She stepped back. ‘I know it’s not your fault. But suddenly everyone in this house is treating you like a man. Whereas I get to be a perpetual child.’
‘I can’t get you a corps of archers, maiden or not,’ Satyrus said. ‘But when Leon lands his marines, I know a ship that could easily land one more archer. But Lita – this isn’t a fair battle. We’re the trapped dogs – Demetrios has everything his way.’
Melitta raised her chin. ‘I was there when we took two pirate galleys,’ she said.
‘True enough,’ Satyrus said, and kissed the top of her head. ‘Why Xenophon? He’s so nice – he’s going to follow you like a dog for the rest of your life.’
She shrugged. ‘Hard to describe, really. He knew that I had saved his life – thanked me for it. Comrade to comrade, even though he had fought like Achilles and I was a mere girl.’ She shrugged again. ‘And I saw – things. The same things – gods, you know as well as I. I was dead when your spear put that man down. I felt dead. And then – I was alive.’ She hung her head. ‘I don’t care a fig for my virginity, brother. But I agree that actions have consequences, and I insist that Xeno should not pay the price – the bride price or any other price.’
Satyrus slugged back his wine. When they were children, they had fought – and then one big hug and it was over. Tonight, he felt the loss of that simplicity, because she was closed to him on some level, and because no, he had not really forgiven her. But his failure to forgive her weighed on him, like a failed sacrifice.
She felt his hesitation. She stared at him.
He stared back. Once, they had been eye to eye. Now he was half a head taller.
‘Will you really help me get away?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said. He imagined her lying dead, trampled by an elephant as he had seen back in the great battle on the salt plains. He shook his head – too much wine. ‘Fuck it, Lita. Yes, you have as much right to lie with a man as I do to lie with a woman. I, too, have spent too much time with Hellenes.’ He smiled bitterly. ‘It’s going to be hard to talk to Xeno.’
‘Imagine how I feel,’ Melitta said. She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and went back inside. She turned back and smiled. ‘I have a rendezvous for you. With Amastris. I was going to throw it in your face if you played high and mighty with me.’ She shook her head. ‘Which you didn’t. So I feel like a fool.’ She reached in her bosom and pulled out an oyster shell. ‘Tomorrow night,’ she said.
The slip of papyrus leaf had two lines from Menander, and Satyrus smiled, because the lines named the hour to anyone who had seen the play.
‘By the steps of the Temple of Poseidon,’ Melitta said. ‘Do you love her?’
Satyrus looked at his sandals. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled. And yet…
‘Don’t be foolish, brother. Don’t get caught. I don’t think – I shouldn’t say this! I don’t think you’re Amastris’s first boy, man, what have you.’ She shrugged, clearly unhappy at having said what she had said.
‘What?’ Satyrus asked. ‘But-’
‘I’m sure it is different for men,’ Melitta said. ‘Listen – don’t go. It’s not worth the risk.’
‘This from my sister who wants me to smuggle her into the archer corps to fight elephants?’ he said.
She smiled. ‘That’s a hit and no mistake, brother. Very well – go if you must. But she won’t show. Not the first time. The first time will just be a test of your devotion, I’m her friend – I know these things.’ She turned and slipped away, leaving him with an oyster shell and a feeling of confusion.
The next morning, the wind still carried the sting of the sea in its tail, and it blew hard enough to cool the sweat on two thousand backs and breasts as they drilled without shade. Panion, the commander of the Foot Companions, stood at the head of the taxeis with Philokles and Theron and half a dozen Macedonian officers.
‘They’re absurd,’ Panion said, loudly enough to carry into the first three ranks. ‘Children and slaves. One-Eye’s veterans will go through them the way his elephants will push through our cavalry.’
His Macedonian officers laughed ruefully or disdainfully, depending on their faction. Philokles said something softly, and Panion shrugged. ‘Work as hard as you like, Spartan. I’ll put them in the second line, or somewhere where their flight won’t cost us much. Perhaps we can use them to carry baggage?’ He laughed, and the six Macedonians laughed again.
Philokles fingered his beard. ‘I need more sarissas,’ he said. ‘We don’t have enough.’
‘Ptolemy sent too much equipment off to Cassander,’ Panion said with a shrug. ‘Make do with what you have. After all,’ he said cheerfully, ‘if Ptolemy’s kingdom relies on this lot, we’re doomed.’
Philokles said something quiet, and Panion shook his head. ‘I think you forget your place. I am a Macedonian. Your people once had a certain reputation for war, I’ll allow. But I assure you, sir, that no amount of drill will make these slaves into soldiers, and that I don’t give a flying fuck for their morale.’ Panion looked around him and spat in contempt.
Later, he and his staff reappeared as Philokles forced the phalanx through another wheeling movement – badly executed, like every wheel.
This time, the Macedonian went along the first two ranks. He called every Macedonian out of the ranks. He stopped at Satyrus.
‘You?’ he said. Then, when he’d recovered his confusion, he gave Satyrus a smile. ‘You don’t belong here, with this rabble,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’
Satyrus could see Amyntas shuffling nervously among the young Macedonians. ‘What rabble?’ Satyrus said.
‘Aegyptians.’ Panion shrugged. ‘Good for farm work.’
‘Seems to work to train Macedonians,’ Satyrus said.
‘Yes,’ Panion said. ‘But they’re men, not slaves. These boys are Macedonians.’
Satyrus wiped the sweat from his eyes. ‘Not a one of them was born in Macedon, sir,’ he said, meeting the commander’s eyes. ‘I recruited them here in Alexandria. For this phalanx.’
Panion narrowed his eyes. ‘Another uppity Greek,’ he said. ‘Very well – swelter on, boy. Revel in your remaining hours.’ Then, louder, ‘You Macedonians, come with me.’
When Panion was gone, Philokles continued to drill the men, and as the shadows lengthened, he tried to provide the physical training that would allow Aegyptians to go up against men in the peak of fitness. They weren’t weak – many of them had fine bodies and heavy muscles from labour – but Philokles walked around, urging them to lift greater weights or run farther.
The men were listless – worse than usual – and when the sun touched the rim of the world, Philokles dismissed them, obviously keeping his temper in check. Satyrus fell in next to the Spartan as they walked back in the last light of evening.
‘Half of them won’t come back,’ Philokles said after they had walked a stade. ‘That fool, that posturing ninny. I should have put my sword up his arse on the spot.’
‘Philokles!’ Satyrus said. ‘Master, I have never heard you speak in this manner.’ He managed a grin, his first since Theo died. It had occurred to him that Panion might have had something to do with that death. ‘You are not always a philosopher.’
‘Do you know what the Macedonian officers discuss?’ Philokles said. ‘Putting on a good show. Fighting long enough to get the best possible terms from Demetrios. Remember what happened to Eumenes? When part of his precious Macedonians decided not to fight. It’s happening here, lad. Another week or two and our taxeis would be worth something, too. They shape well – better than many Greeks. Strong backs, these Aegyptians. But Panion just told them that they are slaves to him.’ Philokles spat. ‘Six weeks’ work, for nothing. And he took half of the cream of your boys. Every one of those Macedonian boys knew which end of a spear to wield.’
‘We still have the Greeks and the Jews,’ Satyrus said.
Philokles gave half a smile and put a hand on his former student’s shoulder. ‘So we do,’ he said. ‘I don’t think they’re enough, and I think that we need ranks and ranks of strong, faithful and courageous Aegyptians behind us, or it won’t matter. But I should swallow my own medicine and deal with these troubles when they present themselves. What do we do for sarissas?’