Above the third firmament of heaven;
Hear me, helper of men, giver of dauntless youth!
Shed down a kindly ray from above upon my life,
And strength of war, that I may be able to drive
Away bitter cowardice from my head
And crush down the deceitful impulses of my soul.
Restrain also the keen fury of my heart
Which provokes me to tread the ways of blood-curdling strife.
Rather, O blessed one, give me boldness to abide
Within the harmless laws of peace, avoiding strife
And hatred and the violent fiends of death.
The Greeks took it up, and the Olbians had good voices. They sang, roaring the lines as if every man of them was a champion, and the sound carried over the cropped, dry grass and the sand to the Sogdae, who were gathered on their bank, no longer willing to push down into the flood plain and the tamarisk scrub, just visible in the rising column of dust and sand from the fight. Their horses were fidgeting and calling for water.
When the song was done, the Greek horse gathered their mounts and dragged them from the water and up the bank to their ridge. Concealment was now purposeless, but Kineas sent them back over the ridge anyway — easier than giving them new positions, and some shade to protect them. The shadows were long, but the sun still had power out on the plains.
The Sauromatae were still watering their horses. Kineas rode over in time to hear Lot cursing at some men who were still in the stream. One of them waved his golden helmet, and all fifteen of the men in the stream mounted. The man in the golden helmet turned his horse in a spray of water. He had his horse at the gallop in just a few strides, and he rode straight for Mosva, who was watering her father’s horse. She looked up and grinned, clearly thinking it a game. She called something, and she died with that smile on her face, as Upazan cut her head from her body in one swing of his long-handled axe. Then he turned and rode at Lot.
‘Now fight me, you old coward!’ he crowed, riding at the prince.
Leon, at Kineas’s side, put his head down and pressed his heels to his mount. He had a small mare with a deep chest and a small head, a pretty horse that Leon doted on. She fairly flew across the water, her hooves appearing to skim the surface. Too late to save Mosva, Leon rode in. Upazan, his whole charge aimed at Lot, pushed for his target and ignored the Numidian, but the smaller mare rammed the bigger Sauromatae gelding in the rump, forcing the horse to stumble and sidestep, almost throwing his rider.
Upazan took a cut at Leon with the axe. Leon’s mare danced back, and the axe missed, and Leon’s spear licked out, pricking Upazan in the side. Kineas, still stunned to see two of his own men fighting, had time to be reminded of Nicomedes’ fastidious fighting style. The Numidian used his mare to avoid every cut and he landed two more blows that drew blood.
Upazan’s companions were milling in confusion and then one of them left the others and rode at Leon.
Lot was frozen in disbelief. ‘Bastard!’ he called, pressing forward.
Another of Upazan’s men drew a bow and shot. The arrow passed between Philokles and Kineas. A second arrow rattled off Lot’s armour.
Upazan stood up, knees clenched on the barrel of his horse, and leaned out, whirling his axe on the wrist thong for more reach. It caught Leon on the bull’s-hide shield he wore strapped to his left shoulder in the Sakje manner and skidded up, ringing off the Numidian’s helmet. At the same moment, Leon’s spear licked out again, this time passing under the bronze brow of the Sauromatae’s heavy helm and entering the man’s face. Blood flowered from under his helmet and Upazan folded.
Leon fell into the river and Philokles and Kineas raced to reach him, while Upazan’s friends dragged him free of his horse and bolted for the far side of the stream.
‘Arse-cunts!’ bellowed Philokles, struggling with his horse and trying to get an arm under Leon. ‘Traitors!’
Lot was still cursing. The ranks of the Sauromatae were moving like a corpse full of maggots.
‘I must calm my people,’ he said. His voice was dull. He looked like a man who had taken a wound. His daughter’s headless corpse lay at the far edge of the river and the water was a sickly red-brown where her blood mingled with the silt.
Several of Ataelus’s scouts surrounded her. Others rushed to surround Leon. Philokles and Eumenes supported Leon out of the water. Kineas laid him on the bank and cut his chinstrap. The base of his skull showed blood and his neck was cut so deep that the cords of his neck muscles could be seen. There was blood everywhere.
‘He killed her, didn’t he?’ Leon asked in a dull voice.
Philokles was off his horse and there. ‘Concussion,’ he said. ‘Give him to me. You command your army.’
Kineas handed over that responsibility with thanks and remounted. He swept his horse in a circle, another ugly feeling in his gut.
Upazan’s companions had crossed the river straight south and then ridden east along the water. The Sakje, confused, had not loosed an arrow. Even the prodromoi let them go.
Two stades away to the south and east, a man in a dust-coloured cloak with wide purple bands at the edges reined in at the far edge of the Oxus. Behind him was a dense column of purple-blue cloaks and dirty brown cloaks — Macedonian cavalry and a handful of Royal Hetairoi. Trumpets sounded and the blond man waved a dozen troopers forward to intercept Upazan’s friends. And then the dust cloud of the column settled over everything.
Kineas turned to Diodorus. ‘That is what we call a bad omen,’ he said. He couldn’t take his eyes off the blood in the water. When he did, all he could see were the Sauromatae, trickling back over the ridge.
Diodorus made a sign of aversion. ‘If Spitamenes comes now and decides to take our side?’ he said.
Kineas rode back up the face of the ridge that concealed his cavalry. He stopped at the top. The Sauromatae were spread in groups over several stades of the rough ground, and all could be seen to be arguing. Kineas rode down into the valley beyond, looking for Lot. When he found him, in the middle of a dozen furious warriors, he rode straight in.
‘Will you hold?’ Kineas asked. ‘Or do I have to retreat?’
Stung, Lot drew himself up. ‘We’ll hold,’ he said.
Kineas looked around at the Sauromatae warriors, who met his gaze steadily. Kineas pointed up the hill with his sword. ‘Two summers, we have covered each other’s backs,’ he said. ‘No boy, no kin-slayer, is going to rob us of victory.’
Grunts and nods. ‘Wait for my signal,’ Kineas said, and rode back up the ridge to Diodorus, feeling far less confidence than he had just expressed.
‘We’re fucked,’ Kineas said, showing Diodorus what he saw. ‘If even a third of them decide to support Upazan and attack the rest, Craterus can cross at will.’
Diodorus nodded. ‘Ares’ throbbing cock,’ he said bitterly. ‘We have him. Craterus is too late to push us and we’re already outfighting his Sogdae. Look at them!’ Diodorus pointed at the far bank. The sullen unwillingness of the Sogdae troopers there was conveyed through posture and movement, but to a pair of cavalrymen, it was like a shout.
Kineas waved for Srayanka and cantered down over the ridge, invisible from Craterus’s position. Once out of sight, he began to use his hands. ‘See that,’ he shouted at Srayanka as she rode up.
She pulled off her helmet and her black braids fell free from their coils. ‘See it? Husband, my eyes have seen nothing else for an hour. Was that Mosva?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Kineas spat in disgust. ‘I’m betting that they hold, but I want you to be ready to cover our retreat. If Craterus wants to cross, I intend to make him pay.’ He hesitated for a moment. ‘I may even attack him.’ He pointed across. ‘If we leave him here, that’s the end of our dream of moving on the Polytimeros.’
She nodded.
Kineas turned to Ataelus, who had just brought the prodromoi back across the Oxus and was now awaiting orders.