by Michael Ford
‘Welcome to my ship, Ephor,’ said Vaumisa, waving a hand over the deck. ‘We are honoured to have such a great warrior on board. We must dine together. It is not often I have the opportunity to meet as great a man as yourself.’
‘And it is an honour to be here,’ growled Sarpedon. ‘Do you make a habit of tying up your guests? I trust children are no threat to a Persian general.’
Vaumisa nodded and Cleeto came towards Lysander and Kassandra with his knife. He sliced through their ropes, watching Lysander carefully.
Vaumisa led Sarpedon between the two columns of soldiers, to where a thick blanket and cushions had been laid on the deck. Lysander saw the Persians stand up straighter as the Spartan passed them, his back stiff and head held high. Vengeance burned in their eyes. Sarpedon sat opposite Vaumisa, who offered him a platter covered in meat, fruit and cheeses. As Sarpedon reached out, Lysander could see that his hand didn’t tremble at all.
‘Tell me, Sarpedon,’ said the general, ‘have you ever visited the Persian kingdom?’
‘In my youth,’ said Sarpedon, selecting a fig. ‘It was an enjoyable excursion.’
‘Oh yes?’ said Vaumisa. ‘How so?’
Sarpedon chewed slowly. ‘I was fighting with the Lydians, south of Ephesus. I killed seventeen Persians in that campaign.’ Vaumisa gave a tight smile. ‘But I lost something too,’ added Sarpedon, holding up the hand that was missing two fingers.
The general offered the platter again.
‘Captivity does nothing for my appetite,’ said Sarpedon, waving the food away.
‘Some wine, then?’ Vaumisa offered a two-handled bowl to Sarpedon. ‘I’m told it’s the best in all of Greece, from the island of Thassos.’
Sarpedon drank deeply and wiped his lips.
‘Did your pirates steal this too, Vaumisa?’
The general’s face darkened, and all around the men’s hands went to their short swords. Strabo closed his eyes and his lips moved in a silent prayer. They’re going to kill my grandfather! thought Lysander. Vaumisa put up a hand.
‘Spartans are not known for their hospitality,’ said the Persian,’so I will forgive your insults.’
‘It is easy to forgive when you are hiding behind a man’s grandchild, Vaumisa. Do not speak to me of hospitality.’
The general climbed to his feet, and Sarpedon did the same.
‘I have great respect for you, Ephor. Your name is known across the seas in distant lands. You have fought many campaigns, bloody and long. It is a shame that such an illustrious career must come to an end.’
There was a movement above and Lysander saw a man standing on the mast, half concealed by the sail and holding a sword. He was staring down at Sarpedon, knees bent and ready to leap.
‘Look out!’ shouted Lysander. Sarpedon took a hasty step back and tripped on to the deck as the armed Persian leapt down. Lysander had to help his grandfather! He jumped to his feet and slammed into the Persian, sending the sword clattering on to the planks. Weapons were drawn all around, and Vaumisa’s bodyguards quickly surrounded Sarpedon who was prone on the deck. The tips of their blades pointed at his chest.
Lysander grabbed the sword dropped by the assassin and charged at the Persians. He swiped aside two blades and lunged at a third man, but the three men came at him simultaneously. He had no chance. He ducked a stab to the head, but a kick landed in his stomach and doubled him over. The sword was knocked from his grasp, and strong hands pinned back his wrists and twisted his arms viciously behind him.
‘Your troops in the north have been pushed back into the sea, Vaumisa,’ Sarpedon growled. ‘Your southern armies are vanquished also. You have lost. My death is no great victory.’
Kassandra threw herself at Vaumisa’s feet.
‘Please don’t kill my grandfather!’ she cried.
Vaumisa seized Kassandra’s hair and pulled her up to standing, ignoring her screams. ‘Cleeto, give word for the rowers to take their positions. We’re going home.’
‘Leave her,’ Sarpedon bellowed across the deck. Lysander saw his grandfather try to stand, but the points of the swords pressed into his tunic, forcing him down. Blood stained his front.
Vaumisa shoved Kassandra towards Sarpedon. She fell across the deck and landed at her grandfather’s feet. Lysander heard Cleeto shout below, and there was a splash of oars in the water. The ship lurched into motion.
‘I’ve waited a long time for this day, Sarpedon,’ said Vaumisa. ‘And no grovelling child is going to take this moment from me. You dare to abuse my hospitality by boasting of your triumphs in my land. Well, you should know that one of those men you killed was my father.’
‘If I killed your father, Vaumisa, he came looking for death.’
Vaumisa drew his sword and held the point at Sarpedon’s throat. Lysander saw the twitch of a muscle in his grandfather’s face, but otherwise he betrayed no emotion. Kassandra embraced Sarpedon, sobbing.
‘You stabbed him through the belly with your sword, Spartan,’ said Vaumisa. ‘They brought him home, but it took him nine full days to die. Nine sleepless nights of agony.’
‘He chose his path,’ said Sarpedon. ‘Such is a soldier’s fate.’
‘Fate!’ bellowed Vaumisa. ‘Yes, and your path will end on my sword.’
‘You have me now,’ said Sarpedon, pulling Kassandra close. ‘Do as you will, but don’t harm my granddaughter. She has done nothing to provoke your anger.’
‘Silence!’ said Vaumisa. ‘You, Spartan, do not give me orders. I will do whatever I wish.’ He paced in front of Sarpedon. ‘I can send messengers to all of the Greek world telling how you begged for your life, how you offered your granddaughter as a sacrifice for your own freedom. How you even offered to join forces with the Persian empire against your own people.’ Vaumisa was raging now. Spit dribbled down his chin and he stabbed a finger at Kassandra. ‘I will cut out her tongue and say that you did it. The name of Sarpedon will be used whenever a Greek wants to call someone a coward.’
‘You are a cruel man, Vaumisa,’ said Sarpedon calmly. ‘You would use my granddaughter to lure me on board. I pray the Gods send the Furies to torment every moment of your life.’
‘The Gods!’ scoffed Vaumisa. ‘I am a God!’ He nodded to his men. ‘Hack off this Spartan’s head and throw his body in the sea.’
‘No!’ screamed Kassandra.
Cleeto seized her shoulders and dragged her away. Lysander heaved against the hands that held him prisoner, but a kick to the back of his legs sent him to the deck. Two men seized Sarpedon, but he struggled against them. Another brought his sword hilt hard into Sarpedon’s cheek. Lysander heard the bone crack, and his grandfather’s knees gave way. Sobs racked Kassandra’s body.
‘Take him to the edge,’ said Vaumisa. ‘I don’t want his Spartan blood on my deck.
‘The three Persians dragged Sarpedon to the rail at the edge of the deck.
‘No!’ said Lysander. He had to think fast. ‘Kill me! I’m his grandson.’
Vaumisa spun around and lifted his hand. The executioners stayed their weapons.
‘His grandson?’ said Vaumisa. ‘I thought Thorakis and Demokrates were heirless but for this girl.’
‘Don’t listen to him …’ slurred Sarpedon. He had been badly stunned by the strike of the sword hilt in his face.
‘I was born out of marriage,’ interrupted Lysander. ‘After Thorakis was killed fighting the Tegeans.’ Behind the ship, the shoreline of Greece was receding slowly. ‘Why kill an old man? He’s worthless now. He can barely hold a shield, and his spear thrust couldn’t hurt a child.’
‘I order you to silence!’ shouted Sarpedon, his senses returning. But everyone could hear the desperation in his voice. Vaumisa gave a thin smile.
‘If you take me,’ urged Lysander, ‘it will hurt Sarpedon far more, and it will rob Sparta of a warrior. Take me, a grandson for a father.’ Lysander stepped up to Vaumisa, holding out his wrists, volunteering for capture. The Persians still held on to his
upper arms.
Vaumisa nodded slowly. ‘The son of Thorakis, here in my grasp. I’ll send you, Sarpedon, back to Sparta with your pathetic granddaughter. She can nurse you in your old age. She can help you tend the graves of all your male descendants. You’ll live in shame until the Gods decide to take pity and let you die.’
Lysander yanked himself free of his guards and went down on his knees in front of Vaumisa. He pulled his tunic aside, revealing his neck and chest.
‘We can do it now,’ he said. ‘A sword through the throat.’
‘Yes,’ said Vaumisa. ‘Let the Ephor see his grandson exhale his last breath. But no sword. We’ll have a hanging. Let’s see your body sway in the breeze, over Sarpedon’s head.’
‘No, no,’ moaned Sarpedon. ‘Lysander, what have you done?’ Lysander felt a stab of guilt to see Sarpedon so distressed.
‘Enough chatter,’ said Vaumisa. ‘Cleeto! Make a noose.’
The bodyguard picked up a section of rope and expertly tied it. Two others seized hold of Lysander.
‘Grandfather,’ whimpered Kassandra, tears streaming down her face. ‘Do something …’
The rope was thrown over the boom – the horizontal spar along which the sail unfurled. The black eyes of the Persians burned into Lysander as he was jostled towards the waiting noose. He wasn’t afraid. Not any more. The coarse rope was wrapped around his neck.
‘It’s the only way,’ he told his grandfather.
Sarpedon’s eyes were filled with tears and he let his gaze fall to the ship’s floor.
‘The old man can’t bear to watch,’ laughed Vaumisa. ‘Make him!’
Two Persians sheathed their swords and seized Sarpedon by the shoulders. They twisted his head by the hair and neck so that he looked straight at Lysander.
‘That’s better,’ said Vaumisa. ‘Kill the boy, Cleeto.’
Lysander saw Cleeto tug on the rope. The rope grated on the jib above and the noose tightened around his neck. He heard Kassandra sobbing. First the soles of his feet left the planks, then the tips of his toes. The rope crushed his windpipe and fear overwhelmed him as his chest went tight and the blood pressure swelled in his head. His vision blurred.
‘No!’ yelled Sarpedon, grief tearing his voice. ‘No! No! No!’
A hunched figure darted along the deck, brandishing a knife. Strabo!
‘Persian scum!’ shouted Sarpedon’s slave. He lunged at Cleeto and the Persian, taken by surprise, let go of the rope. Lysander’s feet slammed into the wooden planks, and he collapsed to his knees. He twisted round to see Cleeto swing his sword at Strabo. The slave lifted his arm to protect himself but the first blow sliced through his neck. He fell to the deck, writhing.
‘Forgive me, master,’ he said, before his eyes closed.
Violent coughing racked Lysander’s body as he drew in air. Strabo saved my life! Vaumisa began desperately barking orders. Lysander saw Sarpedon punch his guard, who fell backwards into the water with a splash. Sarpedon swept down a hand and straightened up, lifting something that glittered in the air – he had a sword!
He swiped the blade before him, trying to keep the Persians at bay. But he was surrounded and Lysander realised with a thud of his heart that Sarpedon’s sword wasn’t going to help him face off this number of enemies. There’s nowhere he can go, thought Lysander. He tried to get to his feet to help, but his throat still scorched and dizziness made him fall back to his knees. As he watched helplessly, Sarpedon climbed backwards up the steps on to the forecastle. What was his grandfather doing?
‘There’s nowhere to escape to,’ Vaumisa taunted.
Sarpedon lowered his sword and stared behind him, towards the shore of Spartan territory.
‘Farewell, Lakedaimon,’ he said. Lysander didn’t understand.
Sarpedon turned around, and drew himself to his full height. He looked at Kassandra. Finally his eyes met Lysander’s.
‘Vaumisa,’ he said. ‘You wanted revenge. A life for a life?’
‘And I will have it,’ said the Persian. ‘What choice do you have? You will see your grandson die.’
‘There is always a choice,’ said Sarpedon.
He took hold of the sword’s hilt in both hands. Suddenly, Lysander knew what was coming.
‘No!’ he shouted. ‘Don’t do it!’
Sarpedon straightened his arms, bringing the tip of the sword to rest against his sternum. Kassandra cried out. ‘Grandfather, please! No!’
Lysander rushed forward, pushing past the Persians.
‘Here is your vengeance, Vaumisa!’ Sarpedon shouted.
‘Stop him!’ barked the Persian general.
But there was nothing anyone could do.
With a roar of defiance, Sarpedon heaved the blade into his own chest.
CHAPTER 24
Kassandra let out a wail and crumpled to the deck. Vaumisa cursed. A shudder racked Lysander’s body as though a part of him had been ripped away.
Sarpedon froze, fixing Lysander with his gaze. Then he heaved the blade deeper still into his torso. Blood welled up and poured down Sarpedon’s tunic and spattered on to the deck. His teeth were bared, like a wild animal. He staggered backwards and collapsed.
Lysander ran to his grandfather’s side. A large pool of blood, darker than Sarpedon’s cloak, spread out around him. Lysander threw himself down in the blood and pulled his grandfather’s head on to his lap, and rested a hand on his chest. He could just feel the faint flutter of a heartbeat, slowing down.
‘Why?’ Lysander asked. Kassandra appeared beside him. Her tears mixed with the blood. She placed a small, delicate hand against her grandfather’s cheek.
‘How could you?’ she cried. ‘How could you leave us?’
Sarpedon placed a hand on top of Lysander’s. His cheek was bruised from where he’d been struck with the sword hilt, and his face was deathly pale, but he managed a thin smile.
‘Yours was not the sacrifice the Gods demanded,’ Sarpedon gasped. ‘Tell the Council I died like a true Spartan.’
‘I will,’ said Lysander. Sarpedon’s grip softened and he closed his eyes.
A shadow fell over them – Vaumisa. He gazed down at Sarpedon’s body. Then something else caught Vaumisa’s attention. He looked up.
Lysander followed his line of vision. Around the tip of the peninsula, the prow of a ship cut through the water. It surged through the waves, powered by a triple tier of oars. Another ship followed in its wake. Then another. A rescue party!
‘Spartans!’ said Vaumisa loudly. He turned and climbed to the deck, barking orders in his native tongue.
The Persians scrambled across the deck, seizing bows and quivers. Vaumisa bellowed furiously, and pointed to where Lysander and Kassandra were standing beside Sarpedon’s body. The archers turned and hurried to string their arrows.
‘We have to jump!’ shouted Lysander, grabbing Kassandra’s arm.
She pulled back. ‘I can’t leave my grandfather!’
There was no time to argue. Lysander slipped his arm around her waist and propelled her towards the edge of the platform. Her legs wheeled as she fell through the air towards the water. Lysander launched off behind her, hearing the soft pffft of an arrow pass his ear.
The water took him. Kassandra was already at the surface and he swam up beside her. She was panting with panic and cold. The Persians were lining the deck above, aiming their bows.
‘Back down!’ he shouted, pushing her head beneath the water.
Arrows darted silently through the water around them, trailing white bubbles. He grabbed Kassandra’s hand and kicked hard. She seemed to understand and pulled her hand free, swimming beside him underwater. Lysander swam until his lungs were close to bursting, then broke the surface with Kassandra beside him.
‘Are you hurt?’ he shouted to Kassandra.
‘No,’ she gasped. ‘I don’t think so.’
The Persian ship was about twenty paces away. They were firing arrows at the approaching Greek ships now. As the trireme d
rew closer, Lysander could see the soldiers lined up along the decks, spears at the ready. Every time a volley of arrows arced above them, they took shelter beneath their shields in unison. The oars lifted chaotically in the Persian ship and began to churn the water. They were trying to escape.
‘Help!’ shouted Kassandra. ‘Over here!’
Lysander joined his voice with hers, until a soldier on the nearest Greek ship spotted them and shouted an order back to his helmsman.
The ship split from the others and came towards them. As it drifted alongside, a ladder was thrown over. Lysander held Kassandra by the waist and thrust her out of the water. A soldier reached from above and pulled her up. Lysander followed, shivering as he climbed the ladder. He only just had the strength to hang on. Two hands gripped him under the armpits and lifted him the rest of the way.
He was standing face-to-face with Demaratos.
‘Sarpedon?’ he asked urgently. ‘Is he safe?’
Lysander shook his head. Demaratos placed a hand on his shoulder.
‘I’m sorry. He was a great warrior. We will avenge his death. Come on,’ he said. ‘There are Persians to capture.’
A Spartan soldier had thrown his cloak around Kassandra’s shoulders. She came to Lysander’s side, shivering with cold, her sodden hair sticking to her face. He put his arm around her and the two of them gazed out to sea.
Lysander’s ship was last in the pursuit now, and the others were close behind Vaumisa’s fleeing ship. Lysander could see Vaumisa standing on the forecastle of the Persian ship, anxiously looking back and shouting orders to his men. But they were tiring. The oars didn’t move with such speed any longer. The first two Greek ships were level now, one on each side, about two boat-lengths away. Lust for vengeance boiled in the pit of Lysander’s stomach. His grandfather’s death would not be for nothing.