The golden dolphins reassured him. Almost at his feet was a proper polis: gymnasia, agora, a theatre — and a hippodrome. Kineas was glad to see that he had not led his men into a howling wilderness for nothing. But the tall walls and the slovely suburb were at odds — either the city needed to defend itself, or it did not.
Niceas coughed and a cloud of breath formed in front of his mouth. It was cold. The summer was long gone. ‘We’ll need-’ He coughed again, this time too long. ‘We’ll need a ferry. Hermes, I’ll be happy to be in a bed with some straw.’
Kineas spotted what had to be the ferry crossing, more than a mile from the mouth of the river, well clear of the traffic in the harbour. ‘Let’s get you indoors.’ Niceas wasn’t the only sick man.
Only Ataelus was immune to the cold. He had a fur-lined hood, taken at a dice game with the other Scyths, and a longer cloak. The hard, clear air didn’t give him sniffles or a cough and he still slept outside with his reins in his hand. The other Sakje had ridden away two days before, returning to their woman leader wherever she was once they had taken Kineas to the mouth of the Borasthenes. They had been good guests, good hosts and everyone had dined on their hunting skills night after night. Most of the men had picked up a few words of their language and the deep grunt — uuh-aah — they made when they won at dice.
As they rode down to the ford, the horses picking their way through long grass silvered with late morning frost, Kineas trotted over to Ataelus. ‘We all owe you a debt of thanks. You are a fine scout.’
Ataelus smiled, then shrugged. ‘It is for good for with you.’ He looked at his riding whip as if finding some flaw to cover his embarrassment. ‘Good with you. Me, I stay, you give a more horse. Yes?’
Kineas had not expected this. It made his morning. ‘You want to stay with us? And you want me to give you another horse?’
Ataelus held up his hand. ‘More horse, and more horse. You chief, yes? Bigger chief in city, yes? I get more horse when you get more horse.’ Ataelus shrugged as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Diodorus more horse. Antigonus more horse. Even Crax more horse. Why else fight for city? Yes?’
Kineas reached out and they clasped hands. In this respect, the Scythians and Greeks were brothers — they clasped hands to show friendship and agreement. ‘I’m very glad you wish to stay.’
Ataelus nodded, smiled again almost flirtatiously. ‘Good. Let’s go drink wine.’
But it wasn’t that simple. Their arrival at the ferry caused a commotion — a dozen obviously armed men with no trade goods and a Scythian. It took all of Kineas’s various skills as a leader and as a bully to get the ferryman to load his men, and when they arrived on the other side with thirty very cold, wet horses, soldiers met them.
‘Please state your business,’ said the officer. He was a big man with long dark hair, a dark complexion like a Levanter or an African, a huge beard and expensive armour under a voluminous black cloak. And his men were well armed and well disciplined. The officer wasn’t rude, but he was direct. ‘You have scared a number of people.’
Kineas was ready with his letter, and he held it out. ‘I was hired to come here and command the Hippeis. Here is my letter from the archon.’ The letter was a little the worse for having travelled from this spot to Athens by sea and back again in a saddlebag, but it was still legible.
The officer read it carefully, Kineas had time to wonder how many things might have gone wrong in six months — another man took the commission, the archon died, the city had changed government… The big man returned his letter. ‘Welcome to Olbia, Kineas of Athens. The archon hoped it was you, but we expected you by boat, many weeks ago.’ Now he was regarding Kineas carefully. Kineas knew the look — every officer in Alexander’s army watched his rivals just that way. Kineas stuck out his hand. ‘Kineas son of Eumenes, of Athens.’
The officer took his hand firmly. ‘Memnon, son of Petrocles. You served with the Conqueror?’
‘I did.’ Kineas motioned to his men to start unloading.
‘I was at Issus — but with the Great King.’ He turned and bellowed an order and his men brought their spears to the rest, then down butt first on to the ground. ‘Take your ease!’ he called. His voice was not as low as his size had led Kineas to expect and he gave his orders in a curious sing-song Greek. His men stopped being automatons and became quite human, dropping their heavy shields and pulling their cloaks around them, looking with undisguised curiosity at Kineas’s men.
Town slaves came from behind the hoplites and began to make bundles of their gear and place it on their heads. They were mostly Persians. Kineas watched them — he had seldom seen Persians used as slaves.
Memnon followed his interest. ‘The Great King made a foray against a local brigand a few years back and the result was a market glutted with Persians.’
Kineas nodded. ‘A Scythian brigand?’
Memnon smiled out of half his mouth. ‘Is there another kind?’
Kineas saw that Niceas, in betwen coughing fits, had the men currying the cold, wet horses on the spot — good. He put a hand on Niceas’s shoulder. ‘This is Niceas, my hyperetes. And Diodorus, my second in command.’ He looked through the group again. ‘Where is Philokles?’
‘He was just here,’ said Diodorus.
Memnon watched them all carefully. ‘One of your men is missing?’ Diodorus laughed. ‘I imagine he headed for the nearest wine-seller. We’ll find him.’ He gave Kineas a minute shrug.
Kineas interpreted the gesture to mean that Philokles was on an errand or had business of his own. Diodorus apparently knew what was happening. Kineas did not — so he merely said, ‘We’ll find him soon enough.’
‘Never mind, the archon is waiting.’ Memnon smiled unpleasantly. ‘He hates to be kept waiting.’
It took an hour for all of Kineas’s men to find their quarters. They had been put in the city’s hippodrome, in a newly-built barracks by the stables. The rooms were new but small and none of his men, least of all the gentlemen, was in a mood to be pleased.
He gathered them all in the stable. ‘Stay here, clean the place, get it warm and bathe. I want Niceas and Diodorus with me to attend the archon. The rest of you — this is where we are. I suggest you find a way to like it.’ He spoke sharply — perhaps more sharply than he meant. ‘And find the Spartan.’ Then, unbathed, he changed into a clean tunic, good sandals and combed his hair and beard.
In the entryway of the barracks he met with Diodorus, who looked clean and neat as a newly forged pin, and Niceas, who looked like a man with a serious head cold. A soldier and a town slave waited outside, the slave to carry anything that might be wanted, the soldier to take them to the archon.
The soldier led them to the town’s citadel, a stone-built tower with heavy bastions and walls a dozen feet thick. Memnon’s men guarded the entrance, forbidding in their cloaks. More of them guarded the closed doors at the end of a long, cold portico. The walls and the guards prepared Kineas to some extent for what awaited him. No archon of a free city needed mercenary guards, a citadel, and an antechamber. The archon of a free city would be at his house, or in the agora, doing business. And so he wasn’t surprised when the guards at the doors indicated that his men were not welcome. He gestured that they should wait for him and passed on. A guard took his sword — a barbarian in a torq.