Theron, lying with Philokles, raised his head and shook it. ‘Philokles and I are apparently raising an army to defend you, my prince,’ he said.
Satyrus recalled that earlier that day he had dreamed of commanding the Golden Lotus.
Lamplight, and Melitta standing by his bed. ‘Carlus came in!’ she said. ‘Alive – but wounded. Philokles is with him.’
Satyrus rolled to his feet with the ease of practice and followed his sister down the dark corridor and out across the courtyard between the two houses. He could sleep-walk the route to Philokles’ rooms.
Carlus took up the whole of Philokles’ oversized sleeping couch and still his lower legs dangled off the end.
‘I must have sent a dozen of them to hell,’ he said in his thick accent. ‘And they broke, but there were more, and more. Fifty.’ The big Keltoi shook his head weakly. ‘Zeus Soter, I was afraid, and then – they left me. Gone, like a herd of deer running in the woods.’
‘They weren’t paid enough to go chest to chest with you, Titan,’ Philokles said. ‘If it makes you feel better, I think we’ll be going into those neighbourhoods you wanted to clean. Soon.’
‘Uhh,’ the Keltoi grunted, and fell asleep.
‘Will he live?’ Satyrus asked.
‘Look at the muscle on that chest!’ Philokles said, shaking his head. ‘Yes – none of these dagger blows got through his muscle. Those were brave and desperate men, Satyrus. Contempt for your opponents is always a waste of time. Imagine facing Carlus in the dark. Two men got close enough to mark him. Imagine.’
‘He’s passed out,’ Melitta said.
‘Poppy – he’s so full of it he should bleed poppy juice,’ Philokles said. ‘So we all made it home. That makes me feel better – there was a moment in the dark when I thought we were all going down. Ares, I’m not as young as I used to be.’
‘I wish you were coming with us,’ Melitta said.
‘Me too,’ Satyrus said. He found that he was holding his sister’s hand.
Philokles got up, wincing and favouring his left side. ‘Listen,’ he said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. ‘Pythagoras teaches that there are four seasons to life as there are four seasons to the world – spring, when you are a child, and summer, in the full bloom of adulthood – then autumn, when a man reaches his full power and a woman’s beauty fades, and winter, when we age towards death. Yes?’
‘Yes,’ the twins chorused.
‘I pronounce that you have passed from spring into summer,’ Philokles said. ‘Melitta, you are a woman, and Satyrus, you are a man. What is the first lesson?’
Together, the twins spoke, almost one voice. ‘To your friends do good, and to your enemies, harm.’
‘That is the lesson,’ Philokles said. ‘See that you live it.’
It was still dark when they were rowed aboard the Golden Lotus, which had been brought around from the yard and stood just off the beach, her oarsmen keeping her steady against the predawn breeze. Melitta went up the side, and then Satyrus swung his leg over and dropped to the deck amidships.
Peleus the Rhodian, Leon’s helmsman, stood with his legs apart, braced against the roll of the deck. ‘Welcome aboard, Navarch,’ he said. He put special emphasis on the word, but it wasn’t mockery – quite.
‘Peleus!’ Satyrus said. He clasped the older man’s arm, and his clasp was returned. He stepped back. ‘This is my sister, Melitta.’
‘Despoina,’ Peleus said, and turned his back on her, grasping Satyrus by the arm. ‘Let’s get the Lotus clear of the land, and then we’ll have time for girls and orders and all the crap that the land brings, eh? First time out in command? Feel any butterflies, boy?’
‘Yes!’ Satyrus admitted. He looked at Melitta, who had the look of a woman withholding judgment – Peleus’s comment hadn’t escaped her. He had to make Peleus, whose dislike of women at sea was legendary, accept his sister’s presence. He had to make his sister – well, toe the line.
‘Banish the butterflies,’ Peleus said. ‘Oars, there. Do ye hear me!’
A chorus of affirmatives, and the Rhodian turned to Satyrus. ‘Ready for sea, sir,’ he said.
Satyrus had been to sea since he was nine years old, but his heart was beating as if he was in mortal combat. He took a breath, and made his voice steady. ‘Carry on,’ he said, as if it was nothing to command a warship at sea.
Like wings, the oars rose together and dipped, and suddenly they were in motion, as close to flying as Satyrus was ever likely to achieve.
Two stades away across the port of Alexandria, a scarred man leaned on the rail of a trireme, head swathed in bandages, watching under his hands as the familiar shape of the Golden Lotus gathered way as the first fingers of dawn stretched across the sky.
‘There they are,’ said Iphicrates. ‘Kineas’s brats,’ he growled.
The Latin, Lucius, shrugged. ‘Frankly, boss, I think the gods love ’em. I think we should just let ’em go and good riddance.’
‘I couldn’t agree more,’ Stratokles said. ‘Despite which, I want you to find them at sea and kill them. It is probably better this way,’ he said after a moment’s hesitation. ‘Last night was too bloody and too obvious, and sooner or later, that fat parasite Gabines will know we did it.’
‘Fucking public service,’ Lucius said. ‘The sheer number of street thugs who died last night has got to make this city a better place to live.’ He laughed.
Iphicrates shook his head. ‘We should have had them last night. And Diodorus and fucking Leon into the bargain.’
‘They were on to us from the start of the evening, gentlemen,’ Stratokles said. ‘I don’t like losing a contest any more than the next man, but it is a pleasure to be up against men of worth. You’ll have to be on your toes, Iphicrates. Golden Lotus is the toughest ship in these waters, or so I’m told.’
The scarred Athenian mercenary stretched and shook his head. ‘I’ve been fighting at sea since I was twelve, Stratokles. And I’ve taken a few Rhodians in my time, and they are never easy. But if I have a clean chance, I’ll take ’em. The new engines will give me an edge they can’t be ready for.’
‘Engines?’ Lucius asked. He had quite a bit of intellect, but most of it was reserved for war.
‘Like big bows, with ratchets to hold ’em cocked. Shoot a bolt the size of a sarissa. Goes right through a trireme’s hull.’
‘Despite which,’ Stratokles added, ‘your first duty to me is information. I need to know what One-Eye is up to on the coast of Syria – and Cyprus. And what Rhodos is doing. Golden Lotus is bound for Rhodos. Need I say more?’
‘No, sir,’ Iphicrates said.
‘Go get them then,’ Stratokles said, and slapped the mercenary on the back. ‘I’ll take care of business here. I’ve fomented a fair amount of treason,’ he said. ‘Macedonians are the most perfidious race on the face of Gaia. And they call Greeks treacherous.’ He laughed. Then he turned back to Iphicrates and put a hand on his arm. ‘Don’t loiter out there. I know you have piracy in your blood, but I need your reports – and I need to know I have a way out of here. When Gabines starts to follow up on the tags I’ve left – I can’t help it! He’s going to be after me like a pig on slops. And Leon will strike back after last night – count on it.’
‘Hurry out, take the Lotus, check Rhodos and Syria, hurry back. Anything else?’ Iphicrates shook his head. ‘Tall order and no mistake.’
‘That’s why I’m sending the best,’ Stratokles said.
17
T wo hundred miles north-north-east of Alexandria, and the helmsman, Peleus, had made a perfect landfall at Salamis of Cyprus, the island’s beaches just a heat shimmer while the headland temple to Aphrodite Lophos shone in the sun.
‘Peleus, you are the very prince of navigators,’ Satyrus said. He had the steering oar under his arm.
Peleus was not looking ahead at all, but watching the wake. The Golden Lotus was a triemiolia, a three-and-a-half-er that carried an extra half bank of oars and a permanent sail deck and the crew to manage her sails even in a fight. Pirates loved the smaller version, the hemiolia and so did the Rhodians, the best sailors in the world. Golden Lotus was Rhodian-built, and Peleus was Rhodian-born, a seaman from the age of six. His current age was unknown, but his beard was white and every sailor in Alexandria treated him with respect.