‘Nothing common about her,’ Philokles said with a smile. ‘She’s – remarkable.’
‘At any rate, the army vote to hand the empire to Alexander’s brother, the halfwit. But he can’t rule himself, much less the world. And there are rumours – still – that Antipater was about to revolt anyway, that Eumenes and Seleucus were about to divide up the world – anyway, there are ten thousand rumours. The fact is, Alexander died and there was no one in charge. So all of his generals decided to fight over the empire. Perdikkas had the army – he had been Alexander’s top soldier at the moment of the conqueror’s death. But Antipater had the Macedonian army, the army that had been kept home.’ ‘The army that defeated the Spartans,’ Philokles said. ‘Only needed odds of five to one. Useless fucks.’
Satyrus was done drinking. He’d been careful, and consumed the whole cup without spilling a drop. He laid the cup along his arm as Philokles did, and he snapped it forward – and the handle broke. The cup smashed on the marble floor. His sister gave him the look reserved for siblings who behave like idiots, and Kallista burst out laughing.
Slaves hurried to clean up the mess.
Philokles roared. ‘Good shot, boy! Only, next time, hold the rim, not the handle.’
Kinon laughed like a good host. ‘Another cup, Pais!’ he called to the slave nearest the door.
‘Bring a metal one,’ Theron added.
Satyrus squirmed. Melitta decided to rescue him. ‘So Antipater had an army, and Perdikkas had an army.’
Kinon nodded. ‘A sober young lady. Antipater had Macedon, and Perdikkas had the rest – so it appeared. But one of Alexander’s generals-’
‘The best of them,’ Philokles put in.
‘I must agree,’ Kinon said with a civil inclination of his head. A new cup appeared and was handed to Philokles. ‘Ptolemy had taken Aegypt as his satrapy. He had a large Macedonian garrison and he began to recruit mercenaries.’›
‘Like Uncle Diodorus!’ Satyrus said.
‘Just like.’ Philokles nodded and sipped wine.
‘So Perdikkas decided to defeat Ptolemy first and take Aegypt to provide money and grain for his army. Which had been Alexander’s army.’ Kinon looked at Satyrus. ‘Still with me?’
‘Of course,’ Satyrus said. ‘And Perdikkas failed, got beaten and was murdered by his officers.’
‘No one ever called Macedonians civilized,’ Philokles said.
‘Now Antigonus has the army that used to belong to Perdikkas – except for the part that Eumenes the Cardian has. Antigonus means to unseat Ptolemy. Ptolemy! The least harmful of the lot! And a good friend to Heraklea!’
‘Perhaps Antigonus will lose?’ Philokles said. ‘I know Ptolemy. He’s a subtle man.’
‘You know him?’ Kinon laughed again. He was drunk now. ‘I am in the company of the great.’
Philokles finished the cup, flicked his wrist and his wine drop scored on the bronze rim of the urn like a bell tolling. ‘I know him pretty well,’ he said. ‘I took him prisoner once.’ He laughed, and Kinon looked shocked.
Melitta nodded. ‘It’s true. And my father and Philokles released him. They’re guest-friends, I think. Right?’
‘That’s right,’ Philokles said. ‘That’s why Diodorus is a little more than just a mercenary to Ptolemy.’
Kinon shook his head. ‘You took him prisoner? In a battle? Next you’ll be telling me that you knew Alexander!’
‘My father did,’ Satyrus said. ‘But please go on. Perdikkas is dead, and Antigonus One-Eye has his army.’
‘Exactly.’ Kinon got the bowl and balanced it expertly while talking. ‘Antigonus has the whole field army behind him, and Ptolemy won’t get another miracle in the Delta. He has no soldiers to speak of now, just some military settlers and some useless Aegyptians. He won’t last the season. I’ll miss him – he’s the only one of those Macedonian fucks who wants to build something instead of just killing.’ As he drank, his Boeotian accent got thicker, and now he sounded like a character in a comedy.
Philokles shrugged. ‘And Eumenes is left with the rump?’
‘Less than the rump – although he’s wily. Antipater had him once and he escaped.’ Kinon snapped his fingers for more drink. By this point, he had Kallista sitting on a stool beneath his couch, and he played with her hair while he spoke. Melitta had already excused herself like an Athenian matron.
Philokles laughed again. ‘I remember his wiles,’ he said. ‘He and Kineas chased each other all over Bactria.’
Kinon sighed. ‘And then there’s Greece, of course. Now that Antipater is gone, and we had Polyperchon as a replacement – too old, and not smart enough to live – Athens made a bid for independence back, oh, six years or so. They defeated Antipater’s army and frankly they looked to overthrow the whole system. That united all the Macedonians for a while.’
Philokles shrugged. ‘And Kineas’s old friend Leosthenes died.’
Kinon looked knowing. ‘Died – or got very sick and slipped away when the whole alliance started coming apart. There are people who claim to have seen him. But the chaos that he caused in Thrace and Greece is why One-Eye has time to move against Ptolemy – because Polyperchon is still rebuilding. The Athenians showed that the Macedonians could be beaten. And there’s a new man on the stage – Antipater’s son, Cassander – he’s a different matter. Bad to the bone, that one – smart like a lion and rotten like an old corpse.’
Theron shook his head. ‘I paid no mind to politics when I was at Corinth. It wearies me, friends. And all of you know these men – these great men – like fellow guests at a symposium. I’m going to retire, friends, secure in the knowledge that the only people of consequence I know are athletes, and none of them is much of an adornment at a dinner party.’
When he rose, he gave Satyrus a long look. Satyrus got the message. ‘I thank you for hospitality and good talk, wisdom and beauty.’ He slipped the last in with a look at Kallista.
Kinon nodded. ‘Tomorrow we’ll have a look at the agora.’
‘Perhaps the palaestra?’ Theron asked.
‘Of course!’ The host patted his stomach. ‘I may remember the way there!’
And with that laugh, Satyrus stumbled off to bed. He managed to make it to the couch in his room, and then his wits turned off like a snuffed lamp.
In the morning, they threatened to stay off. Melitta came to wake him, prodding him under the ribs with her thumbs and tickling his feet until his groans turned to counter-attacks. She giggled, backing away from his couch, and he discovered that he had a splitting headache.
‘Time to get up, sleepyhead,’ she said.
‘Oh,’ he said, clutching his temples.
An older slave, heavy with muscle and black as an Athenian vase, came in and began to tidy his chamber. Satyrus wanted to get off his couch, but he couldn’t quite make himself do it.
‘Could you fetch us some water?’ Melitta said. ‘You’re twelve, Satyr, not twenty. You drank far too much wine last night.’
‘I don’t think it was the wine,’ Satyrus said plaintively. ‘I think I’ve hurt my head, or caught a cold.’
The black slave snorted. He was only gone for a few moments and then he returned with a silver pitcher of water and a bronze cup. ‘Drink up, master,’ he said with a grin.
Satyrus raised his head. ‘Why are you smiling? My head hurts!’
‘Drink all the water in this pitcher,’ the slave said. ‘I’ll get you another when you are done. Then your headache will cure itself. I promise.’
Satyrus managed to drink down two pitchers of water, and then he and Melitta made their way out into the rose garden where all the guests were reclining. Melitta watched him with a superior smile. ‘More wine, brother?’ she asked.
‘Hard head, boy?’ Philokles asked. ‘Worst age for a male, Satyrus. At twelve, you are invited to behave like a man, but you can’t. Best be wary of the wine.’