She was not naked. She was dressed like a Persian matron, her hair dressed with ropes of pearls and lapis, her limbs and breasts well covered. Amidst a plethora of sensual and aesthetic possibilities, hers was the body that called out to be watched, to be caressed with the eye. Even fully clothed, modest, apparently unadorned, she was beautiful. Her proportions were worthy of a statue — from her delicately arched feet to her intelligent eyes and straight Greek nose.
‘Welcome, Kineas of Athens,’ she said. ‘I am Banugul.’
She had an appraising look, as if he was a horse and she was a Sakje. She crossed her legs and her Median trousers of silk rode up one leg, revealing an ankle and a bangle. ‘Your men worship you as a god,’ she said. Her intonation suggested that such worship was probably misplaced.
Kineas grinned, although it was the kind of grin he wore when he was fighting. ‘They only worship me from afar. In person, there’s a great deal of dispute.’
She was smaller than he had thought at first impression. She leaned her chin on a small fist, a man’s gesture that suited her. ‘Your men give the impression of excellent discipline. What do they dispute?’
‘My godhood. We are Greeks, my lady. We worship with a great deal of argument.’ He looked around, suggesting with body language that she might offer him a seat.
She sat up straight. Her shoulders were square and her bearing had dignity. ‘I know Alexander,’ she said. She smiled, and one manicured eyebrow rose a fraction. Her choice of Greek words was perfect, and her facial expression said, I slept with Alexander and I mean you to know it, but I am not crude — and I was not impressed. It was an enormous burden of communication for a fractionally raised eyebrow and two Greek words. She handled it easily.
Kineas’s opinion of her intellect rose considerably. ‘He says he is a god,’ Kineas noted with a certain reservation.
‘Hmm,’ she answered. ‘He never claimed to me to be a god. He claimed gods in his ancestors, but we all have gods among our ancestors, do we not?’
Kineas nodded.
‘You are not impressed with Alexander?’ she asked.
‘I served him for some years,’ Kineas responded. ‘He is the best general I have ever seen — and yet, a headstrong man capable of error and vice.’
‘You rebuke me like a philosopher,’ she said. ‘And like a sophist, you have not answered my question.’
‘Yes,’ Kineas said. ‘I was impressed.’ He paused, and thought, Why not? ‘I loved him,’ Kineas said.
‘But he spurned you, did he not?’ Banugul smiled, and the smile informed her face — her smile said that happiness was not the normal state of her being, from her green eyes to her pointed chin. Her smile took the sting from her words — she meant no insult, nor was she drawing a comparison. She, too, had been spurned. ‘I understand that he sent all his Greeks away.’
‘You are well informed,’ Kineas said.
‘And now you will make war on him?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Kineas answered.
She nodded. ‘Would you care to sit down?’ she asked. ‘I thought you might be the ordinary kind of soldier, who boasts and ogles my girls. I apologize for my poor hospitality.’ She waved a hand and a pair of slaves brought a chair.
Kineas sat.
‘What could I offer you to fight my father in the spring instead of Alexander?’ she asked. She motioned at a slave, a small hand with almond nails, and a silver cup of wine appeared at Kineas’s elbow. He sipped it. It was excellent.
‘Nothing, my lady, will sway me from my plans for the spring,’ Kineas said. ‘When the ground is hard, we’ll march.’
She nodded.
‘What did Alexander give you when he sent you away?’ she asked.
‘Gold,’ Kineas said.
‘You had the better bargain,’ she said. ‘I got a small piece of the Land of Wolves, and no dogs of my own to protect it. What do you think of my guards?’
Kineas sipped wine. ‘They are adequate,’ he said. He glanced at her captain of the guard, a Thessalian she had not bothered to introduce.
‘I have seldom heard anyone damned with such faint praise,’ she said, and laughed, her chin tilted back and her throat dancing in the torchlight. ‘Do you read?’ she asked.
Kineas was startled. ‘Yes,’ he answered. He was determined to stop speaking in monosyllables, but she was robbing him of his wits. He felt as if he was wrestling with a master, missing every hold. ‘I’m reading the new Aristotle now.’ He winced inwardly at the boyishness of the boast.
She leaned forward, a wolf ready to spring. ‘You have the new Aristotle?’ she asked.
‘I had a copy scribed before I left Olbia. It came out on the Athenian grain ships.’ He grinned at her eagerness. ‘If you have a scribe, I can lend it to you for copying.’
‘Hah!’ she laughed. ‘No work on my taxes this winter!’ Her eyes gleamed. ‘Do you like singing?’ she asked.
‘I like conversation that is not all interrogation,’ he said carefully.
Her chin went back on her hand. ‘I do apologize, but we’re a little short of polite company here in Hyrkania. You’re from Athens! You’re only the tenth Athenian I’ve ever met.’ She shrugged. ‘Men expect women to ask all the questions and carry the conversation. Especially beautiful women.’
Kineas smiled. ‘I like singing. I enjoy reading. I’m an excellent soldier and I will not fight a spring campaign on your behalf.’ He rolled his shoulders. ‘I will see that your fiefdom is protected all winter, and perhaps we can negotiate a garrison or a few officers to help your levies.’
She nodded. ‘Strictly business. Very well.’ She sat up. ‘You are used to dealing with women, aren’t you?’ she asked. ‘Alexander isn’t.’
Kineas shrugged. ‘My mother wasn’t Olympias,’ he said. Alexander’s mother was a byword in Greece for cruelty and manipulation. He rose to his feet.
She rose gracefully, despite having taken two cups of wine in less than an hour. ‘I look forward to hosting you again. I burn for your copy of Aristotle.’
That made him grin. ‘If you want it, you will have to wait while I finish it,’ he said, and bowed.
She nodded her head and motioned at a slave to escort him. ‘Winter in Hyrkania is long and arduous,’ she said. ‘You’ll have time to read it many times. I hope that I can provide you with some equally worthy amusements.’
The next afternoon, Kineas was sitting with Leon and Eumenes in the smoky tunnel of his wooden megaron, reading scrolls by the light of twenty profligate oil lamps, with Niceas reclining, cursing the smoke and muttering advice.
A gentle tapping against the logs of the hall heralded Lycurgus, who came in through the layers of woollen blankets that covered the door. Greek military architecture wasn’t ready for the cold of highland Hyrkania.
‘Patrols just picked up a soldier,’ he said. ‘Ten local horsemen as guards. An Athenian gentleman. I expected that you’d want to see him.’
Kineas leaned back so far that his stool creaked. ‘Anything to free me from paperwork,’ he said. He went over to the hearth, waving a hand in front of his face and trying not to breathe. He started rebuilding the fire, trying to find the combination of wood and draught that would stop the incessant smoke.
‘Leosthenes of Athens,’ Lycurgus announced, returning.
Kineas had an actual flame going. He brushed off Leon’s attempts to take over — the boy reverted to being a house slave too easily — and coaxed the flame, adding twigs. What he wanted was the tube from his campaign kit, but he didn’t have it. He leaned forward to blow on the fire. Leon blew on it from the other direction. Then both men started coughing and had to turn away to the cold air beyond the fire. Kineas took a lungful of clean air and snatched a hollow quill from the table. He leaned close enough to the embers to scorch his eyebrows and breathed out. The embers began to make the noise — the low moan of wood on the edge of ignition. Both men redoubled their efforts and suddenly the whole pit sprang into flame, as if by magic. Light drove the winter shadows into the corners of the hall, and a rush of heat forced Kineas to take a step back.