by Michael Ford
What would my mother think of me now? he asked himself. Would she even recognise me?
As they left the river and rounded the fortification south of the village of Kynosaura, the column suddenly faltered to a standstill. Lysander stood on the heel of Kantor, in front of him.
‘Watch it, you clumsy oaf.’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t …’ Then he saw her.
Kassandra.
She was wearing a long mauve wrap-around tunic. She was speaking to someone in the line. It must be Demaratos.
‘Keep moving,’ shouted Aristodermus. The column set off again, and Kassandra stepped back from the path.
How has she taken the news, he wondered. Does she even care?
But as he approached, his cousin turned her back and walked away.
Lysander tried to calm his anger. He watched her hair blowing in the breeze, and hoped she’d turn, just so she could see the hatred in his eyes. But she didn’t.
Aristodermus led them out of Sparta to the west, as the sky turned dark blue, then black.
‘It’s like a funeral,’ said Leonidas.
‘That’s because they don’t expect us to come back,’ said Demaratos.
Lysander had no idea if he would meet death in Taras. But I’ll find out what I’m made of, he thought, as he marched. He was ready for the ultimate test – to face up to his demons, and defeat them.
Chapter 10
They marched out of Sparta and into the night. For some time, they followed the wide track that Lysander and Demaratos had used to get to the mountains for their Ordeal, but as the silhouettes of the peaks loomed above them, Aristodermus directed them on a left fork and the column faced south-west. The track became narrower, wide enough just for the single cart. Its rickety wheels trundled through the worn grooves made by countless others. The Helots sucked in huge breaths as they heaved it onwards.
It looked as though they’d have to climb high into the mountains, but as they passed the end of a ridge that ran east to west, he saw that the ground rose gently up into a wide valley, at the head of which was a pass, silhouetted against the dark sky.
‘That’s where we’re going,’ said Aristodermus. ‘It’s the lowest pass in the Taygetos Mountains, and a route through to Thalamae.’
They hiked up towards the pass, and when they were a hundred feet below it, Aristodermus stopped them.
‘We’ll make camp here,’ he said. ‘The far side is steeper, and sometimes treacherous. Much easier to cope with it in the morning.’
Lysander could have slept were he stood, but Aristodermus pointed to him, his pale eyes flashing in the moonlight.
‘You, Lysander and Leonidas, take the skins and get down to the river. Bring enough water for making a stew. The rest of you, set yourselves around the baggage cart, and get a fire started. Send the Helots to gather wood. We’ll eat before we sleep.’
There was groaning all round.
‘Can’t we sleep?’ said Demaratos in the gloom.
‘Sleep if you like,’ said Aristodermus. ‘But if it snows tonight, you’ll be fighting frostbite in the morning.’
Orpheus was already unhooking the straps that kept his fake leg attached.
Lysander wandered with Leonidas to the cart to get the empty skins, then descended the short walk to the river below. The water in the narrow stream was icy, and by the time the containers were filled, Lysander’s hands were numb claws. As they climbed back to the camp, Leonidas spoke.
‘Is Orpheus all right?’
Lysander shook his head. ‘He barely spoke for the last few stadia. I offered him help on a steep section, but he refused.’
‘Maybe a good night’s rest will help,’ said Leonidas, but Lysander could hear the doubt in his voice.
By the time they returned, their fellow trainees had four small fires going, and were adding more wood to each. Some were already asleep, leaning back against the rocks and wrapped in their blankets, but Lysander forced himself to remain awake while the Helots prepared a vegetable stew in large pots over each of the fires.
‘What’s cooking?’ said Demaratos, waking from his doze.
With his warm bowl cupped in his hands, Lysander ate with the other boys. It was good to feel the hot food in his belly. The Helots waited at the edge of the fire – they’d get the leftovers. He noticed that Lernos was sitting amongst the boys in the darkness, listening to their conversations.
‘By the Gods, it’s freezing,’ said Drako. ‘I thought the barracks were bad.’
After Lysander’s Ordeal in the mountains, he knew he’d be able to cope.
‘Get some more wood on that fire,’ said Prokles to one of the Helots.
As the flames leapt higher, a boy called Endymion warmed his hands over them.
‘What do you think of this new tutor then, Lysander? Better than Diokles, don’t you think?’
‘He’s different,’ said Lysander.
‘He’s lenient, if you want my opinion,’ piped up Sophilus. ‘He’s only flogged one person since he arrived.’
‘And that was unjustified,’ muttered Drako drowsily.
‘You cursed the name of Lykurgos,’ laughed Keos. ‘Diokles would have chopped you into pieces.’
The jokes passed over the campfire, but Lysander’s mind was elsewhere. Could they really be going over the sea? He was the only boy in their barracks, other than Demaratos, who had stepped foot on a ship.
‘What’s Taras like?’ Leonidas asked Lernos.
‘It’s a beautiful place,’ the Spartan replied proudly. ‘The harbour is wide, and shaped like a horseshoe. To the western end are sandy beaches, which often bear the brunt of sea storms. The eastern side is cliffs, rising sheer out of the waters, formed, they say, when the Gods of Olympus warred with the Titans and great boulders were hurled between the earth and the heavens. On calm days, the sea is emerald clear in the shallows, and the depths a blue the richness of which you’ve never known. Seabirds flock around the harbour, chasing the fishing boats, and many times a day larger ships dock to drop off cargo bound for destinations along the coast or further afield.’
‘What sort of cargo?’ asked Orpheus.
‘All kinds,’ said Lernos. ‘Spices. Grain from the African coast, gold and silver sometimes. There’s a mint at Taras, where coins are stamped, and there was a treasury too. No doubt the Messapians have ransacked it now.’
‘And how will we land the ship?’ said Lysander. ‘Surely the Messapians will have planted a garrison near the shore to prevent any reinforcements landing.’
‘That’s a good question,’ said Lernos. ‘You’ve a soldier’s brain, boy.’ He tipped the last of his stew into his mouth. ‘The harbour isn’t the only way into Taras. You remember the cliffs I mentioned? Well, they’re not all sheer. About twenty stadia from Taras is a small cove. It doesn’t look like much from the sea, and it seems at first sight surrounded by insurmountable cliffs, but once on that strip of sand, there’s a way to get inland properly.’
‘How?’ asked Lysander.
Lernos tapped his temple. ‘A series of tunnels, bored long ago through the sandstone rocks by an ancient river. They’re only as tall as a man for most of the way, but one leads right into the rolling fields above the city.’
‘And don’t the Messapians know of this route?’ asked Orpheus.
‘I think not,’ said Lernos. ‘It’s east of Taras, and the land there is useless for farming because of the thin soil. We only found it by accident when a fishing boat was driven ashore in strong winds. The rocks lie just beneath the water at the entrance to the cove, so it’s a perilous place to land.’
‘Great!’ said Prokles. ‘So we’ll be drowned at sea before we even have to fight in the city?’
‘I know the way,’ said Lernos. ‘You’ll have to trust me.’
‘And what about the town itself?’ asked Leonidas. ‘Is it fortified?’
‘In a way, yes,’ said Lernos. ‘The sea protects it on the south side, and though
the first settlers tried to build a great sea wall, it’s fallen into disrepair. The city is built up around a large central square on the quay, and rises gently in all directions. There are two smaller squares inland, two stadia from the main one and forming a triangle with it. Our barracks block was by the western one – it’s probably ash by now – but many of the men lived with their families in houses further up the slope.’
‘With their families?’ said Demaratos, almost losing his mouthful of bread. ‘The men didn’t live together?’
‘In the early days of the colony, yes, but over time men drifted away. We still train together every so often, and share communal meals at certain times of the year,’ he grinned, ‘but not as strictly as Lykurgos would have wished.’
Lysander was beginning to see why the Spartans of Taras were overcome so easily. Where was their discipline?
If Lernos was aware of the bemused stares of Lysander and the other trainees, he didn’t show it.
‘There’s a theatre on the hillside to the east, which is passed if one approaches via the secret tunnels, but it’s not used much except for public gatherings. The west, where the Messapians came from, is farmland as far as the river, then forest thereafter rising to a low ridge. We keep sentries out that way, but they must have been overpowered by traitors from within. Their eyes are always westward facing.’
Lernos paused and from the set of his jaw, Lysander guessed he was thinking of his fallen comrades. Shortly, he continued.
‘The mint and the treasury are centred on the square furthest from the sea – the one we call Croesus Square. Nearest the sea is the fresh food market, where the day’s catch is brought in, and in the other square, Daedalus, is the artisan quarter – the pottery ware is particularly fine, and fetches a good price at markets in Sicily and in the islands.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Lysander. ‘We’ll soon take back what is rightfully ours.’
Aristodermus called over. ‘Lernos, we must talk.’
Lernos stood up, and left the fireside. The boys had settled into their cloaks and blankets. The sounds of light snoring came from around the fire.
‘You sound more like Lykurgos by the day, Lysander,’ said Prokles. ‘Taras is days from anywhere. A whole ocean separates us from Italy. Yet you speak as though they’re on the very doorstep. This isn’t our fight. We’ve only been sent to buy the Council time to properly reinforce after the Persian attack. If they lose a few boys, plenty more can be trained.’
‘What do you know of politics?’ said Lysander, raising his voice. Some of the others sat up.
‘Enough to see when we’re being used,’ replied Prokles. ‘I, for one, plan to keep my head down behind my shield and not take any silly risks.’ He looked hard at Lysander. ‘I’d advise you to do the same, half-breed.’
‘Better a mothax than a coward,’ said Lysander.
As the words left his mouth, Lysander heard the other boys gasp.
‘Mind your tongue,’ said Prokles, ‘or I’ll tear it out of your head.’
But Lysander had taken enough of Prokles’ criticisms.
‘I only hope I won’t be by your side when we go into battle,’ said Lysander. ‘I’d rather have someone who I’m sure won’t run away …’
Prokles was up quick as a hare, throwing his blanket aside, and launching himself at Lysander. As his knee landed on Lysander’s chest, Lysander jammed up his arms to prevent the force breaking his breastbone.
‘Stop them,’ shouted Leonidas.
They rolled down the path, and Lysander was aware of the other boys scrambling out of the way. ‘Watch it!’ grumbled Drako. ‘I’m trying to sleep.’
Lysander ended up on top of Prokles, but the other boy’s hands were clutching at his throat. Lysander smashed his fists into the crooks of Prokles’ elbows, breaking the stranglehold, then swung his fists repeatedly into Prokles’ face. The other boy managed to block some of the shots, but one got through with a satisfying crunch against Prokles’ jaw. Prokles grunted, then spat a mouthful of blood and a tooth into Lysander’s face. Lysander jerked back and Prokles had enough time to swing the back of his hand into Lysander’s ear. The blow made Lysander’s head ring and he fell to the side as Prokles squirmed out from underneath him. When he tried to get up his legs were unsteady, and he could do nothing as Prokles aimed a vicious kick into his ribs. Another knocked the wind out of him.
The other boys formed a circle around them.
‘Knock him dead, Prokles,’ said Sophilus.
‘Watch his feet,’ called Kantor.
Lysander looked up to see Prokles’ face, lit by the flickering flames. ‘Had enough?’ he said through bloodied teeth.
‘Go to Hades,’ said Lysander.
Prokles aimed another kick but this time Lysander was ready and rolled his shoulder into the oncoming leg while grabbing his attacker’s foot in both hands. He pushed off from the ground, and twisted Prokles’ foot. Lysander lunged and Prokles cried out as he spun through the air and crashed into the edge of the fire, scattering sparks.
He howled in panic, and rolled over, trying to quench the flames, then scrambled to his feet. Lysander clenched his fists and readied himself, but as he stepped forward a foot tripped him. He slammed into the path, and felt a hand yank him around on to his back. Lysander raised his fists to face whoever was helping Prokles.
A drawn sword pointed at Lysander’s face.
‘What in the name of all the Gods do you think you’re doing?’ said Aristodermus.
Chapter 11
Lysander’s chest heaved, and the blood pulsed in his head.
‘Well!’ said his tutor. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Nothing,’ he said, sprawled on his back in the dirt. Suddenly he felt young and foolish.
Aristodermus sheathed his sword, then jerked his head at Prokles.
‘You. Anything to say?’
Prokles wiped the blood from his mouth, and shook his head.
‘It was only a disagreement,’ said Lysander, climbing stiffly to his feet. ‘We’ve discussed it.’
‘Discussed?’ said Aristodermus. ‘You both would do well to learn who the enemy really is. They’re waiting, over the sea, with weapons sharpened to cut a band of Spartan novices into pieces. I won’t have my reputation tarnished by indiscipline. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Prokles.
Lysander nodded.
Aristodermus punched him in the side of the head.
‘Answer me, boy!’
‘Yes, sir.’ He forced the words out.
‘You can both sleep away from the fire as punishment,’ said Aristodermus. ‘Follow the trail back down for a hundred paces, and make your beds there. Don’t come up till dawn.’
Lysander didn’t wait for another blow. He wanted to be away from all the staring faces of his comrades. He gathered his blanket, and set off with Prokles on his heels.
He found a space at the bottom of a rocky outcrop, where at least they’d be out of the wind. The ground was lumpy, and it was impossible to get comfortable.
This is all I deserve, thought Lysander. He’d been a fool to lose his temper with such an unsuitable enemy. Prokles was nothing but a spineless bully; beneath Lysander’s contempt.
‘I’m not a coward,’ said Prokles, as if reading his thoughts.
Lysander shifted and looked over at the other boy. ‘Then why are you so keen to stay out of trouble? If you had your way, we’d never have left the barracks.’
‘You don’t understand …’ Prokles tailed off. Lysander watched him struggle to get comfortable on the hard-packed ground.
Settling down in his own blanket, he stared at his hands. His knuckles were bloodied and swollen, but the pain he felt was deep within. He knew he’d goaded Prokles, and given him no choice but to fight, but why should he take any boy’s insults?
He looked up at the stars, and imagined Sarpedon watching him. He had always been patient with Lysander, as he tried to mould him into a Spartan war
rior. Was this the way he paid his grandfather back, by fighting among his comrades?
A comet streaked across the heavens.
‘Goodnight, Grandfather,’ Lysander whispered. Then he closed his eyes.
‘Get up down there!’ shouted Demaratos.
Lysander woke as the sky was beginning to change from black to milky grey. He nudged Prokles.
‘Come on,’ he said.
Prokles stirred, and Lysander felt a flash of guilt. The other boy’s lip was cut, and a patch of dry blood stained his cheek.
Together they trudged back up the slope and found the others gathering their possessions and piling their blankets in the cart.
‘Has a night in the cold settled your differences?’ asked Aristodermus.
Prokles looked at Lysander. Lysander nodded, and slapped Prokles on the shoulder. ‘We’re fine.’
‘Good,’ said their tutor. ‘Get back in line.’
Lysander took his place beside Orpheus, who looked pale and exhausted, with sunken eyes.
‘Sleep badly?’ he asked.
‘My leg,’ said Orpheus. ‘I don’t think it’s healing properly. It kept cramping in the night.’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Lysander. ‘I’ll stick by your side.’
‘Listen, Spartans,’ yelled Aristodermus. ‘Today we march quickly. Thalamae is over the pass, and a day’s march beyond. We can’t afford to stop for meals, or arguments. Right, march on!’
They climbed the remaining height to the pass. Orpheus’s face dripped with sweat, and every few steps Lysander heard him let out a small whimper of pain. He must be in agony.
The land was more rugged on the far side of the pass, heavily forested, and in the distance the sea shimmered in the morning air. A rutted track zigzagged down from the pass, and there was still a little snow, packed hard into the crevices where the setting sun never reached. An icy wind gusted around them. Lysander’s ears were frozen, and he couldn’t feel his feet in his sandals. This was the main route into Messenia, the land of Lysander’s forefathers, but now it was all under the Spartan yoke. When he was younger, Lysander had dreamt of crossing these mountains, and entering his ancestors’ homeland a free man. He never would have believed he’d come this way wearing the red cloak of his oppressors.