Christian Cameron - Funeral Games

Satyrus saw humps moving opposite him. Elephants. He stumbled and forced himself to stand upright. Ares. Ares, god of war, do not let me be a coward.

Curiously, the elephants had a steadying effect on Satyrus, most of all because he knew that his sister had to face them and he wanted her safe. Thinking of other people was a strange relief from fear, but it was real – as if fear was something selfish.

Aha.

Satyrus smiled. He turned and looked at the pale faces of his companions. Philokles was still ahead of the phalanx, as was Theron on the opposite flank.

‘Watch your spacing, Aegypt!’ Satyrus called. He forced a smile at the front rank. ‘They’re only elephants, gentlemen!’

Fifty paces forward, and then a hundred, and then another hundred. The elephants were two stades away – less – and he could feel it when they moved. In less than a minute, the great brown and grey creatures would be among the Ptolemaic skirmishers – and his sister would be facing the monsters.

‘Halt!’ the trumpets called.

‘Fall out the shield-bearers!’ Philokles called.

This is it.

Abraham reached over, shield and all, and they embraced. Satyrus reached past Abraham to clasp arms with Dionysius and then with Xeno. Xeno held on to his arm. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. Behind him, his boy flashed a shy smile and turned to leave the ranks.

Satyrus grinned and hugged him. ‘Tell me later!’ he said, and his grin wasn’t faked.

All around him, as the servants cleared the files, men clasped hands. Satyrus got a quick squeeze from Diokles and another from Namastis, a kiss from Dionysius, and then the files were clear.

‘Half files, close to the front!’ Philokles called. The same order could be heard from the Foot Companions, who were just to their right.

Namastis marched his half-file forward to fill the opening left by the shield-bearers. Now the phalanx was eight deep but much closer in order. Behind Satyrus, Diokles and the rest of the file shuffled forward to form the close-order battle formation.

Satyrus could see Panion, the commander of the Foot Companions, striding across the sand towards Philokles. His body betrayed rage.

‘You are crowding my files with your fucking slaves,’ Panion said. ‘Double your files again and give me room.’

‘Your men must have drifted on the march,’ Philokles said. ‘We’re matched with the White Shields on our left.’ He shrugged. ‘Open out to the right.’

Panion spat. ‘I’ve had enough of you, Greek. You and your corps of baggage-handlers don’t belong in the line. I told Ptolemy you’d lose him the battle. Now you’re on my flank. And you know what? You and your pack of dogs? Cowards!’

‘Go back to your taxeis,’ Philokles said. ‘We are in the same army. I do not question your courage – have the courtesy to do the same.’

Panion spat. ‘Listen to you!’ He turned to face the Phalanx of Aegypt. ‘Most of you will be dead in an hour! You don’t even have to stand in the line! Your so-called polemarch demanded that you stand in the battle line. Run along home, now, Gyptos!’

The Phalanx of Aegypt shuffled. Panion laughed contemptuously. ‘Dogs pretending to be men,’ he said.

‘Turn and face me,’ Philokles said.

Panion turned.

‘Listen, Macedonians!’ Philokles roared, and his voice carried a stade. ‘I am a man of Sparta. When we charge the enemy, see who flinches. No man in our ranks has a friend across the lines, Macedonians. No man there will offer a single one of our men mercy.’ He walked up to Panion, and stood a half a hand taller. ‘Foot Companions! Your officer is bought and paid for by the enemy.’ Philokles pulled his cloak back off his shoulder.

‘You lie-’ Panion began, and he raised his spear.

‘Let the gods say who lies!’ Philokles roared. Panion struck, but Philokles’ arm moved as fast as a thunderbolt and his spear slammed into Panion’s helmet and the man went down.

Philokles laughed.

Satyrus was an arm’s length from the nearest Macedonian file. They were roiling with fury.

‘Macedonians!’ came a roar from behind Satyrus. He turned to see Ptolemy and Seleucus on horseback, brilliantly armoured and surrounded by Hetairoi. ‘Macedonians! The enemy is Demetrios, who we will destroy in a few hours. The enemy is not next to you in line. The next man who speaks against another is a traitor – mark my words.’ He looked down at Panion, who was rising from the dust.

‘Fucker-’ Panion said, with something incomprehensible.

‘Prove the charge unfounded on the field,’ said the lord of Aegypt. He pointed at the commander of his foot-guards. ‘Myself,’ he said, just loudly enough that the front rank of both taxeis could hear. ‘Myself, I think you probably are a fucking traitor, Panion. Die well and I’ll see to your widow. Try to screw me, and I’ll put my mercenaries right into your shieldless flank and you will all die whether I win or not.’ The lord of Aegypt waved his arm at ranks and ranks of Diodorus’s Exiles, who stood by their horses on the flank of the Foot Companions.

Then the lord of Aegypt waved, and most men cheered – not the Foot Companions – and Philokles stood and faced them. He clasped hands with Philokles and rode away, leaving Panion in the sand.

Behind him, the elephants were closing on the toxotai.

‘Men of Alexandria,’ Philokles said. He paused, and even Panion’s men fell silent. ‘Yesterday, or two weeks ago, or a year ago, you were different men. You lived a different life. Some of you are rich men, and some are poor. Some of you stole, and others drank wine. Somewhere in these ranks is a man who killed for money. Another carried bricks. Some of you are Greek, and some are Aegyptian. A few of you are even Macedonian.’ He paused, and men laughed.

‘Today, no one cares how you lived. All that men will ever say of you is how you fought here, and how you died. Are you in debt? Desperate? The gods hate you?’ His voice rose to fill the air, as if a god was speaking – the voice of Ares come to earth. ‘Stand your ground today and die if you must, and all men will ever say of you is that you served the city. You will go with the heroes – your name will adorn a shrine. Be better than you were. Serve the city. Stand in your ranks and push when I call you. Remember that you will have no mercy at the hands of the men across the sand. Not a one of you will be spared.’

He raised his spear over his head. ‘When I call, every man must push forward one more step. Understand?’

‘Yes!’ they roared.

‘Remember, every one of you! There is nothing but this day and this hour. Show your gods who you really are.’ He lowered his spear and walked to his place in the line, pulling his helmet down and fastening the cheekpieces.

‘Not your usual take on philosophy,’ Satyrus said, when his tutor took his place.

Philokles stood straight. ‘Wisdom has a different look from the front rank,’ he said to Satyrus, with a smile that showed under his cheekpieces. ‘Prepare to march!’ he roared.

The Aegyptian peltastai stood their ground longer than Melitta had expected. Just in front of her pit, they closed their ranks and counter-charged the enemy psiloi, running the bronze-shielded men back among their elephants. Then they lost their nerve and retreated, and their officers couldn’t hold them after a man was caught by an elephant and spitted on her sword-tipped tusks. The animal shook the dying man and he split open.

The peltastai ran back half a stade. Melitta stopped watching them. She had targets.

She loosed a dozen arrows at the leading elephants before she knew that her shafts were having no effect. The lead elephant had so many arrows sticking out of her back that it looked as if she’d sprouted some scraggly feathers, but the beast continued her leisurely stroll forward, still tossing the remnants of the peltastes on the twin swords around her mouth.