Tyrant

7

The autumn feast of Apollo, the Paenopsion, was a noisy festival. A day of sacrifices and feasts was followed, at least in Olbia, by an evening torchlight parade of children holding aloft the produce of the city and garlands of a special wheat cake made in the form of Apollo’s lyre. As they walked, they sang.

The Eiresione bears rich cakes and figs and honey in a jar, and olive oil to sanctify yourself, and cups of mellow wine that you may drink and fall asleep.

When full dark fell, the parade gave way to dancing, drinking and horse races. Kineas thought the sacrifices were too showy; someone had spent a great deal of money on elaborate pageantry. The archon appeared only at the great sacrifice, closely guarded by Memnon and fifty soldiers.

Most of Kineas’s men attended, wearing their best off-duty clothes and mingling with the city’s elite. Ajax made his first public appearance in Olbia’s society and was immediately at the centre of a circle of admirers — his beauty drew them regardless of his status as a mercenary and their political factions. Kineas didn’t need to stand near the boy to watch the ripple of comment as the admirers discovered who the boy’s father was — most Olbian traders did business with Isokles of Tomis.

In fact, his men circulated so freely that Kineas found himself virtually alone at the torch race, attended only by the Getae boy, Sitalkes. He didn’t have an urge to break into a new group and he couldn’t see Nicomedes or any of the local men he had met. Coenus was visible taking bets, but his new friends were not Kineas’s sort.

Kineas began to wander through the crowd. He considered going home. He wanted to find Cleitus, but the man didn’t seem to be in attendance. Kineas saw Philokles shout a greeting to someone in the torch-lit gloom and was envious. Philokles made friends easily.

Cleitus was, of course, entering a horse in the race. Kineas felt like a fool for failing to realize that every wealthy horse owner would put up a horse. He walked down to the edge of the track around the temple and pushed through a crowd of slaves and workers, all staring at the horses and trying to work out the best wagers.

When he found the not-quite Hipparch, he called, ‘Good fortune to your horse, Cleitus.’

‘The blessing of Apollo on your house,’ Cleitus replied. ‘She’s so skittish I’m afraid she won’t run. Doesn’t like the crowd.’

Kineas watched two slaves hold the mare while she tossed her head and rolled her eyes. ‘Is she trained to the torches?’

‘Before this, I’d have said she was immune to fire.’ Cleitus shrugged, clearly unwilling to solicit advice, but at his wit’s end.

Kineas watched her again. ‘Put blinders on her, as the Persians do.’

Cleitus shook his head. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

Kineas bent down so that his head was level with the Getae boy’s. ‘Run and find me a piece of rawhide — at least this big.’

Sitalkes screwed up his face in thought. ‘Where getting this thing I am, sir?’

Kineas shrugged. ‘I have no idea. It’s a difficult task. Surprise me. Or, run to Ataelus at our stable and get some from him.’ The boy was off before he finished speaking. ‘I’ll also need a knife and some thread,’ Kineas shouted after him.

Cleitus watched his mare try to rear. ‘I don’t know. Better to scratch my name off than to injure her. And the race will start as soon as the sun’s rim goes below a certain mark — too soon.’

‘Try my way. If the boy doesn’t make it back, you can always scratch then.’ Kineas watched the horse — a beauty, with a deep chest and proud head — and added, ‘Scratching would be ill fortune indeed at a temple festival.’

‘Too right,’ said Cleitus. ‘In the meantime, I’ll try something of my own.’ Cleitus called for a slave and they began to rub the horse down together, murmuring endearments. Kineas was glas to see Cleitus working himself — too often rich men lost the knack of work and expected their slaves to do everything.

Sitalkes appeared at his elbow. He wasn’t even breathing hard. ‘See it, sir. See it — good?’

‘Good. Well done. Where did you get it so quickly?’ Kineas took a sharp knife from another slave and began to cut the rawhide in half.

‘Stole it,’ said the boy, not meeting his eye.

Kineas kept cutting. ‘Anyone see you?’

The Getae boy stood tall. ‘Look idioting? No!’

Kineas cut strap holes carefully with the point of the knife. ‘Bring me her head stall,’ he called.

It wasn’t perfect — when it was on, one of the blinders stood correctly and the other flapped, disturbing her more. Kineas took the thread and stitched both of them in place. As he finished, the horses were called for the race. It was distinctly darker and he could just see his work.

‘Thanks for trying so hard, but I’ll have to scratch.’ Cleitus was watching anxiously. ‘They’ve called the horses.’

‘Here. Wait just a moment — one more twist of thread. There. Put it on her head. See?’ Kineas looked around for the rider — Cleitus’s son Leucon, hurriedly introduced moments before. ‘She won’t be able to see to her sides. Remember that when you try and pass another rider.’

Already, the mare was calmer. Cleitus and Leucon walked her away into the crowd and Kineas followed the rest of Cleitus’s slaves to the finish line, where all the owners and their retainers stood in the light of one of the temple bonfires. Torches were lit from the fire and tossed up to the riders.

Kineas was unable to follow the progress of the race beyond the sound, the chorus of shouts and cheers that moved like fire itself around the temple precinct. But as the horses finished, they presented a brilliant spectacle, crossing the line in a close-knit pack with their torches streaming fire behind them. Cleitus’s mare finished third and Leucon was presented with a wreath of laurel leaves.

‘I wanted to talk to you about the muster tomorrow,’ Kineas said when the congratulations and thanks were tapering away.

‘I don’t plan to give you any trouble. You’re the professional.’ Cleitus was rubbing down the mare.

‘I’ll need your help to get any of these men to do any training.’ Kineas thought that straight talk was the right course with Cleitus.

Cleitus turned and leaned one hand against the rump of his mare, crossed his feet and smiled. ‘You always in such a hurry, Athenian? It’s going to take time — and luck — to get these boys to practise anything. Look, tomorrow will be a shambles — we’ll be lucky if everyone on that damned list comes. You come back to dinner with me tomorrow night — bring your officers, we’ll all get to know each other. And some advice? Don’t be in such a hurry.’

Kineas took a brush from one of the slaves and began to work on the other side of the mare’s rump. ‘Sound advice. I have my reasons for hurry.’

‘I really should thank you for the blinders. Dangerous in a night race — but the chance was worth the result, eh? But I still had to wait for you to get the blinders done. You see? Let’s get through tomorrow — Apollo send that all the men are wise enough to come; if some fool gets arrested we’ll never have a day’s peace.’

‘Your words to the god. May every man come.’ Kineas handed his brush to the waiting slave. ‘I’ll take my leave. Until tomorrow.’

‘Goodnight, then. Leucon, say goodnight to the gentleman.’

Kineas had his men up at cock’s crow and they flogged the stable floors dry, set up more exercise butts and curried their horses until they shone. Mounted, in armour, with new plumes and cloaks, they made a fine show. Kineas had them at the barracks end of the hippodrome half an hour before the appointed time.

The city’s gentry arrived all together a few minutes before the appointed hour. They rode or walked into the hippodrome in a long column and immediately spread over the sand, forming groups of ten or twelve, with a few loners and one large group of two dozen, all well mounted, gathered around Cleitus.

Kineas left his men to Diodorus and rode up to Cleitus. As he rode, he watched the local men. They were excellent riders — far better than their equivalents in Athens or Corinth. They rode as well as Macedonians or Thessalians, just as he expected. They had odd taste in accoutrements, as well. More than one of them wore Sakje trousers, or Thracian-style caps, and their horse harnesses were often more Sakje than Greek.

Cleitus glanced at him and turned his head away, then glanced back and shouted for his men to wheel and join Kineas’s men at the far end. The tail of the column was still entering the hippodrome, little knots of men without horses.

Behind the laggards, Kineas saw the dark cloaks of Memnon’s soldiers. ‘There’s trouble,’ he said, pointing his whip at them.

Cleitus pulled his heavy Corinthian helmet back on his head so that he could see better. ‘Those idiots had better all be here. How do you want to do the muster?’

Kineas gestured to the end, where Cleitus’s horsemen had joined Kineas’s men, making an imposing front. ‘First we muster the properly turned-out men. Then we line the rest up and muster them — first those with horses, then those with armour and no horses, then those with neither armour nor horses. It makes the least prepared waste the most time.’

‘You’ve done this before.’ Cleitus smiled mirthlessly.

‘Twice a year in Athens.’ Kineas gestured with his whip to Niceas, who galloped across the sand to him, nearly oversetting two portly men. ‘You have the roll?’

‘Right here.’ Niceas stifled a cough.

‘Start with the men who just fell in. Then do our men. Once a man is mustered, he may dismount and relax. Cleitus and I will start culling the herd,’ Kineas gestured at the hundreds of men milling about, ‘for more to muster, and we’ll send them to you at the end.’

Niceas nodded and saluted.

‘Who is your hyperetes?’ Kineas asked Cleitus.

‘My son. Leucon. You met him last night.’

‘May I send him to help Niceas so that it doesn’t look like it’s all my doing?’

‘Good thought. Leucon!’ Cleitus clamped his horse’s back with his knees, rose in the saddle and roared. His son was resplendent in a deep-blue cloak and gilt breastplate — one of the best turned-out men in the city. Kineas sent him to Niceas.

As it turned out, the muster itself was uneventful. Three men of the cavalry class were absent, but all for acceptable reasons — one at Pantecapaeum on business, two known to be ill, and both had sent substitutes. When the muster was complete, they had all gathered at the far end of the hippodrome. It was a cold day and the crowd huddled for warmth.

Kineas inspected them from a distance. Less than one quarter had any armour, although many claimed that they had such stuff at home. About one half had come mounted, mostly the younger men.

‘Want to say something?’ asked Kineas.

‘You’re burning to do it,’ said Cleitus. ‘Be my guest. Just remember that antagonizing them will serve no one.’

Kineas rode to the head of the crowd. His voice, when he started, was a roar that squashed interruption.

‘Men of Olbia! We are gathered today to serve this city! I serve her for pay — and you from love of your homes. Is it possible that some of you love the city more than others? Or that the gold you pay me is dearer to me than your love of your city? Or is it possible that some of you are really too poor to bear the burden of cavalry service and lack the horses and arms that make a cavalryman?’

He lowered his voice, because he was the only man talking. ‘Anything worth doing is worth doing well. Socrates said so, and so did my father. There is no point pretending to have a troop of city cavalry. There is no point in wasting your valuable time mustering you for a service you can’t perform — and make no mistake, gentlemen — at the moment you cannot perform it. Even if the gods gifted you this second with fine Persian chargers, trained from birth for war, with armour crafted by Hephaeston himself and weapons fresh from his forge, you wouldn’t last a minute against real cavalry.’ He smiled. ‘With nothing but a little work, we could change that. With a little work, we could make you gentlemen good enough to participate in city parades, as the Athenian cavalry does. Perhaps good enough to rival the precision of Memnon’s men.’ Kineas pointed down the field where Memnon stood with fifty soldiers — a palpable threat. And by pointing them out, Kineas hoped that he had been sufficiently subtle in suggesting that they could be bested.

‘I wish to show you what cavalrymen look like. Perhaps, having seen them, you will say that professional soldiers have the time to practise such things — but I’ll tell you that these skills can be taught to you, and you can master them and serve your city with pride.’

Kineas rode in silence to the head of his own men. He pitched his voice low, hoping the gods would carry his words to his own men only. ‘Gentlemen, I’d appreciate it if you’d put on the finest display of horsemanship in history.’

Diodorus smiled coldly. ‘At your command, Hipparch.’

‘Start with the javelins,’ he said. ‘At my command, form file from the left and throw at the gallop. Then form your front and halt just short of Memnon’s line. And gentlemen, when I say just short, I mean the length of a horse’s head. Throw both javelins if you think they’ll both hit the target — Ajax, Philokjles, throw just one. Ready?’

A shifting, some glances.

Kineas looked around, found Arni waiting by the barracks door. ‘Collect the javelins as soon as they score and bring them back here.’

Arni nodded.

‘File from the left, skirmish! ’ Kineas shouted, and led the way.

All the way down the sand to the target, Kineas had time to consider whether he could have handled them any other way — and then he was ten strides from the butts, his first javelin away, his second just as he passed — not his best throw, but in the target and he swept by, curbing his charger and bringing her to a canter so that Diodorus caught him up easily, and then Crax fell in behind him. He refused to turn his head and count the hits. The Hippeis on the sand were watching closely — Lykeles fell in, and then Coenus behind him, and then Philokles and Ajax — gods send they hit something — and then the Gauls, and the line was formed. Kineas shouted, ‘Charge!’ and the line went back to a gallop. Just short of Memnon’s waiting men, he shouted, ‘Halt!’ They were knee to knee, aimed at the center of Memnon’s line. Memnon’s men flinched — more at the back than in front. Kineas’s men had their own troubles — Ajax nearly lost his seat and Philokles, despite the month of practice on the road and a week’s drill in the hippodrome, had his horse rear under him and threw his arms around her neck to keep his.

The hoplites had lost their ordered ranks and Memnon was bellowing at them, his voice high with real rage. Kineas ordered his men to face about and led them sedately down the sand to the waiting Hippeis.

Diodorus leaned over to him. ‘Memnon will make a bad enemy.’

Kineas nodded. ‘I didn’t see much choice. Perhaps I can sweeten him later — but they all hate him. And I need them to be united.’

Diodorus shook his head. ‘Why? Why not just collect the money and let them rot?’ But then he smiled and shook his head again. ‘At your command.’

‘Many of your mounts are untrained for war,’ Kineas called to the men waiting on the sand. ‘Many of you are not expert at mounting, or throwing the javelin, or staying in ranks. We can teach all of these things. We would like to teach you. And every man who loves his city should want to learn. At the next muster, I expect every man in armour and atop his horse. At the next muster, we will throw javelins until the sun sets. Cleitus?’

Cleitus rode to the head of the muster. ‘I intend to learn what this man has to teach.’ He turned and rode back to the ranks of the fully armed men. It wasn’t a long speech, but it had its effect.

When Niceas declared the muster complete and announced the next one at the new moon in just three weeks, there was a buzz of talk, but no angry shouts. Kineas was greeted afterwards by at least twenty men, many of whom found it necessary to stress excuses as to why they were not mounted today, but would be next time.

As the last of them trickled out of the hippodrome, Diodorus unfastened his chinstrap. ‘The town’s armourers will be busy men for three weeks,’ he said.

And then came the summons from the archon. Kineas heard it from one of the palace slaves and nodded curtly. To Diodorus, he said, ‘We dine tonight with Cleitus. You, Ajax, and one of the gentlemen.’ Nodding at the retreating figure of the slave, he shrugged. ‘If I survive meeting the archon.’

Diodorus raised an eyebrow. ‘The archon can hardly be offended by a minor scuffle between mercenaries. Is this dinner purely social?’

‘Nothing in this city is purely anything, Diodorus. Bring Agis. He’s a talker.’ Kineas decided to wear his armour. He rode to meet the Archon.

This time, the Archon was not in the murk of his private citadel. He was sitting in the open in the agora, flanked on both sides by files of fully armoured soldiers, giving justice at the courts. The market was full of people: men walking arm in arm, talking; men doing business, from the sale of a farm by the fountain to the dozens of stalls set up by merchants along the sides. Kineas was surprised by the scale of some of the sales — one stall seemed only to be an office selling cargoes of late-season wheat to ship owners anxious to beat the first winter storm on the Euxine. And there were women. Women doing their market shopping, attended by a string of male slaves; slave women on the same errands, or buying for their households, or talking by the fountain. Finally, there were beggars. Dozens of children begged by the foot of the statue of Hermes and grown beggars sat by every stall.

Kineas had to wait while the archon heard a boundary dispute — lengthy arguments on both sides appealing to various customs and the views of various neighbours. Kineas gathered from the arguments that when land had been taken from the local tribe of Sindi, the demarcations of land grants had never been firmly settled.

Kineas had time to watch the archon. He was not a tall man and tended to slouch his shoulders and hunch his back as he listened to the debate before him, his chin resting on his right fist. He wore a simple white tunic with a red border and a heavy gold ring on one thumb, had a diadem on his head, but otherwise wore no sign of rank or ornamentation. Despite the cold air and an icy wind blowing from the north, he didn’t don his cloak. He had a heavy, dark beard shot with grey and his hair had begun to thin on his forehead. With the exception of the diadem, he looked every inch a Greek magistrate.

He settled the grievance in favour of the smaller farmer who had brought the charge that his boundary stones had been moved, and ordered that a cup of wine be brought. Then he motioned for Kineas to attend him.

‘Greetings, Kineas of Athens,’ he said formally.

‘Greetings, Archon,’ Kineas replied.

‘I’m told that the muster of the Hippeis went well. Here, stand close by me. You have the muster?’ The archon was convivial. Kineas thought he was about to place his hand on Kineas’s shoulder.

‘I have the full account of the muster to present to you, Archon.’ Kineas held up a scroll. ‘I was satisfied.’

The archon frowned. ‘I understand you took steps of your own to see that the muster would be full. Yes?’

Kineas hesitated and then said, ‘Yes. I asked several gentlemen to see to it that the importance of the muster was understood throughout the city.’

The archon grunted. ‘Harrumph. Kineas, perhaps I failed to make myself clear to you — or perhaps you have your own designs. In the first case, I am at fault; in the second case, you have done me a wrong. Had I wanted the men of this town informed of the importance of the muster, do you not think I could have passed that word myself? If I did not, perhaps you might have thought that I had my reasons?’

Kineas recognized that he was on dangerous ground. ‘I sought only to improve the quality of your cavalry, Archon. The first step on the road to training them was to draw them to the muster.’

The archon sipped his wine. ‘Perhaps,’ he said after a few long seconds had passed. ‘Kineas, you have come here to serve me and this city. You think, perhaps, that you understand us already. You see a tyrant on his ivory chair and some noble gentlemen who seek to keep the tyrant within the bounds of the law. Hmm? Very Athenian. I asked you here today — to the court — to see another thing. These cavalrymen of the city, these “gentlemen”, are the rapacious landlords who will try to gouge my small farmers. I must protect the farmers; without them, we have no grain. If I let the great ones enslave them, I have no hoplites. And the small men — they have rights too. I protect them.’

Kineas thought, the law protects them. But he remained silent, only nodding.

‘Many of your gentlemen do all in their power to impede the running of this city — even its security. Hmmm? When I hired you, I was not aware of your many connections — and I wonder if I have made an error. Have I?’

At the word ‘connections’, Kineas felt, for the first time, the touch of fear.

‘Nicomedes is a dangerous man, Kineas of Athens. Dine with him at your peril. Very well, you have mustered my gentlemen and now you will train them. In the meantime, I have a use for you. You will please take the men on this list,’ and he handed Kineas a tablet, ‘and find the bandits who wish to send me an embassy. You will escort their ambassador to me. I understand that they are north of the city above the great bend in the river, about three days’ ride. As you have set your next muster for three weeks hence, I recommend that you proceed immediately.’

Kineas glanced at the tablet. There were seven names and none of them was familiar to him. ‘I would rather take my own men.’

‘I’m sure you would. Feel free to take — two. Not more than two. Am I clear? I would dislike having my orders misunderstood again.’ He smiled. ‘And please apologize to Memnon, who feels that you insulted him in the hippodrome.’

Memnon emerged from the nearest file of soldiers. ‘We can settle in private, Archon.’

‘That’s just what I don’t wish,’ the archon snapped. ‘No private feuds, no quarrels. Kineas, apologize.’

Kineas considered for a moment. ‘Very well. I apologize, Memnon. Know that I hold you no ill will. However, your ill-considered arrival at the hippodrome, armed and unannounced, could have had serious consequences for my command.’

‘Don’t be a fool,’ snapped Memnon. ‘I was there to save you, horse master. They could have turned on you in a second — don’t think any of them loves you. I was there to provide you some security, and you embarrassed me.’ He leered. He was missing some teeth, and up close he was a scary man. ‘Is that what passes for an apology in Athens? Because in my city — Heraclea — it’d get your balls cut off.’

Kineas shook his head. ‘No. You were there to intimidate the Hippeis — and me. And don’t hold me to blame if your men flinch from a cavalry charge — sounds like a professional problem.’

‘Fuck your mother,’ said Memnon, flushing red. His voice was quiet, almost eerie. ‘Don’t play games, Athenian.’

The archon stood up. ‘Kineas, you are not impressing me. Neither one of you is. Perhaps I should try raising my voice. Apologize at once.’

The three of them stood in a triangle, now surrounded by Memnon’s soldiers who were blocking the crowd. Memnon’s whole posture showed that he was ready for violence. His thumbs were hitched into his sword belt and his right hand was twitching — he was that close to drawing his sword. Kineas expected he looked the same. He was on the balls of his feet, ready to fight.

The archon’s eyes flicked back and forth between them. ‘Kineas, apologize now.’

Kineas made his decision and felt smaller for it. ‘Memnon, I apologize, ’ he said.

The archon grunted. ‘I ordered Memnon to support you, you fool. You think you know us — you know nothing. Think about hubris while you escort the barbarians through the plains. Now go.’

Kineas, humiliated, turned and pushed through Memnon’s men.

‘Let’s take our mounts and go!’ said Niceas, his hand on the amulet of Athena’s owl at his neck. He coughed long and hard. Crax and Arni had settled him on a couch in front of the brazier. He was quite sick.

‘You can’t travel,’ snapped Kineas. It sounded more like an accusation than he had meant. ‘Winter is almost on us — you want to ride back down the coast in winter?’

‘We could leave the horses and take a ship out of here,’ said Diodorus.

‘We could all cut our throats. Look, it’s my fault — first, that we are here and second, that I cannot guard my tongue. For now, we stay. I’ll take Lykeles and Ataelus with me. Diodorus, stand ready for anything and keep our men out of trouble with Memnon’s.’

Philokles pushed through the curtain from the hallway. ‘Private party?’

Kineas glared at him. Philokles’ comings and goings were a constant irritation to him; the Spartan was with them when it was convenient and distant when it suited him. ‘Yes.’

Philokles moved over to the table and poured a cup of wine. ‘Voices carry. Trouble with the archon? And you have been sent on a mission? Very sensible of the archon — he’s getting you out of town for a few days. That suits me as well — I’d be happy to accompany you.’

‘I’ve already chosen my men,’ Kineas said. ‘The archon has only allowed me two.’

‘The rest of us,’ said Diodorus, ‘will make good hostages.’

Philokles smiled. ‘Well, I’m not really one of your men,’ he said. ‘I can’t really imagine that the archon meant to deprive you of my company. So I’ll just ride along. Or perhaps I’ll meet you on the road.’

Kineas, angry and still smarting from the scene in the agora, was both touched and incensed. A hot answer came to his tongue, but he bit down on it and swallowed it with some wine. ‘I can’t stop you,’ he said, but his voice had a little more warmth in it.

‘My point exactly.’ Philokles drank off his wine. ‘When do we leave?’

‘As soon as I can find the men on this list.’ Kineas pointed to the tablet on the table.

Philokles read the list and nodded. ‘I know most of these — they’re all young. Several are friends with Ajax — two of them would like to be better friends, if you take my meaning. Send him to gather them up and take him along — the thing is as easy as that,’ and he snapped his fingers.

Diodorus nodded. ‘I’d be happier if I could keep Lykeles, anyway. He knows the locals as well as I do.’ He looked at Philokles. ‘Young rich men. The sons of the richest, perhaps?’

Philokles shrugged. ‘The archon is no fool. Neither are you, Kineas — when you don’t lose your temper. I’ve heard a rumour — perhaps you’ve heard it too? That the archon is going to allow the assembly to meet to confirm his taxes.’

Diodorus nodded. ‘I have heard the same rumour.’

Philokles threw a leg over the table and reclined as if on a couch. The sturdy oak table groaned under his weight. ‘If I had to guess, I would say that the archon is sending away the sons of the most powerful men as a method of controlling the assembly. Hmm?’

Diodorus ran a hand through his hair. ‘Of course he is. I should have seen that.’

Kineas looked from one to the other. ‘Nice of the two of you to keep me informed like this. Any other gorgon’s heads to drop on me while I pack for the plains?’

‘The town’s croaking like a chorus of frogs about the cavalry muster. People were very impressed — with us, and with you, and with your little performance against Memnon’s men. They are widely hated. So far, we are not. Now, shall we send for Ajax?’

Kineas said, ‘I hate being mothered.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘What a fucking idiot I was.’

‘Which time?’ said Philokles sweetly, and dodged through the curtain.

The dinner with Cleitus was uneventful, decorous and professional. By chance or design, most of the other guests were men whose sons he was taking out into the plains at dawn. Kineas sensed no hostility from them, and he was at pains to make clear that they would train and ride hard, but that he would see to their safety.

Cleitus himself raised the possibility of an assembly. ‘It’s all over the agora — the archon will summon us to vote his new taxes.’

Kineas remained silent and tried to catch the eyes of Diodorus and Philokles to keep them silent. He failed.

‘When is the last time the assembly met?’ Philokles asked, sipping wine.

Cleitus glanced around and shrugged. An older man, Cleomenes, one of the city’s richest merchants, rose a little on his couch. ‘Almost four years, sir. An entire Olympiad has passed since we were last allowed to assemble.’

His son was a very young man — Eumenes, who had presented himself at the muster horsed and in armour, as Kineas remembered. He was not so young that he couldn’t speak at a dinner. He sat up on his father’s couch and said, ‘It was not always so, sir. When the archon was first appointed, the assembly met regularly.’

Cleitus motioned to a slave to bring around more wine. ‘We’re loyal to the archon here, poppet — so watch your insinuation. I’d like to think that the possibility of an assembly is a good sign.’

Eumenes looked about a little wildly. ‘I meant no disloyalty!’

Kineas felt that the whole conversation had subtext — even Cleitus’s declaration of loyalty seemed to have a coda. Just watching the men’s eyes and facial expressions told him something of the tensions between them.

‘Perhaps things will be different after the assembly,’ offered another gentleman. Kineas knew the man was the largest ship owner in the city and that his son, Cliomenedes, was barely old enough to serve in the cavalry and was coming on the expedition in the morning.

It seemed an ominous statement, the more so as it was left to lie with the spilled wine. None of the other men took it up — not even Philokles. Instead, Cleitus turned the talk to the success of the muster.

Kineas gathered praise — too much praise, he felt. ‘We haven’t begun to train,’ he said. ‘None of you will think of me so highly when your butts are sore.’

That got a laugh, but Clio’s father — Petrocolus — shook his head. ‘We expected another mercenary, like Memnon. We were surprised that you are so clearly a gentlemen. I think I can speak for many men when I say that we’ll be happier for the training — at least, come spring. This notion of winter exercise has my old bones creaking already!’

The party continued on a lighter note from there. Cleitus, despite his public gruffness, was an excellent host. There were dancers — tasteful and skilled — and acrobats, and a dark-skinned freeman who mimed several of the city’s important men — Memnon, Cleitus himself, and finally, Kineas.

Even Kineas had to laugh at the gross parody of his legs and autocratic hand motions. He knew himself immediately — it wasn’t the first time he’d been imitated. The others present roared, and he collected several smiles.

At the end of the evening, Philokles performed on the Spartan harp and Agis recited a section of the Iliad. It was a nice reminder that Kineas’s men were gentlemen of accomplishment, and both performances were well received.

Huddled in their cloaks, trying to avoid puddles in the street as they walked back to the hippodrome escorted by a pair of Cleitus’s slaves, Philokles laughed. ‘That went well,’ he said.

Agis laughed as well. ‘I expected my old tutor to appear at the door and point a bony hand at me if I missed a word. Not like performing at the campfire!’

Diodorus was more sombre. ‘They’re hiding something.’

Kineas nodded agreement. ‘Steer clear of it, whatever it is,’ he said to Diodorus. ‘Don’t get involved. Is that clear?’

Diodorus nodded. He looked at the sky, paused, and then said, ‘We’re in for a weather change. Feel it? It’s colder already.’

Kineas pulled his cloak tighter. He was already cold. He coughed.