They loaded all the panniers and baskets and bundles, tied everything down and rode on.
The fun started when they made camp. When Philokles began his search, he at least pretended discretion, but then he went on with increasing desperation.
‘It’s all gone,’ Melitta said. She walked up behind him, as he searched one of the armour baskets.
Philokles turned on her, his eyes wild.
‘All gone, tutor. Every drop. It’s two days’ travel back to the last town and ten days forward. We all love you and we’ll stand by you.’ She offered her hand to him.
Satyrus watched with a lump in his throat. Theron and the Macedonians pretended to be doing something else. The doctor watched with the insolence of a man watching bad theatre.
Philokles made a grunting noise. After a few minutes it became sobbing. Then he was silent.
The silence lasted a day.
On the second night, Philokles got wine from somewhere, and he drank it. Then he was sick – violently sick. So sick that he puked his guts out.
The doctor looked him over, sprawled on his blankets. Fastidiously, he listened at the Spartan’s chest and felt his neck and wrist. He pursed his lips and shook his head. ‘Nothing I can do,’ he said. ‘When a man tries to kill himself with drink, he will.’
Theron glared at the Athenian and made Philokles drink salt water until he puked again. Then he sat with his arm around Philokles.
Nobody slept much.
The next day Philokles lay on the ground, barely breathing. The Macedonians walked around the camp, muttering, and Satyrus threw javelins and spent too much time squatting beside the Spartan.
‘Is he actually trying to kill himself?’ he asked Theron.
Kallista came and sat gracefully by them. ‘I tried to kill myself once,’ she said, in a matter-of-fact voice. She looked at the doctor. In an almost teasing voice, she said, ‘And I almost died of poison, once.’
Theron looked at both of them, as if considering something.
Melitta came and sat by the slave girl. ‘Where did he get wine?’ she asked.
Theron shrugged. ‘We missed something.’
Melitta looked at Satyrus, who shook his head. ‘Philip and Draco went through every basket,’ he said. ‘I watched them. They’ve been trained to search.’
Sophokles came up, laid the back of his hand on the Spartan’s cheek and shrugged. ‘You missed something. I told you that you would.’ Then he went and sat near Kallista. He laid two fingers lightly on her cheek, but she shook him off and he smiled at her.
Melitta watched Theron’s face as he caught the physical exchange. He was angry.
Satyrus watched the three of them. There was something between the girl and the doctor. Theron was now the girl’s lover. Satyrus rubbed his chin, and his wandering eyes found his sister’s. Somewhere in the contact there was a spark of illumination.
‘Of course,’ Satyrus said, his eyes and his sisters locked in silent communication, ‘we never searched your packs.’ He raised his eyes from Melitta’s and looked at Sophokles.
‘I’m not denying that I have some wine,’ Sophokles said. ‘It’s medicinal, and for my own consumption.’
Theron shot to his feet. When the Athenian attempted to move, one of Theron’s long arms pinned him. ‘Open his pack,’ he said.
‘I like the Spartan,’ Kallista said. She seemed to be speaking to the air.
‘I don’t care who you like, slave,’ the doctor said.
‘I don’t want him to die,’ she said. ‘Heal him.’
Satyrus opened the doctor’s bedroll. The outer layer was a pair of goatskins. Inside were two chlamyses, with a cup, a very elegant leather bag, and a pair of amphorae wrapped in wolf skin. The amphorae were themselves beautiful – black, with red and white figures dancing.
‘Keep your hands off those, boy!’ the doctor said.
‘Bring them here,’ Theron said in a voice of bronze.
Satyrus obeyed.
Kallista looked at Melitta for a long time. Melitta met her gaze. Satyrus watched the two of them while he walked back, and felt disoriented. He was surrounded by secrets – even his sister had them. They were staring at each other.
The doctor was staring at Kallista. Then he looked up. ‘Be careful with those,’ he said. ‘Chian wine – the best!’ His voice had an odd inflection.
‘Make him drink it,’ Kallista said. Her voice had a dreamy quality to it.
‘Shut up, slave girl,’ the Athenian spat. ‘This has gone far enough.’
Melitta shook her head. She had stopped staring at Kallista. ‘Have you chosen your side, girl?’ she asked.
The slave girl looked away.
‘Now or never,’ Melitta said.
Kallista looked at Satyrus. Satyrus understood it all in a moment of inspiration, as if Athena had whispered the whole plot in his ear. He drew his sword and stood by the slave girl. ‘We can protect you,’ he said.
Melitta gave him the look of a sister who is glad her brother has a brain. ‘Choose!’ she said imperiously.
Kallista hung her head so that her hair covered her face. ‘He’s no doctor. Not really.’
‘You’re a liar, whore,’ the Athenian shot back.
‘He kills for money.’ Kallista’s voice was calm.
‘I don’t have to listen to this filth,’ Sophokles said. He began to squirm in Theron’s grip.
‘Kallista has chosen her side, traitor,’ Melitta said. ‘You tried to poison us, and her, and now you’ve poisoned Philokles.’
Sophokles looked around. ‘Foolishness. You may be a princess, but you have the soft head of a woman. I saved her when she was poisoned, and-’
Theron tightened his grip, inspiration written on his face. ‘The Spartan saved her,’ he said carefully. ‘You put on a show. I didn’t see it at the time.’ He nodded at the recumbent Spartan. ‘He did. He saw through you, you bastard.’
‘How long have you known?’ Satyrus asked his sister.
‘About two minutes,’ she answered with a hard smile. ‘Kallista told me with her eyes when you got the wine.’
‘She’s in on it too, then,’ Draco said. He drew his sword.
‘Yes,’ Kallista said. She sighed. ‘They offered me money and freedom.’ She looked around.
‘I meet the offer,’ Melitta said proudly. ‘You’ll be free in days, Kallista.’
It was all too fast for Satyrus. He looked back and forth.
‘You have no proof,’ the doctor said. ‘This is insane.’
‘I don’t need proof,’ Draco said. ‘Fuck, he must have been planted on the court. Who sent you, you ass-cunt?’ His sword flashed as he hit the Athenian with the bronze hilt.
The doctor – if he was indeed a doctor – was unprepared for the leap to violence, and he went down clutching his head. Theron jumped him and pinned him again in a classic possession hold – head back, arm locked and near breaking.
‘Stop,’ Theron said. The doctor tried to struggle, and there was a burst of activity as he did something, but whatever his surge of wriggling meant, it failed to overcome Theron’s impassive grip.
Satyrus and Melitta exchanged another glance. Satyrus got up. ‘Would you like to live?’ he asked.
The doctor couldn’t even look up. ‘Of course,’ he said. If he was aiming for arrogance, he missed. He sounded worried – terrified.
Satyrus tried to look at Kallista. ‘Save Philokles and I will let you live. Betray your employer and I will let you go.’ He looked around. Theron nodded, and after a minute Draco shrugged.
‘Fair enough, prince. But I can get it out of him anyway.’ Draco smiled with just half his mouth. ‘Fucking traitor. Fucking Athenians, eh?’
‘Too right, mate,’ Philip said. He had a small, very elegant knife in his hand – steel, a slot of brilliant blue in the sun. ‘Give me a minute – just a minute – and I’ll see to it that we know all he has to tell.’ ‘Swear by Zeus Soter that you’ll let me go!’ Sophokles said.
‘I swear by Zeus Soter that I will do nothing to harm you, and that, if you betray your employer, I will let you go free,’ Satyrus said.
‘Make your friends swear!’ the Athenian said.