Tyrant: Destroyer of Cities (5 page)

The boy relinquished his hold and put his arms by his sides. ‘Sorry.’

‘Thank you.’ Melitta looked at her brother. ‘Take good care of him,’ she said.

‘I always do,’ he answered, and wished the words unsaid as soon as they had crossed his lips.

She was mounted and gone before he could think of anything more to say.

Satyrus waited for his ships to sail with the eagerness of a child anticipating a feast, or a holiday from school. But unlike a child, he had plenty to fill his days. He sat with Theron, Coenus and Idomenes for hours, going over long lists of items – of luxury and necessity – that they needed from Alexandria and Rhodes.

‘We need more smiths,’ Theron insisted.

‘Temerix is probably the finest smith in the wheel of the world!’ Satyrus said.

‘That may be, but men now wait years for him to make a blade.’ Coenus shook his head. ‘His very excellence has blinded us all to the scarcity of other smiths.’

‘He has apprentices,’ Satyrus put in.

‘He has twenty apprentices. We need twenty smiths – just in the Tanais countryside. And bronzesmiths, and more goldsmiths.’ Theron shook his head. ‘We need to have the ability to manufacture our own armour.’

‘We need tanners,’ Idomenes said quietly.

‘Tanners?’ Satyrus asked.

‘Tanais is growing as a place where animals are slaughtered and hides are gathered,’ Idomenes said. He held up a bundle of tally-sticks. ‘Last month alone, from the Feast of Demeter to the Feast of Apollo, we gathered in six hundred and forty hides of bulls and big cows. If we had a tanner, we’d make ten times the profit on them.’

‘Tanner means a tannery and a lot of stink,’ Coenus said. He rubbed his beard and his eye met Satyrus’, and both of them smiled.

‘Beats the hell out of being an exile in Alexandria, doesn’t it?’ Coenus asked him, and Satyrus chuckled.

‘It does, at that. But somehow I never thought that being a king would involve quite so much
maths
.’ He laughed. ‘Very well, Idomenes. Your point is excellent. We need a master tanner, some slave tanners and some silver to build a tannery.’

‘Slaves?’ Idomenes asked.

‘I’ll buy ’em as slaves and free them here,’ Satyrus said. ‘Good way to start.’ He looked around, grinned and said, ‘Basically, you want me to buy everything on the skilled-labour market.’

Theron nodded. ‘Where would we put the tannery?’ he asked.

‘Up the coast. There’s that black stream up by Askam – flows all year round. Stinks already.’ Idomenes was making a catalogue of all the terrain in the kingdom, and he knew every landmark within five days’ ride. He raised his eyes, found no disagreement and wrote a note on his wax tablet.

‘If we all die, let’s leave the kingdom to Idomenes,’ Satyrus said.

Idomenes’ head came up. The other men were all smiling. He flinched.

‘Hey!’ Satyrus said. ‘I’m not Eumeles!’ He leaned back and held out his cup for cider, which a servant poured for him.

‘Lord, such a comment … scares me.’ Idomenes had served the old tyrant, a ruthless man who taxed and killed without meaning or warning, bent on making himself a major player in the game of succession to Alexander.

‘I merely meant that you seem to do this better than the rest of us,’ Satyrus said.

‘I’ll just write my notes up and make a smooth tablet, shall I, my lord?’ Idomenes clutched his tablets to him as if to protect him from wrath, and slipped out.

Theron shook his head. ‘He’s not even slimy. He’s a good man. Why does he
act
like a snake?’

Satyrus shrugged.

Coenus pursed his lips, rubbed his beard and took a drink. ‘He lived too long with snakes, I think. Never mind – he’ll get used to us.’ He took a stylus from behind his ear and made a note in his own tablet. ‘Where do you think Diodorus is, anyway?’

Theron shrugged. ‘Idomenes has the latest letter – but you’ve seen it.’

‘I haven’t,’ said Satyrus. He turned to his hypaspist, who stood by the wall. ‘Helios, fetch Idomenes back and ask him to bring the latest letter from Diodorus.’

Helios bowed and vanished through the door.

‘You’re spending a fortune on your fleet,’ Coenus remarked, looking at a list.

‘Yes,’ Satyrus said. He was tempted to add
it’s mine to spend
, but he bit it back. The ‘conspiracy of the old’ made him react like a callow youth, but he wasn’t so callow any more.

Coenus shrugged. ‘Well – it’s yours to spend.’ He looked up when Satyrus made a choking sound. ‘Artillery?’

‘We were already getting weapons for the towers,’ Satyrus said.

‘Draco and Amyntas are installing the new pieces today,’ Theron put in. ‘I saw Draco on the wharf, covered in shavings.’

Satyrus glanced around. ‘I want to see that!’ Then he sat back and fiddled with his belt of gold links. ‘When we’ve finished here, of course.’

The two older men laughed. They were still laughing when Idomenes came back with a sheepskin bladder of scrolls. ‘Letters from Babylon?’ he asked.

‘Latest from Diodorus?’ Satyrus asked.

‘Came yesterday. My apologies, lord – I read it out for Theron while you were playing with the ambassadors.’

To Satyrus, King of the Bosporus, and Melitta, the Lady of the Assagetae, and the rest of you: greetings.

We appear to be in for another summer without fighting – a mercenary’s dream. Demetrios seems to be in Greece, facing Cassander and ‘liberating’ Athens. It occurs to me that if Demetrios really does take Athens, Stratokles will suddenly be tempted too – and Heraklea could be a dangerous ally. But I’m an old and very suspicious man.

‘Lord, it would appear that Demetrios has entered Athens.’ Idomenes raised his eyes from the scroll. ‘We have that news from several sources.’

Coenus nodded. ‘All the more reason for you to hurry down to Heraklea.’

Antigonus is rumoured to be building up his fleet and preparing to have a go at Aegypt. If so, Ptolemy is more than ready for him – he declined a contract with us, saying that we cost too much! So he must be confident, the old skinflint. But Antigonus is serious, and he’s busy buying the alliance of all the pirates in Cilicia and Ionia. Rumour in Alexandria before I left suggested that your old friend Demostrate declined his offer.

Demostrate was the king of the pirates of the Chersonese, and had long been an ally. His ships had been instrumental in taking Tanais from its former tyrant. ‘Thanks the gods for that,’ Coenus said. ‘Demostrate going over to Antigonus would be the end of our shipping.’

Satyrus shuddered at the thought of the golden horn being closed to his merchant ships.

I’m going to accompany an embassy to the Parni, as our squadrons have more Sakje speakers than anyone else in Babylon. I will be out of contact for several months, but I’ll see more of the world. Darius sends his greetings, as do Sitalkes and a dozen others. Keep well – I plan to retire there, lad!

Of all of them, only Diodorus – the commander of his father’s former mercenary company, the ‘Exiles’ – and Coenus and his father’s other friends still called him ‘lad’. He laughed. The letter was like having Diodorus present in the room, if only for a few lines.

‘Who are the Parni?’ Satyrus asked.

‘No idea,’ Theron answered, and even Idomenes shook his head.

Two hours on the grain tax, and more on warehouse space in Olbia – he really needed to visit Olbia, and soon. Eumenes the archon was an old family friend, but he was a gentleman farmer, not a merchant, and the town merchants were none too happy. The warehouse space for the grain tax was so damp and rat-infested that they were losing money.

A farewell meal was given for Antigonus’ ambassador. Satyrus was pleasant, and Theron was the picture of a gentleman and former Olympic athlete. Niocles was charmed and annoyed by turns.

‘You intend to send your grain to Rhodes this year, my lord?’ he asked, as the roast duck was served and the tuna steaks were removed.

Satyrus had hoped to avoid serious talk, and he saw his precious artillery slipping away. All the frames would be installed before he even got to the wharf.

Satyrus shrugged with well-feigned nonchalance. ‘Wherever we get the best price,’ he replied. ‘A matter for merchants,’ he said, hoping to chill the topic.

‘My lord would prefer if your grain bypassed Rhodes. And Alexandria.’ Niocles drank some wine. ‘Your cook is to be praised. The tuna was better than anything I had in Athens.’

‘You were in Athens, with Demetrios?’ Satyrus asked. Theron grinned and turned his head.

Niocles looked around. ‘Yes – yes, I was. It is not widely known yet that my lord has taken Athens.’

‘Perhaps not known by those who lack the proper conduits of information,’ Satyrus said with a smile. ‘So: you have Athens. And Athens needs grain.’ He nodded. ‘Take it up with my merchants,’ he said firmly.

‘Athens needs grain. As do many other cities.’ Niocles nodded. ‘I’m sure that your merchants would find it worth their while to turn west when they pass the Dardanelles.’

Satyrus shook his head. ‘My ships go where they will,’ he said. ‘Most of our cargoes go on foreign hulls anyway. Athens, for instance, buys most of Olbia’s grain.’ His voice carried the clear message –
this subject is closed
.

‘But you have grain of your own, lord. You are dissembling, but there are fifteen ships in the mole, all loading grain from
your
warehouses.’ Niocles leaned back, sure he’d scored a point.

‘You sound more like a spy than an ambassador,’ Satyrus said. He was bored, annoyed that he was missing the installation of his artillery and even more annoyed that Antigonus’ ambassador continued to make all these demands. ‘I declare your embassage over. This instant. Begone.’ Satyrus rolled off his couch. Helios stepped to his side and handed him his sword, and he put it on over his head, donned his chlamys of royal purple and turned back. ‘If he’s not on his ship in an hour, kill him,’ Satyrus said to Hama. Hama nodded.

‘You’re insane!’ Niocles said. ‘Lord, I meant no – that is – ambassadors!’

Whatever he was going to say was lost as Satyrus walked in through the doors of his private apartments.

He changed into a plain natural wool chiton and a fine dark red chlamys with plain silver pins and a hat to hide his face. He put on boots.

Theron came in as he got the left boot laced.

‘That was a little precipitate,’ Theron said.

‘Was it really?’ Satyrus asked. ‘He’s a fool. And he doesn’t seem to care whether he offends me or not.’

Theron nodded. ‘Well, you have a point. And I suppose it can’t hurt. After yesterday. As you said this morning, either you are mad, or very strong, and either way it should give his master some hesitation.’ Theron had been Satyrus’ athletic coach and tutor. He had special rights in terms of criticism. ‘Besides,’ he said, ‘now you have a free hour to look at your ships.’

Satyrus laughed. ‘Am I so transparent?’ he asked.

The sun pounded down on the wharf, and on the naked backs of the work party that was installing the artillery aboard Satyrus’ new-built flagship.
Arete
was going to be the most powerful ship in the Euxine – a Rhodian-built penteres with a hemiolas deck.

Satyrus walked down the wharf with Helios at his back, doing his best to be a private gentleman and not the king, but sailors and oarsmen stopped whatever they were doing to smile, wave, bow, or simply stare.

‘She’s huge!’ Helios said.

Satyrus knew there were bigger ships on the seas, but
Arete
towered over the rest of his small fleet – taller and broader than his triremes and slightly longer as well, like a warhorse in a stable of racehorses.

‘Permission to come aboard?’ Satyrus called up the companionway.

The marine on duty nodded.

Neiron, his helmsman – technically the trierarch of the
Arete
– met him on the central command deck. Unlike a small trireme, the mighty penteres had a deck that went from gunwale to gunwale the whole length of the deck – armouring the rowers against archery but condemning them to airless sweat wherever they rowed. However, with the after half-deck for the sailors to work the permanent mainmast, the ship had the deck space to carry a huge marine complement – thirty or forty men, if he wished it. More important, the deck had room to support outboard sponsons – small decks – with the new artillery pieces.
Arete
was built to hold six ballistae – three to each side – and a seventh over the ram.

It was the weapon over the ram that Draco was installing as Satyrus came up the companionway, and he seemed to ignore the king, lying full length and squinting at the deck. The frame of the ballista lay across the bow, and there was a hole bored through the deck and into the main timber that supported the top of the ram – a timber of Euxine oak as big around as Satyrus’ leg. Two shipwrights stood by, one with a brace and bit, and the other with a saw.

Satyrus crouched by the Macedonian. ‘You’ve done this before,’ he said.

‘Nope,’ Draco said. ‘Diokles! You asleep?’

‘Didn’t go through the beam,’ came a voice from below.

Draco shook his head. ‘Needs some kind of collar, I think. Look – we put a pin in the base of the main frame, so the piece can rotate.’

‘Excellent!’ Satyrus said, celebrating his freedom from the finances of his polis.

The ballista over the bow was the heaviest piece on the ship – in fact, in the whole fleet. It could shoot an iron bar out over two stades. Allowing the piece to rotate would more than double its effectiveness.

‘The pin goes deep into the oak of the frame – and deep into the beam below.’ Draco shook his head. ‘But the thing weighs fifty talents. When it looses it could kick like a mule. Shear the pin – crack the beam – break the frame.’ He shrugged.

‘We won’t know until we try,’ Satyrus said.

‘I’d prefer bronze. A nice bronze base – cast. And a matching piece on the frame, to hold the pin.’ Neiron shrugged.

‘What’s to
stop
it from rotating?’ Satyrus asked suddenly.

‘What?’ asked Draco. His tone indicated that he was taking the criticism personally.