Christian Cameron: Force of Kings

‘Something feels wrong,’ Stratokles said.

Lucius nodded. ‘No one is licking your arse, lord,’ he said.

That settled it. Crude as he could be, Lucius had hit the rivet square. On a day like this — a day that capped a generation of clever diplomacy and careful betrayal, Stratokles should have been surrounded by sycophants and flatterers and great men seeking favour.

Instead, he’d been left alone, and his involvement with the details of the costumes and the lighting and the ceremony had fooled him.

‘I’m for the axe,’ he said. ‘I can feel it.’

‘You see Phiale?’ Lucius asked.

‘Like seeing a ghost.’ Stratokles risked a glance over his shoulder. He was a realist, but his heart was pounding and he still couldn’t believe it. Why — why ? Why would his beloved mistress sacrifice him? But Phiale’s controlled reactions told him an answer. His mistress was to be used, not courted. Lysimachos wanted him gone.

His glance happened to intercept that of one of the bodyguards. The man flinched — visibly. He was a man Stratokles had chosen himself — a Macedonian left behind by one of Satyrus of Tanais’s military adventures, a man who owed Stratokles his very life. And the man wouldn’t meet his eye.

‘Arse-cunt,’ Stratokles said softly. If the guards were in on it, then Amastris herself had sold him.

The wedding was heartbeats from commencement. He could see the two priestesses of Hera at the head of the procession of religious figures and Heraklean gentry, most of them awestruck to be in the presence of the leading figures of their day.

‘We need to go,’ Stratokles said.

Lucius nodded.

Phiale pressured her lover’s arm gently. ‘My lord?’

Cassander turned to her, and waved at a handsome, dark-faced man by his side. ‘My lady, the Courtesan Phiale of Athens. This is Mithridates, lord of Bithynia. A new ally against Antigonus.’

‘I have long desired to be your ally, my lord.’ Mithridates looked Persian, with a long, straight nose and perfect skin. Phiale found him attractive — she wanted to touch that skin. ‘But this wedding puts your forces on my side of the Bosporus, and makes our cooperation possible. If I can evict my uncle from the throne.’

‘It was very clever indeed of Stratokles to have seen that you could be enticed to join us.’ Cassander smiled brilliantly. ‘He outdoes himself. Sometimes I think that we are all merely his puppets. Have you seen him?’ Cassander asked.

Phiale turned her head slightly. ‘There he is, lord. Talking to the red-haired man.’

‘Herakles, how can a man live, being so ugly? You have met him, Mithridates?’ Cassander’s eyes were moving rapidly around the room. ‘What did he have to say to you , my dear?’

Mithridates bowed. ‘I have met him. My lord, I must make my introductions to Philip of Babylon. Phiale, you are the most beautiful woman in the room.’ His eyes lay on hers for a moment, and she sighed at the unexpected compliment. Mithridates stepped away into the throng, and Cassander pulled her wrist until they were beside a pillar — the closest to privacy a king could manage at the edge of a great wedding.

‘What did he say to you?’ Cassander hissed.

‘You know him, my lord?’ Phiale asked.

‘I know him, my dear. I have — hmm — made use of him in my day.’ Cassander smiled, a handsome, charming man at the height of his powers. ‘You are no friend of his, I take it?’

Phiale smiled brilliantly at Seleucus’s brother, causing the younger man to spill some wine. ‘I hate him. He used me — ill.’

‘Then you’ll be pleased to know that he’s living his last hour,’ Cassander said. He gave her a thin smile. ‘He is a dangerous man who has outlived his usefulness. He arranged this wedding, and Lysimachos wants him gone. Lysimachos wants this city and its trade and its back door into Asia to lie like a woman, ready to his will — not to have ideas of its own. Stratokles must go. He is too good.’ Cassander sighed. ‘So good that I will miss him. Even when he fails, he owns up. Few of my tools are so apt to the hand as he.’

Phiale gave Cassander a brief look. ‘And Satyrus of Tanais?’ she asked.

Cassander laughed. The Priestess of Hera was at the head of her procession, visible just across the temple portico, and the ceremony was ready. His laugh carried easily over the temple, and heads turned. ‘Lysimachos will settle him,’ Cassander said.

‘If I told you that I could rid you of him — with no repercussions?’ she asked.

Cassander kissed her. ‘Then I would love you more, if possible, than I do now.’

She smiled. ‘After the wedding, I will require a fast ship for Athens.’

‘After the wedding I had other plans for us, my dear.’ He ran a finger under her chin.

‘Does Socrates not say that the pleasures of revenge are more beautiful than the pleasures of love?’ Phiale asked.

‘Not that I’m aware of,’ Cassander said.

‘He should have,’ Phiale answered.

‘Well?’ Lucius asked. ‘Do you have a brilliant plan?’

Stratokles didn’t have the energy to laugh. He was angry, and under the anger was the start of a bleak depression. How could Amastris have betrayed him? He wanted to confront her — but that was madness. If he was wrong, she would be very angry, and if he was right, she would kill him.

‘No brilliant plan. Just start walking. Come on.’ He began to walk with a purposeful stride towards the inner temple. He was careful to keep his head down, as if he was listening attentively to Lucius.

‘They won’t just let us walk away,’ Lucius said.

‘They may,’ Stratokles opined. ‘Listen — the procession of priests is at the portico. Custom holds men rigid — better than chains. No one will interrupt the ceremony. Keep walking.’

A few steps from the inner temple — almost safe — he saw the flicker of a cloak and his peripheral vision caught a nose, an eyebrow shape.

‘Zeus Meilichios,’ Stratokles said. ‘It’s the doctor.’

Leon paused for a moment, savouring the weight of the white stones in his hand. He examined the board carefully, and then chose to make his capture rather than move. He took another white stone off the board and rattled them in his hand.

Ptolemy laughed his gruff, farmer’s laugh. ‘You know,’ he said, rolling his knucklebones, ‘I have courtiers who know enough to lose to me.’

Leon watched the king roll a four. ‘You should play with them, then,’ he said.

Ptolemy moved two stones and removed one of Leon’s black stones. He hesitated a long time over his fourth move, and finally, with enormous hesitation, he advanced a single stone. ‘It’s different,’ he said.

Leon rolled his knucklebone without a moment’s hesitation. It came up a six. As the king of Aegypt groaned, he moved his forces swiftly, isolating Ptolemy’s latest, hesitant attack, capturing two white stones, and leaving the result of the game in no doubt.

Ptolemy shook his head. ‘More wine?’

Leon shook his, too. ‘No. I have all my accounts to review tomorrow, and ships in the yard to inspect.’ He rose. ‘I could tell you how to play better,’ he said.

‘Bah, you could no doubt tell me how to run my kingdom better,’ Ptolemy said. ‘I recommend you don’t.’ He took a drink of wine while slaves rushed about — some getting Leon’s sandals, others his mantle.

Leon paused for a moment. ‘Did you ever think, when you were fighting in the Kush with Alexander, that someday you’d have all this?’

Ptolemy grinned. ‘Remember when Kineas took me prisoner? I didn’t know you then — were you there?’

Leon nodded. ‘I was at the fire when Philokles brought you in.’