PRAXIS spurred his highbred horse between the tents set up in an open park in the Second District, sending idling soldiers scattering. He slid from the saddle, nearly fell, then stormed into the tent of his incompetent superior, but not before twitching his scarlet cloak into place. He had no idea how this wretched man had been promoted to Matarchis above him. Oh but I do... The Archon and this fool were both half-bloods.

‘Sir! The Mathurans have attacked! I have a message from the Marshal of the reserve force.’

The Matarchis did not even raise his head to look at him. ‘Do not enter till I say you may, Pox,’ he said.

By Gaia, he hated the name! He had been only seven when Praxis had scratched his blisters. He had been cured but the illness had left a constellation of marks behind. Not that anyone sympathised with him. This was the army. A nickname was like a scar, to be carried till your last breath, or till you were promoted.

‘What attack? We won.’

‘They have used their remaining forces to launch an all-out attack.’ Praxis thrust the scroll at him as if he were thrusting a spear in the Matarchis’ face. ‘The men we left at the Curfew have been decimated. Even now they are hacking through our sentry points in three lines! I cannot find the Archon. I must insist that we hurry, else we will be routed.’

‘Must you?’ The Matarchis gave a small smile. ‘The Archon is resting. He will not rise till dawn. And do remember the hierarchy, Pox.’

It was all Praxis could do not to slap him.

The Matarchis rose lazily and stepped out of the tent. ‘Alright, gather up!’ Whatever his inadequacies, he knew how to issue commands. ‘It seems some folks don’t know when they are beaten,’ he sighed. He looked at Praxis. ‘Let’s teach these cow-fuckers some manners.’

Men slapped down visors, strapped on helmets and shook their shields. The soldiers were excited. There had been little to plunder, and this had angered the far-from-home Greeks. They had been promised rich pickings. But they found most of the houses stripped and abandoned. There had been even fewer Mathurans to kill. It was as if Mathura was a ghost-city.

This will give them a channel for their pent-up fury, Praxis thought grimly. It will be good for their morale.

‘Pox,’ the Matarchis turned to him. ‘Since you brought this important news to me on time, it is only fitting I reward you. Why don’t you lead the charge? Take three airavats. I will give the other two to Helios.’