Kineas laughed aloud. ‘I know that feeling, young man.’
Eumenes looked hurt. ‘You sir? I saw you throw in the hippodrome, sir. But anyway — I’ll never let my father call them bandits again.’ Philokles ushered him out.
‘I gather Lady Srayanka has gone to dinner.’
Kineas was disappointed. He was shaved and under the furs he had a good linen tunic, now somewhat creased from being napped in. But he smiled. ‘You are good company, sir.’
Philokles flushed like a young man. ‘You please me.’
‘Socrates said there was no higher compliment. Or maybe Xenophon. One of them anyway. For a soldier — but why hector you about what soldiers think? Have you made a campaign? Is it not something about which you will speak? I mean no insult.’
‘I made a campaign with the men of Molyvos against Mytilene. It was my first, for all my training.’
‘Why did you leave?’
Philokles looked into the fire. ‘Many reasons,’ he began, and there was a stir at the door cloth.
Lady Srayanka entered alone and without fuss, sweeping the door aside and closing it with a single sweep of her arm. Having entered, she walked around the fire, brushed her long doeskin coat under her knees and sat in one fluid motion. She flashed a brief smile at Philokles. ‘Greetings, Greek men. May the gods look favourably upon you.’
It was delivered so well, so fluently, that only later did Kineas realize it was a practised phrase learned off by heart.
Philokles nodded gravely, as if to a Greek matron in a well-ordered house. ‘Greetings, Despoina.’
Kineas couldn’t help but smile. The head was the same, although the face was less severe. Still the same clear blue eyes and her ludicrous, heavy brows that nearly met in the middle of her face. He was being rude, staring into her eyes — and she was looking back at him. The corner of her mouth curled.
‘Greetings, lady,’ he said. It didn’t sound as stumbling as he had feared.
‘I desire — to send — for Ataelax. Yes?’ Her voice was low, but very much a woman’s.
‘Ataelax?’ asked Kineas.
‘Ataelus. His name as it is said here, I gather,’ Philokles explained as he opened the flap and called.
Ataelus came in so quickly it was obvious he had been waiting nearby. The moment he entered, something changed. Until then, her eyes were mostly on Kineas. Once he was through the flap, they were everywhere else.
‘For speaking,’ he said.
Kineas decided that he would pay some teacher in Olbia to improve on the cases of the Scyth’s nouns as soon as possible.
Lady Srayanka spoke softly and at length. Ataelus waited until she was completely finished and then asked her several questions, then she asked him a question. Finally, he turned to Kineas. ‘She says many fine things for you, you birth, and how to say? Hearting? Brave. She say you kill a very big man Getae. Man kill her — for special friend, and for dear man. Yes? And other thing. For other thing, all good. Then this — sorry she take tax on plain for her, from us. Make trouble with stone houses; make trouble for horse people Sakje. She say, “You never say Olbia!” and I say, “You never ask!” but truth for truth, you never tell me, or maybe I for understand. Or not. Yes?’
Philokles leaned over. ‘I’ve heard this before, Kineas. This Getae you killed — he had killed someone important to her. Not a relative. Not a husband. A lover? I don’t think we’ll get to know.’
Kineas nodded. Praise was praise when you valued the giver. ‘Tell her I am sorry for the loss of her friend.’
Ataelus nodded and spoke to the lady, who nodded too. She spoke, tugging one of her heavy black braids. ‘She say, “I cut these for loss.” So not now, but long ago, I think.’
She went on, gesturing with her hands. She was wearing a different coat and her golden breastplate was not in evidence, but this coat was also decorated in dark blue lines, abstract patterns from the middle of the sleeve to her wrist, and it had the same cones of gold foil wrapped around hair that tinkled and whispered as she moved.
‘Now she say other thing. She say you airyanam. Yes? You know this word?’
Kineas nodded, flattered. The Persian word for aristocrat, old noble, and also for good behaviour. ‘I know it.’
‘So she say, you this airyanam, you big man for Olbia. She say, Macedon walks here. She say, Macedon kill father, brother. I say this — big battle, ten turns of the moon. Years. Ten years. Yes? In the summer. Sakje fight Macedon. Many kill, many die, no win. But king, he killed. Me, far away on the plains, care nothing for this king, nothing for Macedon, but I hear this, too. Big battle. Big. Yes? So — so. Her father this king, So I say, not she — she big woman, big she, like I think first time. Yes?’
Philokles glanced at her and said, ‘You think her father was the king who died fighting Macedon? In a big battle ten years back. You weren’t there, but you heard a lot about it. And you think she is very important?’
‘Good for you,’ said Ataelus. ‘For me, she big. Yes? And she say, Macedon walks. She say, hands of hands of hands of men walk for Macedon, like grass, like water in river. She say, new king good man, but not fight. Or maybe fight. But if Olbia fight, king fight. Otherwise, not. King go off into plains, Macedon walks to Olbia.’
Kineas nodded that he understood what had been said. He was sitting up, watching her. She ignored his regard, concentrating on Ataelus. Now, she was passionate, her hands flashing in front of her as if she urged on a horse by pumping the reins. She was loud.
Ataelus continued. ‘She say, you big man for Olbia, you man airyanam, you make for her.’ Although Ataelus was just starting to translate her most impassioned speech, she was finished, and she sank back with her head against the tent’s central pole, her face turned up to the smoke hole, her heavy lashes covering her eyes — as if she couldn’t bear to watch the result of her words. Kineas realized that he was watching her so intently he was missing the translation of her speech.
‘You go, bring Olbia, make Olbia fight. War down Macedon. Make Sakje great, make Olbia great, break Macedon, everybody free. She say more — all word talk. And Kineax — she like you. That she not say, yes? I say it. Little childrens ouside yurt say it. Yes? Everybody say it. King poke her with it. So you knowing this, I say it.’ Ataelus was smiling, but he had forgotten that the lady spoke some Greek. Like an arrow from a bow, she rose to her feet, glared at him, struck him with her riding whip — a substantial blow that knocked him flat — and vanished through the door flap.
‘Uh oh,’ said Ataelus. He got to his feet unsteadily, holding his shoulder. Then he pushed through the flap and called out. A steady stream of obvious invective greeted him. It was quite loud, fluent, and went on for long enough that Kineas and Philokles exchanged glances.
Kineas winced. ‘Very like a Persian. I think she just said that he could eat shit. And die.’
Philokles poured himself wine. ‘I’m happy that your romance is flourishing, but I need your brain. You understand her words about Macedon?’
Kineas was still listening to her. She was running down, using words that he didn’t know. They all seemed to end in — ax. ‘Macedon? Yes, Philokles. Yes, I was listening. Macedon is coming. Listen, Philokles — I’ve made seven campaigns. I’ve been in two great battles. I know what Macedon brings. Listen to me. If Antipater comes here, he’ll have two or three Taxies of foot — half as many as Alexander has in Asia. He’ll have as many Thracians as he can pay and two thousand Heterae, the best cavalry in the world; he’ll have Thessalians and Greeks and artillery. Even if he only sends a tithe of his strength, these noble savages and our city hoplites wouldn’t last an hour.’
Philokles looked at his wine cup and then held it up. It was solid gold. ‘You’ve been sick a week. I’ve been talking to people. Mostly to Kam Baqca. She is their closest approach to a philosopher.’