by Zizou Corder
But now, in the ruined farm, in the desperate long darkness of the autumn night, helplessly pouring water for Leonidas, she wept.
She slept fitfully at dawn, too dog-tired to stay awake, her skin crawling with sleeplessness. She heard him moaning and muttering beside her, unable to sleep, unable to stay still. Stumbling in a daze across the room to the well, she brought him more water. She must try to feed him. And herself, though she felt no hunger.
He smelt dreadful. The pustules were forming on his neck. She should try to wash him. But she had no soap, no clean linen, no herbs, nothing.
Is he going to die like everyone else?
She brought him more water and began to run through in her mind the list of everyone who had died so far. NO! Stop it!
Outside, the day was growing hot, shining, beautiful with golden autumn. The scent of jasmine hung in the warm morning air. Inside, the dim room stank of the plague.
But this will not kill me, she thought. I do not have that way out. I have to survive this.
Leonidas rolled over, his lips bloodstained and cracked as he half talked in his semi-stupor.
‘Help me,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t want to die.’
‘So don’t die,’ she said to him. She grabbed him by the shoulders, leaning over him. ‘So don’t die! Not everybody dies! I didn’t die! You don’t have to die!’
He was moaning again, with the pain and the thirst, clutching at his own skin as if trying to tear it off. She watched him for a moment. She remembered how that felt, then she lurched to her feet and went outside. Food. Sour wine-grapes, figs, last year’s almonds, some plums, small and black. She found the remains of a sack of very old oats, which soaked in water would make a cold porridge for them for a few days. She couldn’t risk a fire.
Here we are again, she thought. Still, he’s a Spartan, he’s trained to live on next to nothing. She laughed at her own stupid joke. So what I am I going to do? Just sit here and watch and wait?
Yes. There’s nothing else.
He didn’t die that day. He’ll go on the eleventh day, then, she thought. Meanwhile, she got into a routine. She brought water and mopped his vomit, cleared away the dirty straw, washed his face, soothed his brow, failed to quench his thirst, brushed away the flies that settled on his eyes and mouth. She sat by him for as long as she could bear it, talking to him, holding his hand, watching his pain, as if that would help.
Then when it became unbearable, she ran out into the yard and spun in wild circles, wanting to scream, but not daring to make any noise.
Ivy would look at her kindly, and Halo would go and stroke her smooth neck, and rest her head against it, and cry, longing for her Centaur mother, for someone else’s strength to help her through. When she felt a little better, she gave Ivy water from the bucket, picked some fruit, and poked around in search of anything else to eat. Then she went back into the dim and fetid farmhouse to try to feed Leonidas, and force some food down her own throat.
Then, she washed him again, and the cycle started over.
She was sitting by him, holding his hand, wondering whether it was worth trying to gather the strength to move on, because the Skythians would track them down sooner or later if they stayed still – when she heard the march and rattle of hooves on the dirt road outside.
She froze.
Pass by, she prayed.
The sound stopped. Shouts and the clanking of armed men replaced it.
Military men.
Her heart stopped beating for a moment, then she jumped up.
Athenians? Skythians? Spartans? Sweet Athena, which would be worse?
Leonidas’s shield and helmet and crimson cloak were hidden, she’d taken care of that – they were in a dirty old sack, in the rafters, where only the rats would find them. Ivy was round the back in the old stable. Pray the Gods she wouldn’t make a noise – Halo didn’t want to lose Ivy. And Leonidas himself? Well, she’d challenge anyone to recognize him. He looked like a corpse.
And she hated to think what she looked liked – filthy, tattooed, with her head matted and stubbly.
She went silently to the doorway, where the old door hung crooked and heavy on its hinges, and peered out.
It was not the Skythians. It was not Athenians.
It was Spartans – a couple of strong, healthy Spartans, with a handful of Helot squires or slaves. They were laughing, and filling their water bottles at the well, talking their Doric Greek. She felt as if she hadn’t seen anyone healthy in weeks. It was alarming.
Go away, go away, she prayed silently. She stood behind the door and she didn’t even breathe.
How could they laugh and chat so easily? Didn’t they know that the end of the world was going on?
And one of them turned. She could tell by the way he glanced around that he was looking for a place to relieve himself.
‘Won’t be a minute!’ he called, and then he was lumbering towards the door – towards her.
She had a split second to decide what to do.
Just as he reached to push the door open, she jumped out.
‘PLAGUE!’ she shouted.
The man jumped back. Halo knew she looked strange, but she could have no idea how strange. The Spartan thought she was a ghost.
He cried out.
She shrieked.
The others crowded round, hands on the hilts of their knives.
‘Plague!’ she shouted again. ‘Don’t be here! Leave! There’s plague here!’
And they might have left but that Ivy, disturbed, started to neigh, and the men, standing well back, started to wonder why anyone would be in a desolated farm, with a horse and the plague.
‘What’s the matter with her?’ one called.
‘Think she’s mad,’ said another – and that was when Ivy broke out of the old stable, and one of the Helots grabbed her by the bridle, and another grabbed Halo, and she yelled and kicked him and thought, That’s it. It’s all over.
But it wasn’t – because as she kicked and yelled, a terrifying, filthy, half-dead figure lurched out of the dark of the farmhouse, clutching the door frame, at any moment about to fall… He laughed, a low laugh, and in a soft, harsh voice, like an owl’s claws grasping at a cliff-face, he murmured, ‘Phaedippidas, can’t I even die of the plague in peace?’
Everyone froze. Halo gulped. The Spartans stared. Only Ivy’s whinny broke the silence.
‘Well?’ said Leonidas.
The Spartan Phaedippidas swore quietly. ‘Leonidas,’ he gasped, horror and fear in his voice.
The Helots backed away.
‘Leave us,’ whispered Leonidas. ‘Go, tell my brothers, Spartan passing by, that here, according to their laws, I die…’ He laughed again. He was leaning – almost hanging – on the door. He was so thin. His eyes glittered with fever and death in his hollow, waxen face, and his hair hung back heavy from his brow. Halo could hardly believe he had found the strength to stand.
‘We must…’ Phaedippidas said, and Halo could almost see the process of his thoughts ticking by, as he realized that he could not help his friend, could not take him home, could not even come near him.
‘No,’ murmured Leonidas gently. ‘You mustn’t.’ He lurched again, and Halo ran to him, slipping easily from the aghast Helot’s grip. She caught him, and he leaned on her. ‘Thank you, Halo,’ he said.
He knows it’s me!
Phaedippidas’s face was full of pain. Yes, welcome to the plague, Spartan. This is how it feels. This is what happens, she thought. She felt sorry for him. How dreadful the pain was, at the beginning, before you got used to it. Tears sprang to her eyes. No matter how she pretended, she wasn’t used to it. She could never be used to it.
Phaedippidas glanced at her. He had that strange look on his face – the look of a Spartan who isn’t sure what to do.
‘Go,’ said Leonidas. ‘Send my love to my mother. And don’t steal our horse.’
‘We’ll come back for you,’ said Phaedippidas, his face stern again, his decisio
n made. ‘We won’t leave your body here unburied.’
‘Give me a week or two,’ murmured Leonidas. A ghastly smile lifted the skin tight over his cheekbones.
And the Spartans went.
Halo laid Leonidas down again. His breath was stuttering and tangled, and new bruises had appeared on his arms and belly. She wanted to hold him in her arms and tell him everything would be all right.
‘You don’t have to die,’ she whispered.
But he was back in the arms of the plague. He didn’t even hear her.
Her.
The Spartans had said ‘her’.
She’d been careless. She hadn’t been bothering to bind her breasts under her chiton. Fool! She must do it now. What if someone else came?
The routine started up again.
Halo was too sad to try to remember anything for her notes. Why bother? She knew all too well what this illness did. Time passed, in moaning and thrashing and filth. She lay by Leonidas, still sleepless, almost as dirty as him, staring with misery and desperate exhaustion.
Today, she thought one morning, is day eleven. Today he dies. Pericles died, with the very best care available. Leon will die and I’ve hardly been able to care for him at all.
She didn’t tie Ivy up that day. Let her go, she thought. Let her go home.
He was quieter. No vomiting – he had nothing left to vomit. No more diarrhoea. Less coughing. For a short while, he even seemed to doze off.
Goodbye, she thought. She had watched strangers die, or people she knew a little, new acquaintances, recent friends, poor dear Philoctetes. And Pericles. She had thought nothing could be worse than that. But watching Leonidas die was a thousand times worse. Leonidas was her own friend, part of her past. He should have been part of her future. She had always known that he would be back.
Despite herself, she fell asleep, lying beside him, tear-stained, thin and grubby.
I love him.
He’ll be dead when I wake.
Xαπτερ 33
He was not dead when she woke.
When she woke, he was sitting up, drinking water.
‘I’m hungry,’ he said. ‘Have we any food?’
She stared at him in utter disbelief.
‘Did you just ask for food?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ he replied.
‘I… I…’ she said.
‘Well, I haven’t eaten,’ he said, and he smiled, a weak smile, but the best smile she had ever seen.
She stared intently at him. ‘Is this real?’ she asked.
‘I believe so.’ He was smiling. Alive.
She sat up next to him, shoulder to shoulder, and rested her head against him. He put his arm around her, and a weight of pain washed off both of them.
‘Oh,’ she said.
For about thirty seconds they were both filled with joy.
Then she started thinking ahead again: Feed him, what with? Find something – then wash him, then – we have to move on. It’s a miracle the Skythians haven’t found us – the Spartans might come back any time. He might want to go with them – but he isn’t well enough. It’s the time people lose their minds, or their sight, or their fingers. Where can we go? And will it be safe to take him among people?
Every minute counts.
North, she was thinking. Away from Athens, and the war – Euboea? Thessaly! Of course – to Kyllarus and Chariklo! But food first. And water. And what could he wear? Not his armour… Ivy? Is she still –
– and suddenly all decisions were taken from her, and all planning fell away.
Again there was a pounding of hooves outside.
The whinnying of horses.
Men’s voices shouting in the yard.
Spartans. They’ll kill me.
Athenians. They’ll kill him.
Her heart was battering her ribcage, her breath came short and ragged, she was helpless.
It was the Skythians.
Ivy was neighing in welcome to her companions. Someone went to her.
Halo stood up, hesitating in the dim room. She didn’t know what to do. Leonidas rose beside her, very carefully and slowly.
And then Arimaspou strode into the filthy room like a stormy west wind.
‘Have you been here all along?’ he shouted. She had never seen him so angry.
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘We have been looking for you,’ he said, with steel in his voice.
They are going to take me back and I will die for treason. I’m going to die now after all. She wanted to pray to Artemis but she didn’t feel like a young girl any more. She wanted to pray to Athena, but Athena had deserted the Athenians… She was scared.
‘I had to hide,’ she blurted.
‘Why?’ said Arimaspou.
‘I had to protect him,’ she said, and her voice tailed away as she said it.
‘Why?’ snapped Arimaspou. ‘Who is he?’
‘My name is Leonidas,’ said Leonidas. It seemed to use all his strength just to say. He was leaning against the wall. His green eyes were alive again, but still he looked terrible.
‘I asked him,’ said Arimaspou dismissively, gesturing to Halo.
‘A man can give his own name,’ murmured Leonidas with a little snort.
Arimaspou glanced shortly at him, then turned again to Halo.
‘Listen,’ he said shortly. ‘Don’t mess around here. No one else would even give you the opportunity to explain yourself. Why in the name of all the Gods and my sweet patience are you putting your life and your reputation and many, many other things at risk, to protect a Spartan?’
‘He protected me,’ she said. ‘Saved my life. Three times. He saves me.’
Leonidas, leaning against the wall, looking at the floor, gave a slight smile.
Arimaspou glanced at him again, then back at Halo.
He sighed.
‘Then we are in his debt,’ he said curtly. ‘We are in his debt.’ He closed his eyes for a moment, and stood quiet. Halo looked at him curiously. Then he pulled himself together, and snapped, ‘And what are you going to do with him now?’
‘I was thinking,’ Halo said quickly, before he changed his mind, ‘when he’s a bit stronger, of going north, to Thessaly, to find Chiron and Kyllarus and ask the Centaurs what we can do about the plague… No one else has any ideas, but maybe, maybe the Centaurs will know something, and we can bring their knowledge back to Athens.’
Captain Arimaspou looked at Leonidas, then looked at her, and rolled his one eye to heaven and then, to her amazement, he said, ‘So we will come too.’
The other Skythians, who had been silent all this time, did not seem at all surprised at their Captain’s words. But Halo was. She wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
‘Why?’ she cried.
‘Because it is our duty,’Arimaspou said, without smiling.
‘Surely it’s your duty to take him hostage and drag me back to Athens and fling me on my knees in the dust before our leaders,’ said Halo.
‘No,’ he said, looking at his fingernails. ‘It is our duty not to risk that.’
‘Why not?’ she said. She didn’t understand. ‘You’re the Athenian Guard and I have certainly broken the Athenian law… Why aren’t you arresting me?’
Arimaspou stared deeply at his fingernails. For an oddly long time. Then he said brusquely, ‘Don’t any of you have any food? Feed them, for the Gods’ sake, and get this Spartan cleaned up.’
‘Arimaspou!’ said Halo. ‘What’s going on?’
The Captain dropped his hand by his side, and glared round at his men. Then he grabbed Halo by the arm, and dragged her out the rotten door into the bright autumn sunshine. For a moment, she was dazzled.
‘Look at me,’Arimaspou said. He took her face in his two hands. ‘Look at me.’
‘I can’t,’ said Halo, confused, trying to keep her voice steady. ‘Your scarf covers half your face. Nobody can look at you.’
Arimaspou’s one clear pale eye was gazing at her. Without wav
ering his gaze, he put his hands to the piece of silk and tried to untie the knot.
‘You could just pull it off,’ Halo said.
‘Yes, yes I could,’ he replied, but he didn’t.
Very gently, Halo reached out to help. It took a moment or two.
The silk fell, and Halo looked, for the first time, at Arimaspou’s face.
‘What do you see?’ said Arimaspou very gently.
Halo saw an ugly, twisted, empty eye socket. She saw a tangled web of shining scars. She saw, among the scars on his forehead, a few lost lines and scraps of deep turquoise tattoo. A horribly damaged face. A face that had been beautiful. A strong, determined face.
A woman’s face.
Their eyes locked. Neither of them spoke. For one long moment they stared at each other in silence, while a cricket scraped its legs in a branch above them.
Halo frowned.
‘Are you…?’ she said.
‘Yes,’ said the woman.
‘But…’ said Halo.
‘Yes,’ said the woman.
‘Do they…?’ said Halo.
‘No,’ said the woman firmly.
‘But how long…’
‘Thirteen years,’ she said. ‘Since I lost my… since I lost you.’
Halo was shaking. The woman bent and gently, almost apologetically, with utter tenderness, kissed her cheek. ‘I won’t lose you again,’ she said. ‘I am sorry,’ she whispered. ‘For so many things.’Then she took the scarf, and swiftly and firmly she wrapped it back around her head.
It was Arimaspou again.
Halo fell into a dead faint.
The Captain caught her as she fell, lifted her and cradled her carefully, carrying her next to his heart.
Xαπτερ 34
After that, everything went into a wild blur of activity. Halo came round as she was being piled on to Arimaspou’s horse. ‘I’m all right,’ she said. ‘Let me down… I’ll be fine.’
‘We’re going back to Athens,’ Arimaspou was saying. ‘There are Spartans everywhere to the north. It’s too dangerous with a sick man.’
For a second Halo thought she must have imagined the whole thing. Hunger playing tricks with her mind. That’s Arimaspou. Just as he always was.