King of the Bosphorus

Abraham rose, looked at both of them silently and left the room.

When he was gone, Satyrus sat up. 'You were right, Theron. This is between us. He is a different kind of confidant.' He looked at his right hand, as if searching it for bloodstains. Was there blood under the nails? Did it show?

'Your father refused the stool and the diadem,' Theron said. 'I didn't know him – but I know that of him. He refused.'

Satyrus sat looking at his hand, and then he raised his face. 'I'm sorry, Teacher. But that die is cast. I made that decision on the beach, two nights back. Or perhaps when I watched a house burn at Tomis. My world is changed. It is not the world my father lived in.' He spoke slowly, as if he was a magistrate reading a sentence. 'Philokles told me to examine myself. It's like a curse. Does Demostrate ever examine himself? I doubt it.'

Theron shook his head. 'I don't judge other men,' he said. 'Not that way.'

Satyrus raised an eyebrow. 'You judge me,' he said. 'Because I'm young, and you helped shape me. And right now, I think you'd like me either to give up my desire to be king, or to tell you why I should be king. But I can't. I can't even be sure that I will be a better king than Eumeles.' He leaned forward, and put his good right hand on Theron's. 'But what I can tell you, Teacher, is that I will examine myself, day by day, and judge myself by the standards Philokles taught. And Eumeles will not examine himself. He will simply act, and act. As empty of worth as an actor pretending to be a hero.'

Theron took a deep breath. 'Who gave you so much wisdom?' he asked.

'You,' Satyrus said. 'You and Philokles. And Sappho and Diodorus and Leon and Nihmu and Coenus and Hama. And perhaps Abraham, as well.'

Theron drank the rest of his wine, clearly overcome by emotion. 'So – the end justifies the means?'

Satyrus shrugged. 'I don't know. I think about it every hour. Are all lives of equal worth? I doubt it. Did those two men deserve to die in the sand under my blade? Yes – and no. Would it change your view if I said that they did not die in vain?'

'Would it change their view?' Theron asked. 'They're the ones who are dead.'

Satyrus nodded. 'I know. Remember the girl by the Tanais? The one I gut-shot?'

Theron shook his head. 'Can't say I do – but you've spoken of her before.'

Satyrus nodded. 'I put her down, like a wounded horse. Except that she wasn't a horse.' He shuddered. 'I think the road to kingship started there, in that meadow. The beach the other night was merely a signpost.' He squared his shoulders. 'Fine. I'm ready. If I have to wade in blood, as you said, then I must simply work harder to put something on the other side of the balance.'

'And Demostrate? The end justifies him?' Theron leaned forward. 'You feel guilt for killing two men – two criminals.' He shook his head. 'A complex act – but hardly a vicious one. But if you get into bed with this pirate, you share the responsibility for every slave he takes, every home he burns, every merchant he ruins, every man he kills.'

Satyrus nodded. 'Yes,' he said. 'Yes, I do.' He stared off into space, reviewing his dead. 'So be it.'

'Bah – your youth is speaking!' Theron made a motion of disgust.

'Perhaps.' Satyrus didn't feel particularly young. His arm hurt, his whole body ached and he wanted to sleep for a day or two. But other things pressed on him. He sipped hot wine. 'Listen, Theron – my sister must think me dead. Sappho – Diodorus – all of them.'

Theron rubbed his chin, his anger deflated. 'You're right, of course.'

'I should sail down to Alexandria as soon as I make my bargain with Demostrate. If I can get him to agree.'

Abraham came back in. 'Am I welcome back?' he asked from the beaded doorway.

Satyrus nodded. 'Yes,' he said.

'Are you two still friends?' Abraham asked, looking from one to the other.

'Yes,' Theron said. A small smile started at his lips, and spread like the rise of the sun to his face and eyes. 'Yes,' he said, 'we are.'

'Good,' Abraham said. 'Because if our moral philosophy hour is over, there are officers waiting for instructions and an invitation from Demostrate to the public dinner. Work to be done.'

Satyrus turned to his friend. 'Care to travel home?'

Abraham raised an eyebrow, and his dark-brown eyes sparkled. 'No, thanks.' He smiled. 'Once home, I may never actually be allowed to leave again.' He shrugged, a particularly Hellenic gesture. 'I like it here.'

Satyrus nodded, seeing his friend in a different light. Abraham was suddenly not the conservative Hebrew businessman of his adolescence. War had changed him. Satyrus noted that Abraham had earrings and a thumb ring and was wearing a sword – in his own house.

Eventually, that might merit comment. For the moment, Satyrus confined himself to saying 'I understand' with a quick smile. He turned to his former coach. 'Theron?'

Theron rubbed his chin. 'I'm of a mind to be your envoy to Lysimachos,' he said. 'If you'll have me.' He looked up and met Satyrus's eye. 'But we need to rescue Leon,' he said. 'Much as I want to go to Lysimachos, I'm the man you can spare to effect a rescue.'

Satyrus shook his head. 'No, Theron. You are not a spy or a scout. You are a famous athlete and a known associate of Lord Ptolemy.'

Theron looked away. 'You know that we are – sworn?'

Satyrus nodded. 'I know that all of you are Pythagoreans,' he said.

Theron took a deep breath. 'Do you know what the first principle of Pythagoras is?' he asked.

'I feel as if I'm back in school. Yes, Theron. I know. You swear friendship – and the first principle is that each will lay down his life for his friend.' Satyrus leaned forward, speaking forcefully. 'I'm telling you that this is not the moment and that Leon would not expect you, his most famous friend, to attempt to rescue him single-handedly.'

Theron sighed. 'So what will we do?'

Satyrus put his forehead in his hands. 'I don't know. I don't think there's a prisoner in the world important enough that Eumeles would trade him. But it may be that Sappho or Nihmu have already received a ransom demand, and until we have been to Alexandria, I don't wish to jump the wrong way.'

Theron rested his heavy arms on the table. 'I have no interest in going to Alexandria,' he said.

'Nor I,' Abraham said. 'Must you go?'

Satyrus was watching the fire on the hearth. 'I must. In fact, everything springs from Alexandria. First of all, money. If I raise a fleet, I will start spending money at a rate that will threaten even Uncle Leon's treasure. Second, Melitta. Third, the rescue of Leon. Fourth, or perhaps first, Diodorus and the Exiles. If I have a fleet, I need them ready.'

Theron nodded. 'We can write to Diodorus from here,' he said.

Satyrus sat up. 'Now that's a good idea. I can send the letter myself and it will be with him in three weeks.'

Theron nodded. 'And he won't know yet that Leon is taken.'

Abraham nodded. 'He can take your soldiers to Alexandria and wait for the fleet.'

Satyrus was looking into the fire. Suddenly, he felt as if the god was at his shoulder, warming his hands at the fire, whispering in his ear – for in between two licks of flame, he saw his campaign unfold. 'No,' he said. His voice trembled.

'No, what?' Abraham asked.

'No. He won't march to Alexandria. That's the wrong way.' Satyrus sat up. 'He'll march to Heraklea. I've got it. I have most of it. Theron, trust me, I'll find a way to rescue Leon. He was taken for me. I won't forget.'

'But you still need to go to Alexandria?' Theron asked.

'For all the reasons. I'll go as soon as I've got Demostrate's word on alliance.' He nodded. He still felt the god at his shoulder. Despite his arm, he felt almost greater than human.

'Pay my regards to my father,' Abraham said. 'I won't be going home soon. As I say, he wouldn't let me go again.'

'I'm proposing a trip to the most exotic city in all the seas, our home and native land, or at least our collective adoptive polis, and you two plan to while away the winter in a town full of pirates,' Satyrus said.