Outside, they walked to the bridge, and there was Attalus. He had Plistarch with him. All of Antipater’s guard had been untouched, because Seleucus had only stolen one horse. Only he and Antipater rode into the ambush. Plistarch was looking red-eyed at the death of their father, but Cassander was dry-eyed, almost pleased-looking.

  “I’m relieved that you survived the treachery, Brother,” Cassander said, oily smooth. “But how is it you weren’t with Father?”

  “There was only the one horse,” Plistarch said. Then, choking on the words, “I urged him to take it, but I didn’t know…”

  “Of course, you didn’t,” Cassander said, just a little too quickly. “How could you expect such treachery?” Now Cassander was looking at Attalus.

  “Treachery?” Attalus snorted. “What treachery? He tried to escape. Rode down his guards and got killed for his trouble.”

  “Escape? My father was the ranking general of the army. The natural successor to the regency. Who had the authority to arrest him?”

  “I did!” said Eurydice. “In the name of my husband. Roxane did, in the name of her son. And so did the army. He was no more than the satrap of Macedonia, not the regent. It is you and your armies who are in rebellion, not us.”

  “And who made you regent?” Cassander grated.

  “Perdiccas was the only legitimate regent. With him dead, I am my husband’s regent. And Roxane is Alexander’s. At least until the army declares another. You have ignored my husband’s wishes in waging war against his chosen regent, and winning a battle isn’t winning a war.”

  Roxane sniffed. “Murdering Perdiccas didn’t mean that Peithon and Arrhidaeus or your Seleucus should inherit his rank, any more than poisoning Alexander would make you Alexander.”

  Cassander turned white. The charge that he had poisoned Alexander the Great had never been advanced publicly, but it was still widespread in the army. “Are you accusing me—”

  “I made no accusations,” Roxane said. “There is no proof that I have seen, but there are rumors, disturbing rumors.”

  Cassander turned away from Roxane to look at Attalus. “I came for my brother.”

  “And what of my husband?” Eurydice shouted. She hadn’t meant to shout like that. She was both more angry and more frightened than she had realized.

  “He cries for you, and will not be quieted,” Cassander said. “Will you leave him alone without the comfort of his wife? What sort of regent is that?”

  “Bring him home!”

  “Why, certainly, we will. Home to Macedonia.”

  And there was the threat, all but open, all without saying anything that she could point to as a threat. Eurydice clamped her mouth shut on her rage.

  Roxane moved next to Eurydice and leaned in. Putting her mouth next to Eurydice’s ear, she said, “Perhaps it would be best if you went with them. That way each army has one king and neither army can afford to let their king die.”

  And there she was again. The wife of Alexander the Great, the woman who might not be as brave as Alexander but was certainly as smart. The subtle bedroom adviser who had encouraged the marriages to Persian wives, whatever the rumors said about what happened later.

  “I will go to my husband.” Eurydice considered. Perhaps if Plistarch was held as hostage for her safety.…Then she looked at Cassander. No safety there. “Let Plistarch go home to his family as well, Attalus. I ask this in the name of my husband, the king.”

  “And I affirm the request in the name of my son, the king,” Roxane added quickly.

  Attalus looked at Eurydice, then at Roxane, and after a moment smiled. In a voice that could be heard across battlefields, he proclaimed, “The king’s regents being in accord on this matter, I yield to their will.”

  Eurydice smiled, but that smile hid fear. Now the kings would be separated and there were those stories about Roxane. Stories that she had connived with Perdiccas to murder Alexander’s other wives. How hard would it be for her to send an assassin?

  “Come, Sister,” Roxane said, for the first time using that familiar name. “Let’s go pack. You will not go to your husband and king empty-handed, with no good clothing.”

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  Philip was held tight by the blanket and the ropes. He couldn’t move, and in strange way that made him less tense. But he was scared. Very, very scared. As scared as he had been when his father had wanted to marry him to that Persian girl. Alexander had stopped that and taken care of Philip. After Alexander died, Eurydice came and took care of him. He had to marry her too, but that wasn’t so bad. She knew him and knew he didn’t like being touched. He’d even been trying to let her touch him since they were married, but it always made him feel tense. Like he needed to get out of his skin. Now he was scared that they would hurt her. She understood and he needed someone who understood, because most people didn’t. And without that understanding, they would kill him.

  Philip had always known that he was different. Aristotle had seen what he could do, as well as what he couldn’t. Aristotle had shown Alexander, and after that Alexander looked after him and kept him close.

  He had to save Eurydice, but he didn’t know how. He could calculate the volume of a cube. He could figure out the weight of the world, if he had the tools. He could look at Ares, wandering the heavens and know where it would appear in a week or a year. But he couldn’t find the numbers to tell him how to save Eurydice.

  His thoughts ran in circles, and he couldn’t control where they went.

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  “That was clever of you, Eurydice,” Roxane said as they mounted the steps. “They can’t—”

  “I heard you the first time,” Eurydice said, fear clearly making her angry. “But you could always send assassins to kill me.”

  “But I won’t. Because once you’re dead, I lose half my value.” It was true too. Not quite as true as Roxane tried to make it sound, but still true. If Eurydice and Philip were to die, Roxane would still have value as a symbol of royal authority. But as long as Eurydice was alive somewhere, losing her would lose Attalus all claim of legitimacy. “Attalus might want you dead, Eurydice. So might Olympias or Cleopatra. But I don’t. You, alive and hale, are the best hope for my safety and comfort.

  “We need a way to prove to one another that a message we receive is from the other. Something that Attalus or Antigonus can’t counterfeit. Because, you must realize, Antigonus and Cassander will want me dead.”

  Eurydice was looking at her in surprise. “Why should we want to contact each other? Fine, I am safer while you’re alive and you’re safer while I’m alive. But—”

  “To send warnings, of course. I am your best spy in Attalus’ army and you’re my best spy in Antigonus’ army.”

  “Fine. All we need now is a spy in Eumenes’.”

  “Cleopatra,” they both said together. They started packing. Roxane pulled out a set of gold bracelets that Alexander had given her in Babylon and slipped them to Eurydice. “In case of emergencies.”

  It wasn’t a talent of gold. Barely two pounds in a dozen bracelets, with uncut gems on them. But it was something, something that Eurydice could use to bribe a guard if she needed to.

  Suddenly Eurydice’s head came up. “I have it.” She went to a chest and pulled out several sheets of papyrus, at least twenty. Each sheet was blank on one side and had numbers and formula on the other. “They are Philip’s. Put anything you would write me on the back, and I will know it’s from you. When I write you, I will use Philip’s scribblings on the other side to prove it’s from me.”

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  When Roxane and Eurydice came back outside, they found a syntagma, two hundred fifty-six men of the Silver Shields arrayed before the lodge. The force was divided in half. Roxane looked over at Kleitos and lifted an eyebrow.

  “They have appointed themselves your bodyguards,” Kleitos explained, and Roxane looked out at them. They were grizzled men, these soldiers who had fought for Philip II before Alexander, and for Alexander
all the way from Macedonia to India and back. Hard men, who had grown old on campaign.

  “Mine?”

  “Well, half yours and little Alexander’s, half Eurydice and Philip’s.”

  “Who’s paying them?” Eurydice asked.

  “I’ll be paying the men guarding Roxane,” Attalus said. “Cassander will be paying the ones guarding Eurydice.”

  Eurydice and Roxane looked at each other and each gave a very small nod. It wasn’t that Attalus or Cassander were trustworthy, but Cassander would want Eurydice safe as long as Roxane lived and Attalus would keep Roxane safe as long as Eurydice lived. Everyone understood. The rules would change as soon as one of them died.

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  For two more days the two armies sat on opposite banks of the little river. For two days, soldiers defected from each to the other. Arrhidaeus and Peithon both crossed to Antigonus’ side of the river on the twenty-seventh and almost a thousand men had followed them since. On the other hand, almost eight hundred of the men who had followed Antipater to this river crossed over to Attalus’ side.

  At this point, Attalus had seven thousand men in his army. Antigonus had five thousand in his, and Cassander had four thousand who were officially under the command of his little brother Plistarch, and at least half under the command of Arrhidaeus and Peithon. Seleucus had a couple of thousand of the men in Antigonus’ army who would follow him. Together they had a larger force than Attalus, but their command and control was weaker without the old general Antipater to hold them together.

  The armies separated. Attalus heading southwest to the coast and the island of Tyre, Antigonus and the rest heading north to face Eumenes.

  CHAPTER 8

  Mount Ida

  September 29

  Eumenes sat at a camp stool doing the books. He was making a record of the horses he had taken from the royal herds. He had kept the Argead royal family’s books honestly since he was thirteen years old and wasn’t about to stop now. It was all coming apart and all he could do was keep the books as the pieces fell. He had defeated Neoptolemus twice and killed the traitorous bastard the second time. Unfortunately, he had had to kill Craterus in that second battle and Craterus was a good and well-respected Macedonian general. The Macedonians hadn’t liked that—even his own troops, who had been right there with him. Word was that the troops who had betrayed Perdiccas to Ptolemy had declared him traitor for having the gall to win against Macedonians.

  He was making another entry when a knock came. “Enter!”

  “A message, General,” said Dardaos, one of his Thracians.

  “From who?”

  “We’re getting it from Apelles. He got it from Alexandria.”

  “What? Ptolemy hates Apelles’ guts.”

  “Ptolemy is in Memphis. The message is from Dinocrates. Well, Crates, but…”

  Eumenes held up a hand. “Give me the message.”

  Dardaos handed over the scrolls and Eumenes started to read.

  Out of fond memories of our time together in Philip’s court, I decided to forward this to you, risking Ptolemy’s wrath. It is unlikely that anything will make him more angry at me than he already is. That man has no sense of humor.

  Eumenes remembered the sketch that Apelles had made of Ptolemy trying unsuccessfully to sexually mount a bull. The look of bored disgust on the bull’s face had been particularly well done. Still, on balance, he thought that Ptolemy might be justified in his upset. He went back to reading.

  Crates writes to tell me of a ship that came to Alexandria harbor on the eighteenth of September. The next day he had occasion to board it, and he dictated a detailed report to his scribes. I would think that he had taken to drink, but I know Crates and he is a careful and meticulous man. I believe what he wrote to be true and accurate, though I can’t explain it.

  He sent off several copies and as we have been friends for years, I got one. I am staying here in Colophon with Nausiphanes, a friend and a great wit, if his humor can be a bit cruel, which is why I happened to be so close by. I send you the letter I got from Crates and ask that when you have finished reading it, you send it back. I would go to Alexandria to see for myself, but that would be almost as unwise for me as it would for you.

  Eumenes nodded to himself. There had been rumblings in his own army when Craterus died, and even now his hold on the Macedonian soldiers was not firm. Some of the Silver Shields had come to his defense and had kept the core of the infantry from abandoning him. But the Macedonians, especially the Macedonian nobility, still resented him. That was why he had recruited additional cavalry and why he was taking horses from the royal herds to mount them. “What do you think, Dardaos?”

  “I don’t know, sir. My gut tells me this changes everything, but I have no idea how.”

  “All right. Here’s what we’re going to do. You make two copies of all of this, then send one copy to Cleopatra. I’ll write a note to go with it, asking for another meeting.”

  Eumenes went back to his work, but his mind—all on its own—tried to imagine a ship as tall as a lighthouse.

  Queen of the Sea, Alexandria Harbor

  October 3

  Allison Gouch, the sommelier on the Queen of the Sea, went over the wine list with considerable dismay. The Queen had been in Alexandria for fifteen days now, and the holds were full of food. Not of the quality or the variety that the passengers or even the crew was used to, but edible food nevertheless. Ground grains, frozen meats, local fruits and vegetables. But the wines of half-built Alexandria were not up to twenty-first-century standards. On the other hand, Egyptian beer was a sweet, rich brew, only mildly alcoholic but rich in flavor and nutrients.

  Meanwhile, the passengers and more than a few of the crew were getting restless. Two weeks stuck on a ship with little to do but study Greek and look at primitive Alexandria while the food got worse and the crew got less attentive hadn’t made the passengers happy. But it had made them thirstier. Before they got to Alexandria the cost of spirits on ship had more than doubled, and now a shot of good whisky cost a small fortune. Ship wines were still for sale, but the price had gone through the roof. It had to. There would be no new rieslings for the foreseeable future. Allison knew that the lack of good wine was among the least of their troubles.

  The first of the drugs were running out. The birth control pills were gone, either into the purses of private individuals or used up. Anticoagulants like warfarin were getting low. The insulin was gone, but retired scientists on board and doctors using the ship’s mirror of Wikipedia and Encyclopedia Britannica were trying to use jerrybuilt centrifuges to purify insulin from cattle and pig pancreas. They thought they would be able to do it. Whether it would be in time to keep the diabetics on board alive was another question. Two of the Type One diabetics had already died, which was another reason the passengers were restive.

  There had been a dozen fights that security had had to break up. In the worst instance, one man had wrested a gun from one of the security guards and had to be shot when he tried to hijack the Queen and force it to take him back to Miami.

  So far at least, the troubles had all been isolated incidents, but there were almost constant rumblings about holding elections, and signs showing Wiley for President were appearing on the ship. Allison was getting scared.

  She was also disgusted. There was no question now. Hadn’t been since the first. The builders of Alexandria were slaves, dmōs in Greek, which Marie Easley said meant “slaves captured in war,” but other kinds as well. There was even a word for “human-footed livestock.” Like people were cows or goats! Allison wasn’t the only one upset. Her husband Pat, who ran the excursions, or had before The Event, was normally an easygoing guy. But what he’d seen while he was trying to arrange a safe excursion for the passengers in Alexandria left him furious.

  The problem wasn’t the abstract injustice of slavery, either. Even more, it was being forced to witness the actual fact of it in front of their noses. The level of casual, almost unthinking
, brutality visited on the slaves was simply astonishing to people brought up in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Astonishing—and outrageous. In the world they’d come from, even police officers or prison guards caught inflicting that level of violence on convicted felons would be charged with criminal behavior.

  Dag Jakobsen and Romi Clarke were ready to kill the Greeks and start the revolution. Romi was just looking for an excuse to use the new steam cannons on the promenade deck.

  ☆ ☆ ☆

  “You’re worrying over nothing, Professor,” Daniel Lang said. “I’ve been looking at the tactics these guys employ. They’re toast if they try anything. I don’t doubt that individually they are some tough SOBs, but they use pikes. Not even pikes and muskets, or pikes and arrows, just frigging pikes. A hundred guys with crossbows and they are toast.”

  “Even if you’re right—which I doubt—you don’t have a hundred guys with crossbows,” replied Marie Easley. “You don’t have a hundred crossbows. You have twenty-seven. Granted, they are excellent crossbows, low carbon steel bows and machined parts. But still each one had to be individually made and the people and machines that made them had to fit them in between other work.”

  “We have the steam cannons.”

  “All four of them. One on the port bow, one on the starboard, and two at the stern. And even at that, Captain Kugan is screaming bloody murder about the Reliance being shorted. And not without reason. He has none of the guns and none of the crossbows.”

  Daniel gritted his teeth. Marie Easley could be irritating. She was one of those people who read all the time and had an excellent command of the facts. What Daniel wasn’t convinced of was that she understood the implications of those facts as well as she thought she did. Sure, the Macedonians and their allies had kicked the crap out of all the other late-Bronze, early-Iron-Age countries in their neck of the woods. But even Alexander had started incorporating mounted bowmen, and his Macedonian phalanx had never faced even Henry’s bowmen from Agincourt, much less a machine gun. War-fighting technology had moved on. Ptolemy had to realize that without them wasting ammunition or giving away their tricks.