,’ he said, clutching his temples.

An older slave, heavy with muscle and black as an Athenian vase, came in and began to tidy his chamber. Satyrus wanted to get off his couch, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it.

‘Could you fetch us some water?’ Melitta said. ‘You’re twelve, Satyr, not twenty. You drank far too much wine last night.’

‘I don’t think it was the wine,’ Satyrus said plaintively. ‘I think I’ve hurt my head, or caught a cold.’

The black slave snorted. He was only gone for a few moments and then he returned with a silver pitcher of water and a bronze cup. ‘Drink up, master,’ he said with a grin.

Satyrus raised his head. ‘Why are you smiling? My head hurts!’

‘Drink all the water in this pitcher,’ the slave said. ‘I’ll get you another when you are done. Then your headache will cure itself. I promise.’

Satyrus managed to drink down two pitchers of water, and then he and Melitta made their way out into the rose garden where all the guests were reclining. Melitta watched him with a superior smile. ‘More wine, brother?’ she asked.

‘Hard head, boy?’ Philokles asked. ‘Worst age for a male, Satyrus. At twelve, you are invited to behave like a man, but you can’t. Best be wary of the wine.’

Theron raised an eyebrow at the Spartan, and the two men glowered at each other for a bit. ‘Advice everyone could heed.’

A young male slave came in, sheathed in sweat, with a scroll. Kinon took it and opened it, his eyes scanning the page, and he frowned.

‘I asked our tyrant, Dionysius, to grant us all an audience.’ He rolled the scroll and scratched his chin with it. ‘He has declined the honour, saying that the time for meeting is inauspicious, which is a load of mule dung and no mistake.’ He handed the scroll to the same black slave who had waited on Satyrus after he awoke. ‘Zosimos, have this scraped clean and put in the stack.’

Zosimos took the scroll and vanished through the pillars of the colonnade.

Kinon glanced around, pulled out a gold toothpick and went to work on his teeth. Satyrus looked away. A female slave offered him wine, and he hastily put his hand over his cup. ‘Might I have some more water?’ he implored her.

She went to a sideboard and returned with a gleaming silver pitcher and a slight smile. He accepted both gratefully.

‘Something is amiss,’ Kinon said. ‘Nonetheless, I’m sending to Diodorus by courier so that he is warned of your circumstances. I’ll send a caravan with the armour – three days at the least, I’m afraid. What do you need?’

Philokles leaned forward. ‘Clothes, weapons, remounts. Some cash. Kinon, I am merely being candid – pardon my bluntness.’

Kinon shook his head. ‘No need to apologize. I am rich, and my friend Leon could buy and sell twenty of me, and together, your burden isn’t a flyspeck. Arms and armour are easy – we make them. Why don’t I have Zosimos take you to the shop? None of the gear will be silver chased or inlaid, but it is all solid and workmanlike. Take what you need or have Zosimos order it with our smith.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘I don’t like the fact that the tyrant won’t see you.’ He looked around. ‘Where is Tenedos?’

One of the female slaves darted into the colonnade and Tenedos, the steward, emerged, chewing on a stylus. ‘Master?’ he asked, very much in the tone of a man annoyed to be interrupted.

‘What shipping came in today, Tenedos?’ Kinon asked.

Tenedos took a breath and Satyrus thought that he hesitated. ‘Pentekonter from Tomis, laden with wine, property of Isokles of Tomis.

Merchantman from Athens, laden with pottery and fine woollens and some copper, property of a mixed cartel of Athenian merchants and some of our friends. The copper is ours. Military trireme, no lading.’

Kinon sat up and swung his legs over the side of his couch. ‘From Pantecapaeum?’ he asked.

‘By way of Gorgippia and Bata, if the oar master is to be believed.’ Tenedos tucked his stylus behind his ear.

Philokles swung his legs over the edge of his couch. ‘Ares!’ he said. He sounded tired.

Kinon shook his head. ‘This is Heraklea, not some grain town on the north shore of the Euxine. We have laws here, and a good ruler, even if he is a tyrant. But they’ve got to him. Tenedos, I should have told you – now I am telling you. I wish to know anything you learn of this ship, of its master and its navarch and who they visit. Understand?’ ‘Yes, master,’ Tenedos said, sounding both competent and long-suffering.

Philokles nodded. ‘If you will lend me young Zosimos, I will see to some armour. He looked at Satyrus. ‘Fancy some armour and a light sword, boy?’

Satyrus was off his couch, headache forgotten, before Philokles was done speaking.

‘As would I,’ Melitta said.

‘We’re not on the sea of grass now,’ Philokles said.

‘Will that render me safe from assault?’ she asked.

‘As a woman,’ Kinon started, and then reconsidered. The code of war said that women were exempt from the rigours and results, but no one fought by the code any more. The Spartans and the Athenians had killed the code in their thirty-year war, almost a hundred years before. Women caught with a defeated army were sold into slavery.

‘I’ll come with you,’ she insisted.

Theron rolled off his couch. ‘I’ll come too.’

Philokles raised an eyebrow. ‘We won’t be able to pay you for a long time, athlete. I honour you for your loyalty, but shouldn’t you be finding a new employer?’

Theron gave a wry smile. ‘So anxious to be rid of me? I thought that I’d get myself a free suit of bronze. That will pay my fees for some months.’

Kinon laughed. ‘I hadn’t thought what taking in a pair of princes would be like. Of course! Tutors and trainers! We’ll need a sophist!’

Philokles shook his head. ‘I’ve got that covered,’ he said.

Kinon laughed heartily. ‘Now I’ve seen everything!’ he said. ‘A Spartan sophist!’

Philokles returned a twisted smile. ‘Just so. When I can’t convince a man, I kill him.’

They had to walk all the way, through the landward gate, called the Sinope gate by the locals, from stone-cobbled streets to gravel roads and then to heavily rutted dirt and mud. The armour smith’s place was a dozen stades outside of town, and they went far enough to get a good picture of the life of the local helots.

Satyrus walked next to Philokles. ‘That ship from Tomis?’ he said.

Philokles’ eyes flickered over the fields and the bent figures working them. ‘I was thinking more of the trireme. What about it?’

Satyrus shrugged. ‘Wasn’t Isokles a good friend of my father’s?’ he asked. ‘We’d be safe there.’

Philokles nodded and tugged his beard. ‘I hadn’t given that thought. You may have a point. We could probably secure passage on his ship. But what then?’

‘Across Thrace to Athens,’ Satyrus said.

‘Right across Cassander’s territory?’ Philokles asked. ‘Does that seem wise?’

Satyrus let his shoulders droop. ‘Oh,’ he said.

The armour smith had a circle of houses, almost like a small village, and a dozen sheds, each more ill-built than the last, and a slave barracks in the middle surrounded by a fence. A stream flowed through the middle of the facility, and it stank of human waste and ash. The road outside the gate was a cratered ruin from heavy cartage, and there was a dead donkey at the bottom of one of the worst pits, its body bloated and stinking.

Satyrus was shocked, and he wrinkled his nose in disgust.

Theron smiled. ‘You thought that armour and weapons were made in forest glades by Hephaestos and his mortal helpers? Or inside volcanoes, perhaps?’

Melitta looked at the devastation of ten forges and all the support the forges required. As she watched, a string of donkeys, perhaps fifty of them, were driven past. Every donkey had a pair of woven basket panniers, and each one was full of charcoal. The drovers were careful to leave the road and get the whole string around the deep potholes where the dead donkey rotted. ‘By the lame smith!’ she said. ‘This is an assault on Gaia! This is like impiety!’

Theron shook his head. ‘This is a good-sized commercial forge, mistress. ’ He shrugged. ‘Over there,’ he said, pointing at the mountains that stood like a wall on the southern horizon, ‘is Bithynia and Paphlagonia. There is a war there. Armies of twenty thousand men, and every man must have a sword, a spear and a helmet – at least.’ He looked at the twins. ‘We have manufactories in Boeotia and in Corinth. This one isn’t bad. It’s just a dead animal.’

‘Wait until you see a battlefield,’ Philokles said.

The factor of the armour factory was a Chalcidian freedman. His face was red and his arms and legs and chiton were covered in burns, and he had no hair at all. ‘Zosimos!’ he said. ‘A pleasure.’ His voice belied his words, but he gave the black man a quick smile at the end to pull the barb.

Zosimos bowed and flashed a smile in return. ‘Eutropios, I greet you, and I bring you the greetings of my master, Kinon. He asks that these men, friends of his, and of Master Leon,’ Zosimos said this with a significant look, ‘receive whatever armour they might need, and weapons.’

Eutropios put his hands on his hips. He had the muscles of Herakles. In fact, his upper physique was a match for Theron’s. ‘I thought he was too well dressed to be a new smith for me,’ he said, looking at Theron. ‘I hoped, though. Listen, tell your master from me that if he wants this big order to go out before the Mounikhion, he had best not be sending me any new orders. If these gentlemen,’ and Eutropios bowed without much courtesy, ‘take armour from the order, I’m that much worse off.’

Philokles dismounted from his horse, pulled his straw hat off his head and offered his arm to clasp. ‘I’m Philokles of Tanais,’ he said. ‘This is Theron of Corinth, who fought the pankration last year at the Olympics.’

Eutropios nodded, the corners of his mouth turned down in appreciation. ‘So – I’ve heard of you. And you,’ he said to Philokles. ‘You’re the warrior.’

Philokles shrugged. ‘I’m a philosopher now,’ he said, ‘and the tutor to these children.’

Satyrus writhed at being called a child in the presence of a master weapon smith.

‘And who needs arms?’ the smith asked. ‘Oh, get down from your mounts – believe me, I have nothing better to do than to talk to Olympic athletes.’ He turned his back on them and started walking. ‘I’m sure you’ll want to see the workshops. Zosimos worked for me – he can show you anything.’

‘I need arms, as does Theron. And for the young ones – men are trying to kill them.’ Philokles’ voice changed. ‘Pardon, sir, if we have interrupted your work. But I have known a number of craftsmen, and all of them work flat out. There is never a good time to visit. True? Please aid us. We will not require a tour, or much of your time. A few workmanlike items and we’ll be out of your hair.’

Eutropios turned back to Philokles. ‘I have no hair,’ he said. ‘You fight Spartan-style or Macedonian?’ he asked.

‘Spartan,’ Philokles said. ‘With an aspis, not one of these little Macedonian shields.’

‘Now, that’s lucky for you, because I have some made up. No one wants them any more, except some of the cities up north. Hoplite panoply? I have two or three to hand, from an order that never sold. Cavalry equipment? Don’t even ask. Everyone is a horse soldier now. Soon enough, there won’t even be any hoplites. No one wants to do any work any more – everyone wants to ride a fucking horse.’ The Chalcidian grinned sourly. He led them to a heavily built stone house that held up sheds at both ends. The door was sealed shut. He took a curious tool from his belt and twisted the seal wire and opened the door for them.

Satyrus gasped. The room was a veritable treasury of Ares. Bronze helmets, bronze-faced shields and rows of swords, most with a light coat of rust on them, straight-bladed and leaf-bladed and bent-bladed, of every size. Spears stood against the wall, their blades dark with rust, their bronze sauroteres, or butt-spikes, brown or green with patina. ‘All built for the tyrant’s guard, but now he has them aping the Macedonians,’ he said. ‘The swords are good,’ he said, as he plucked a short kopis from the floor and wiped the surface rust off on his chiton. ‘Good work from home. I bought this lot from a pirate – the shipment was for Aegypt. Saves me time to have a store of them.’

Philokles nodded. ‘No scabbards,’ he said.

‘Do I look like a scabbard maker?’ the smith asked. ‘Hephaestos, protect me! Are you expecting to be offered wine? Ares and Aphrodite. Zosimos, will you fetch these fine gentlemen some wine while they look at my wares and ask for fucking scabbards?’

Theron picked up a longer kopis, made in the western style with a bird-shaped hilt. It was a heavy weapon. He swung it without much effort.

‘Sure you wouldn’t like to do a little smithing, boy?’ the smith asked. ‘Shoulders like that, you won’t have to worry about someone trying to kill you in the Olympics. I’ll make you rich.’ He laughed. ‘Hermes, I’m already rich, but I can’t spend it, because I can’t stop working.’

‘He needs Temerix,’ Satyrus said to Melitta. She smiled at him, and then both of them realized that their friend, the Sindi master smith of Tanais, might well be dead, or a slave, with his eastern wife and their three sons, playmates all.

Life would seem exciting for an hour and then something would happen to remind them. Satyrus wiped his eyes and stood straight. ‘Temerix is the toughest man I know,’ he said. ‘He would survive, and Lu is too clever to be – attacked.’

Melitta shook her head. ‘And Ataelus? He must be dead. He was with mama.’

She wiped her eyes, looked around the room and spotted a small helmet with cheekpieces on the stack of helmets, mostly unrimmed Pylos helmets and a couple of Boeotians. She pulled it on and it went down over her eyes.

Philokles lifted it off her head, the bowl fitting in the palm of one of his great hands, and replaced it, rocking it gently on her hair. ‘Not bad,’ he said. ‘We’ll make you an arming cap.’

He reached into the pile and pulled out a small helmet with a bowl like a loaf of bread. ‘Try that,’ he said to Satyrus.

Satyrus wanted to look like Achilles, and not like some cheap foot soldier. This was a plain Boeotian, with a simple rim and no cheekpieces and no crest. He put it on his head and it sank past his temples, but it only needed padding. And a helmet of his own was better than no helmet.

‘Fits,’ he told Philokles.

He went to the rows of swords and came up with a short, leaf-bladed weapon the length of his forearm. Philokles approved, despite the fact that the blade was red-brown with rust.

‘Just a little work,’ the smith said. ‘You suited?’ Then he seemed to relent, relaxing visibly. ‘You want to see the forge?’ he said to Satyrus. He wrinkled his nose at Melitta. ‘Not much for a girl to see.’

Melitta made him laugh by wrinkling her nose back. ‘You need to get to know a better class of girl,’ she shot back. ‘Let’s go.’

Theron and Philokles declined. They were trying shields. So the children followed Zosimos and Eutropios out into the smoke-filled air and then into the largest shed, built of upright rough-sawn boards on poles driven deep into the ground.

The sound was loud outside the shed, but inside it was almost overwhelming. Satyrus and Melitta had seen Temerix at work, his hammer ringing on his bronze anvil or his iron one, and they’d seen him work with one of his journeymen, Curti or Pardo, the hammers banging in turns, but this was ten anvils in a circle around a furnace whose heat struck them like fists as they entered, and the hammer blows rang like continuous thunder on a hot summer day. Every smith in the shed was working bronze, building helmets, working them up from shaped trays that were probably made in another shed, working on the bowls and turning the whole helmet slightly after each blow. Every smith had a helper, and some had two, and the pieces were constantly being reheated in the furnace before coming back to the smiths. On top of the high furnace at the centre of the room, a bronze cauldron bubbled away, adding steam to the smoke.

The twins stood, amazed. Individual workers stopped, drinking cool water from pottery canteens hanging on the walls, or watered wine from skins, or a hot drink from the bronze cauldron on top of the furnace, or rubbing their hands, or putting olive oil on a burn, but the shed continued to work as a whole, the ringing of hammers never ending.

Eutropios watched with pride. ‘We’re working a big order,’ he shouted. ‘I love it when every hammer is working.’ He gave them a smile.

At the sound of the master smith’s voice, many men stopped working and looked at him, so he had to wave them all back to work. ‘Guests!’ he shouted. Some of the smiths laughed.

‘Are they slaves?’ Melitta asked.

‘Hard to say,’ Eutropios said. ‘Slaves don’t always make the best craftsmen, young lady. Most of those men weren’t born free. Some are working off their freedom, and others are taking a wage. None of them are getting the same wage they’d make if they had their own forge.’ He shrugged. ‘Every few months, a couple wander off to start a business, and I need more. I eat smiths like my forges eat charcoal.’ He waved at the boys running water back and forth, or carrying nets of charcoal. ‘The boys are mostly slaves. I use ’em until Kinon finds them a buyer. It’s hard work, but good food and all they can eat. They go to market well fed and well muscled.’

Melitta chewed her lip.

‘My sister has taken against slavery,’ Satyrus said in disgust.

‘When you said we could end up slaves, it made me think. What about that girl? Kallista? I’m pretty,’ Melitta said in disgust. ‘Men would look at me the way you all look at her.’

Eutropios laughed. ‘Lady, that will happen anyway,’ he said. ‘Let me be a good host. Come this way.’ He led the way to another shed, where two men worked on long wooden benches while half a dozen younger men held things.

‘Whitesmiths,’ Eutropios said. ‘Finishers. See what they’re making?’ They were finishing small blades – knives shaped like swords but made the size of meat knives. ‘Look at them – no black on them any more. See what Klopi here – he has the knack – see what he’s got. The blade shines like a mirror. People pay money for hilts in bronze and gold – but it is the bladework and the finishing that costs the money to make. And a polish like this won’t rust.’ He swatted Klopi on the back. ‘Nice work. Master work, in fact. Come and see me tonight.’ He looked at the other blade. ‘Not bad. Klopi, help him finish and show him how you got that deep lustre.’

When they emerged from the sheds, Theron and Philokles had a mule with panniers loaded with bronze and iron. ‘We have a good deal of work to do ourselves,’ Philokles said.

They spent the ride back to Heraklea babbling like the children they were, while their tutors made plans.