Free Funeral Games by Christian Cameron, Cameron Page B

this is the Hypanis,’ Philokles said, shaking his head. ‘Ares, I have no idea where we are. I hope I haven’t got you going in circles.’
    ‘No,’ Coenus muttered. ‘Not circles.’
    Every time they awoke, Melitta expected Coenus to be dead. But so far, he wasn’t.
    ‘Not circles,’ he said. ‘Not Hypanis, either.’
    They crossed with the horses, again, all wet to the bone as every person had to swim some of the distance with one hand on a pony.
    ‘The horses are failing,’ Philokles said when they were done. He was wearing his chlamys like a giant chiton, pinned at the shoulders. It made him look even bigger.
    ‘We need a house,’ Theron said. ‘I don’t think Coenus will make another night in the open.’
    ‘I doubt we’re ahead of the bastard’s cordon,’ Philokles said. ‘We’ll never escape them if we spend a night in a town.’
    ‘Maybe they’re past us,’ Theron argued. ‘They can’t be everywhere.’
    ‘You just want to sleep in a bed,’ Philokles accused.
    ‘Is that so bad?’ Theron asked. ‘I’d like a cup of wine, too.’
    It was Coenus’s fever that convinced Philokles to risk a night in a house. He walked down the trail and found a farmer’s field, and exchanged a few words with the man, and he came back to them where they waited in the trees.
    ‘I like him. He’s the village headman, and I think he can be trusted.’ Philokles looked at Coenus. ‘We need to get out of the rain.’
    ‘Don’t take the risk on my account,’ Coenus muttered. Theron ignored him and nodded.
    The farmer, called Gardan the Blue for his bright blue eyes, was friendly, and his wife welcomed the twins as if they brought her house good fortune. They sat together in the main room of the house, swathed in dry wool and warm for the first time in five days, enjoying a meal of goat and lentils and barley bread. They ate like hungry wolves.
    Melitta assumed that they would buy fresh horses from the extensive string she had seen in the paddocks, concealed in a stand of woods away from the road. She waited for Philokles to mention it, and when he didn’t, she nudged him.
    ‘If we buy their horses, we can make better time,’ she said.
    Philokles looked at her with ill-concealed sorrow. ‘I have the gold from the men we killed, and our gear,’ he said. He nodded in the direction of the farmer. ‘We can’t give him a fair price for his horses. Not and have the money to take a ship.’
    Neither of the twins had given a thought to the sea. ‘But where will we get a ship?’ Melitta asked.
    Philokles looked around at the farmer, smiled grimly and shook his head at the children. ‘Quiet. He’s a good man, and I don’t want to have to kill him to keep you alive. Understand?’
    They went to bed without another word.
     
    In the morning, the farmer walked them to the edge of the road. He bowed to the twins. ‘Young master? Young mistress? May I speak freely?’
    Satyrus nodded. ‘You are a free farmer,’ he said seriously. ‘You can say anything that you want.’
    Gardan tugged at his beard. ‘You’re on the run,’ he said. He looked at Philokles. ‘You don’t have a clean garment among you.’
    Philokles nodded, looked around and then said, ‘It’s true. The Sauromatae attacked the city with help from Eumeles. Soon enough, some of them will come down this road looking for us.’ He shrugged. ‘I recommend that you be helpful to them.’
    The farmer nodded. He rubbed his beard. He was a short man, swarthy as many of the Maeotae were, although he had the blue eyes of a Hellene and jet-black hair from the age of heroes. ‘My uncle fought with Marthax at the Ford of the River God,’ he said. ‘We remember your father.’ He tugged his beard again. ‘I know what happened at the town,’ he said slowly. He looked at Philokles. ‘Been two patrols through, both Sauromatae. Farmers round here don’t take kindly to such people. A man was killed.’ He shrugged and pointed at the heavy bow that