A prickle at the back of Satyrus’s neck, and then the smell of a wet lion skin, and then nothing – a sort of absence of sense.
‘You are god-touched,’ Namastis said reverently. ‘I forget Hellenes are not all fools. My apologies, lord.’
‘Satyrus, not lord,’ Satyrus said, offering his hand.
Namastis took it, and clenched it hard – too hard, but a good try. ‘Men are hunting you,’ he said suddenly.
‘I know,’ Satyrus said. He actually smiled, like the hero in an epic, although his smile was more self-mockery than dismissal of danger.
‘No Aegyptian will help them,’ Namastis said. ‘That much I guarantee you. But the Macedonian faction intends your death. They have hired men. That is all we know.’
Satyrus favoured the hand all the way back to Leon’s villa by the sea.
No more oyster shells came, and no fights with his sister, who was gone – visiting Amastris herself, or so Dorcus claimed. Satyrus went to sleep picturing elements of the drill.
And in the morning, the ranks were full. Two thousand Aegyptians, half-castes and Hellenes stood together in the ranks. Their armour was a patchwork, and their spears and sarissas were four different lengths, and most men had neither body armour nor cloaks – but the ranks were full.
Philokles asked the priest of Osiris and the priest of Zeus to address the men. Each offered a brief prayer. And then, when the priest of Zeus had intoned the hymn to the rise of day, Philokles gestured to Abraham.
‘We have no priest of your god, son of Ben Zion,’ Philokles said. ‘Can you sing a hymn or some such? This taxeis will use every shred of divinity on offer.’
Abraham nodded. He was in the front rank, beyond Dionysius whose beauty included the kind of fitness that caused Philokles to put him in the front. He shuffled forward past Dionysius – no easy task with an aspis – and stood in front. In a deep voice he began a hymn – Hebrew, of course. Fifty voices picked it up. Some sang softly, as if embarrassed, and some carefully, as if forcing the words from their memories. But they sounded well enough, and they smiled self-consciously when finished – just as the Aegyptians and the Hellenes had done.
‘If all the gods are satisfied, we need to do a great deal of work,’ Philokles shouted.
For the first time, his words were greeted with the sort of spontaneous cheer he expected from good troops.
At supper, back at Leon’s, Philokles shook his head. ‘We were down,’ he said. ‘Now? I see a glimmer of that fickle creature, hope.’
Theron grunted and ate another helping of quail. ‘When do we march?’ he asked. ‘And will we carry the baggage?’
Philokles shrugged. ‘I can’t believe the delays. Ptolemy hasn’t even decided on a strategy yet – he vacillates, so I’m told, between offence and defence, and he has twelve thousand slaves rebuilding the forts along the coast. And six thousand being gathered to support the army. We won’t carry the baggage – but if we have a defensive campaign, these men will melt away, priests or no priests. And if the campaign flares into sudden battle before marching makes them hard – again, I dread it.’ But after these words, he brightened. ‘But I tell you, gentlemen – philosopher that I am, something changed today. I felt it. I, too, will go to my task with a lighter heart.’ Philokles looked at Diodorus. ‘When do we march, Strategos?’
Diodorus was lying with Sappho. He looked up. ‘When Ptolemy is ready. When the storm breaks. When the Macedonian faction makes their move.’ He spread his hands. ‘Or the day after tomorrow. Is your taxeis worthy to stand in the line?’
‘No,’ Philokles said. ‘But give me twenty days of marching, and I might speak otherwise.’
Diodorus shook his head. ‘Ptolemy has all but given up. If Leon returned, we might act. All day long, Panion and the Macedonians of his ilk pour poison in his ears. I’m not sure that we’re any better off for Stratokles being off the board.’
‘If he is off the board,’ Philokles said. ‘The attack on Satyrus-’
‘Might just have been the work of the Macedonians,’ Diodorus said.
‘Too well planned. Footpads. Stratokles.’ Philokles flexed his muscles, reassured that they were returning. ‘Trust me, Diodorus. I know what the man does. I did the same once.’
‘For my part,’ Satyrus said, ‘I’d rather go and fight Demetrios than be afraid of going out of this house.’
‘Ptolemy is afraid they’ll sell him,’ Diodorus said. ‘Like Eumenes.’ He finished his wine and lay on his back next to Sappho, shaking his head. ‘Macedonians.’
A slave came in and whispered to Sappho, and she rolled over.
‘Coenus sends that our guest is awake,’ she said.
It took a moment for that information to penetrate the gloom of the dining hall.
‘Gods,’ Philokles said. And headed for the door.
Leosthenes returned to full consciousness without transition, Apollo having granted him life, or so it seemed to Satyrus. The scarred man lay on Coenus’s spare couch and smiled at the men in the room.
‘Friends,’ he said.
Coenus held his hand. ‘How did you come to serve that scum?’
Leosthenes shook his head. ‘Stratokles? For all his failings, he is a patriot for Athens. I am an Athenian.’
Philokles shook his head. ‘No wonder the Macedonians own us all, Leosthenes, if a man like you will serve a man like Stratokles because he is a patriot. He is a traitor twenty times over. And he’s trying to kill Satyrus – that’s Kineas’s son.’
‘Save your breath,’ Leosthenes said. ‘I will not defend him or Cassander either. I’m glad I have been taken by friends. And I tried to kill Kineas once myself – don’t try that argument on me. Nor will I betray the men who served with me, either.’ He managed a thin smile and shook his head. ‘Stratokles thinks he’s the smartest man in the world.’
Leosthenes was sinking again. Diodorus went and bent over him. ‘Listen, Leosthenes – your precious Stratokles is getting ready to betray Cassander, I can smell it. What does that make him? We need to know where he is!’
Leosthenes shook his head. ‘Glad to be taken by friends,’ he said, and subsided into unconsciousness.
‘Apollo!’ Diodorus swore. ‘Of all the useless fools to follow – and a man like Leosthenes, too!’
‘It is because men like Stratokles can attract men like Leosthenes that they are dangerous. Coenus, he must be watched. We cannot have him go back to Stratokles now.’ Philokles took a deep breath and met Diodorus’s eye.
‘If he went back, we could follow him,’ Diodorus said.
Philokles shook his head. ‘There are limits to the duplicity a man can practise and not be tainted,’ he said. ‘I have been past those limits and I will never go past them again.’
Diodorus nodded. ‘I thought you’d say something like that. Athena send we march before long – the sooner we’re out of this city and doing some honest fighting, the better for everyone.’
In the morning, Leon was back, and the house was full of sailors, and Satyrus found that despite his sister’s problems, he had no trouble embracing Xeno like a long-lost brother.
‘Demetrios has his army in Syria,’ Leon said. ‘He’s building up supplies in Palestine and then he’ll come for us. If he hadn’t had his cavalry beaten up in Nabataea, he’d be here now and we’d be wrecked. As it is, we’ve hope.’
In whispers, Xeno related how the Lotus had ghosted up the Palestinian coast and seized a message boat.
‘I’m off for the palace,’ Leon said. ‘Diodorus?’
The hipparch drank off his morning beer. ‘I’m with you, brother. Listen – I take it he’s coming by land?’
‘Best I can tell,’ Leon affirmed. ‘How’s Ptolemy?’
‘Panicking,’ Diodorus said, and then their voices vanished into the courtyard.
One hundred professional marines had a profound effect on the Phalanx of Aegypt, as they provided file-closers for every file and the drill smartened up immediately. And forty sailors joined them, most of them upper-deck professionals who owned some armour.