‘Helios is down,’ Satyrus said.
Melitta raised an eyebrow. ‘Helios is dead, brother. Neiron too. He asked for you. And you did what you had to do.’ She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Everyone lost somebody today. Don’t show it. You won. You must appear to have won. Philokles would say the same.’
Satyrus took a deep breath. Helios! he thought. But he schooled his face.
‘Reform!’ he called.
Demetrios didn’t move forward until just after nightfall. The night assault rolled over the rubble, sprinting across ground thick with corpses, and took the unoccupied wall in one rush — and shouted their triumph, and relief, into the night.
Jubal smiled. ‘Now he move his engines fo’wards.’
Satyrus awoke to pain. His body hurt, his legs hurt — one of his ankles was swollen, and he’d ripped his shield arm on the plates of his cuirass and that hurt. He sat up, cursed the darkness and managed to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and put his feet on the floor.
He made noise, deliberately, so that Helios would know he was up.
Helios was dead.
He found a chiton and put it on, got to the door of the tent and found Jacob sitting on a chair.
‘Lord?’ he said, raising red eyes.
‘Jacob?’ Satyrus asked.
‘Master has the fever,’ Jacob said. ‘We’re all going to die here.’
Satyrus shot past the man into the adjoining tent.
‘Is that you, Jacob?’ Abraham said. Then he said something in another language — Hebrew or Aramaic. Satyrus shook his head.
‘I hear you are sick,’ he said.
‘Stay back, Satyrus. Stay out. Damn you!’ This last when Satyrus barged in. ‘It’s a fever, not some poisoned arrows of your strange god of light and disease.’
‘I know what disease is, brother. You seem very much yourself.’ Satyrus put a hand on Abraham’s forehead. He was burning hot, and his eyes were as bright as newly minted coins. ‘I take it all back. You are sick. Has Aspasia seen you?’
‘And my sister — at the break of day. I was told to sleep as much as I can. I’m already bored, and this takes a week.’ Abraham managed a smile.
‘If you are lucky,’ Satyrus said. ‘It could be months,’ he added.
‘I could die,’ Abraham said. He laughed. ‘I might as well have gone down yesterday, covered in glory, like Neiron or Helios.’
Satyrus poured himself some juice and poured more for Abraham, and brought it to him. ‘You are covered in glory. I saw you break their line. I will see to it that you receive a wreath of olive. And you’re young and strong,’ he said. ‘We lost too many men yesterday.’
Abraham nodded. ‘I assume you know what you are doing. I saw no reason for the third fight — but Jubal does.’
Satyrus managed a smile. ‘Jubal is, in effect, commanding the siege.’ He waved his hands. ‘Who knew that I had a genius as my sailing master?’
‘You’ll miss Neiron,’ Abraham said. ‘He wasn’t afraid to tell you what he thought.’
Satyrus swallowed heavily. ‘I miss them all. Go to sleep.’
‘If I die, I want to be burned,’ Abraham said, ‘in my armour. It’s not against my religion.’
‘Like a hero at Troy?’ Satyrus said.
‘Yes,’ Abraham answered.
Outside, Satyrus found Apollodorus waiting patiently at the entrance to his tent.
‘Looking for me?’ Satyrus asked.
‘Demeter, Lord.’ Apollodorus shook his head. ‘Helios is dead, and no one knows how to find you.’
‘I’ll need a new Helios.’ Satyrus winced at the callousness of it. But there it was — if he died, they’d need a new polemarch, too.
‘Hyperetes or hypaspist?’ Apollodorus asked. He looked in Abraham’s tent. ‘He sick? That’s not good. He’s one of the best.’
‘Both.’ Satyrus led the smaller man into his tent, found the amphora of pomegranate juice and poured two cups.
‘When this is gone, I have no idea where to find more.’ Satyrus looked at the amphora — Attic black work, a hundred years old. Probably from Abraham’s house.
‘I haven’t had juice in a month.’ Apollodorus drank down his cup. ‘You took a prisoner yesterday.’
‘I did, too.’ Satyrus nodded.
‘He’s one of Plistias’ officers. One of the siege engineers. He wanted to see our rubble walls first hand.’ Apollodorus scratched under his beard.
Satyrus made a face. ‘How are the oarsmen?’
‘I’m keeping them and the marines separate. The city hoplites have it bad — two out of three men are down. The ephebes are almost as bad. It’s as if yesterday fuelled it — suddenly men are down everywhere. And this officer — Lysander — has seen some of it. I think we should kill him. We certainly don’t want Demetrios to know how many sick we have.’
Satyrus drank his juice. ‘I know why you asked, but we won’t kill our prisoners, even if they storm us. We are better, Apollodorus — never forget that. To be better, one must consistently be better.’
Apollodorus managed a smile. ‘I knew I’d get the “better” lecture. Very well — what do we do with him?’
‘Give him an escort and let him wander about.’ Satyrus nodded. ‘Save your protests — I want to trick him, but first we must give a reasonably good facsimile of allowing him to go where he will. Is Demetrios moving his engines forward?’
‘About a third of them. The rest are on rollers, ready to move. Jubal thinks from what he’s seeing that the fever is as bad in the enemy camp as it is here, and that Demetrios has severe manpower problems.’
Satyrus nodded. ‘Whatever happens, this Lysander must not escape tonight. Tomorrow night will be something else again.’
‘You have a plan?’ Apollodorus asked.
‘It will depend on a few things. Let’s meet under the olive trees at noon. All of the officers, and let’s have some Neodamodeis and some women, as well.’
Exercise — alone, without Helios. Anaxagoras came up while he was shadow-fighting with a sword.
‘Wrestle?’ he asked.
They stripped and fought, and even with so many sick, people gathered to watch, cheered and wagered.
‘You have recovered your muscle,’ Anaxagoras said. ‘I cannot pin you.’
‘I have trained since I was a boy,’ Satyrus laughed. ‘It would be a strange thing if you could. Shall we play?’
In the shade of the olive trees, Anaxagoras was the master and Satyrus the merest pupil, but they played scales, up and down the lyre.
‘It is exactly like swordsmanship, or spear-fighting,’ Anaxagoras said. ‘You must do everything until you can do it without any conscious thought. A good musician can play while talking, play while reciting poetry, play while drinking. Your sister is. . very different to Greek women.’
Satyrus laughed. ‘She is very different.’
‘I saw her in the trench — killing. Killing from the joy of battle, like a man. Is she really an Amazon?’
‘Alexander called our mother the Queen of the Amazons,’ Satyrus said. He tended to bite his tongue when he had to bridge his fingers in the scale.
‘You see? That was your best scale. You must not think — only play. Your sister is taking your part with Miriam, I think.’ Anaxagoras laughed. ‘Although I flatter myself that she likes me.’
‘I had a cat once in Alexandria. When she liked a visitor, she killed a dockside rat and brought it, all bloody, warm and damp, and dropped it on the person she fancied. Most people screamed.’ Satyrus smiled.
‘Point taken.’ Anaxagoras reached out. ‘No need for your elbows to stick out while you play. No need to force the strings. Relax.’
‘She thinks you the handsomest man in Rhodes,’ Satyrus said.
‘The competition’s not much, is it?’ Anaxagoras laughed. ‘She’s a beauty, your sister. I didn’t see it at first, mind you — I saw scars and barbarian clothes. It’s in her. . daemon. When she smiles; when she moves.’
‘Careful there,’ Satyrus said. ‘My sister. You know. Mind you, I’m not a protective brother. My sister does not require me to protect her.’