Funeral Games

6

No sooner were they back in the courtyard of Kinon’s house than Philokles set to work, borrowing labour from the house staff. He sent Zosimos out to find a leatherworker to make scabbards and belts and straps for the corslets, and he started with the shields, ripping the old leather backing off. Melitta and Satyrus were handed jars of rancid oil and scraps of linen and powdered pumice. They enthusiastically rubbed the surface rust off the blades of the swords, helped by various slaves who knew how to use the tools at hand. In minutes they were red to their elbows with rust.

Kinon came out into the working courtyard, dressed in an elegant chiton and with a heavy cloak over his left shoulder. He glanced around. ‘If he’s fobbed you off with a lot of old stuff-’

‘I think we’re entirely satisfied,’ Philokles said. ‘A little work won’t hurt any of us,’ he said with a glance at the twins.

Satyrus agreed. It felt good to be dirty – good to be doing something. He enjoyed the slow progress of his work, watching the red fall away from the steel, and then the rhythmic effort would widen the bright spot. There was a lesson there, he thought.

Melitta began to hum to herself as she worked – a Sakje song about drinking wine. Satyrus started to sing the words, and then they were both singing.

Kinon nodded. ‘I have an appointment,’ he said. ‘Tenedos is out listening for news. I’ll see you at dinner,’ he added. He stopped in the gate, where Zosimos was entering with a leatherworker, the man’s trade obvious from his apron and knife. ‘I’m reminded of my father,’ he said, looking around. ‘This was the way our courtyard would be when he made ready for war, and all his clients and friends gathered to fix their kit.’

Philokles raised his head. Satyrus followed his glance and saw tears on the Theban’s face, and he went back to singing.

Dinner was just as good as the first night, and Satyrus gazed on Kallista until his devotion was obvious to everyone there, but he couldn’t keep his eyes open, and fell asleep on his couch, to his own acute embarrassment.

Melitta stayed up later, listening to the older men make plans and watching the complexities of the interplay between the men. Friendship was growing between Philokles and Theron, and something similar between Philokles and Kinon, but Kinon and Theron didn’t seem to be getting along. She watched them carefully.

After the wine began to circulate quickly and the slaves were sent to bed, Kallista came and stood beside her. ‘May I share your couch?’ she asked.

Melitta moved aside and the older girl lay down. Melitta put an arm around her and they snuggled against each other.

‘I haven’t been dismissed, but Kinon won’t want me listening,’ the beautiful girl said. ‘He’s flirting with the Spartan. Why don’t they just say what they want?’

Melitta peeked over the back of her couch. The men had forgotten them altogether. They were laughing in the way that Melitta associated with jokes about sex, or women. In that respect, Sakje men and Greek men were little different.

‘Philokles doesn’t know what he wants,’ she said.

‘My master wants him,’ Kallista said.

Melitta held her breath a moment. ‘I thought that – that is to say, it seemed. Oh dear. I thought that he loved you?’

Kallista laughed. ‘First, mistress, I’m a slave – he can have me when he pleases, or send me to pleasure his guests. I’ve done all that. But no – in this house I’ve never been asked to oblige my master in any way, except to wait at table. I am an adornment. Much like the silver pitchers.’

‘Oh,’ Melitta said. ‘Do you-Is it better? Than – obliging?’

Kallista laughed. ‘How old are you, mistress?’

‘Twelve,’ Melitta said.

‘I’ve had men since I was eleven,’ Kallista said. ‘Sometimes it’s nice. Sometimes it’s big, drunk men who want me on their cocks in the middle of a party.’ She shrugged, turned away so that Melitta couldn’t see her face. ‘But I’ve never kindled, Aphrodite be thanked, and Kinon hasn’t pushed me at a man since I went into this house. Perhaps my hymen will grow back,’ she said. She rolled over carefully so that the couch didn’t make a noise. ‘Have you? Had a man?’

Melitta felt herself blush. ‘No,’ she said. ‘It all looks – silly.’

The older girl chuckled. ‘You don’t know the half of it. And your brother? Has he?’ The girl pulled her a little closer.

Melitta felt an alarm bell begin to ring softly in her head. ‘Why do you ask?’ she said.

‘No reason,’ Kallista replied. ‘He’s pretty enough, for his age. Men would want him – girls too.’

Melitta thought about that for a moment. ‘I don’t think he’s given it much thought,’ she said.

Kallista stiffened, then rolled away again. She lay with her back to Melitta for a little, and then rolled to her feet. ‘That must be nice,’ she said bitterly, and vanished into the darkness.

Melitta lay by herself for a moment, and then followed the other girl. She could hear the sound of her feet on the colonnade, and she tracked her. The older girl was crying very softly. Melitta caught up with her at the entrance to a dark room by the simple expedient of running a few steps and grabbing her shoulder.

‘I’m stupid sometimes,’ Melitta said.

The older girl collapsed in her arms, sobbing. Her sobs were very quiet. Melitta realized that when you were a slave, you didn’t even own your sobs.

‘Hey!’ Melitta said. She came from a family without a great deal of patience for tears. ‘I’m sorry!’

Kallista put her head on Melitta’s shoulder.

Then she started kissing the nape of Melitta’s neck.

Melitta froze for a moment, and then wriggled out of the other girl’s embrace with all the skills that her brother had taught her. ‘Hey,’ she said again, the sound of her voice threatening to get louder if required.

‘Oh,’ Kallista said. ‘I thought-’

‘Aphrodite,’ Melitta said.

‘I’d like to be friends,’ Kallista said.

‘Do you always chew on your friends?’ Melitta asked.

‘It’s fun,’ the older girl breathed.

‘Listen, Kallista,’ Melitta said, stretching a hand out. ‘I ride with the spear-maidens in the summer. I know what girls do.’ She shrugged. ‘Maybe we can be friends.’ She pushed away from the column at her back. ‘But not lovers. I’m twelve, not five – I know how all that works.’

‘Do you?’ the beautiful girl asked, and Melitta caught the derision.

‘Well,’ Melitta admitted, ‘probably not.’

Kallista squeezed her hand.

Melitta felt a flutter of something, like a flush that spread from her chest to her groin. She let go of Kallista’s hand and fled for her room, leaving Kallista laughing, or crying, behind her.

But she didn’t get to sleep quickly.

Kallista was on her mind when she awoke, and as soon as she bathed she walked around to her brother’s room, where he was stretching as if for the palaestra.

‘You look better,’ she said.

He shrugged. ‘Comes and goes,’ he said. ‘You?’

‘The same.’ She sat on his sleeping couch. ‘You have a thing for Kallista,’ she said accusingly.

That got her brother to grin. ‘I do,’ he said. ‘Just like our Lady Mother promised – all the feeling in the world, as if she was the only woman who had ever lived, Aphrodite incarnate.’ He spoke with self-mockery, because their mother had lectured them so often on the perils of young love and the intrigues of sex.

Then he sat down next to her and they embraced, both thinking of their mother.

‘Maybe Mama is all right,’ Melitta said.

Satyrus held her more tightly, and she hugged him back.

‘Kallista made a pass at me last night,’ Melitta said.

Satyrus stiffened and then sat back. ‘Oh,’ he said.

‘She asked me about you,’ Melitta said. ‘I rather like her. It’s nice having a girl to talk to. But there’s another face to her – something else. When she asked about you, she sounded – greedy.’

Satyrus got up and went back to doing his pankration guard positions. ‘Oh, I understand,’ he said. ‘With my well-known riches, she thinks I’ll make a good client? I think I’ve seen the play.’

‘Yes,’ Melitta said. ‘I think that’s just how she sees you.’ She was sorry to inflict pain on her brother, but she saw her shaft sink into him. She promised her mother, alive or dead, that she’d fill that role whenever she had to – somebody in the family had to be tough. And she wasn’t letting her brother get taken by a hetaira, no matter how lovely. It made her feel better.

‘Ouch,’ Satyrus said. He faked a kick with his left leg and then struck with his left hand, but in a flare of anger he misjudged his distance and his hand hit the plastered wall. Dust flew, and he cursed, holding his hand under his right armpit. ‘Fuck,’ he said.

‘Satyr!’ his sister admonished.

‘I feel like an idiot,’ he said.

‘I’ll withhold the obvious comment,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and eat.’

‘I need to get out of this house,’ Satyrus said. ‘Wine one night and slave girls the next. Save my virtue, Lita.’

‘I’m doing my best,’ she said.

‘Weren’t you tempted by her, though?’ he asked. He put his hand in the water pitcher.

‘No,’ she lied.

They walked out together to breakfast, pancakes and honey with sesame seeds. They both ate all they were offered, and then had to bathe again because they were so sticky. Philokles laughed at them, and Melitta laughed at herself, because for all her wisdom (and she offered prayer and libation to Athena for her help the night before), she was still a little girl who ate too many pancakes.

By mid-morning, they were in the business courtyard again, cleaning helmets under Theron’s exacting direction. Philokles had a pile of horsehair.

While they worked, Philokles went over his plan. ‘Tomorrow or the next day, we’ll go south,’ he said. ‘Theron will go as the captain of the escort and I will go with him. You are just two noble children travelling under our charge. We’ll be travelling through a war. I hope that we don’t have to do it for long.’

Theron shook his head. ‘Why don’t we just take a ship for Athens?’

Philokles spoke quietly. ‘Tenedos says that the marines from the trireme are watching the waterfront. I think they want us to take ship so that they can catch us out on the sea.’ He looked at Satyrus. ‘That’s a firm “no” on the subject of going to Isokles.’

Satyrus ground away at the green-brown patina on the helmet he was cleaning for the time it took to think his way through the whole hymn to Athena. Then he said, ‘How long will they hunt us?’

Philokles grunted. ‘For ever,’ he said. ‘Until you go back and kill them and make yourself king. That’s the way of it.’ His eyes met Satyrus’s, and Satyrus felt as if he was being asked a particularly hard philosophical question.

Satyrus looked away. Philokles seemed to be accusing him of something. Of being afraid – afraid to stand up for his rights. Or something. ‘I’m tired of worrying,’ he said.

Theron shook his head. ‘Satyrus, the worrying has just begun.’ He looked as if he meant to say more, but Zosimos came through the gate. He made his way through the armour and stood between the twins. He gave them a showy bow.

‘Master Eutropios sends you these,’ he said. He held out a small bundle wrapped in linen. ‘He apologizes that they do not have scabbards.’

Inside the bundle were the two heavy knives, or very small swords, that they had seen the whitesmiths polishing the day before. Now they gleamed like water, and had hilts of steel and bone.

Philokles reached out. ‘May I?’ he asked.

Melitta handed him hers. ‘Please,’ she said, although she loved hers from the first touch.

‘Very nice,’ he said. ‘Somewhere between an eating knife and a short sword.’ He handed it back. ‘Zosimos, would you be kind enough to take them around to the leather-working fellow?’

Satyrus stood. ‘Can you carry my deep thanks and those of my sister to the smith?’

Zosimos smiled. ‘Sure.’ He grinned again.

There were now two armed slaves on the courtyard gate all the time. They opened the gate for Zosimos to go out, and Tenedos came in. He glared at them and went off towards the slave quarters.

‘I thought he was buying us remounts?’ Theron asked, after the man was gone.

‘I think he disapproves of us,’ Philokles said.

By late afternoon, the twins were barely able to keep polishing for sheer fatigue. Theron had given both of them a workout in the garden, and Philokles had given them a lesson in swordplay on the hard earth of the yard – basic stuff, and so much like pankration that all the footwork was the same, and most of the attacks – and then they’d been put back to work. But Satyrus raised his head to see Zosimos come into the yard past the armed slaves.

‘The smith is delighted that you are so pleased,’ he said. ‘But you can give your compliments in person. The caravan will form up at the factory. We will leave in two days. So you should come out tomorrow evening and spend the night.’

‘Thanks for your help, Zosimos,’ Philokles said.

Zosimos nodded. ‘I’ll be coming with you. I’m to accompany the caravan out and back, and then I’m free.’ He grinned. ‘Except for all the legal parts.’

‘Then what?’ Theron asked.

‘I think I’ll try being a smith,’ the young man said. ‘Master Eutropios has been offering to train me for years. Well, since my shoulders got big, anyway.’ He went away smiling.

The equipment in the courtyard was finished to Philokles’ exacting requirements – the edged weapons polished and sharp, the wood shafts of the spears oiled, the heads ground and the butt-spikes gleaming like gold. He packed the helmets in leather bags, put covers on the shields and pulled the cross belt of his sword over his head. Theron did the same. They fitted, and the scabbards were careful work, leather over wood with bronze fittings. The twins’ knives had the same mounts, and they put them on proudly.

‘I suspect you’re the only Greek woman in Heraklea with her own xiphos,’ Theron said. ‘Hail to you, grey-eyed goddess!’ He put a helmet on her head.

‘Stop clowning around,’ Philokles said. ‘I wish we could ride out to the factory right now.’

‘And miss another dinner with Kinon?’ Theron said, somewhat waspishly, Satyrus thought.

Philokles gave him a long look. ‘You are a man of virtue, Theron.’

Theron blushed.

‘Because you are a man of virtue, I have to say that some of your insinuations are womanish and unbecoming.’ Philokles, when sober, was quite imposing.

Theron frowned. ‘Philokles, you too are a man of virtue. But you drink too much, and lose that authority which would be yours by right. The authority to tell me that I’m womanish, for instance.’

The two men were standing.

‘How much I drink is between me and the gods, Corinthian. Keep your views to yourself.’ Philokles’ hands bunched into fists.

‘Fine words from you, Spartan. But then Spartans were always better at dishing it out than at taking it.’ The Corinthian stepped up to Philokles.

Philokles moved forward, eye to eye with the athlete.

‘Stop it!’ Melitta said. ‘Stop it! Have you forgotten that there are people in this city who seek to kill us?’ She rose to her feet and looked around. ‘I’m going to have a bath,’ she said. ‘I recommend that you men do the same.’

She marched out of the courtyard like a queen.

Satyrus busied himself with the last spot of verdigris on his own small helmet and wished that he was as brave and regal as his sister.

Theron glanced at Philokles. ‘She told us, eh?’

Philokles nodded. ‘You’ve heard of Kineas?’

Theron nodded.

‘Now you’ve met him. That was him. In his daughter.’

Philokles poured a cup of rough wine from a skin that hung on the wall and spilled a libation on the ground.

‘Here’s to the shade of Kineas, and to his children. And to friendship with you, Theron.’ Philokles drank.

Theron took the horn cup. He looked at Satyrus. ‘Is it hard, having a hero and a demi-god as a father?’ He gave the boy a smile. ‘My father was a fisherman. Sometimes that is the easier path.’ He raised the cup to Philokles, poured another libation and took an orator’s stance. ‘To the shade of Kineas, who sits with heroes – Arimnestos and Dion and Timoleon, Ajax and Achilles and all the men who shed their blood at windy Ilion. And to your friendship, Spartan, which means a great deal to me, whatever I say in anger. And to the twins.’ He spilled wine at each pronouncement and drank in turn. Then he offered it to Satyrus.

Satyrus accepted it, wishing he could think of something noble to say. Finally he spilled a libation and said, ‘I wish I was more like my father. May he be with the immortals, feasting. May you two be friends.’ He took a sip, smiled self-consciously and handed it back.

The solemn moment was broken by the shouts of Melitta in the bath. She was throwing water at someone, and that someone shrieked and giggled.

They were all bathed for dinner. Kinon returned from his business just a few minutes before the couches were set.

‘Tuna!’ Melitta pronounced as she came in. She was beautifully dressed in an ionic chiton with silver deer as brooches – Sakje deer, made out on the sea of grass by a silversmith. She lay down on the same couch as her brother. ‘Kallista says we’re to have tuna, as it is our last night.’

Satyrus looked like a prince himself, in a wool chiton of white with red-orange flames rising from the hem and falling from the shoulder in a repeat pattern that baffled the eye, his garment pinned with gold at each shoulder.

‘You found it on your bed?’ he asked his sister.

‘No, Kallista brought it to me when I finished my bath.’ Melitta was unused to reclining, and she reached under her hip to smooth her dress.

Kinon grinned. ‘I wanted both of you to have something beautiful to wear. Dionysius has agreed to receive you tomorrow, in public. After that, you will be safe. Indeed, I would hesitate to leave with the caravan – you will be safer here.’

‘Best not spill any food on the clothes, then,’ Melitta said softly.

Philokles didn’t look happy. ‘Much as we enjoy your hospitality,’ he began, but Kinon interrupted him.

‘Leon, our master, has been all the way west to the Pillars of Herakles. His business there is secret – even his trip is itself a secret. But I have had news today that he is safely returned to Syracusa, and will visit Alexandria for the summer before coming here. He will be here in late autumn. I have sent letters to him. I think that you must wait here. In addition, I have started the process of arranging for Satyrus to speak to the assembly in Athens. I spoke to Theogenes. He sometimes represents Athenian interests here. He suggested that you live in his house as an Athenian citizen.’ Kinon took a sip of wine. ‘I do not trust him that far. He has Stratokles there.’

‘Who is this Stratokles?’ Theron asked.

‘A politician from Athens,’ Kinon said. ‘Just arrived two days back. On a trireme from Pantecapaeum,’ he said, and paused to let the import of that statement filter through.

‘He now claims to be the representative of Athens here in Heraklea. He claims vast wealth, family connections and political power.’ Kinon shrugged. ‘I’m not sure – but he does appear the representative of Athens. He’s busy buying every cargo of grain we have to sell, and that gains him friends. I’ve done business with him myself. He is an extreme democrat – the sort of man who wants to give every citizen equal power. He and Leon are sometimes rivals. And he has the name of a killer. Where he goes, enemies of Athens die.’

‘We’ll avoid him then,’ Philokles said with a smile.

‘Oh no,’ Kinon said. ‘I don’t trust him, but he has the ear of the tyrant – Demetrios of Phaleron, the tyrant of Athens, that is. And Demetrios was a friend of Phocion’s, and of Kineas, your father. We need him. He can get you a passage to Athens and safety.’

‘Except that he arrived here on a trireme from Pantecapaeum,’ Satyrus put in, and Philokles nodded. ‘Ares, what a rat’s nest. I think we should stay away from this Stratokles. See what we can learn about him. In the meantime, what of Macedon, Kinon?’ Philokles asked. ‘Tell me where you are with respect to Polyperchon?’

Kinon held out his cup for more wine. The heavy scent of tuna in syphillium wafted in from the kitchens. Bowls of white cabbage in honey vinegar were put on the side tables that were positioned next to every diner. ‘Ahh. The crux of the matter.’ Kinon drank some wine. ‘It is not Polyperchon, with whom we had good relations. I think you are behind on your news, my friend. Polyperchon is deposed as regent of Macedon, and Antipater’s son Cassander has the reins in his hand – but behind him is that madwoman Olympias, Alexander’s insane mother.’

‘That is news,’ Philokles said. ‘You said something of it just before we went to bed. But what of Heraklea? What side is she on?’

Kinon shook his head. ‘No one is on our side. Perdikkas – remember him? The first commander when Alexander died? – assigned us to the satrapy of Phrygia and refused to accept our status as a free city despite all our years. And he received all our discontents and exiles, and threatened, through his lieutenant, Eumenes the Cardian, to lay siege to the city. Then he died in Aegypt – murdered. Now Antigonus has his army and he faces off against the Cardian. Confused yet?’

‘But…’ Philokles said, ‘you and Leon sell weapons to the Cardian!’

‘No,’ Kinon said. He looked over his shoulder, where Kallista was motioning for the slaves to bring in the tuna. She was more beautiful than ever, in a cross-gartered chiton of dark, crisp blue. ‘No,’ he said, clearly having lost the thread of what he was saying. He looked away. ‘No,’ he said for the third time. ‘We sell weapons to your Diodorus, who is a great captain and a good customer. He serves Eumenes the Cardian – for money, and with the permission and even the support of Ptolemy of Aegypt. We would prefer for Antigonus to defeat the Cardian. But we’d really prefer it if they went on fighting each other in Phrygia and left us alone.’

Satyrus felt as if his head was spinning. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

Kinon tested a finger bowl of tuna for his guests and nodded vigorously. ‘Superb. Tell the cook she’s a genius.’ He looked back at Satyrus. ‘No one can understand all of it, young prince. But Heron – at Pantecapaeum – is part of this game. The big players want all the small players lined up or out of the game. Your city of Tanais threatened the kingdom of the Bosporus, and your mother was the obvious queen of all the Assagatje. That makes you children the heirs of two small empires – in two bodies, you unite the whole north of the Euxine. That means gold, grain, Sakje warriors and Greeks.’ He watched for a moment as his slaves carried the tuna around the garden, showing off its size and quality, before carving steaks from it and serving them on trays.

Kinon watched it all with pride – pride in his team and pride in his table. ‘The Macedonians aren’t united. Antipater’s death was like the end of the world for them. Antigonus is not Antipater, nor yet is Cassander – or Olympias – in charge. The Athenians are still powerful, and they will back anyone who gets the garrison out of their city – at the moment, they favour Cassander.’ He shrugged. ‘I think that Stratokles is working for Cassander. And Cassander needs grain from the Euxine to woo Athens. Am I making sense to you?’

Theron looked around in confusion. ‘I heard all this every day in Corinth and still it made no sense to me.’

‘Attica and Athens eat three times as much grain as they produce,’ Kinon said. ‘Men like me grow rich collecting the grain from the Euxine and selling it to Athens. Cassander needs that grain to flow to make Athens happy. He can accomplish this by supporting Eumeles of Pantecapaeum as sole king of the Bosporus. Hence, you children are in his way and need to be eliminated.’

Philokles nodded. ‘I’d come to the same conclusion myself.’

Kinon continued, ‘Our Leon is heavily invested in Aegypt and the new city there at Alexandria, so we are, willy-nilly, allies of Ptolemy. That sets us against Cassander, and against Antigonus sometimes and Eumenes the Cardian at other times. Cassander is power-mad, Antigonus is an excellent general and a useless ruler, Eumenes would be a great man if he weren’t so addicted to proving he’s a better man than any Macedonian. He really is the best general and the best man of the lot, but is a Greek and not a Macedonian – you can imagine what that means.’

Philokles gave a grim smile. ‘I know,’ he said.

‘And he married one of Alexander’s mistresses – you know that? Banugul? She had a son by Alexander, although not many people know it. A handsome boy named Herakles.’

Melitta’s eyes happened to be on Kallista. She saw the slave girl’s attention fix. She was listening attentively, and her eyes stole off to cross with someone else, someone standing behind Melitta. She rolled back, casually tossing her arm over her brother, and saw Tenedos, the steward, standing by a sideboard with a ewer of wine. He didn’t seem aware of the conversation, and Melitta, watching, saw so many slaves come and go that she couldn’t be sure.

Perhaps slaves listened all the time.

‘I know Banugul,’ Philokles said.

Kinon grinned. ‘So you said last night! I gather there’s a lot to know. Leon was fulsome in her praises. He continues to be her friend, and loans her money, and keeps track of her son.’

Even as Melitta watched, Philokles took a gulp of wine and stared off into space, lost in reminiscence. Next to her, her brother cleared his throat.

‘I think that I understand it, Master Kinon. So Cassander must be allied with Heron,’ he said. He was handed a gold cup by one of the slaves, and he took an appreciative sip. ‘I can see how the sides will shape up – even how this will affect the Euxine.’

Kinon looked at the boy with respect. ‘Yes, young prince. That is exactly correct. I’ve only had a few days to put this together, but it appears to me that Heron has offered to put the whole north of the Euxine at Cassander’s disposal in exchange for a free hand.’

Melitta spoke quietly. ‘Any news of our mother?’ she asked.

‘I fear not.’ Kinon shook his head.

‘Let us do honour to the meal, and banish sad thoughts,’ Philokles said.

Melitta leaned over so that her chin was on Satyrus’s shoulder. ‘They think she’s dead,’ she said.

‘Yes,’ Satyrus whispered. The food swam before his eyes.

Melitta put her arm around him. ‘It’s better if she’s dead, rather than a slave or worse,’ she said. ‘We are her children, and the children of Kineas. Make your face a mask of bronze, and start to think of our revenge.’ But even as she spoke the words, her voice broke.

Satyrus sobbed first, but in a moment they were crying – not bold princes of the Euxine, but two children whose mother was probably dead. They lay together, weeping, and the other diners avoided looking at them.

Their sobs lasted through much of the tuna, and then they dried their eyes and ate. Satyrus began to build himself a mask of bronze in his mind. Philokles’ new helmet had a high peak and long cheekpieces that covered his face in the front, imitating a moustache and beard and a Thracian hat. Satyrus chewed the excellent tuna and some rich salmon sauce on oysters and good, thick barley bread and thought of the armoured mask, and how it would cover his face, hide his fear. If I cannot be brave, he thought, I will pretend to be brave. That is my duty. He looked at his sister, who was obviously enjoying her food, pouring quantities of honey vinegar over the fish in a way the cook had never intended, to suit her sweet tooth, and he wondered why the gods had given her so much courage.

He drank several cups of wine, on purpose. Then, when the men were preparing to do some serious drinking, Satyrus got off his couch holding a krater. He walked to the middle of the garden, and the others fell silent. He was nervous – he was taking a chance, although he couldn’t see just how.

‘Kinon, this may be our last night as guests. Tonight I spill a libation to Zeus, master of all, who loves a man who has guests. And I offer libation to Athena, my patroness, and Herakles, my ancestor, and all the gods.’ Satyrus felt just a trace of nerves, like elation. The wine covered the rest.

‘Hear him,’ Theron said.

‘Well said,’ Philokles agreed.

‘And before all the gods, I offer this oath. That neither age nor weakness nor infirmity, nor the number of my enemies, nor any other power of the earth, the heavens or the underworld, will keep me – keep us, the twins – from our revenge on anyone who ordered,’ his mask slipped and his voice broke, ‘ordered our mother’s death. They will die. We will rule the Bosporus. They will rue the day they chose to start this war.’

Philokles watched him with sad eyes. ‘Alas, boy, such an oath, once sworn, carries power. Even now, the Furies listen, and they move the strands of fate. What joy did you just forfeit? What doom have you created?’

Melitta rose and went to stand by her brother. ‘I stand beside my brother in this oath. We care nothing for the consequences, dear tutor. We will have revenge. Eumeles who was Heron will die. Upazan will die. Cassander of Macedon will die. Every hand against us – to the end of the game-’

‘Stop!’ Theron begged. ‘By the gods, will you children stop before the gods punish you first?’

Melitta appeared to be filled with fire. Her face caught the last of the sun, the deer on her arms twinkled like stars and her dress was an unearthly white. ‘We will stop for nothing,’ she said. Her words sounded oracular. A gust of wind swept through the garden, moving the roses and making the torches flare into great gouts of flame.

Kallista clapped her hands. ‘The gods hear you, Melitta!’ she said, and then looked embarrassed at her own temerity.

Philokles glanced at Theron on the next couch. ‘You sure you want to stay with these children?’ he asked. There was no irony to his question.

Theron sighed. ‘I feel the weight of doom,’ he said. ‘Until this moment, I was the son of a fisherman.’

‘Now you are the ally of the twins,’ Philokles said.

Kinon shook his head. ‘Swearing revenge is all very well for my rose garden,’ he said. ‘But keep that to yourself in front of Dionysius. He plays this game. He plays it well. He outmanoeuvred Alexander and he has kept us free of Perdikkas and now Cassander. Don’t make him send you away – because he will not harbour you if you endanger his policy.’

‘What is he like?’ Philokles asked.

‘He’s the fattest man you’ll ever meet,’ Kinon said. ‘And perhaps the most brilliant and ruthless. Some say he is the soul of Dionysius of Syracusa come again. He’s his brother’s heir and no mistake. And he is not afraid of anything.’

Theron drank his wine down. ‘For all that, he’s a tyrant,’ he said. ‘I’m a man of Corinth. Timoleon overthrew that Dionysius of Syracusa.’

Kinon looked around. ‘We do not say such things in Heraklea.’

Theron shrugged. ‘You may not say such things,’ he said. ‘I am a man of Corinth, the city of tyrant-slayers.’

Philokles glared at the athlete. ‘Perhaps we should call it the city of poor guests, mmm? Think again, Theron. This man has given us gifts we cannot repay, and how do we return them? With rudeness?’

Instead of becoming angry, Theron winced. ‘My apologies, host. Philokles is correct.’

They spoke more about politics, and Satyrus watched Kallista as she sat by her master.

‘We should go to bed, if we have to be princes for the tyrant in the morning,’ Melitta said.

Satyrus nodded and yawned, eager to be an adult and without the strength to be one. ‘Bed,’ he said. Kallista smiled at him, and he smiled back. He would never see her again – it all seemed so unfair. But he rose and said his good-nights, and thanked Kinon with his sister for his spotless hospitality, which made the man smile.

He stumbled on the smooth marble of the colonnade, and he didn’t even undo the brooches on his chiton, but merely peeled it over his head and handed it to yet another slave and slipped on to his sleeping couch. The spring air had a touch of chill and he pulled his Thracian cloak – carefully cleaned by the staff – over himself, and he was asleep.