Tyrant: King of the Bosporus by Christian Cameron

Eumeles.’ Talkes shook his head. ‘Killedsome men from the militia yesterday morning in a fight on the beach. Killed mistress’s father, too. Burned some farms. Thought you might be one of them. Still not sure, mind. Teax, get back to the house, now. Tell mistress about the stranger. I’ll wait here.’ The man looked at him, tilting his head. ‘You are Satyrus, then? The one the soldiers are looking for?’ Talkes turned. ‘Run, girl!’
    The woman so addressed – the younger one – vanished like a foal from a spring hunt, pulling her heavy wool chiton up her legs and running as fast as an athlete.
    ‘I have some wine I could share,’ Satyrus offered.
    ‘Keep it,’ Talkes said. ‘The rest of you, back to work.’ Talkes backed away and lowered his spear, and he stood in the shadow of an old apple tree, watching his labourers and Satyrus by turns.
    Satyrus thought that he probably knew everything he needed to know. But curiosity held him. He drank a mouthful of his own wine and hunkered down on his haunches to wait.
    ‘I’d have a swallow of that now, if you was to offer again, stranger.’ Talkes took a hesitant step closer.
    Satyrus nodded. He put the stopper back in his flask and set it on the ground. Then he picked up his spear, rabbit and all, and stepped well clear. ‘Be my guest.’
    Talkes sidled up to the canteen carefully, as if afraid it might be a dangerous animal. But he took a swallow and smiled.
    ‘You’re a gent, and no mistake,’ he said. ‘Mind you, you could still be one of the tyrant’s men,’ he added, and took another swallow. He grinned, and went back to watching his workers.
    Satyrus had another swallow of his wine. ‘How long have they been here?’ he asked.
    ‘Four days,’ Talkes responded.
    Three weeks and more since the sea battle. Plenty of time for Eumeles to refit a captured ship and sail it here – especially as fine a ship as
Golden Lotus
.
    ‘Mistress says bring him to t’house,’ Teax said from the near darkness. ‘Say he guest-friend.’
    The walk to the house was tense, at best, and Satyrus felt as if Talkes’ spear was never far from his throat. They climbed the rest of the hill and went down the other side. The house was dark, but up close, Satyrus could see that the shutters were tight on every window.
    ‘Spear and sword, young master,’ Talkes said at the door.
    Satyrus considered refusing, but it seemed pointless. He handed over his weapons and was ushered inside. ‘My rabbit is a guest gift,’ he said.
    ‘I’ll send her to cook, then,’ the Bastarnae man said. ‘Mistress is this way.’
    The house wasn’t big enough to be lost in, but Satyrus followed Talkes as if he was in Ptolemy’s palace in Alexandria, and soon he was standing before a heavily draped woman in a chair, sitting with a drop spindle in her hand and three oil lamps. She smelled a little of roses, and a little of stale wine. Satyrus couldn’t help but notice how bare the house was – all the furnishings he could see were home-made.
    ‘You are really Kineas’s son?’ she asked without raising her head.
    Satyrus nodded. ‘I am,’ he said.
    The lady choked a sob. ‘They killed my father two days ago,’ she said. ‘He would have loved to have seen you.’ She raised her head and mastered herself. ‘How may I serve you?’ she asked.
    ‘I would like to claim guest-friendship of your house,’ Satyrus said.
    ‘My house has fallen on hard times,’ she answered. ‘Rumour says you are a great captain in the army of the lord of Aegypt? How do you come to my door with a rabbit on your spear? Eumeles’ captains are searching for you.’
    Satyrus decided he would not lie to this gentle, grey-eyed woman, despite her faint smell of old wine. ‘I tried to take my father’s kingdom back from Eumeles of Pantecapaeum. I failed and nearly lost my life and my ship.’
    She rose, placing her spindles – carved ivory, better than most of the other objects in the room – in an ash