Christian Cameron - King of the Bosphorus

And again the phalanx retreated, opening a gap.

She rode by a fourth time but scarcely a dozen arrows flew, and the phalanx didn't even stop. Nikephoros was on to her. He was going to march away.

But Graethe returned and led his men straight to the attack, and his first run blocked out the first stars with arrow shafts, and fifty more pikemen fell. Again they halted and closed up.

'They may be the best infantry I've ever seen,' Coenus said. 'They won't break. By the gods, they're good.'

Graethe rode back. 'Now what?'

'Give every warrior one arrow,' she said. 'We'll hit both of their flanks together and try to make them fold.'

Graethe agreed, and they rode out to the flanks. On the left, where Melitta rode, she could see horsemen crossing the last ridge. She had no idea who they were, but they were clear in the last light of the sun.

'Rally at the ford if we do not break the Greeks!' she shouted.

There was no answering shout. Her people had no life in them – they rode, and obeyed. That was all. Every face had the lines of exhaustion.

She led them wide to the left and the Greeks began to march, and then she turned inward, just as Graethe's men did the same on the right. This time they would go straight at the Greeks instead of riding along the face of their formation. If men flinched, if the arrow storm took enough lives, a rider might slip into the ranks, and then another behind, and then…

The Cruel Hands were across the ford. She could see Parshtaevalt leading his warriors forward – a thousand fresh Sakje with full quivers.

But the sun was gone, and the last light was augmented by the beacon on the fort and the line of fires burning on the beach. They had a few minutes of ruddy light, and then it would be dark.

Nikephoros had halted and was again closing his files.

Melitta put her heels to Gryphon and they went forward.

And the infantry held them. Not a Sakje died, but they were tired. A young warrior who might, in the morning, have risked his life to thread the little gap where the phylarch died with a barb in his throat reined up and turned away instead. And as the very last light died, the Sakje rode away.

It was not for nothing. All along the beach, Eumeles' second squadron lit the night sky with the fires in their hulls. And Nikephoros, driven from his camp without a fight, turned his still unbeaten phalanx from the burning gates and marched away north and east. A rider joined the phalanx, a lone man in a purple cloak. Melitta was watching him as his cloak turned from purple to black in the failing light.

'Eumeles!' a voice by her elbow called. The man turned his head and then rode on, joining the retreat of the phalanx. She turned to see who had shouted.

'To Tartarus with him,' Satyrus said, and threw his arms around his sister.

They camped on the field with the dead. Temerix came in an hour after dark with all his men and reported that Upazan had crossed the river to the north and was coming up fast.

Satyrus was bigger than she remembered. He seemed to have swollen to fill the role of king. She let him do it. Men called him Wanax, the old title, and Basileus, and he was like a demi-god. She felt tired and dirty next to his magnificent armour, his perfect physique and his unscarred face.

Before the night was an hour old, he had set the camp and together, the two of them walked from fire to fire, visiting Sakje and Olbians, farmers and sailors.

'My men are annoyed that they have to put out the fires they started,' Satyrus joked. His ships were still working, transporting the Olbian infantry over the river after disgorging all the Macedonians who had served as marines. 'We could have had all Eumeles' ships. But we didn't know you and Urvara could hold so many men for so long.'

Melitta smiled. 'We did it with our teeth,' she said. 'Don't you sleep?'

'We're going to fight in the morning,' he said. 'I don't want any mistakes. Most of our people fought today, Lita. If we don't put spirit in them-'

'You could start by putting some of that spirit in me, brother,' she said. 'If I thought I could, I'd desert. I'm done.'

He put his arms around her, and she stayed there. 'You are superb,' he said. 'You were going to do it all without me, weren't you?'

'We thought that you were dead, until we landed and heard the news,' she said.

He smiled. 'Listen, honey bee. We've got them. We've got them.' He pulled his shoulder blades back sharply and flexed his arms. 'Their fleet is gone. Upazan is nothing – a horse lord with his power base a thousand stades away, deep in our territory.'

She shook her head. 'Spirit is all, Satyrus. If we lose tomorrow, we are the ones who are finished.' She paused. 'I wish Diodorus were here.'

They were between fires. Behind them, Olbians shouted and poured libations. They were fresh men, and their father's friend Memnon, hoary with age and still hard as a rock, led them in the hymn to Ares.

Memnon came and embraced them both. 'Tomorrow, we will put Eumeles in the dust, where he belongs, the cur,' he said.

'May Ares protect you, Memnon,' Melitta said. 'You have grown old in his service – and few of his servants grow old!'

Memnon looked around. 'I had to come,' he said. 'I couldn't miss this. My last fight, I suspect – some kid will put a spear in my throat and I'll curse the dark when it falls.' He thumped his chest. 'I was at Issus with the Great King. This will be my tenth battle in the front rank.'

Satyrus was moved by the old man. He put a gentle hand on Memnon's back. 'May Herakles protect you. You deserve better than a death in battle.'

Memnon laughed and went back to his men. 'Better a spear to the throat in the storm of bronze than dying of the shits in painful old age, lad,' he called.

At the north end of the camp, Ataelus's clan was a silent, mournful knot – those who were awake. As they walked there, Satyrus stopped, looking out over the sea in the moonlight. He could hear the sound of wild beasts rooting in the bodies.

Satyrus set his face. 'About Diodorus – you are right – and right to remind me.' He shook his head. 'I left the horse transports to catch Eumeles at sea. I had to do it – but a thousand professional cavalry would be the balance of this battle.'

Melitta had to smile at her brother. 'People and spirit,' she said. 'With or without Diodorus, what will win tomorrow is spirit. So let us talk to every man and every woman, even if we get no sleep.'

At Ataelus's fire, Ataelus was awake, with his son by his side. The little man embraced Satyrus. 'You look for your father,' he said, enigmatically.

Satyrus nodded. 'I look like him?' he asked.

'For him,' Ataelus said. 'You have looks for him.'

Melitta introduced her brother to Tameax as her baqca, and to Thyrsis, and to all the nomads with whom she had lived in the weeks before she'd made her bid for kingship.

And while they stood on the low hill, Urvara came with Eumenes of Olbia and many of their people, all carrying torches. Nihmu came, and Coenus, and Lykeles and Lycurgus from the Olbians. All the old people, the ones who had gone east with Kineas and Srayanka twenty years before.

They surprised Satyrus by singing. First the Sakje sang, and they clapped while they sang, and Melitta joined them, her low voice merging seamlessly with the tribesmen and women around her. They sang about Srayanka and her horse, and how her eyes were the blue of winter rivers in the sun. And then they sang about Samahe, and how she had nursed infants, and how many men she had killed in battle, and how she had killed a snow leopard in the high mountains north of Sogdiana. And another song about how she and Ataelus had hunted something monstrous in the east, and lived.

Then Coenus and Eumenes rose and sang, and many of Eumenes' young men took parts. Abraham appeared with Panther and Demostrate, Diokles, Neiron – dozens of the sailors and marines from the camp on the beach. They all knew the Greek songs. Satyrus walked from his place by his sister to stand with the new archon of Olbia. They sang a song from the Iliad, and another about Penelope, and a third song about Athena, the warrior goddess, that men said was by Hesiod, or perhaps Homer himself. They sang well, for men who didn't sing together, and when they were finished, Ataelus stepped into the firelight.