Chapter 23: Dancing in Thrace
Lípos’ army, en route to Seuthopolis
November 7, 319 BCE
Lípos sat his horse and looked around. His army was heading inland, ignoring Abdera and the coastal cities entirely. They were going to Seuthopolis, the symbolic center of King Seuthes’ power. If Seuthes stayed on the coast, he would be abandoning the temple of Hephaestus, Zeus, and Sabazios which was his primary duty and source of authority.
Lípos laughed. Seuthes and Eumenes probably think that I’m headed for Abdera to put it under siege. Cassander may be a gutless conniver, but he’s smart. He took a wine skin from his belt and had a drink, then rode back to the head of his army.
Amphipolis, headquarters of Eumenes’ First Army
November 9, 319 BCE
Eumenes looked at the soldier. He was a standard Greek infantryman with his sarissa broken into its two parts and pointed at the sky. He had one new feature, a patch sewn onto his tunic. It was red with a white sword and the legend “1st Army.” The patches were delivered by the Reliance last time it came through, and were part of the transformation of Alexander’s army into the Army of the Empire. The introduction of unit numbers and names was going to introduce a basis for unit pride that wasn’t based on Alexander or any general, but on the unit and the army and government. He checked the man’s sarissa for cleanliness and condition, then returned it and stepped to the next man.
A clerk came running up and Eumenes turned to look at the man. Then he reached out and the man put a sheet of paper in his hand.
It said: The army of Philip Lípos is not where it is supposed to be.
Eumenes folded the sheet and went back to his inspection.
* * *
Back in the headquarters after the inspection, Eumenes looked at Eurydice, who was standing by the map, muttering, “So where is he if he’s not on his way to Abdera?”
“We don’t know. We’ve sent out more scouts, but it looks like he may have gone north.”
Eumenes walked over to the map. Pella was almost due west of Amphipolis, and since Lípos’ army didn’t take ship, Eumenes had expected it to travel northeast to avoid Amphipolis on its way to Abdera. Perhaps along the far side of the Strymon River Valley, or perhaps even farther north. Eumenes looked at the pins in the map indicating where the earlier scouts had looked.
“Eumenes, I think we have to delay moving on Pella, at least until we know where Lípos has gone,” Eurydice said. “We can’t afford to attack Pella and have Lípos fall on our rear.”
“I’m more concerned with what he might be doing in Macedonia or Thrace while we are investing Pella, but I agree that we need more information before we move.”
November 11, 319 BCE
The scout was muddy and his hair was plastered to his head by the rain. But he saluted Eumenes fist to chest, then bowed to Eurydice. “I saw them, Majesty,” he said to Eurydice, and at her gesture he went to the map and put his finger on a spot almost fifty miles due north of Pella. “Wherever he was going, he wasn’t heading for Abdera.”
“Where can he be going? This makes no sense!” Eurydice said.
“It could be that he is simply going out of his way to avoid the coast,” Eumenes said. “Remember, not all decisions are rational. And with our alliance with New America, he may wish to avoid coming anywhere near range of the Reliance’s cannon.”
“You think Cassander is that frightened of the Reliance?”
“Not really, no.” Eumenes scratched his chin. “Cassander is afraid of the Reliance certainly, but he is more afraid of looking like he’s afraid of it. So rather than go along the coast just out of range of the Reliance’s guns, he makes some excuse to avoid the coast altogether.”
“You sound like Philip,” Eurydice said, smiling. “I think you’re overthinking it.”
Eumenes chuckled. “Perhaps, but it feels right.” He turned to the scout. “Go find some hot food and a place to dry off. We need to think about this.”
Once the man was gone, Eumenes said, “What about the ship people?”
Eurydice shook her head. “I don’t think so. They have to be careful. Part of the deal that keeps them safe is the promise that they don’t act as spies. Would you want Tacaran spying on us?”
Eumenes snorted at that.
“It’s true they can pass on what others tell them, and they can certainly send messages for spies just like anyone else, but they can’t gather information for us against Cassander, or for Cassander against us.”
“I understand. But see what you can find out anyway.”
Amphipolis, radio section
Tacaran Bayot sipped his coffee with the care of a connoisseur long denied the delicacy. It was shipped here from Egypt. Ptolemy had a source and was making friends and influencing people by shipping small amounts of the holy beans to the radio operators and ambassadors around the Med. He grimaced. More than two years without had left his taste buds unprepared for the bitter flavor. He went to the sideboard and got milk and sugar—well, granulated honey.
Erica Mirzadeh and the servants watched. Erica with unveiled amusement, and the servants slightly more careful of their expressions. But only slightly. Several of the servants were former slaves whom Erica and Tacaran bought and manumitted, then hired. But they were free people now, and if loyal to Erica and Tacaran, they were not particularly subservient.
There was a knock and then Eurydice was ushered into the room. Tacaran waved at her, then sipped his coffee and sighed in bliss. “Would you care for some coffee, Your Majesty?”
Eurydice sniffed the air. “That smells lovely.”
“Don’t be fooled,” Erica said, holding up a glass of red wine that was actually made of glass. Most of them were ceramic, but the Carthaginians, who were producing glass beads and artworks before The Event, had used ship people knowledge to produce clear blown glass and were selling glassware at a premium around the Med. “Coffee smells glorious, but tastes as bitter as an ex-lover’s heart.”
“Yes, it does,” Tacaran agreed, then sipped happily. “It’s what is known as an acquired taste. Since you’re just starting out, I suggest goat milk and honey to soften the flavor.”
“I’ll take it without.” She paused a moment, thinking. “Ah . . . yes. I will take it straight.”
Tacaran shrugged and fixed her a cup of black coffee. She tasted it, grimaced, but kept sipping. She took a seat and looked at Tacaran. “Have you heard anything from Rico Gica recently?”
Tacaran looked around, then said, “Salucas, Alala, that’ll be all for now. We’ll call you if we need anything.”
The two servants left and Eurydice grimaced again. She knew that the ship people didn’t think you should tell secrets in front of servants, even loyal servants. She even knew they were right. But she often forgot.
“No,” Tacaran said. “Is there some reason I should have?”
“Lípos is going north.”
“Okay?” Tacaran looked at Erica, who looked back and shrugged.
“We were expecting him to head east. Fairly close to due east. Passing just to the north of us and traveling along the coast to Abdera. That’s why we’re still here, hoping he would think we were going to hit him from behind. Instead, he is going north. Far enough north to add at least a week to his trip to Abdera.”
“Are you sure he’s going to Abdera?” Erica asked.
“Where else would he go?”
“I don’t know. You’re the general. Tacaran and I just run the radio.”
Eurydice rolled her eyes.
“I can send him a message and ask what he knows, but don’t expect too much. You know we aren’t supposed to act as spies. And before you roll your eyes again, that thing with Rico Gica’s girlfriend was gossip, not spying.”
“Then ask him for some gossip.” Eurydice stood. “Good coffee. I’ll have to order some.”
Pella, Radio Building
Rico Gica lay on the bed with one arm around Sara as he looked at the timber ceiling. Sara wasn’t her actual name, but it was a name he could pronounce, and her real name started with an s sound. She giggled the first time he called her Sara, so he assumed that she was okay with it. Rico was from Port-au-Prince, a short black man with crooked teeth. He was self-educated and knew electronics from fixing busted radios back in the world. On the ship he had been a steward. But he could read a circuit diagram better than he could read English, or even his native French, so he got this gig as radio tech.
Sara snuggled closer and Rico tried to figure out a way of convincing Thessalonike to sell him Sara. So far he hadn’t had any luck with that. His plan was to free her, but he hadn’t told anyone that.
There was a knock at the door and he got up. “Yes?”
“You have a message in the radio room.” It was one of Malcolm’s servants, a manumitted slave whose name Rico couldn’t pronounce. He had a lot of trouble with Greek names. He had a lot of trouble with Greek, period, but he understood it a lot better than he spoke it.
“What is it, Ricardo?” Sara asked. She called him Ricardo instead of Rico. He thought it was her response to his calling her Sara, but he liked it.
“Just a message. Go back to sleep.” He put on his tunic and his pistol, then slipped on the sandals, and went upstairs to the radio room. “What have we got?”
“It is in your mailbox.”
The computer mailbox, he meant. The computer was installed in a purpose-built desk. He sat at the desk and logged onto the computer. The room on the top floor of the building had a tube radio built on the Queen of the Sea. Attached to the radio was a surge-protected cable to the computer. There was also a surge-protected charging cable that went from the hundred-watt pedal-powered generator that was also a product of the Queen.
He checked his mail. It was from Tacaran, a roommate on the Queen before The Event.
I hear that Cass’s bro has gone north, not east. Do you have any notion why that might be?
P.S. Keep this on the down-low, buddy. The little queen wants to know.
Tacaran Bayot
Rico read the message with some concern. This was the first he’d heard about Lípos, and unless she was told not to Sara would have told him. That left only two possibilities . . . well, three. Sara was told not to tell him, Thessalonike hadn’t told Sara, or Thessalonike didn’t know.
He thought about what he might do. He liked Tacaran and there was a loyalty between the ship people. But he loved Sara. He didn’t know when that had happened, but he loved her. And if he was ever going to get her freedom, he had to be someone that Thessalonike could trust.
All the way back to the room, he balanced loyalties, but there was never any question.
He crawled back into bed, snuggled up to Sara, and whispered in her ear. “Your mistress will want to know that Eumenes’ army knows that Lípos took the army north.”
“What?” Sara jerked upright, stared at him, looked around, then lay back down and whispered in his ear. “Lípos went north? Are you sure?”
“Tacaran Bayot is.”
* * *
Sophronike listened to Rico’s explanation. She knew that Thessalonike would have told her if she knew. After all, she was more than Thessalonike’s slave. She was also an apprentice to the Cabeiri in her own right, trusted with the lesser secrets and initiated into the rites. And she had proved her devotion when her mistress ordered her to seduce the ugly little ship person. She knew, or at least strongly suspected, that Rico wanted to free her. But she didn’t want to be freed. She was a trusted confidante of her mistress and thereby in a position of importance in the governance of Macedonia and accepted of the Cabeiri. She had no desire to give that up for some odd ship person notion of freedom. No one was free in the way that ship people thought of the word.
But she listened to Rico with care, kissed him gently and thanked him for telling her. Then, after he went back to sleep, she slipped out of bed and went to inform her mistress.
Thessalonike’s rooms, Pella
November 12, 319 BCE
Cassander was nowhere in sight, of course. Once Thessalonike started showing, he avoided her bed chamber. Sophronike knocked quietly on the door panel and was admitted by one of Thessalonike’s guards, then allowed into the queen’s bedchamber. The room was dark, shuttered against the November chill, with a small fire in a portable bronze firepit and a lamp in the corner. She moved carefully to the couch the queen was sleeping on. She whispered to Thessalonike, who was lying on her side, one leg over a reed pillow.
“What?” Thessalonike woke. “What are you doing here?”
“The army is going north!”
“What? How do you . . . ? No. Of course, you got it from Rico. Where did he get it?”
“You knew?”
Thessalonike levered herself up in the bed. “No, and I don’t believe it, not yet.” She got up and moved to the chamber pot. Sophronike waited while Thessalonike finished.
When the queen returned to the sleeping couch and sat, Sophronike waited some more. She could tell that her mistress was thinking. Finally, Thessalonike spoke. “Go back to Rico. I need to study this matter.”
* * *
That morning after the sun came up, Thessalonike called on several of her agents. They were women and a few men who were connected with the army. People who could find out where the force under Lípos went and why. It took three days and a very drunk cavalryman talking to his young lover, who “wanted to learn strategy.”
Thessalonike’s rooms, Pella
November 15, 319 BCE
The lad was fifteen and well formed. He knelt on the small rug on the marble floor. That, after all, was what it was for. Then he bent forward and placed his forehead on the floor. This wasn’t the respect to a queen, but the respect due the gods and their representatives. Thessalonike nodded her approval, then said, “Rise and speak.”
He rose, but stayed on his knees. “The army moves to Seuthopolis. According to Pantheras, it will discredit Seuthes when his holy city is captured and the temple to Dionysus is seized. They will burn the temple, proving that Seuthes can’t defend even his temple. He will have to respond and will charge north, where he can be defeated well away from the support of the Reliance and its guns.”
“And what of Eumenes?”
“I asked Pantheras about that. He said Eumenes is a Thracian wagoneer’s son. If he tries to sally north in support of his king, his army will abandon him. Or, at best, he will be defeated once he is in the open field with no walls to hide behind.” The boy looked up pleadingly. “He really said that.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Thessalonike assured him. “Continue.”
“That is all of it, Majesty.” Then he blurted, “Do you think they will really desecrate the temple?”
“Unless . . . ” Thessalonike stopped. “Don’t worry about it.” She waved the lad out.
Once the boy was gone, Thessalonike stood with some difficulty and walked to the north wall of her room. She pulled a bell pull. She could barely hear the chime on the other side of the wall, but quickly the door opened and her personal guard came in. “I need to see Sophronike.”
* * *
An hour later Sophronike arrived from the radio room, while Thessalonike was seated at her writing table with one of the new fountain pens. She didn’t rise, but waved the girl over, saying loudly, “I have a message for Olympias. You will take it to your friend in the radio room. Make sure he gives it priority. I need more rubber hot-water bottles.”
As she passed the sheet to Sophronike, she said quietly, “Tell Rico that Lípos is moving on Seuthopolis.”
Army of Lípos, Thrace
November 15, 319 BCE
Lípos cursed his army. He did it quietly, under his breath, lest his prickly subordinates hear the complaint and spend an hour sitting in their saddles, insisting it was someone else’s fault. Less than ten miles a day his army was making, and he wasn’t traveling anything close to a straight line. Miles out of his way for every hill or grove, stopping by noon every day to rest their horses and forage for food. He looked around. They were riding single file down a path between trees and it was raining. The infantry behind them would stop complaining about the dust the horses kicked up, and complain instead about the muddy bog that two thousand horses left after they crossed the ground.
He kept riding. Around noon they reached the end of the trees and rode into an open area made up of grazing land for sheep. And a contingent of his cavalry rode off to steal some sheep for dinner. At least they were Thracian sheep now, not Macedonian.
He waited in the rain as slaves set up his tent, then climbed off his horse, tossed the reins to a groom, and went into his tent. A slave waited with a damp towel, and Lípos suppressed a biting comment. The rain wasn’t the slave’s fault.
Amphipolis
November 15, 319 BCE
Tacaran Bayot handed the message to Eumenes, not really sure what it meant. He looked at the map and saw Seuthopolis marked by a wine-red star. Appropriate enough for a temple to Dionysus, he supposed, but it was in the middle of nowhere. There was nothing there.
He was surprised when Eumenes started cursing in what, best Tacaran could tell, were the Macedonian, Persian, and Phoenician languages. And perhaps Egyptian. Then Eumenes stood, went to the map and, using measured strings and pins, measured out the route and, calculating out loud, figured the time it would take to get Briarus, Seuthes, and their combined army from Abdera to Seuthopolis.
“Maybe,” Eumenes said to the map. “Or maybe not.” Then he turned back to Tacaran. “I need you to get a message to Abdera. Seuthes is to move to Seuthopolis, taking only his fastest cavalry, and prepare the city for a siege. Briarus is to hold Abdera using only the infantry.” He paused for a moment, staring at Tacaran, then asked, “How quickly can the radio operators at Abdera move their equipment?”
Tacaran considered. Charles Blevins was sixty-two, and before The Event was overweight, but otherwise in good health. Not forced-march good health, but good health. His wife Alice Blevins was forty-five and in decent shape. On the other hand, they wouldn’t be marching. They and the radio gear would be on two-wheeled chariots pulled by two horses and surrounded by cavalry. “They ought to be able to keep up, depending on how long they have to do it for.”
“I think three days. Two and a half if they are lucky. They will go slow to save the horses the first day. Then . . . Never mind.” Eumenes waved it away. “Tell Seuthes to take the radio with him. If we can have it in Seuthopolis, we can coordinate.”
* * *
Once Tacaran was gone, Eumenes called in his staff and started preparations to get his army under way. There wasn’t that much to do. They were ready to march on Pella until this happened.
On the other hand, Eurydice wasn’t happy. “This is perfect. We go to Pella while Lípos is all the way up in central Thrace and take the city. We have rockets and the Reliance can get within range with its rockets. We will have Cassander, Thessalonike, and Macedonia before Lípos even gets to Seuthopolis.”
“But if we do that we will be out of position to support Seuthes,” Eumenes said.
Eurydice looked at Eumenes like he was crazy, then slowly shook her head. “I am sorry about that, Eumenes. I truly am. But the needs of the empire outweigh the needs of a single king within it. Seuthes will just have to hold out until we get to him.”
Nike, daughter of Seuthes, was staring at Eurydice. “You would betray my father?”
Eurydice turned to her. “Not betray, no. But I must put the needs of the empire above the needs of any kingdom in it, no matter how well beloved.” She turned to Eumenes. “We march on Pella.”
“No, Majesty. I am strategos. Pella will still be there a month from now, or three months, if that is what it takes. We would not only damage our alliance with Seuthes, but our reputation with all the states and satrapies within the empire would be compromised.”
“That is a political decision, Eumenes, not a strategic one. It is a decision for the queen . . . ah, queens. Not the strategos.”
“Then let us hear from the other queen.”
They argued until they got to the radio room and called Roxane on the Queen of the Sea.
Queen of the Sea, Atlantic Ocean
November 15, 319 BCE
Roxane picked up the phone and muttered, “Yes?”
“We have an urgent radio communication from Amphipolis.”
“Put it through.” Yawning, she lay back in the bed, head on her pillow and used the hand not holding the phone to push her hair out of her face.
Eurydice spoke from the earpiece. “Eumenes is being difficult. You need to tell him to go to Pella.”
Almost, Roxane agreed. She was still half asleep, after all. But she was just a little too familiar with Eurydice’s tactics. “Is Eumenes there?” she asked, and yawned again.
“Yes, Majesty,” came Eumenes’ voice. “Lípos is attacking Seuthopolis.”
“What?” Roxane asked, trying to . . . “What!” Suddenly, without consciously willing it, Roxane was sitting up in bed. Dag grunted at the motion. “Now?”
“No. He’s days away. We got the information, indirectly from Thessalonike, about an hour ago. The plan is to discredit Seuthes as priest king of Thrace.”
“What do you want to do about it?”
He told her. Over the next few minutes, she got the whole tale, not just Eumenes and Eurydice’s version, but also Nike’s concern.
“All right,” she said at last. “You both have good points. Very good points. Nike, Eurydice isn’t being uncaring. She is being a commander in the field. A hard job, and one your father understands. He will tell you the same. However, on balance, I have to support Eumenes in this. It isn’t that Eurydice is wrong, but that we will be seen by many as betraying our vassals.
“I say go after Lípos and catch him between the walls of Seuthopolis and your army. Then deal with the snake in Pella.”