by Michael Ford
Demaratos walked slowly up the bank, crouching low and keeping his eyes on the fish. Lysander was reminded of watching him wrestling in the exercise yard, circling his opponent. He reached the head of their section of the river, where several large boulders were scattered through the middle of the river. He took off his sandals and clambered on to one of the boulders. One misplaced foot, and he would plunge into the water below, where the current was strongest. Eddies swirled over the sharp rocks below. Lysander wanted to call for him to be careful, but didn’t want to disturb the fish.
Agesilaus came to stand beside Lysander.
‘He should take care,’ he said. ‘Or he’ll be food for the fish.’
Demaratos hopped from one rock to the next, steadying himself with his outstretched arms. To get to the next rock, he had to place his feet into the water. He lowered himself. He’s feeling for a firm foothold, thought Lysander. With both feet under the surface, Lysander could see that Demaratos’s knuckles were white where he was still gripping the rock he had descended from. With a lunge he pushed himself off and reached for the rock ahead. As he left his anchor, his feet slipped and he let out a cry.
‘Told you,’ said Agesilaus.
Demaratos clung to the rock, and regained his feet. Lysander could see that the muscles in his arms were trembling with the effort of holding on.
After the danger, he made his way to the centre of the river quickly and safely. He knelt down on a flat rock a little above the surface of the rapids below. Demaratos lowered his hands very slowly into the water, his eyes focused downwards.
‘This is ridiculous,’ said Agesilaus.
Lysander crept further up the bank to get a closer look. The big fish hadn’t moved. It still lay almost motionless, twitching its muscular tail to keep itself steady. Why didn’t it swim away? Lysander wondered. Surely it could see Demaratos moving his hands ever closer?
Lysander watched as Demaratos placed his hands underneath the fish. He stayed in that same position for some time. Lysander found himself holding his breath. A bead of sweat dropped from Demaratos’s forehead into the water. Even Agesilaus had crept closer to watch.
‘What’s he doing?’ Lysander asked him. ‘Why doesn’t he grab it?’
‘I don’t know,’ replied Agesilaus gruffly. ‘He’s more stupid than an Athenian if he thinks the fish is going to jump into his hands.’
Demaratos suddenly whipped his hands out of the water. There was a flash of silver as the fish came out as well, spiralling high into the air, and landing on the bank near to Lysander. The speckled trout flopped around and then lay still on its side, its mouth working open and closed. Demaratos stood on his rock and gave a whoop of joy.
‘I told you I could do it!’ he yelled. ‘I told you.’
‘How did you manage it?’ shouted back Lysander.
‘I was tickling it,’ said Demaratos. ‘It sends them into a sort of trance. They fall asleep in the water.’ He was looking down near his feet. ‘Wait! I see another. This one’s twice as big!’
Demaratos was on his knees again, placing his hands back in the water. Lysander couldn’t see much of the fish – it looked like a dark shadow under the water. But it was a big shadow. Two fish would feed them well.
Demaratos tickled for longer this time – Lysander guessed he wanted to be sure before he tried to bring the fish out. Then, with the same jerking motion the fish came up in his hands. The trout was glistening in the sunshine; it was longer than his forearm. But as Demaratos lifted it from the water, it squirmed from his grasp. He’d made a mistake – the fish hadn’t fallen asleep. Demaratos leant out further to try and grab it. Too far. As the fish arched out of his reach, Demaratos toppled into the raging torrent.
‘No!’ Lysander called out. But it was too late. Demaratos had disappeared under the water.
CHAPTER 11
Demaratos dragged his head above the current.
‘Help! Hel—’ His shouts were stifled as he was pulled back under.
Lysander readied himself to plunge into the water, but Demaratos was already past him. He set off after Agesilaus along the bank. Demaratos reached the end of the main pool and was sucked towards a chute of rapids flowing over shallow rocks. His body disappeared quickly over the edge.
‘Swim to the bank!’ shouted Lysander, but he could see it was hopeless – the current was too strong. Rounding the set of rocks on dry land, he watched as Demaratos scrambled furiously to get a hold of something on the bank. But the stones there were green with slippery algae, and his hands couldn’t find any grip along the smooth surfaces.
Lysander threw himself on his belly over a rock and stretched out over the water. ‘Here, Demaratos!’
Demaratos reached out a hand, but his wet fingers slipped from Lysander’s grasp. He wasn’t shouting now, and Lysander could see the fear in his face as he continued downstream. Lysander climbed quickly to his feet. Ahead of him, Agesilaus reached a weeping willow tree, its slender branches sagging into the water. He pulled something from his belt – a dagger – and quickly cut off one of the branches. Demaratos flailed in the powerful water.
Agesilaus leapt on to a boulder and held out the branch.
‘Demaratos!’ he yelled. ‘Grab this!’
Demaratos reached out. Come on, willed Lysander. You can do it. Just a little further. His hands closed around the branch. Agesilaus was lying on his stomach, anchored in place. All Demaratos had to do was pull himself towards the bank. But the older boy wasn’t helping. Why wasn’t he tugging on the branch to bring Demaratos to safety?
‘Pull him up!’ Lysander shouted. Then he saw that Agesilaus was smiling. The blond-haired Spartan slowly loosened his grip and allowed the branch to slip from his fingers.
‘No!’ yelled Lysander. Demaratos was in the river’s grasp once again. ‘What are you doing?’ cried Lysander.
Agesilaus laughed. ‘Better get after him, don’t you think?’
Lysander wanted to slam his fist into the Spartan’s face. But if they didn’t get Demaratos out of the water, he’d either drown, or some submerged rock would smash open his skull.
Lysander ran down the bank and shouted to Demaratos.
‘Get on your back. Go feet first, it’ll protect your head.’ He watched as Demaratos struggled into position. If he met any obstacles now, his legs would bear the brunt. A broken or torn leg was better than a head wound. Demaratos seemed to be trying to say something, and was making gestures with his arms, but Lysander couldn’t understand what he meant. He heard one word – ‘bridge’. He looked up and saw it. Thirty paces away – a small wooden platform spanning the river where it narrowed. Lysander took off, crashing through the bushes and branches that covered the river bank, his feet sliding in the mud. He reached the bridge before Demaratos. Beneath the planks the river channel narrowed and fell away in a waterfall. The cascade was as tall as five men, and the pool below was shallow. Jagged rocks broke the surface of the water. If Demaratos went over, he was almost certain to be killed, his body smashed and torn.
‘Better hurry and help your friend!’ shouted Agesilaus from upstream.
Lysander lay on his front and reached down towards the water below. But he was still an arm’s length above the torrent. I’ve got to get closer! There was only one way. Hooking his feet behind the wooden posts on the far side of the bridge, he lowered his whole upper body over the other, taking the strain on his ankles. Demaratos’s face contorted with terror. He began desperately paddling against the current, but the river was too strong and dragged him on.
Lysander would only get one chance. As Demaratos came towards him, he reached as far as he could over the edge of the bridge, his fingers straining. Demaratos crashed into him. Lysander grabbed him under the armpits and locked his fingers together.
Immediately, he was pulled along with Demaratos, and his feet jarred against the posts of the bridge. Pain tore through his muscles.
‘Don’t let me go! Don’t let me drown!’ sobbed Demaratos.
The current blasted over him, spraying into his eyes.
Lysander heaved on Demaratos’s body, and managed to lift his friend out of the water but the pressure in his back was excruciating and his arms felt as though they’d be pulled from their sockets. Demaratos could do nothing but hang; he didn’t have the strength to heave himself upwards. Lysander’s feet were slipping from around the posts and his body slid further towards the water. He knew he couldn’t hold on for long.
‘We have to work together,’ he shouted over the roar of the water.
Demaratos kicked hard with his feet. Lysander gritted his teeth and tugged. At first nothing, but then Demaratos began to come up. He kept on kicking, and the slight release of pressure gave Lysander hope. They could make it. He heaved again, until his joints screamed in pain. Demaratos managed to swing his arm and grab the edge of the bridge. Lysander grabbed his waist and roughly pulled Demaratos on to the platform. They’d done it! Lysander rolled on to his back, as Demaratos gasped for breath beside him.
‘Have you two finished lazing around?’ said Agesilaus, wandering casually across the bridge and standing over them.
‘I could have been killed!’ said Demaratos. He made a grab at the older boy’s legs, but fell short, collapsing back on to the bridge.
‘I always knew that Lysander here would save you,’ said Agesilaus. ‘Anyhow, you needed a bath.’ He held up the fish. ‘Come on, let’s eat your catch and get going.’
Lysander and Demaratos were still soaked to the skin as they headed back to the water’s edge, each carrying a bundle of firewood.
‘I can’t wait to pay him back,’ said Demaratos, his dark hair plastered to his head.
‘Be careful,’ said Lysander. ‘He’s got a knife.’
‘What?’ said Demaratos. ‘We’re not allowed weapons.’
‘I saw him pull it out to cut a branch.’
‘What a cheat!’ said Demaratos.
When they reached the riverside, Agesilaus was sharpening a stick with the knife.
‘Get a fire going!’ he ordered. ‘It’s nearly midday and we’ve hardly begun today’s task.’
As Demaratos arranged the wood over some dried leaves and flakes of bark, Lysander took out his flint. Agesilaus placed the trout on a rock and ran the blade under the speckled belly. He scooped out the guts and threw them in the bushes. Lysander kindled the fire while Agesilaus cleaned the carcass at the water’s edge. Then he took the sharpened stick and skewered the dead fish, resting it over the fire’s low flame.
‘I thought we were supposed to survive by our wits out here,’ asked Lysander. ‘Why do you have a knife?’
‘I never go anywhere without it,’ said Agesilaus.
But why keep the knife a secret?
The skin of the fish was turning brown and crispy over the fire.
‘This knife is my key to the Krypteia,’ said Agesilaus.
Demaratos suddenly looked interested.
‘What do you mean?’ he asked.
Agesilaus turned the fish to cook the other side.
‘I’m nearly old enough to join,’ he said. ‘But first one has to pass a test.’
‘What test?’ asked Demaratos.
Agesilaus grinned. ‘They make you carry out three assassinations. If you get caught, you have failed the test.’
Lysander was in no mood to hear about the Krypteia and moved to one of the rocks by the river.
‘Have you … have you killed anybody?’ he heard Demaratos ask.
Agesilaus snorted. ‘Of course I have – with this very knife in fact.’
Lysander turned and saw Agesilaus holding the dagger in the sunlight. The blade was dull and worn, about the distance from Lysander’s wrist to the tip of his finger. It was wide at the bottom, with edges curving to a sharp point. The handle was simple pale wood. Lysander looked back towards the river.
‘Who?’ asked Demaratos.
Agesilaus made a show of hesitating. ‘I suppose you’re old enough to know,’ he eventually said, before continuing with his story. ‘They don’t tell you the names. It’s always a Helot. They point them out: a face in a crowd, or a house. It’s up to the trainee to stalk his prey and do the deed in secret.’
He’s pathetic, thought Lysander. He wants to boast, that’s all. But Lysander couldn’t ignore the creeping feeling of tension that prickled his skin. Agesilaus had killed a Helot? Now he strained to hear more.
‘How many have you killed?’ asked Demaratos, with awe in his voice.
‘Two, so far,’ replied the older boy. ‘The first was a man from a settlement near the village of Sellasia. He was drunk when I followed him from a friend’s house – you know the home-brewed wines these Helots like – but still he put up quite a fight. I only managed to cut his arm at first, and we ended up rolling on the floor. He was strong, but slow through the drink. He did manage to hit me on the head with a rock, but by that stage he was bleeding badly from all the times I’d stuck him. I went home covered in blood – not my own, thank the Gods. Ah, the fish is ready!’
Lysander sat back down beside the two others, as Agesilaus divided the trout into three portions on a bed of fern leaves. Steam rose up from the fish’s pink flesh. He gave himself the largest piece.
‘And the second victim?’ asked Lysander, reaching out for his food.
Agesilaus swallowed a mouthful of fish and licked his fingers.
‘The second was very different,’ he said. ‘It was after the night when we made the Helots pay for their insolence – just before we left for the hills, in fact. The night the streets ran red. It was after dawn, a difficult time to carry out a killing. With my mentor, Pylades, we waited for most of the Helots to head out to the fields, then entered the settlement secretly. Pylades pointed to a certain house, and told me to kill every male inside. I was happy – if I could kill two, my apprenticeship would be complete.’
‘Did you do it?’ asked Demaratos. Lysander was finding it difficult to eat – he could barely stand to listen to Agesilaus’ story, but at the same time he had to know.
‘There was only one,’ said Agesilaus with a shrug. ‘Not what I was expecting at all. I crept through the front door, and found no one. The place was a stinking hovel – these Helots live no better than animals. But in the back room there was a figure asleep on a bed. There was a bucket of water and a bloody cloth on the floor beside him; perhaps he was one of those flogged the night before. I drew closer and saw his sleeping face. Well, he was only a boy. Maybe your age or even younger.’
Lysander was watching Agesilaus as he spoke. Each word sent sparks through Lysander’s brain. He thought about Timeon’s body, growing cold in his mother’s house.
‘I took out this knife,’ continued Agesilaus, holding the blade up. The sunlight caught his fair hair, as he stared at the weapon. ‘I placed my hand over his mouth, and I jammed the blade between his ribs.’ Lysander looked at the blade again – just long enough to penetrate the heart. His head spun as the words washed over him. ‘He struggled, but I twisted the blade and he went limp. He wouldn’t have suffered long.’
‘You killed a boy?’ said Demaratos with a frown. Lysander put down his fish.
Agesilaus leant back on his arms. ‘I did,’ he said, resheathing the dagger. ‘They were my orders, and I wasn’t going to let a worthless Helot stand in my way.’
Rage coursed through Lysander as he got to his feet. Agesilaus looked up at him.
‘What? Have I offended your Helot blood?’
‘You murderer,’ Lysander muttered. He threw himself at Agesilaus, knocking him backwards, and pummelling him with his fists.
‘Get off me!’ shouted the older boy.
Agesilaus tried to defend himself as Lysander rained down blows. He could feel the older boy’s sharp cheekbones under his knuckles and noticed that the skin of Agesilaus’ face had split open. But this wasn’t enough to stop him. ‘I’ll kill you!’ he shouted over and over. Then he felt Demaratos dragging him away.
‘W
hat’s got into you?’ said Demaratos. ‘You’re behaving like an animal!’
Lysander spat in Agesilaus’ direction, fury still throbbing through his body. ‘He’s the animal!’
Agesilaus grabbed his knife, his skin flushed with anger.
‘I’ll gut you like a fish, Helot.’
CHAPTER 12
‘No!’ said Demaratos.
Lysander felt his companion’s grip loosen and pulled himself free. He aimed a kick at the embers of the fire, scattering ash and burning embers towards Agesilaus. The Spartan stumbled backwards with a cry and Lysander charged at him. The knife flew from his hand as Agesilaus crashed to the ground. Lysander leapt at him and grabbed the older boy’s throat.
‘You murdered my friend!’ he spat, smashing Agesilaus’ head on to the ground. ‘By the Gods, I’ll kill you.’
Agesilaus’ hands were clawing at Lysander. He squeezed harder still, and Agesilaus’ eyes began to bulge. Demaratos was behind him, trying to pull him off, but Lysander refused to let go. He was going to throttle the life out of Timeon’s killer. Agesilaus’ face turned from red to purple and his hands fell by his side. Spittle caught at the corners of his mouth, as he tried to draw a breath. A moment of clarity entered Lysander’s mind: Carry on like this and he’ll die. Do you want a second death on your conscience? Lysander started to loosen his grip. But Agesilaus’ fainting fit had been a ruse. He lunged to grab his knife and swung the blade at Lysander, who just had time to rear away. The knife grazed his neck, and clattered to the ground. Agesilaus was taken over by a coughing fit, the breath returning to his lungs. He writhed in the dirt, too weak to stand.
Demaratos limped forwards and crouched beside him. Agesilaus looked pathetic as he knelt in the dirt, gasping for air, his chest heaving. Lysander climbed to his feet. The fight was over.
‘Are you all right?’ asked Demaratos. Agesilaus roughly pushed him away, too proud to accept sympathy. He stood slowly and turned, rubbing his throat with one hand. He retrieved his knife and brandished it towards Lysander. His face was still red and his eyes bloodshot.