Storm of arrows

8

The expedition gathered a momentum of its own, so that by the day the first grain ships raised their sails, Kineas had volunteers from throughout the north shore of the Euxine, many of them men for whom he had little use, and a cheering crowd to see them all off. He stood on the beach with Petrocolus and watched the last chargers embark, and the last soldiers.

‘I will miss you, Kineas,’ Petrocolus said. ‘The city will miss you.’

Kineas embraced the older man, and then embraced his son, Cliomenedes, who would be acting as the city hipparch. The two men, father and son, were now the most powerful political figures in the city, but there were already factions. Nicomedes’ nephew, Demosthenes, had taken up much of the rhetoric of Cleomenes the elder, Eumenes’ father, who had betrayed the city to Macedon — a fact that was already dwindling in the consciousness of many citizens. Demosthenes had not emerged from his house in a week — but his terror would pass. He had both money and voices in the assembly. He would not be quiet long.

On the other hand, Kineas had arranged — or more properly, Diodorus, Sappho and Philokles had arranged — that the assembly chose Petrocolus as archon. He was one of the city’s richest men, he had hundreds of clients and he had earned his own fortune through hard work and quick wit, and his son was a hero of the war. Together, they had the leverage to hold Demosthenes at bay.

Kineas handed the older man the ivory stool with relief and a certain pride. ‘Don’t sit on it too often,’ he said. ‘It becomes addictive.’

Petrocolus accepted it and nodded gravely. ‘I will keep it for you,’ he said, but Kineas shook his head.

‘I don’t expect to return,’ he said. He pointed to Demosthenes, where he stood glowering with a bodyguard of armed slaves and some followers — most of them men who had once followed Nicomedes.

Kineas thought bitter thoughts about his fellow citizens, and Greeks in general. He had watched his father play the game of democracy, and now he played it himself. Men like Cleomenes the elder and Demosthenes played it without rules or ethics, bending men with money to suit their own tastes, never considering the eudaimonia of the city as a whole — or so Kineas saw them. He hated that good men like Anarxes, a rich farm boy who had ridden in the second troop, served loyally all summer and acted as Eumenes’ second officer when the older boy was lying wounded, now rose in the assembly to demand that Kineas show his accounts for city money he expended. The man did so at the behest of his new political master, and Kineas was sorry for it — and hurt. And the more eager to leave, before the call for an accounting crippled him. Or before he lost the special regard he had received.

He waved to the crowd and embraced the old man one more time, and then he waded out into the surf and climbed the side of Demostrate’s galley. The navarch gave him a hand up the side. ‘You could have ruled,’ he said by way of greeting.

Kineas liked the ugly man. Demostrate was an effective commander, a retired pirate and a loyal ally. ‘Would you, if you had the chance?’ he asked.

Demostrate laughed, a roar like Poseidon’s. ‘Never!’ he said. ‘Easier to calm the waves in a storm than to ride the tides of public opinion.’ He gave a lopsided grin that made him look like a satyr — or more like a satyr. ‘Bad enough that I stopped being a pirate.’

Kineas smiled to himself, and said less than he might once have, but went aft to the awning, where Philokles and Diodorus and Niceas waited, and the red ball of the sun rose in the east, licking the waves to ripples of fire, so that they seemed to be sailing into the east on a road of flame.