Storm of arrows

13

T heir sport that season was archery. Hyrkania had a crueller winter than the Euxine cities ever saw, with snow in drifts more than once and freezing rain every week, but it was still clement enough to exercise horses and shoot the Sauromatae bows.

Lot and Ataelus started it, setting up straw bundles against the earthen walls of the camp’s citadel and shooting for wagers. Kineas knew a good thing when he saw one — a sport that benefited his troops and cost very little, passed the time, maintained discipline — perfect. He offered prizes at a weekly competition, good prizes, and he competed himself.

The first weeks saw Ataelus’s prodromoi and all the Sauromatae gathered to laugh at the sight of Greeks shooting the bow. Some were either natural shots or had practised, especially the gentry from the Euxine cities — Heron was a fine shot, as were several of his riders. Eumenes shot with a sort of weary acceptance, as if his Apollo-like skills were a curse and not a gift. But others were not so fortunate. One young man from the phalanx somehow managed to snap his bow while stringing it, the resulting lash of the bowstring drawing blood. Many of the tribesmen thought this the finest jest they’d ever seen, which didn’t do much for the daimon of the whole corps and led to two nasty incidents. Other men simply missed the targets, week after week — Diodorus threatened to stop competing on the basis that his exceptional ability to shoot arrows over the top of the straw was undermining his authority.

‘Didn’t you learn to shoot as an ephebe?’ Kineas asked, wickedly. In fact, he could remember taunting Diodorus as the luckless seventeen-year-old failed to hit the target again and again.

Diodorus responded with a grunt, but when they wrestled later in the morning, Kineas noticed that he was being dropped in the icy mud with a certain annoying regularity. Diodorus was angry. Kineas kept his taunts to himself after that.

Six weeks of constant archery meant that the meanest of the hoplites could hit a bale of summer straw, and the best were becoming quite proficient. Kineas placed orders for bows and arrows with the local craftsmen. He knew his Anabasis well enough to appeciate that arming all his troops with bows, even if they were merely carried in the baggage, would make them more capable of dealing with the threats they would face in mountain passes and high valleys where the battlefield tactics of the phalanx and the cavalry rhomboid didn’t apply.

Some men preferred the sling and Diodorus convinced Kineas that slings were an acceptable distance weapon, so that some dozens of the Euxine Greeks could be seen pounding at the straw bales with long slings and heavy rocks. They lacked the range, but had enough hitting power to drop an ox — a demonstration that Diodorus performed to the applause of all the slingers on the winter feast of Apollo.

The barbarian Sauromatae were far more of a leadership challenge than the Euxine Greeks. They were a long way from home, wintering in a military camp, subject to regulations that they barely understood and seldom respected. But the military successes against the bandits and the willingness of the Greek officers to lead by example and be seen to fail at archery and other contests narrowed the gap.

The greatest difficulty concerned breaches of discipline and how they should be punished. Kineas could remember quarrelling with Srayanka about Greek notions of punishment. She had maintained that she would have to kill a tribesman to enforce Greek discipline, because anything else would lead to blood feud. Memories of Srayanka and a growing understanding of tribal custom made Kineas careful. He couldn’t be seen to favour the barbarians, but he had to make his judgments fit their own notions of fairness.

Kineas was never bored.

The army had suffered through two snowstorms and had camped in Hyrkania for eight weeks when Kineas held his second court and various units brought their offenders to him to be judged. Sometimes the local Hyrkanian authority demanded to have the man sent to the citadel — which Kineas always refused. Each refusal required a visit to the citadel.

The Sauromatae, with their arrogance and their lack of interest in the niceties of trade and purchase, were frequently hauled before the court as thieves, an accusation likely to cause even the laconic Lot to lose his temper. Sauromatae gentlemen were only thieves in their own tribes if they stole horses, a ‘crime’ only when the stolen horse came from one’s own tribe. Horse thievery was punishable by immediate exile — or death. The arrest of a Sauromatae nobleman or woman for thievery led to open-air assemblies for fair prosecution and resolution. The Euxine Greeks viewed these open-air assemblies with much the same relish as the Sauromatae viewed archery matches. The entertainment value helped them deal with the snow.

‘The merchant says that you stole the value of the girl’s bond,’ Kineas said in passable Sakje. The Sauromatae trooper — a lord among his own people, dressed in a purple tunic with gold plaques over fine caribou-hide breeches worked in deer hair — stood straight as an arrow. His demeanour was respectful, but proud. His name was Gwair. Kineas thought of him as Gwair Blackhorse, to separate him from the other Sauromatae Gwair, also a lord, who rode a grey horse. Even with a foundation in Sakje, the Sauromatae clan names defeated him.

‘No, lord,’ the man said, standing tall. His eyes met Kineas’s and he smiled. ‘I liked her and she liked me.’ The man shrugged. ‘We fucked. She warmed my bed.’ He smiled. ‘We please each other, so she can stay with me.’

Kineas sighed. ‘She is a slave at this man’s brothel,’ he said. He indicated the Hyrkanian merchant next to him, a big man in his own right. Beside him stood Banugul’s captain of the guard, Therapon.

Gwair grinned. ‘He wants to fight me for her?’

Kineas shook his head. ‘You know better than that, Gwair.’

Blackhorse grinned again. ‘Stupid merchant can’t keep a girl like that. Girl like that is for heroes. You know that.’

Therapon rolled his shoulders. ‘I’ll fight him,’ he said. ‘And when I kill him, the queen will be satisfied.’

‘Not so fast,’ Kineas said. The problem was that Kineas knew that among the Sauromatae, slave girls went to those who could hold them — until the women stepped in. Sauromatae women fought with the lance and bow like the men, and were not easily crossed, and the men who married them had to be heroes. Kineas turned to Lot, who was sitting next to him. ‘Would you be so kind as to send for some of your noblewomen?’ Kineas said. ‘I think we need their help.’ Kineas had to be seen to do everything he could before he ordered a Sauromatae to be punished or to fight a duel that he was unlikely to win. Therapon was a dangerous man and none of the Sauromatae would be his match.

Lot raised an eyebrow and rose to his feet. Kineas’s initial impression of a slow, cautious man had turned out to be the product of the language barrier. Lot narrowed his eyes at Kineas, glanced at Therapon as if considering the man’s potency and gave one sharp nod. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Although, as you must know, I cannot summon them. I must go and ask.’

Kineas nodded. ‘Should I go?’

‘That would be better,’ Lot said.

‘This assembly is to wait my pleasure,’ Kineas said, and rose.

‘Get on with it,’ said Therapon. ‘Punish the barbarian and move on. I’m cold.’

Kineas ignored the Thessalian and turned to Niceas, who sat on a stool bundled in sheepskins. ‘Can you deal with the Greek defaulters while I’m gone?’

Niceas gave a wolfish smile, much more like his old self, and bawled out the name of a pair of hoplites who had started a fight with the local mercenaries. Kineas pulled his cloak about him, walked along the main street of the camp, past his own log megaron and Lot’s heavy wagon, to where the Sauromatae yurts lined the streets in Greek military order that made them look out of place, like regimented kittens.

Most of the women lived with their men, but the unmarried noblewomen had a yurt to themselves. Most were between fourteen and twenty, but a handful were older — spear-maidens who chose to remain warriors. Kineas rapped his riding whip against the doorpost and one of the young maidens popped her head out and immediately blushed and bowed her head.

‘Lord Kineas!’ she said.

Kineas smiled. No Greek called him ‘Lord Kineas’, and it was ironic that the Sauromatae accounted for most of his discipline problems, because man for man and woman for woman, they worshipped him, a far cry from the views of the average Olbian trooper.

‘I would like to see the Lady Bahareh, if she will receive me,’ Kineas said.

Bahareh came to the door of the tent, took his hand and led him inside. She was an older warrior, with grey in her braids and a face that was more leather than flower petal. She was also one of the army’s finest lancers and her deep female voice carried over any amount of strife. She held no particular rank, but in battle, she rose to command.

Kineas accepted a cup of her tea. ‘I wish you to come and help me with the judgment of Gwair Blackhorse,’ he said.

She raised an imperious eyebrow. ‘He took that heathen girl from the slaver. Is this a crime?’

Kineas nodded. ‘The slave is like a horse — a thing of value to the brothel keeper.’

Bahareh frowned. ‘So he should buy her.’ The Sauromatae women smiled. ‘She is quite a piece.’

‘The brothel keeper wants her returned. He does not wish to sell the woman.’ That’s what I tried first, Kineas thought.

Bahareh snapped her fingers and a pair of teenaged girls helped her don her long, fur-lined coat. It weighed almost as much as armour. Unlike a man’s, it fitted her figure — a very elegant garment, even for a barbarian. Another girl put her hair up and she pulled on a Sakje cap, extinguishing her sex utterly. She looked like any other well-to-do Sakje. As she rose to her feet, she asked, ‘Is the girl pregnant?’

Kineas wanted to slap her on the back.

‘I hadn’t thought to ask,’ Kineas said. ‘Let us assume she is pregnant.’

They were walking down the street. Lady Bahareh had longer legs than Kineas and he had to hurry to match her stride. ‘Then when she gives birth, if she lives, she is a free woman of the clan. He gives her a few horses as a birth present, and the baby is part of his family. That is the law.’

Kineas grunted. ‘I see how to judge this. Listen, lady — I wish you to let it be known that tribesmen who visit the brothels must pay — every time — and that the next man who takes one of these girls to his yurt will suffer as if he stole her from another tribe. If you will do this for me,’ he stopped her in the middle of the street because her stride was so long that she was going to walk him back into the assembly before he was ready, ‘I will tell a lie and save Gwair Blackhorse.’

Bahareh was tall — almost eye to eye with him. She frowned. ‘It is not for you to punish a tribesman, Lord Kineas. That is for our prince to do.’

Kineas held her eye. ‘Lady, we will not make it through the winter as friends unless all obey. Surely it is the same in a winter camp of the Sauromatae?’

She toyed with her whip. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Fair enough. Save Gwair — he’s a fool, but most men are — and I’ll whip the men into line.’ Her whip made a sharp whisper as it cut the air. ‘Lot is right to follow you,’ she said.

Kineas spent the better part of the next hour bargaining with the brothel keeper and the town’s self-appointed archon over the value of the woman, while Therapon, balked of his fight, stalked off. Kineas used her pregnancy to prise her loose from her owner. He made the whole clan pay her inflated value, putting Gwair neatly in the wrong with his own people. The process took roughly four times the time and money it would have taken him to punish one of his own people.

‘This is going to be a long winter,’ he said to Niceas.

‘That’s not good,’ Diodorus said, pointing to the gate.

Two horsemen came up in a shower of snow, riding hard. One of their pickets. The riders pressed right through the assembly.

‘There’s a boat down at the beach,’ Sitalkes said. His breath steamed and so did the breath of his horse, whose panting was audible. ‘From the fort we built at Errymi. Someone from Olbia.’

‘That’s not good,’ Diodorus repeated.

Kineas sent a patrol with spare horses down to the water, three stades distant, with Sitalkes in command. They came back with Nicanor, a freedman who was now the head of the household that had been Nicomedes’. Kineas had the man taken into the megaron, where he stood by the hearth, soaking up the heat. ‘I thought I’d never be warm again,’ he said. ‘I’ve been on that boat for three days, cold and wet through.’ He sighed. He was fat, over-dressed and very out of place, and the whine in his tone was not something often heard in Kineas’s camp.

‘Thank you for coming so fast. You have a message for me?’ Kineas asked gently.

The man reached inside his tunic and drew out a scroll tube. Even the bone tube hadn’t resisted all of the wet, but the vellum inside was clear enough. Lykeles to Kineas of Athens, greetings. My friend, I received your request for funds and could not fill it. The city is near a state of war — the factions have twice attempted the murder of Petrocolus and his son. I dare not send wealth out of the city for fear that it will be stolen and used against us. I send Nicanor to you that you will see how hard-pressed I am. If you are not gone too far, please come back. And together we will crush this upstart. I know that I have failed you in this, but I cannot see another choice. I enclose a letter that arrived at the Maimakteria from Athens. Surely if our own city expects you to campaign against Amphipolis, your duty must recall you.

Kineas read the letter, and the enclosed letter from Demosthenes of Athens, or one of his faction, with growing alarm. He handed them both on to Philokles, who had been questioning Nicanor. The former slave was reduced to tears already.

‘You were very brave, crossing the Kaspian Sea at this time of year,’ Kineas said. He flicked a glance at the Spartan, as if to say ‘Look what you’ve done!’

Nicanor shook his head, eyes on the ground. ‘I had to come,’ he said. ‘Master Lykeles said — that I had to reach you — and — and I did.’

Philokles finished the letters and handed them to Diodorus.

‘They’re not up to ruling the city,’ Nicanor said. He was still looking at the ground. ‘That’s what I came to say. I served Nicomedes for ten years as his chief factor. I know how business is done. Lykeles wants to use direct action — he paid for a killing. I know — I found the money and I paid the killers.’

Kineas nodded. He had seen this coming; he suspected that he already knew. ‘Alcaeus?’ he asked.

Nicanor started, and his hands twitched. ‘You knew? Did you order it?’

Kineas shook his head.

‘He will make himself a tyrant. He cannot bargain. And Petrocolus is weak — kind, well-intentioned, but weak. He is lost without my master — that is, Nicomedes — and his friend Cleitus. He vacillates. His allies leave him.’

Kineas took a deep breath. ‘This is not good.’

The megaron was filling up with his closest officers. Rumour spread fast in the camp, and they were a small community. Heron was out on patrol and Lot seldom showed interest in the politics of the Greeks, but the rest were there very quickly, slipping in past the blankets over the door.

Leon nodded. ‘We need money. Without it, we’re going to be in trouble for remounts in the spring. I’m already worried about making the next payment to the hoplites.’ He had an arm around Nicanor’s shoulders. ‘I can’t understand why there isn’t enough money,’ he said uneasily. ‘I’m making deals here — I expect my credit here to be backed in Olbia and in Pantecapaeum. If it isn’t, we’ll have angry creditors when spring comes — and my new business prospects will vanish.’

‘Lykeles is trying to bring us back,’ Diodorus said. ‘I hate to be the one to say it, but someone has got to him. He’s trying to withhold your money to get you back.’

‘Athens?’ Philokles asked.

‘Macedon?’ asked Sappho. ‘It is an open secret that you go to fight Alexander. That woman in the palace still serves him. I’d wager my life on it.’

‘Odd, how their interests coincide,’ said Philokles. He looked thoughtful. ‘If you were to return to Olbia, the army would remain here for the spring, would it not?’ He glanced around. ‘What do you say, Kineas?’

Kineas sighed. ‘If I go back, I’ll never leave again. I can feel it in my bones.’

Diodorus shrugged. ‘Have you settled with the queen on a spring campaign?’ He shrugged. ‘Sorry for asking, but it is related. If we’re making a spring campaign, we have time to send someone back.’

‘She wants a great deal more than just a spring campaign,’ Kineas said, unintentionally setting them all to smirks.

Niceas spoke out, his voice rough. ‘Let Diodorus fight the spring campaign. You’ll have the time to ride there, whip everyone into line and come back. We’ll be moving by high summer.’

Diodorus grinned. ‘I admit, I want to be in command again.’ He looked at Niceas. ‘I don’t think it’ll be that easy for Kineas, though. If this is what I think it is, the powers behind the recall will have various devices — all perfectly legal — to hold Kineas at Olbia.’

Kineas nodded and looked at Philokles. The Spartan put his chin on his hand. ‘There’s sense in what Diodorus says. You might restore order in a matter of days.’ He sat up. ‘Or not. You might get embroiled in months of debate — a year of accusations.’

Diodorus spoke up again. ‘And the cream of the army — the votes that will always back you — will be here.’

Philokles took a deep breath. ‘And they might well have you killed.’

Eumenes’ voice could be heard like an undercurrent, explaining the politics of the situation to Darius, whose Persian youth left him with no experience of the fickleness of a Greek assembly.

‘Yes,’ said Coenus. ‘Fox, you’re right for a change. Lykeles is in over his head, that’s for sure.’ Coenus grinned. ‘I guarantee he’s not crooked — Diodorus, you know better than that. He’s been with us for ever. But he can be a fool.’ Diodorus nodded, acknowledging the truth of both statements. Coenus went on, ‘But he’s one of my oldest friends. Send me. Not that it’s how I want to spend the winter.’ Coenus’s chosen method of spending the winter was Artemesia, the most beautiful of Banugul’s ladies. He shrugged. ‘If you go, Kineas, they’ll mire you in crap, like Odysseus there claims. If you send me, no one will waste a daric on killing me, but I can sort out Lykeles, get some cash from him and move it by ship. I probably won’t be back until late spring — until Lake Maeotis is open to navigation, anyway. But no one will hold me. And,’ he shrugged, ‘I have a certain name. No one is likely to fuck with me.’

Diodorus glanced at Sappho. ‘He’s right. I rather fancied the part where I commanded the spring campaign, but he’s right.’

Philokles nodded agreement. ‘He spent the fall hunting the high passes on the Tanais. He knows the ground — he’ll go the fastest.’

Kineas hated giving up any of his closest friends. He glanced at Leon, at Eumenes, but both were associated with city factions and neither could do what needed to be done. ‘You’re ready for troop command,’ Kineas said. ‘Do this for me, Coenus, and you’ll have it.’

‘Bah,’ said the aristocrat, ‘I don’t need a bribe to make the trip. If I don’t go, Lykeles will make an ass of himself and we’ll all lose by it. Besides, I’m a citizen of Olbia now. It’s my duty to the city, don’t you know.’ He looked around at the command council. ‘Swear to me that you’ll all stay out of Artemesia’s bed. I may wed her.’

Laughing, they all swore.

Coenus sailed north with the ten men he’d led all fall. He sailed on a gentle winter’s day with a fair wind for the north. Nicanor stayed to run Kineas’s household. He said that he’d rather conquer Asia than cross the Kaspian in winter again. It took him a day to purchase four slaves, and Kineas didn’t have to pour his own wine.

Two days later, their third snowstorm came, with the flakes falling like the white feathers of some monstrous bird, just as Herodotus described, and gathering in drifts driven by the north wind.

‘Coenus is safe at the mouth of the Rha, drinking hot wine in our old fort,’ Philokles said.

Kineas said a prayer to Poseidon and sacrificed a lamb the next day with his own hands. At the citadel, he continued to refuse to fight a spring campaign a day after the spring feast of Persephone, despite the blandishments and the gold that the queen flung at him.

They heard that Antipater, the ruler of Macedon in Alexander’s absence, had defeated Sparta decisively.

They heard that Alexander had vanished off the eastern edge of the world — or that he was in Bactria, or perhaps Sogdiana.

They heard a rumour that Parmenion was lining up the satraps of the west to destroy Alexander if he returned. Leosthenes had told them that Artabazus was Parmenion’s man, and that their employer, Queen Banugul, was Alexander’s, and doomed to fall. And that Athens was prepared to throw off the yoke and go to war with Antipater.

Leon sat in the market, or in the megaron, listening to traders speak of the east — the trade road that led over the mountains and deserts and plains, to a far country they called Kwin. His eyes burned with something like lust. The Hyrkanian traders and the steppe nomads wintering in Hyrkania told Leon that Kwin was the source of silk.

All around them, east and west and south, they heard the stirrings of revolt and war, until the snow came in earnest.

And then the snow settled like soft fortress walls and all the rumours came to an end.

Until spring.