King of the Bosphorus

He drank wine with his captains and then sent Diokles to check on the former pirates who were rowing sullenly back and forth across the beach.

'I don't want this ruined by a foolish mutiny,' he said, and every officer on the beach nodded.

Draco caught his arm. 'Send us,' he said.

Amyntas nodded. 'Send us. Diokles can row us out. Those are our boys out there as marines. Put me on one ship and Draco on another. I guarantee no surprises.' He took a knife out from under his armpit and ran his thumb over the edge.

When the two Macedonians were gone, Satyrus drank his wine with more satisfaction.

'Tomorrow,' Panther said.

'I think so,' Satyrus said. 'I don't think Eumeles knows how close we are. Or that we've shed the horse transports. So he'll straggle.'

Theron and Demostrate were playing knuckle bones together. Demostrate got up and stretched. 'You have all my money, you black Corinthian thief, and now I need a battle to restore my fortunes. King of the pirates? I'm king of the paupers.' He glanced at the sky. 'Good day tomorrow. Sunny. Light winds.'

'So?' Neiron asked.

'Muster when the morning star rises,' Satyrus said, watching Panther to see if his orders were well received. 'Put to sea at first light and form up by columns off the beach.'

Panther nodded.

Theron lay back on the sand. 'What if Eumeles refuses to play?' he asked. 'I mean, see it through his eyes. He's running for his other squadron, isn't he? So why won't he just keep running?'

Panther looked at Satyrus. Satyrus shook his head. 'Our ships are faster, now that we're rid of the transports,' he said. 'Remember last time? Our fastest laid waste to his slowest, and we were losing light. Tomorrow we'll have a whole day, if we're as close as we think.'

Satyrus nodded. 'And – and he's got to stop rowing when he reaches Tanais. But if we're right up with him, there's not really time for his other squadron to man and launch.'

'Unless they're waiting for us,' Demostrate said quietly.

Satyrus had never been the commander of a force this large. When Leon joined them, it had been as if a great stone had been lifted from his shoulders, and when Leon left, riding away with the old hippeis, the stone had settled back on his neck.

But Satyrus had been around professional soldiers and sailors all his life, and he knew what was required of him, although it made his stomach hurt with anticipation just to think of the morrow and everything he had riding on it. He took Abraham, whom everyone loved, and Diokles, and they left the fire where the commanders drank wine, and the three of them went from fire to fire down the beach. Satyrus shared a sip of wine and a libation at every fire he joined – at some, he was greeted like a demi-god, and at others, usually the fires of the pirate crews, he was feared like a leper. He watched their reactions, and tried not to show his own feelings.

Between two fires of pirate oarsmen, Satyrus made a face, spat in the sand and stopped. 'Some of them hate me,' he said.

'And you want them to love you?' Abraham nodded. 'You make them fight. Not all of them want to. Not all are brave, and very few are good. You expect to be cheered as a hero by your rowers? Sufficient that you are prepared to pay them.'

Satyrus looked at his friend. 'When did you become such a sophist?' he asked.

Diokles tugged his beard. 'They won't love you, lord. Best be used to it. The Macedonians probably cursed bloody Alexander, and he was half a god.' He jutted a thumb at Abraham. 'He's got more sense.'

Abraham shrugged. 'I learned a great deal in Byzantium,' he said.

'Your father wanted me to send you home. And yet – he's very proud of you.' Satyrus had meant to say this earlier, but there was never time. That was the greatest lesson of command – there was never either privacy or time.

Diokles gave a little wave and walked away a few steps, granting the two of them the illusion of privacy.

'Really?' Abraham grinned, his teeth glinting in the fire-lit dark. 'You're not just fashioning words to please me?'

'I swear by Herakles,' Satyrus said.

'I'll go home when this is over,' Abraham said. 'Unless I'm dead.'

'Don't even say such a thing,' Satyrus said, making a peasant sign of aversion.

Abraham laughed, and it was a grim laugh. 'Not all of us are born the darling of a god, to restore a kingdom and shine with the light of battle. I was born to count coins and raise my family fortunes.' He looked away. 'If I die tomorrow, I'll curse the pain of it – but by my god, it will have been worthwhile. To be lord and to have command – to live at the break of the wave.' He laughed. 'I'm a fool. Or I've tasted too much wine. Listen, Satyrus – I sound like some awful stock character in a play. But I love this life. Every instant, I have to pinch myself to see if I'm awake – walking on the beach with you, waiting for the day of battle, with my own ship, my armour, my sword by my side!' Abraham laughed, and now it was a genuine laugh. 'My jealous old god will probably take my life tomorrow, if only to show me who's boss.' He walked over to Diokles and slapped him on the back. 'You sailors have better manners than most of the merchants I know, but I don't need privacy. To hell with that!' He pulled his wineskin over his shoulder, took a drink and handed it to Diokles.

'Night before a battle, a man should drink,' Diokles said.

Abraham took the skin back and held it expertly, so that a dark stream curved, glinting in the distant firelight, and fell into the open darkness of his mouth. 'Oh, I've learned all kinds of things in my year at sea,' he said.

Diokles shook his head in mock sorrow. 'And never a flute girl around when you need one,' he mourned.

Satyrus shook his head, squeezed their hands and led them on to the next fire. 'We'll win tomorrow,' he said. And he meant it. They rose with the last watch and the rowers filed aboard before the bronze shield rim of the sun ascended above the edge of the world. And as fast as the ships came off the beach, bow first, dragging their sterns clear of the sand and mud and rowing shallow so that the gentle surf was turned to muddy froth, they formed in columns and turned north, so that they were in formation while the scent of their cooking fires was still wafting over the sea. Wood smoke and sea-wrack.

But Aulus, Eumeles' navarch, was no fool, and he had not served thirty years at sea to be caught in the morning. His men must have risen just as early, whether or not they knew how close Satyrus was. The smoke of their fires still rose to the heavens just twenty stades north of the bay where Satyrus had camped, but the ships were gone.

It was noon by the time they raised the masts and sails of Eumeles' squadron, but the moment the lookout screamed that he could see the top yards of ten sail, the mood of the Lotus's command platform changed.

'Fifteen!' the lookout shouted. 'Dead on the bow!'

Satyrus looked at the sky and at the sun. 'Is it too late?'

Theron ran his hand though his hair. 'Don't mistake me for a sailor, lad. But no. Now we find out if the gods love you, or whether they've lured you to madness.'

Satyrus grinned. They were overhauling the enemy squadrons so quickly that he could already see nicks in the horizon. His eyes met Neiron's. Neiron nodded, and he had a smile like a death's head.

'Now or never,' Neiron said.

'Helios!' Satyrus shouted, and the boy came running, already pulling the cover off his gilt-bronze shield.

'Signal "General chase",' Satyrus called.

Helios flashed the signal – one, two, three, four.

And the rowers roared back from every ship.

Satyrus's heart began to beat so fast that it seemed to interfere with his speech. Carefully, he said, 'Don't push them so hard that we can't fight.'