Satyrus led them to Nicanor’s house. The man himself was not at home, an old slave reported.
‘Fetch him out,’ Satyrus said to Apollodorus.
‘This is illegal!’ Memnon said.
Satyrus motioned to Apollodorus. To Memnon, he said, ‘The laws of the city will mean nothing if the city is destroyed.’
There was a shout — the ring of a blade — another shout of anger, curses. And then Apollodorus emerged, a piece of his plume cut away. ‘He’ll be out shortly,’ Apollodorus said cheerfully.
‘Your creatures killed my slave!’ Nicanor said. He was in a chiton and a Persian over-robe. His arms were pinned by two Cretan archers.
‘I took the liberty of securing his garden first,’ Idomeneus said. He and Apollodorus exchanged a look.
Satyrus nodded. ‘Nicanor, I accuse you of treason to the town. You opened the west gate and murdered the captain there. You informed Demetrios of our fleet movements. You attempted to have the taxeis of ephebes destroyed tonight.’
Nicanor met Satyrus’ eyes easily enough. ‘Well, well. We shall have quite an exciting trial. People may learn a great deal.’
Satyrus rubbed his chin. ‘There will be no trial,’ he said.
Memnon pushed forward. ‘We are Rhodians!’ he said. ‘There will be a trial. Nicanor — if you have done this, the curse of every man and woman in this town is on your head.’
‘Really?’ Nicanor asked. His words were mild. Satyrus heard in them the words of a man with nothing to live for. ‘Really? Or do they curse you and the young tyrant here for keeping them in this cesspit? We could have surrendered months ago-’
Satyrus shook his head. ‘No. We tried. You tried.’
Nicanor turned on him and spittle flew. ‘You — you carrion crow! All you want is war and death! It is sport to your kind. Not to us. My sons are dead. My wife is dead. I alone try to save this town when every one of you labours to destroy her. What do you have? You have nothing. The temples? All destroyed. The gymnasium? You pulled it down with your own hands. The agora is choked with slaves and shit. You eat shit. Look at the Jew’s sister, dressed like a whore! And Memnon’s wife — shit. You are no longer Greeks, no longer men. You are not even Hellenes. You are animals, you have lost even the semblance of civilisation. Because this Tyrant has taken your minds. Years ago, I told them to abandon Ptolemy and go with Antigonus. Had anyone listened, we would have had none of this. Now, everything we have ever had is gone, and it no longer matters whether you hold Demetrios off or whether he comes and his pigs rape every one of you to death, for the city is destroyed.’
Satyrus waited, impassive except when the man called Miriam a whore. ‘Was that your defence?’ he asked. He flicked his eyes back and forth to the two archers holding Nicanor. They were veterans.
‘I need no defence. And when the Demos hear what I have to say in court, they will surrender the town faster than you can stop them.’ He looked around. ‘As you, the so-called worthies, ought to have done. Put halters around your necks and go and face the Golden King.’
He looked at Satyrus. ‘And you — perhaps you made all this up? You and the metic woman and the Jew?’ He grinned with confidence. ‘You will regret this.’
‘Not for the reasons you think, Nicanor,’ Satyrus said, and his right hand rose under his armpit, his sword leaped from his scabbard and Nicanor clutched at his throat as blood burst from his severed neck.
The archers held his arms and his knees buckled.
Satyrus turned. ‘I wanted it done in public. I did it myself, so that no other man need soil his hands. We do not need a trial — Nicanor would have won, even as he lost, poisoning one man against another.’
Memnon’s face was parchment-white in the moonlight. ‘You’ve — killed — him.’
Satyrus nodded. ‘Listen to me, now. I have the soldiers and the crowd, and I could, very easily, declare myself Tyrant. To be honest, I think you people need a single voice and a strong hand. And yet, Nicanor said many things that were true — and here’s the worst. We are losing the city. We may endure, and endure, and still have the heart of your city perish. So I think that we should try to rule through the boule, and I will take the chance that you gentlemen will feel that I need to be arrested.
‘But hear me.’ Satyrus looked around. They were silent — in shock, he thought. Nicanor’s blood was dripping onto his foot. ‘I demand — I beg that this night and this callous murder mark the end of faction. There is only one good, friends — the survival of the city. No party is more important than this, and if the city falls, you must believe me, the besiegers will leave nothing. Nicanor was deranged by grief. I am not. Put your factions on the shelf, link hands and swear to the gods to carry this thing through to the end like brothers and sisters, or by Herakles, I will wash my hands of you and sail away.’
Roughly — deliberately — he turned and wiped his sword blade carefully on Nicanor’s cloak until the blade was clean. Then he put it back in his scabbard.
‘Goodnight,’ he said.
His officers closed around him, and his hetairoi around them. It was some consolation that they trusted him. Killing a man in cold blood was always hard — probably a sign that he was not completely mad, but he felt cold, angry, hopeless. And Miriam looked at him as if he were a mad dog.
He might have dwelled on her disapproval, but Anaxagoras and Abraham walked with him step by step.
‘Had to be done,’ Abraham said.
Quite possibly the sweetest words of Satyrus’ life.
He stopped against a mostly intact building and threw up.
‘The ephebes are still with us,’ Anaxagoras said.
‘I think I just gave you Miriam,’ Satyrus said, without thinking.
‘What’s that?’ Abraham asked.
I am a fool, Satyrus thought. ‘Nothing, for the moment, brother,’ he forced out, because his head could only take on one crisis at a time. Help me out, Demetrios. Launch a night assault.
‘Wake up!’ Helios said, and rubbed his cheek.
Satyrus came awake easily, swung his feet off the bed and reached for his sword.
‘What?’ he managed.
Helios held a cup of warm juice. At this point, Satyrus had no idea where the man came up with juice. ‘The boule is meeting immediately. You are requested.’
Satyrus rose. ‘Dress me well,’ he said. ‘Not like a democrat. Like a king. Get me Neiron, Abraham, Anaxagoras — and Apollodorus. And Idomeneus.’
He finished the juice, swigged water, used a twig of liquorice on his teeth and Helios laid out his best chiton, a flame-coloured cloth with tablet-woven edges in white and gold thread, with hem borders — woven scenes from the Iliad. A chiton with the value of a ship.
He waited while Helios tied his best sandals — the Spartan style, in leather dyed to match the cloak. When Helios kirtled up his chiton, he did it with a matching red leather belt that fitted — again. For the first time in a year. And over the chiton and belt he slipped his best sword belt, although the sword that hung from it was a plain enough weapon — he’d broken three swords in the siege.
Helios oiled his hair and braided it into two braids, and wrapped them on his head. He put over his shoulders the matching chlamys — long, the deep red of new-spilled blood, with black ravens and yellow stars, the signs of his house.
Satyrus examined himself in a hand mirror. ‘Very satisfactory,’ he said. He walked to the tent opening. ‘You come too, Helios. I want you to hear this.’
He went out into the small courtyard formed by his tent, Neiron’s and Apollodorus’. There was a fire, taking the autumn chill off the air, and a circle of his men — his best. His companions. His friends. It made his heart soar, that he finally had friends, not just followers. Neiron — Draco — Anaxagoras.