Niceas pulled up behind him. ‘Orders?’ he asked. He looked calm, but one hand beat at his trumpet and the other was at his neck, rubbing at the smooth face of his owl. His horse dropped its head and its sides heaved. Kineas’s stallion’s head was up and alert — he appeared as though he’d gone for a walk.
Kineas patted his neck. ‘You, my friend, are a champion.’ He looked back at the chaos around the wagons and Memnon’s phalanx behind. He shook his head. ‘Tell Memnon to leave a few files to help the wagons and press on,’ he said. ‘I’m going down.’
From here, the whole field was clear. The river god’s shrine was a cairn that stood on a short isthmus that stuck into the stream near the ford like the thumb on a wrestler’s hand. The thumb and all the ground around it where it met the main bank were thick with big, old trees — oaks and big willows. Just north — upstream — of the thumb was the ford — in the light of the setting sun, the ford was obvious, perhaps because there were slingers standing in it to cast, but the water flowed, wide and shallow, and logs and a big rock betrayed the path of the ford. East of the ford, on the near bank, the river’s floodplain stretched for stades — hard to judge in the red light of evening, but the grass was short, and the ground flat and damp.
The ford was half a stade wide, and the far side was as flat as the near side — flat and treeless. Perfect ground for the taxeis. There wasn’t a sign of the Macedonian main body, and he could see for ten stades. He saw cavalry, and some peltasts, and men in cloaks — Thrake, he suspected.
He took one last look and pushed Thanatos down the last of the rise, through the reeds at the edge of the marsh that dominated the south end of the floodplain, and up a short rise on to the firmer grass along the river. He rode looking at the ground. His stallion’s hooves squelched as he cantered, but it was firm enough under the surface water — and it would be drier tomorrow.
He cantered easily across the front of Philokles’ two hundred — and they cheered. He raised his fist to them in salute as he rode past. He rode up to Nicomedes, who sat with Ajax in front of the line.
Nicomedes looked very fine — clean, neat, and calm — but the strength of his handclasp displayed his nerves. ‘By all the gods, Kineas — I’ve never been so glad to see any man.’ He grinned. ‘Command of armies? You can have it. I’ve been in command an hour and I’ve aged a year.’
Ajax tipped his helmet back. ‘He was cautious,’ he said as a tease. Behind him, Heron trotted up to the command group and saluted. Kineas returned the salute and rode over to the gangly young man. ‘Well done, sir. Well done.’
Heron stared at his hands. When he met Kineas’s eye, his own were bright. ‘Did my best,’ he said. ‘All I did was listen to your veterans.’
Niceas laughed. ‘The world’s full of men stupid enough to fuck that up,’ he said gruffly. ‘Take the hipparch’s praise — you earned it.’
Kineas slapped his back, and his hand rang on the other man’s armour. ‘Well done,’ he said again, and transferred his attention to Nicomedes.
Nicomedes pointed to the ford. ‘I refused to be tempted into a fight in the water. If their slingers want to engage our Sindi, so be it. The Sindi seem happy enough with the fight, and none of us are being hurt.’
Kineas nodded curtly. ‘You were correct. We only need to hold. I think they will try one rush before sunset.’ He glanced at the line. Many of Philokles’ men were down on their knees, or leaning to the ground, breathing hard — but more of them were already standing tall, shields resting on their insteps, spears in hand.
Kineas gestured to Eumenes, who rode up immediately. ‘Who have you appointed as your hyperetes?’ he asked.
‘Cliomenedes,’ Eumenes replied. Indeed, the boy was right behind him. The youngest of the boys who had made the winter ride — probably still among the youngest in the troop. Yet Kineas had seen his sword at work among the Getae — he wasn’t really a boy.
‘Very well. Take your troop to the south of Philokles, and cover his left flank. If we are pushed off the river bank, we retire south — so you will be the pivot. Nicomedes — where are the Sindi — at the shrine?’
‘Yes. They went into the trees, and now all that comes out is arrows.’ Nicomedes laughed with a nervous edge.
Kineas nodded. ‘We’ll leave them there.’ He looked to the south and east to find Memnon’s column. They were coming slowly across the marsh. Kineas gestured with his whip at Philokles, and then led the mounted officers towards the Spartan to reach him faster. He rubbed his beard, looked across the river again, felt his heartbeat increase, and reined in his horse with Philokles at his feet.
‘They’ll try for us in a few minutes, gentlemen. Philokles, those are Thrake; peltasts, really, but with big swords. They’ll come for you at a rush, their flanks covered by the cavalry.’
Philokles had his big Corinthian helmet on the back of his head. He looked himself — a big, pleasant man. The philosopher. But when he spoke, he sounded like Ares.
‘We’ll stop them right here,’ he said. ‘I have never fought them myself — but I know them by repute. Only their first charge is worth a crap.’ He smiled, and it was the sarcastic smile of Philokles. ‘I think we can manage them.’
Kineas caught the eye of his cavalry officers and pointed at the very slight rise in the ground to the south. ‘If we are broken, we rally to the south. Let the Thrake come — Philokles will hold them. When their cavalry comes across, they will be badly ordered — let them get across, and then charge them before they form. Look to me for the timing, but don’t fear to make your own call. I’ll ride with the infantry.’
In fact, it felt odd to be sitting on a horse, well clear of the front line, giving orders. But that was his work, now.
He rode back to the small phalanx — really, more like a handful of peltastoi, with Philokles. The big Spartan gave him one grin, and then tipped his helmet back down on his head, and ran to the front of his men. He pointed across the river, and the two hundred gave a cheer like a thousand men, a cheer that sent a surge of energy through Kineas like a beneficial lightning bolt.
Across the river, the Macedonian slingers were retreating. On the far bank, clear in the fading light, Kineas could see the Thrake and the cavalry. And beyond them, something. It was hard to measure distance, and harder to detect troops moving on wet ground, without dust — but there was something there. A taxeis perhaps — still a few stades away.
The Thrake bellowed a cheer, and then another, and they raised their shields. There were quite a few of them. They beat their big swords against their shields, and they began a chant. Then they started across the ford. They kept no kind of order, and their ranks spread as they crossed.
Kineas had dismissed the handful of Sindi — the blacksmith’s men — as unimportant, but from their position on the thumb, immune to the Thrake and unafraid, they shot arrows right into the side of the charge. The Thrake flinched away from the thumb, crowded to the north side of the ford and came up the bank too slowly, with much of the impetus of their charge lost to the water and the arrows. A chief rallied them at the river’s edge, and led them forward — a hundred or more — and they crashed into the front of Philokles’ men with a noise like a dozen blacksmiths working on as many forges. The chief leaped — a fantastic move — straight from the run of his charge up to the rim of the shield wall and then down, his long sword taking a Greek head even as he fell, but four spears pierced him before his body came to rest and the gap that he opened was filled in three thuds of Kineas’s heart with dead men, Greek and Thrake, and then the epilektoi pushed from the second rank, and the wound in the phalanx was healed as they closed their shields.