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other.
    ‘Help me!’ he shot at Coenus.
    Coenus knelt by Sappho and vanished from Melitta’s view.
    ‘Put your hand here and grab –
harder!
Don’t be afraid of a woman’s thigh – she’s going to
die
if I don’t get this closed.’ Nearchus was suddenly a battlefield commander, his voice hard.
    ‘The curtain ties,’ Nihmu said. ‘Or her girdle.’
    Nearchus had the ties off the seaward window in three heartbeats, and in two more he had the rope around her thigh.
    ‘Hold that there. No, like this. Now I have to find it and sew it. Hippocrates, stand with me. Hermes, by my shoulder.’ Murmuring prayers, Nearchus snatched a set of tools from his bag between Melitta’s feet.
    Melitta couldn’t watch – she had her infant on her breast and she couldn’t muster the strength to rise.
    Nihmu crouched by her head and took her hand. ‘Let me see him, honey bee. See? Perfect. Not a flaw. Take my hand. He’s just stitching her thigh – oh, Lord of Horses, that’s a big cut. I’m sorry, honey bee, I’m . . . she’s—’
    Melitta raised her head to see Sappho’s foot stomp the floor weakly.
    ‘Hold on, lady! I’ve got the vessel!’ Nearchus sounded triumphant. ‘Hippocrates, this stuff is hard to sew.’
    ‘Do it, man!’ Coenus grunted.
    ‘One more turn! One more. Got it – let off that rope – slowly – one turn. Another turn. Aphrodite stand by this woman. Artemis, stand away – you need not take my mistress yet. . . .’ Nearchus’s voice trailed on – endearments, comments.
    ‘Now what?’ Coenus asked.
    ‘Now we wait,’ Nearchus muttered.
    A day later, and Sappho was alive. Melitta was alive – in fact, she felt better already. She sat up, nursed her son and watched slaves and house servants clean the birth room with religious intensity. The servant women came and looked at her baby and complimented her, cooing at it and suggesting names.
    Melitta had expected to be bitter – she was missing the great adventure, the reconquest of the Tanais. Even now, her brother was probably master of Pantecapaeum.
    She found that she was perfectly happy to be a mother with a healthy baby, and two days later, when Sappho, pale as death fromblood loss, allowed her eyes to flutter open and was pronounced likely to live, Melitta was happier still.
    It took her several days – feeding her son all the time, watching the slave girls change him and being visited at regular intervals by an absurdly uncomfortable Coenus – before she got the whole story: the mad doctor who drew a knife and was stopped only by Sappho’s reckless courage in putting her hand under the knife and then her body across Melitta’s; the Jewish doctor who tackled the assassin, dying for his efforts but getting the man clear.
    ‘Sophokles,’ she said, shaking her head.
    Coenus, sitting stiffly at the foot of her bed, nodded. ‘So I assume. Which means he’s still in Alexandria.’
    ‘And we let him in!’ Melitta said. ‘As a doctor?’
    Coenus shook his head. ‘None of the other doctors knew him. He might have come in with slaves, with servants – we weren’t taking any precautions.’
    ‘Well,’ Melitta said, with all of her returning strength. ‘Well, it’ll be all right. You’ll see.’
    Coenus shifted uncomfortably. ‘Have you thought of a name, my dear?’
    Melitta shrugged. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Among the Sakje, we name a child on the thirtieth day after its birth. When we know it will live.’
    Coenus nodded. ‘This boy – he’ll be my heir. He means a great deal to me, Melitta. When Xeno died—’ Coenus didn’t choke a tear, he was too strong and too much the aristocrat for that, but his pause was eloquent. ‘This child – I mean to stand by him. Despite the fact that you were not formally wed, I – I hope that—’
    ‘Foolish uncle!’ Melitta shook her head. ‘You will be his father in many ways, Uncle Coenus. And of course I see your interest. Men! Heirs! A daughter would be your heir with twice