Tyrant: Destroyer of Cities by Christian Cameron Page A

leaned forward and pointed her sword at the second merchant. ‘You could just tell the truth,’ she said in Greek.
    Gaweint, one of her knights, and the one whose Greek was best, translated this sally for the audience, who roared with appreciative laughter.
    The merchants glared around.
    ‘Come forward. Talk to me,’ Melitta said. ‘How many children did the man have?’
    ‘I don’t know,’ admitted the merchant. ‘He only worked for me this one trip.’
    ‘And if I give you horses, will any of them go to his wife and children? Where was he from?’
    ‘Far, my lady, by the great salt—’
    ‘Spare me, Syrian. I grew up in Alexandria and I’ve ridden a black-hulled ship into every port on the Syrian coast.’ She laughed at their discomfiture. ‘You people need to do more research before you come to the Sea of Grass. Now, no horse shit – do you even know where he’s from?’
    ‘No,’ admitted the Aramaic merchant. He shrugged expressively. ‘No. But that shouldn’t mean your man gets off free.’
    ‘How much merchandise did the man lose? Really lose?’ Melitta asked.
    ‘About ten good horses’ worth,’ the merchants admitted, after a whispered discussion.
    Melitta nodded. ‘Kairax, step forward. Here is my judgement. Each of these two,’ she pointed at the two Cruel Hands tribesmen, ‘will give five good horses to these merchants. Yes?’
    Both men nodded, although the bigger man – the poorer – grew pale.
    ‘Drakas will pay ten horses each to me and to Kairax for his breach of the lady’s peace.’ She looked at Drakas.
    He jumped forward. ‘Where is the fairness in that, lady? Alkaix here did the same as me—’
    ‘You struck the killing blow and you, the nobleman, led him into this crime. Did you not?’ she asked.
    Drakas mumbled something.
    ‘Twenty horses will not break you, Drakas. But it ought to remind you to keep your temper in check.’ She motioned him forward. He came to her side, and she gestured for him to kneel so that she could speak into his ear.
    ‘You desire to be treated as a nobleman, do you not?’ she asked.
    Drakas nodded. ‘I have—’
    ‘Spare me. What do you have for armour?’
    Drakas shrugged. ‘A good helmet.’
    ‘Noble status cuts both ways. Arm five men as knights, mount them yourself and bring them to me, and I will see to it that Kairax grants you your due. See to it that one of them is your friend here. Otherwise shut up and obey your betters.’
    ‘Yes, lady!’ he said.
    ‘Anything further?’ she asked of the assembly when Drakas had backed away.
    Silence reigned.
    ‘I have spoken my will. Will you see it carried out?’ she asked the assembly.
    Men – and women – nodded. Many voices were raised in assent. Kairax gave her a nod. Scopasis gazed at her with adoration.
    She felt a certain satisfaction. Giving justice well was a good job.
    ‘Next,’ she said.
    Scopasis stepped up. ‘Astis daughter of Laxan the farmer requests that the lady and Lord Thyrsis help her achieve revenge.’
    Astis was a strong-looking woman with a square face and blond-brown hair. Her nose had been recently broken and her eyes had the look that hunted animals and damaged people hold. But she stood erect in front of the assembly of the people in a good Parsi coat of blue wool and deerskin trousers.
    ‘Who speaks with her?’ Scopasis asked.
    Thyrsis stepped forward. Melitta thought of Thyrsis as the Achilles of the Assagetae. His father, Ataelus, had been her father’s right hand on the plains, his chief scout and a hero of every battle he’d ever fought. After her father’s death, Ataelus had served her mother. When she was murdered, he’d held the high plains to the east against the Sauromatae in a six-year campaign of raid and counter-raid. In the process he’d built a mighty clan out of broken men and outlaws from both sides of the Assagetae-Sauromatae divide. Thyrsis was already a famous warrior – handsome, tall and utterly honest; loyal, strong in