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was more than a little puzzled.
    “He’s still out on the steps,” said Hephaestion.
    “The others are waiting,” replied Ptolemy. 
    “So let them wait.”
    “We could go join them.”
    “We could,” said Eumenes. He gave some instructions to the scribes, then led the top brass through jackal-painted corridors into a vaulted chamber dominated by a massive marble table. A bearded giant of a man sat at one end while a leaner man paced. They looked up as the group entered.
    “So what’s it to be?” boomed Craterus. “Are we to march on Carthage?”
    “Zeus,” said the pacing man, “why are you even saying such things?”
    “Perdiccas here is so damn cautious, ” said Craterus, warming to his audience. “All that hesitation, it’s a wonder we made it to Egypt.”
    “Well, we did seize it without permission,” said Ptolemy, taking his seat.
    Craterus laughed sarcastically. “Permission? From the Athenians?”
    “From Philip,” said Eumenes. “We have yet to receive any word from him.”
    “What can he say?” asked Craterus. “Alexander’s presented his father with a fait accompli.”
    “And war with Athens,” muttered Harpalus.
    “A war both of them wanted,” said Ptolemy.
    “But I suspect the old man would have preferred to choose the timing,” said Perdiccas.
    There was a moment’s silence.
    “Doesn’t matter,” said Hephaestion. “If Alexander had failed to take Egypt on the first try, it might be a different story. But Philip’s not one to be disappointed with victory.”
    “Nor am I,” said a voice.
    They all rose as Alexander stepped into the room. He’d exchanged his armor for a purple cloak. Bodyguards hovered in the archway behind him.
    “Leave us,” he said.
    They did so, closing the doors as they went. Alexander took his seat at the table’s head, his voice almost a purr.
    “Where’s Meleager?” he asked.
    “He couldn’t make it,” said Craterus, seating himself with the rest of them. “Still south of the city, dealing with some Athenian stragglers.”
    “He should be here,” said Alexander softly.
    Craterus shrugged. “That’s what I told him.”
    “No matter,” said the prince. “You can pass on our decisions to him from now on.”
    Craterus nodded, faint satisfaction on his face. Alexander looked around the room, meeting each of their gazes in turn. His eyes lingered on Eumenes last. Those eyes were dikoros —“of two pupils”; one so brown as to verge on black, the other clear blue. That was supposed to be testament to his divine origins, but Eumenes had seen others with the same condition. Though he had to admit none had been so striking.
    “Report,” said Alexander.
    Eumenes blinked. He was used to Alexander asking him to start meetings with a summary of events, but there was something new and dangerous in the prince’s expression. Perhaps the result of so many thousands falling on their knees before him on the temple steps outside. Eumenes held Alexander’s stare while he replied.
    “The Delta’s ours. What’s left of Athenian resistance is falling back on Thebes, but we’ve cut all their communications and they’re coming apart even as they retreat. We estimate at least two hundred Athenian ships have been destroyed by the incendiary that Hephaestion’s alchemists compounded back East—”
    “We should call it Greek fire,” said Craterus. “Given it did such a good job turning their asses into cinder.”
    Everyone laughed, but Eumenes just smiled wanly. Yet another reminder of his own Greekness—though he noted that Alexander wasn’t sharing in the mirth either.
    “That’s enough,” said the prince, and the laughter stopped instantly. “Hephaestion, how much of the incendiary is left?”
    “Several vats,” said Hephaestion. “But my alchemists are working around the clock to make more.”
    “What about the black powder?”
    “There were several instances where it detonated prematurely. A number of my men were killed. But it