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distance from the enemy.
    “—and drove our pickets back on our main body. His own main body followed. Euthydemus deemed it wisest to give ground, regroup, and make for here. He’s been collecting reinforcements along the way. Antiochus has pursued, but not closely. Fighting has amounted to skirmishes.”
    Hipponicus frowned. “That isn’t like Antiochus, from What I’ve heard of him,” he said.
    Creon shrugged, emptied his cup, held it out to a slave for a refill. “Our intelligence is that he was wounded at the ford. Not enough to disable, obviously, but maybe enough to slow him down.”
    “Still,” declared Zoilus, “he’s been unwise not to follow up his advantage immediately. Bactra is well supplied. These walls are impregnable. Once behind them, King Euthydemus—”
    “Can sit and let Antiochus blockade us into starvation?” Hipponicus interrupted. “I hope not!”
    Foreknowledge gave confidence for Everard to say, “That may not be what he intends. If I were your king, I’d make myself secure here, then sally forth for a pitched battle, with the city to return to in case I lost it.”
    Creon nodded.
    “The Trojan War over again?” Hipponicus protested. “May the gods grant a different outcome for us.” He tipped his cup and sprinkled some drops on the floor.
    “Fear not,” said Zoilus. “Our king has better sense than Priam. And his eldest son, Demetrius, bids fair to become a new Alexander.” Evidently he remained a courtier wherever he went.
    Yet he was not merely a sycophant, or Hipponicuswould not have wanted him present. In this matter he spoke truth. Euthydemus was a self-made man, adventurer from Magnesia, usurper who seized the crown of Bactria; but he governed ably and fought cannily. In years to come, Demetrius would cross the Hindu Kush and grab off a goodly chunk of the decaying Mauryan Empire for himself.
    Unless the Exaltationists prevailed in spite of everything, and that whole future from which Everard sprang was annulled.
    “Well, I’d better see to my own arms,” Hipponicus said heavily. “I have … three men of fighting age in this household, besides myself. My sons—” He did not quite suppress a wince.
    “Good,” rumbled Creon. “We’ve reorganized things somewhat. You’ll report to Philip, son of Xanthus, at the Orion Tower.”
    Hipponicus cast Everard a look. Their forearms were in contact. The Patrolman felt a slight quiver.
    Zoilus took the word, a bit maliciously: “If you don’t care for a part in our war, Meander, leave at once.”
    “Not so fast, I hope, sir,” Everard answered.
    “You’ll fight on our side?” Hipponicus breathed.
    “Well, this takes me by surprise—” I
lie like a wet rag.
    Creon chuckled. “Oh, you’d been looking forward to some fun? Spend your pay on the best, then. Drink good wine while it’s to be had, and do your whoring before the army drives every street slut’s price as high as Theonis’ is now.”
    “Whose?” asked Everard.
    Hipponicus’ grin was sour. “Never mind. She’s out of your class and mine.”
    Zoilus flushed. “She’s not for any oaf who brings a bag of gold,” he snapped. “She chooses the lovers she desires.”
    Oh-ho!
Everard thought.
The great official has his human side, does he? But let’s avoid embarrassing him. It’ll be tricky as is, steering this conversation the way I want
even for a minute or two.
Kipling’s lines passed wryly through his mind:
    “Four things greater than all things are,—
    Women and Horses and Power and War.
    We spake of them all, but the last the most….”
    He turned to Hipponicus. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’d like to stand with you, but by the time I could be enlisted, me, a foreigner, the battle that decides the victory might well be finished. In any case, I couldn’t do much. I’m not trained to fight on horseback.”
    The merchant nodded. “Nor is it your fight,” he replied, more pragmatic than disappointed. “I’m sorry your welcome to