She read what he wrote. 'You are that sure,' she said.
He nodded. 'No,' he said. 'My sister may already be dead. Or my naval alliance may fail. Or Dionysius of Heraklea may refuse to let me use his town to base my army – or we may just lose.' He shrugged. 'So many things can go wrong – the word "sure" never enters my mind.'
He took the ink and wrote carefully: Please send me a reply as soon as you receive this. If you can spare the time, send a duplicate to Sappho and another care of Lady Amastris, Heraklea, and a third care of Eumenes, the archon of Olbia (if you can believe such a thing). A fourth via Panther, navarch of Rhodos, at the Temple of Poseidon, would give me the widest possible notice of your reply, as I will be a bird on the wing.
'Have you ever thought that if you succeed, my husband will lose his command? The Exiles will no longer be exiles.' Sappho laughed. 'I don't mean it. But – if Tanais is restored – what will we all do?'
Satyrus shook his head. 'No idea, Auntie,' he said. 'But I'd be delighted to find out.'
And later, much later that night, Helios came in. He smelled of a discreet perfume.
'Well?' Satyrus asked. 'Did you spend a pleasant evening?'
'Not particularly,' the boy said. His voice was set, his face carefully blank. 'She's as dumb as a post, for all her hard-arse ways. She offered me a hundred gold darics to kill you.' The boy dropped a purse on the sideboard, so heavy that the cedar creaked. 'I told her a sad tale of your misuse of me, and she told me I was soft.' Helios looked at the floor. 'But after I pleasured her, she sang another tune, and there's the proof. And yes – she's out most nights. She has a taste for boys, like most women of her type.' His own self-loathing was obvious, but so was his dislike of her. 'She thinks she owns me!' he spat.
Satyrus shivered. 'I – thought that you were too young. To – I'm sorry, Helios. I've put you in a position…' Satyrus thought that killing the innocent was hardly the only price of kingship.
Helios blinked his long blond lashes and shrugged. 'I haven't been too young – never mind. It's nothing I haven't done before, and in worse causes.'
Satyrus kept his voice neutral. 'Where'd the money come from? She can't have a hundred gold darics on her own?'
'No,' Helios said. 'And I don't know myself. Is her mistress in the game? I don't know. She's coming tomorrow, by the way. To sing to you.'
Satyrus nodded. 'We leave in three days. You should get yourself a blade, a helmet and a light cuirass. Have you ever worn armour?'
Helios blinked. 'No,' he said.
'Go to Isaac Ben Zion and ask his steward to sell you armour. How old are you, really?' Satyrus asked.
'I think I'm fourteen,' the boy answered. 'I lost some time – in the brothel.' He looked at the floor.
Satyrus put a hand under his chin and raised his head. 'Didn't anyone tell you the rule of Leon's house?' he asked. 'No man need regret what he did before he came here – only what he does here. You are free. Free yourself.'
Helios gazed at him with uncomfortable admiration.
Satyrus looked away. 'If you are fourteen,' he said, 'get the Aegyptian linen armour. You'll grow too fast to be worth bronze or scale.' He pointed at the gold darics. 'You can use those, if you like. But only after Phiale visits.'
'What will you do to her?' Helios asked.
'To her?' Satyrus said, and his voice was hard. He was surprised at the feeling in his heart – more like hate than he had expected. 'Nothing,' he said. 'I will do nothing to her.' Phiale came in just behind her scent – a touch of mint and jasmine that clutched at his heart. She whirled her fine wool stole over her head and tossed it to her maidservant, who caught it in the air and stepped over to the wall.
Satyrus watched the maidservant exchange a glance with Helios, who was already standing against the wall. Then he allowed himself to kiss her on the cheek. Her breath on his face ought to have excited him – the subtlety with which she used her body was the height of her powers, and she felt his control immediately.
She stepped back and crossed her arms. 'You are angry with me?'
Hama came to the door with Carlus, the biggest man among the Exiles, a giant German with scars that mixed with the tattoos on his face. He entered the room, drew a short sword and stood with it balanced across his hands.
'Where is Sophokles, Phiale?' Satyrus asked.
Her hand went to her throat. 'I am a free woman. You may not restrain me.' Her eyes reproached him.
'Take the slave,' Satyrus said. 'Do not touch the mistress.'
Carlus closed his hand on Alcaea's hair. Her hand came up with a knife, and he slammed her against the wall. She dropped the knife.
'I accuse your slave of plotting against my life.' Satyrus waved at Helios. 'Freeman Helios will testify that your slave offered one hundred gold darics to kill me.'
Phiale shrunk back into a corner. 'Sappho!' she screamed. 'Satyrus has lost his wits!'
'Listen to me, Phiale. Stratokles and Sophokles bought you. But I cannot prove it, and besides – you are for sale. Who could blame you for being bought?' Satyrus struggled to keep the bitterness from his voice, and he thought how much amusement his sister would draw from the situation. She had never liked the hetaira, and had warned him repeatedly about engaging his feelings with her – she had mocked him, in fact.
'You are insane. The drug has addled your wits. Let me go.' She stood straight. 'I came to sing for you!' she said.
'If I ordered you stripped, what interesting vials would I find? A quill full of poison, perhaps?' Satyrus shook his head.
'I demand-' she began. Satyrus rose to his feet and she was silent.
'You mistake me for a much nicer boy you once knew. There will be no demands, Phiale. Today – this very hour – you will board a ship for Athens, after you reveal every iota of your plots. You will go there and you will never return to Alexandria. And you will write a letter for me, to your master.'
Phiale was white now. But she held his gaze. 'You are delusional.'
'Entirely possible,' Satyrus said. 'But not in this.'
Sappho came in, with Nearchus behind her. 'You have her!' she said.
Phiale's eye widened. 'We are friends!' she said.
'You have spied on my house for the last time,' Sappho returned.
'Hypocrite!' Phiale spat.
'Not, perhaps, your best defence.' Satyrus walked over to Alcaea.
'Why would I go to Athens?' Phiale asked.
'You lodge all of your earnings with Isaac Ben Zion, do you not?' Satyrus asked. 'I think that when I tell him you betrayed his business partner into captivity, he will perhaps seize your fortune.' Satyrus smiled. 'It was – short-sighted, shall I say? To leave your money where it could be used against you. By tomorrow, every obol will be locked in my aunt's coffers. If you ever want it again, you'll have to obey us. Go to Athens. Stay there. Hate us if you will – but hate us from a distance. And if we ever, ever catch you acting against our interests again – spying, muttering, gossiping – some men like Carlus will appear at your house, seize you and carry you off. And they will take you to Delos – and sell you into slavery. Am I clear? You are not young any more. I do not think you could earn your way free again.'