In a number of ways, Karanos was the quintessential Greek hoplite. He was brave in battle and disciplined. And he had damn little respect for anyone.
With his ire mostly sated for the moment, he kicked the slave and started giving orders. “Pack for a sea voyage. We will be taking everything, but keep it quiet.”
The slave, Hermagoras, did as he was told. He hated Karanos, had hated him for years. But it was a very subdued hatred, a hatred that was tempered by the fact that Karanos had killed more than one slave in Hermagoras’ presence, and by the fact that Hermagoras was a battle captive. While still a slave, battle captive was a significantly higher status than being two-footed livestock. He knew his business and between him and Karanos’ other two slaves, and Karanos’ wife and daughter, they got everything packed away.
Then Hermagoras sneaked away for a couple of hours to talk. Daphne was a slave of Evander, the other commander of sixty-four. And a much nicer man.
“Did you hear?” Daphne asked.
“The packing? Yes. Karanos is angry about something.”
“No. I mean where we’re going. I heard Elysia talking to the mistress about it. We’re going to the ship people.”
“Why would that make Karanos angry?”
“The ship people don’t allow slavery.”
Hermagoras had heard that, but he didn’t believe it. He snorted in derision and Daphne stood up.
“Wait. I’m sorry. But you must realize—”
“I heard the mistress talking to Trajan’s wife, I tell you. They are going to Athens and there they are going to free us so that they can get on the ship.” Daphne stopped abruptly and Hermagoras got a bad feeling in his belly.
“What else, Daphne?”
Daphne looked to the left, then to the right…anywhere but at Hermagoras. He reached out, gently took her chin in his hand, and forced her to face him. “What else?”
“Elysia…well, she said that once we got to Athens, they would have to decide whether to free us or sell us. My mistress said that she would free us because she would rather see us dead than owned by some Athenian farmer with pretensions of philosophy.”
Now Hermagoras’ stomach felt like lead, heavy and painful. And it wasn’t fear of Karanos killing him that made it feel that way. It was the thought that Karanos wouldn’t kill him. Instead, he would sell him, make him andrapodon, livestock in the form of a man. Hermagoras was dmōs, a war captive, someone who if the gods had frowned upon, at least at one time had been a warrior. To be made into livestock was more than could be borne. But Hermagoras remembered a time when the thought of being a war captive was more than could be borne. He remembered that time dimly, for he had been a war captive for many years.
Hermagoras had never heard of the white antebellum man from the southern United States who had proclaimed “I’d rather be dead than be a slave on one of these big plantations.” But if time were to twist in such a way that he could face that man, he would laugh in his face and spit on his shoes. For Hermagoras had learned the hard way what it was to be a slave, and in a cold dread part of his heart he knew that he would fail, again, to kill himself to escape this further dishonor. Hermagoras hated himself for that knowledge, but he would have despised that self-righteous moron from the antebellum south.
Mugla
May 24
“We need to move, Trajan,” Elysia said. “We can’t keep the preparations a secret for long.”
“I know. But we have to time this right,” Trajan said. “I don’t know what will happen to us if we get to Athens and the ship people aren’t there. You know what the Athenians did to that bastard Harpalus, who stole all the money from Alexander.”
“Well, it won’t be any worse than what Antigonus will do to us if he finds out before we are gone. Hades, let them lock us up. They’ll spend so much time arguing about it that the ship people will get there and—”
“That’s right and what? We don’t know what the ship people will do about Eurydice. Even if they insist that the Athenians turn her over, what makes you think they will rescue us?”
It was a good question, but it was already too late.
☆ ☆ ☆
“No,” Hermagoras muttered as he drank another mug of wine. “I won’t do it. This time I’ll fall on my fucking sword.” But he knew he was lying. For one thing, he didn’t have a sword any longer.
“Can’t be that bad,” said Hippolochus. Hippolochus was a slave of Antigonus, taken many years ago in a fight between Athens and Philip II. He had worked his way up in the household to a fairly comfortable position. He could read and write and was a scribe for Antigonus, and a tutor—when he couldn’t avoid the duty—for Antigonus’ son, Demetrius.
“They’re going to sell me.”
“To whom? One of the local fishermen have an especially good catch?”
Hermagoras looked blearily over at Hippolochus, made a rude gesture, and said, “Worse. Athenians!” Then, realizing what he’d said, Hermagoras clamped his mouth shut on the already escaped words.
Hippolochus was staring at him, and Hermagoras—though still drunk—now realized he was drunk and said nothing. Then, made brave by the wine, he committed a sort of suicide. He couldn’t fall on his sword, but if he told the little snitch what was going on, Karanos would kill him. That had to be better than being the slave of an Athenian.
Hippolochus listened to the drunken sot and tried to decide. He had been a slave for years and he was fairly comfortable. But he wanted to see Athens again. He wanted to stand in the Parthenon, offering gifts to Demetria. If he held back and let them get away, Antigonus might well follow them. On the other hand, if he told now, he would be rewarded.
It was after midnight before Hippolochus had a plan. He would wait, but he would have a good excuse for waiting. He would investigate and discover all he could about the Silver Shields’ betrayal, and tell Antigonus that he was trying to find out what was planned rather than just bringing him vague rumors. The only thing that really worried him was that someone else might catch on and tell Antigonus before he did.
CHAPTER 23
Mugla
“I have a boat,” Trajan told Eurydice, “but I will need one of those bracelets as a surety.”
“A galley?” Eurydice asked, confused. There was no galley in the harbor.
“No. A grain shipper. The Demetria.”
“They’ll catch us at sea.”
“Not if they don’t know where we’re going,” Trajan said. “Besides, it’s out of Crete, and it has the new sailing rig and the compass and sextant that the ship people are selling.”
“What’s a sextant?”
“I don’t know, but the captain says it will let him tell precisely how far north he is. And make a good guess at how far west. It means he won’t have to hug the coast. In fact, the only reason he came here was to sell grain to the army.”
“When?”
“Tonight. An hour after midnight. Something about the tides.”
☆ ☆ ☆
Amerias saw that arrogant snot Trajan leave the queen’s tent and was curious. So he followed him. Trajan went around to the tents of the Silver Shields, and where he went activity followed. In all but two tents.
Something was going on. Amerias didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t bode well.
Once the commander of Philip’s bodyguard was done with the tents, he headed down to the wharves. Amerias followed quietly at a distance. It was almost not enough distance. Twice he was almost seen by other Shields as they too filtered down to the docks. After the second time, he knew. Or he would have known, if there had been a galley in the harbor. But there wasn’t. There was just a sailing ship, a round-bottomed grain ship that was of no use at all in war.
Amerias was nervous enough by now to want to see what was in the tents that hadn’t become active after Trajan passed. He made his way back to the Shields’ part of the camp. It was like a ghost town. All the tents were there, but no one was home. He found one of the tents h
e was looking for, and slipped in. He stumbled over something small in the door of the tent, and pulled back the flap to get some light. There wasn’t much. It was after midnight. Most of the lamps were out, and while the moon was up, it was a cloudy night.
But there was a little light. Enough to make out the leg of a child, maybe three or four years old. Pale white skin and black rivulets in the moonlight.
It was blood, and it was from the throat of the child. A throat that was opened to the bone with a single stroke. The work of an expert. It was a little girl, Amerias thought. And he smelled blood, and piss, and shit. People had died in this tent. Not just the little girl. Probably everyone.
He turned and made his way to the house in the fishing village that Antigonus had taken for his own.
☆ ☆ ☆
Hippolochus heard the pounding and went to check. “You had better have—”
The Macedonian, a member of the Companion Cavalry who were unwilling to serve under Eumenes and too poor to go home, hit him. Hard, across the mouth.
“Fetch the general!” Amerias shouted.
Hippolochus was still getting up when Antigonus came in to the front room. “Never mind, Hippo. Amerias has fetched me himself. Now, why are you disturbing my sleep?”
“It’s the Silver Shields. They are doing something.”
“Doing what?” Antigonus asked, but he had been looking at his fallen slave when Amerias spoke. He saw the change in expression. “And what do you know about it, Hippo?”
“I don’t know anything, Satrap. That’s why I hadn’t reported. But there were rumors that they were interested in Athens. Nothing solid. Barely more than mist in the morning.”
Amerias held up a bloody hand. “This is solid, General. This is from a little girl whose whole family was murdered to keep them quiet.”
“Where are they?”
“The harbor.”
“That makes no sense. There are no galleys in the harbor.”
“The Demetria,” Hippolochus said.
“What about the grain ship?”
“It has the new sail rigging and the new floating compass,” Hippolochus said.
“Why didn’t…”
“I just thought of it this minute, Satrap.”
Demetria
May 25
“Cast off the ropes,” Samus, the master of the Demetria whispered, and the word was passed. The ropes were cast off. He tapped his brother and first mate on the shoulders, then gestured to the main sail.
His brother nodded and went to help loose the sail. The wind was from the northeast and light, very light. The docks were facing east and west, and by angling his sail about forty degrees, he could get some forward motion. It took practice, and the crew was still new at the technique, so it was taking a lot more time than he liked. The surprising thing was that the angled sail produced more motion than if the wind was behind them. He had flatly not believed that when he read about the rigging, but it was true.
Noise came from the village, and a grizzled man in worn and dirty armor was suddenly next to him.
“You just handle your boat. We’ll handle them.” Trajan hooked a thumb contemptuously at the village.
Now, for the first time, Samus believed that this was one of the famed Silver Shields. Really believed it. He swallowed against a suddenly dry throat and nodded. He couldn’t get the words out.
☆ ☆ ☆
Trajan was amused, or he would be later. For right now, he was too scared to be amused. But it was an old fear, familiar as his sandal, and in its way as comforting as his woman. The fear was proof he was alive. He signaled Karanos. “You take your boys and hold the railing. Evander, I want a roof of shields over the whole deck. We don’t have to kill the stupid horse boys, just hold them off while the wind carries us away. They can’t get at our flanks, not unless they have taught those horses to run on water.”
The women and the slaves were sent below deck to share space with the grain. Except Eurydice, who insisted on staying above deck…and if Eurydice was putting herself at risk, Philip III wasn’t going to hide.
Oh gods! Trajan thought. I don’t believe it. Buggering Antigonus is leading the charge.
It was true, though. The giant one-eyed man in his gilded armor was at the head of the cavalry force that was riding to the pier.
What? Trajan thought, then he realized why Karanos was using the long spear. Silver Shields were cross-trained and double-equipped. They had both the short ten-foot spears, and the long twenty-foot spears. In fact, their spears were both. You could pull off the back ten-foot segment and have a ten-foot spear or you could use both segments and have a twenty-foot spear. The fact that they could use the weapon either way, as well as their shields and swords, was a part of what made them elite troops.
What had first shocked Trajan was that Karanos had his men using the full twenty-foot version of their spears. It made sense, though. There it was. Karanos ordered them “half left face” and the Shields shifted their position. Then, just as the horses were getting close, the men lowered their spears.
And the fucking boat shifted. They were big heavy spears and they had a large momentum. With that much weight sent out over the side, the ship angled over. Not much. The deck didn’t lower more than a foot or so, and that not suddenly. But these were ground troops, not sailors. They weren’t expecting it. Four men lost their footing and were forced to let go of their spears or go over the side. And the whole forest of spear tips shifted and waved about.
☆ ☆ ☆
Antigonus saw that shifting forest of spear points and thought he saw his chance. The Shields didn’t shift like that. They held those massive double-length spears steady as rocks. He didn’t know what it meant, not in any conscious thought-out way, but it felt like the famous Silver Shields had broken. He charged, leading his men.
But the Shields had not broken. Just momentarily lost their footing. By the time his horse reached the spear points, they were ready—if not exactly steady.
It is a truism that it is not the horses’ war. And, like most truisms, there is some truth there. But also, like most truisms, it’s an oversimplification. The horse doesn’t know what the fight is about. But it generally knows that there is a fight, and its rider is on its side. A horse, a good horse, will run itself to death for its rider. It will also—sometimes at least—run onto pikes at its rider’s command.
Sometimes.
This was one of those times. Through a combination of trust in its rider, its blood being up, and the fact that it didn’t have anywhere else to go, Antigonus One-eye’s horse tried to leap over the pikes and into the boat.
It tried.
But it didn’t make it.
Antigonus’ horse rose, and Pausanias lifted his spear to match the motion. It was a tremendous feat of strength, especially for a sixty-two-year-old man. But Pausanias had been manipulating that double-length spear for forty years, and he barely grunted as he jerked it up. He grunted only a little more as the just-over-a-ton of horse and rider impaled itself on the spear point. The spear went back and its base wedged against a hatch. It bent and as heavy and strong as the wood of that spear was, it wasn’t that strong.
It broke.
But not until almost all of the horse and rider’s forward momentum was used up.
Horse and rider went down.
Almost straight down, between pier and ship.
And for the second time in a conflict with Eurydice, Antigonus One-eye took a bath.
☆ ☆ ☆
Eurydice stared, and was still staring when Philip laughed and exclaimed: “Interrupted arc!”
“Is the salt going to be good for your gold-plated armor?” Eurydice shouted at Antigonus.
Then the arrows started coming. Sheets and sheets of arrows, fired from shore, over the heads of the cavalry milling around on the pier. Most of the arrows, but by no means all, were being stopped by the shields held up as umbrellas against the deadly rain.
All this took o
nly moments. Less than half a minute since they saw Antigonus riding down the pier. The ship was still no more than a spear-length from the pier, and less than fifty yards from the shore.
On that shore, Cassander sat his horse and ordered the horse archers to fire on the ship. It wasn’t as glorious and legend-producing as Antigonus’ charge, but it was proving a lot more effective.
Well…a little more effective. The ship was still moving away from the pier, and the sails were already rigged. For the people on the ship it was just “hunker down and let the wind do the work.”
Cassander was shouting something, then someone was riding back to the village.
For a few minutes, nothing much happened. The ship made fifty yards, then a hundred, and it was getting hard for the archers’ bows to reach. But a ship, especially a grain ship, makes a turtle seem fleet of foot. The Demetria was barely making one knot. A cripple could catch them…if he could crawl on the water.
Antigonus had been fished out by the time the first fire arrow was shot at the Demetria. By then they were almost out of range. Only four fire arrows out of at least a hundred that were shot reached the Demetria, and only one reached the sail. A quick bucket of salt water did for that.
☆ ☆ ☆
“Get me dry clothes,” Antigonus said with quiet menace, and his slaves ran to obey. “And bring me Hippo.”
When Hippolochus arrived, at about the same time as the clothes, Antigonus waved the clothes away and asked, “Where are they going?”
There was something in the general’s voice that reminded Hippolochus just how dangerous his master could be. Antigonus One-eye was a man of flamboyant gestures, but he hadn’t lost that eye playing dice. He had lost it in a battle. Right now the very lack of flamboyance made clear the killer beneath.