Read Online Tyrant: King of the Bosporus by Christian Cameron - Free Book Online Page A

savable – he could have him clearof the water in two days’ work. But the feeling of failure – of defeat – from the day before continued to linger, alongside the pressure of the knowledge that enemy warships would be hunting him in the dawn.
    ‘Get the oarsmen armed and build us a wall – stakes, anything,’ Satyrus said to Diokles.
    Diokles shook his head. ‘With all respect, lord, there’s not ten trees in fifty stades. That there’s the sea of grass, or so I’ve been told. You grew up there, eh?’
    Satyrus nodded miserably. ‘Too true, my friend. But digging trenches in the beach seems foolish.’
    ‘Here’s Theron and a farmer,’ Diokles said.
    The farmer, an old man with a straight back, met Satyrus’s eye without flinching. ‘Alexander,’ he said, offering his hand to clasp. ‘Gentleman here says you are the son of Kineas of Athens. You have the look.’
    Satyrus had to smile. ‘You knew my father?’
    ‘Only two days,’ the farmer said with a nod. ‘That was enough to know him well. Are you the same stock? Or are you some reiver come to pillage my house?’
    Satyrus stood straight. ‘I am my father’s son,’ he said. ‘We fought Eumeles of Pantecapaeum yesterday and had the worst of it. My ship lost his ram. I need to refit the
Falcon
and not fall afoul of Eumeles’ jackals.’
    Alexander the farmer rubbed his bearded chin. ‘See that cairn?’ he said.
    Satyrus nodded. ‘I see it.’
    Alexander nodded back. ‘That’s one of your father’s men, died in a skirmish here – must have been twenty years ago.’
    Satyrus shook his head in wonder. ‘I know who you are! You sold my father grain! That’s the grave of Graccus!’
    ‘Graccus, aye, that’s the name.’ Alexander nodded. ‘If you will come and swear on his grave and in your father’s name to do me no harm – why, then, I’ll open my barns to your men.’
    ‘And if not?’ Diokles asked.
    Alexander smiled. ‘Always best to know both sides of a bargain, eh? If not, I light my signal fire, and my friends come off the sea of grass to see why I need help.’
    Satyrus laughed. ‘Assagatje!’ he said. Suddenly the day was lighter.
    Diokles shook his head but Theron came forward. ‘His mother’s people. Cruel Hands Assagatje.’
    Satyrus took Alexander by the hand. ‘Let’s go and swear on the grave of my father’s friend,’ he said.

ALEXANDRIA, 311 BC
     
    M en – at least, the kind of men who kept their women in cloisters and forbade them education and company – might have been surprised by the speed with which Sappho, Nihmu and Melitta planned the overthrow of Eumeles.
    Phiale’s news was less than an hour old before they had the outlines of their plan made.
    ‘The old gods of Chaos are waiting in the wings,’ Sappho said, her lips smeared with ink. She was writing lists. ‘We leave a great deal to chance.’
    Nihmu was packing, quickly and quietly, slipping in and out of the room to stack bags against a wall. She paused, comparing two bows and choosing one. ‘There is always something for chance,’ she said.
    Sappho chewed on her pen. ‘Where will you land?’ she asked.
    Nihmu stopped as if this hadn’t occurred to her before. ‘Where we can get horses immediately,’ she said.
    Melitta was struggling with the idea that she was going to leave her precious baby with a wet-nurse and sail away. The indecision was like agony – the thrill of the adventure she had craved for so long, balanced exactly against the pain of leaving the small body that had grown to fill her life in just two months. ‘We could land at the Temple of Herakles,’ she said. ‘Remember, Coenus?’
    Coenus nodded. ‘She’s right, by all the gods, and the more fool I for forgetting. The old priestess – gods send she still holds sway, but I suspect she’s gone across the river by now – she hates Eumeles. Gorgippia, for sure. We can buy a dozen horses and be gone into the Maeotae country before Eumeles has any word of