My Spartan Hellion

by Nadia Aidan

  “I am in no mood, Callisto,” she muttered under her breath and turned back to her work, but her friend was far from offended, let alone deterred.

  “Yes, and if you say that to Thanos as prettily as you just said it to me it is no wonder you are so…frustrated.”

  Lamia spun to face Callisto, her cheeks heating with embarrassment. She was still trying to get used to the Spartan humour or the laconic wit as they called it. Crass and abrasive was more accurate a description in her opinion.

  She flung the sword aside, dimming the smelting fires. With Callisto, there was no telling when she would get back to work.

  “It is not me you should ask about their moods,” she said irritably.

  Callisto’s brows knitted above startled eyes.

  Immediately, Lamia surmised the direction of her friend’s thoughts. “You mistake my meaning. Thanos has no physical trouble—he just chooses not to,” she said softly, her eyes drifting to the ground, embarrassed to say even that much.

  “But it was not like this before,” Callisto remarked. “You two were always tearing at each other’s garments. I repaired at least four of his—”

  “We had a fight,” she interrupted before her friend could continue. She did not need Callisto to recount the tales of the arduous lovemaking she and Thanos used to enjoy.

  “Over what?” Callisto questioned as she plopped her curvy backside down on one of the marble benches in the courtyard.

  Lamia sighed. It would be a long while before she got back to work now that Callisto had got comfortable.

  Although her time with Callisto would undoubtedly set her back another dawn, she didn’t mind—she welcomed it, actually. She had not left many friends behind in Carthage and it was nice to have friends like Callisto and Basha to confide in.

  Lamia recounted the gist of her fight with Thanos, and when she was done she expected Callisto to be outraged by Thanos’ stubborn behaviour, his unreasonableness, his complete inability to see her point, so she was surprised when, instead of agreeing with her, Callisto took his side.

  “I am not taking Thanos’ side, Lamia,” Callisto argued, brushing aside Lamia’s heated accusation. “Of course I am your friend. That is why I am pointing out that you are a fool to think you could tell Thanos you wanted to leave him and that he would not grow cold towards you. To Thanos’ way of thinking, you were rejecting him. And for a man as proud as Thanos, rejection is a hard blow to his pride, especially coming from the woman he loves.”

  Loves? Whatever made her friend believe Thanos loved her? She shook her head sadly. “You are wrong, Callisto. Thanos does not love me.”

  “Of course he does. He wed you. Made you his queen. Everything he does, he does to please you.”

  “Again, you are mistaken. Thanos cares for me, and before our fight we shared a deep affection, but that is not love. Not once has he even said the words.”

  “Is that what you think?” Callisto’s brow wrinkled with tiny lines. “That Thanos does not love you because he does not tell you? If that is what you believe, then you still have much to learn about the men of Sparta.” She chuckled. “Our men do not so openly declare their love, wearing their affections upon their brows, but that does not mean, once a man of Sparta has claimed a woman as his, he does not love her, for he will show it in his actions, in how he treats her. Thanos loves you, Lamia, but it will be some time before he says it, if at all. That is just how our men are made. You have to listen to their actions, not their words.”

  Lamia snorted. Well then, that was easy now, wasn’t it? She had her answer, since Thanos’ actions were nothing but cold and distant—clearly not a symbol of love.

  “Thanos does not love me, Callisto, and I cannot blame him. I told him I planned to leave him. That I was going to walk away, and so he did it first.”

  “Ahh, Lamia, Lamia,” Callisto chided. “Thanos’ pride was wounded, so he is sulking right now. In time he will get over it, especially if you admit what you’ve just admitted to me. That you miss him, that you were wrong. But, even if you do not, that will not stop Thanos from trying to win you again. He has not walked away, Lamia, of that you can be certain. And if you even doubt my words, just see what happens if another man comes near you. You belong to Thanos, and I can assure you, no matter what has transpired between the two of you, that is exactly how he still feels.”

  “But that is not love,” Lamia argued. “Thanos is just possessive. What man isn’t?”

  A tiny smile spread across Callisto’s face and she shook her head, as if to say Lamia, you have much to learn.

  She could not argue that. She had much to learn about Sparta, its customs, and the man she still called her husband.

  “There are no boundaries here, Lamia. If a couple decides to go outside their union, that is acceptable, so if Thanos is possessive that does mean something, because most Spartan men are not. There simply is no need to possess what belongs to everyone. It is like coveting the air of your neighbour, and yet Thanos covets you because he considers you his and only his.

  “Thanos loves you,” Callisto pressed. “And, if you ever desire evidence of this, simply turn your attentions to another man or let another man turn his attention to you, and Thanos will reveal himself as he never has before.”

  * * * *

  “Don’t you think it is time for you to return home and talk to your wife?”

  Thanos glowered at his brother. He didn’t need this. He’d come here to escape his problems, not confront them directly. Besides, Ulysseus had enough of his own, certainly far too many to take on his.

  “Have you talked to Basha since your argument?”

  “I know what you are trying to do, but it shall not work. To answer your question, no we have not talked and we have not done much else for that matter, but, thus far, neither one of us has moved into separate chambers or taken up residence at our brother’s home.”

  Thanos glared at Ulysseus, itching to wipe that smirk from his face with his fist.

  “Basha does not have a brother—”

  “You need to go home, Thanos,” Ulysseus said firmly.

  But Thanos was too sullen to heed warnings. His brother talked to him as if he didn’t have problems with his own wife. “Just as you need to talk to Basha about why it is you two haven’t conceived a chi—”

  Ulysseus lunged for him, and he let him ball his fist into his chlamys. Thanos wanted a good fight—it would help ease the ache inside him that cried out for release.

  “You can strike me all you like,” Thanos growled. “Just know that I shall hit back, but no matter how many times you strike me it won’t silence the guilt inside you. Try fucking your wife for once, and maybe she could actually have a bab—”

  “You need to stop right there because you know nothing of what keeps me from Basha’s bed.” Fury raged in Ulysseus’ gaze, but Thanos also glimpsed a soul-stirring pain, and it instantly quieted his own anger.

  It was as if all the air inside him had been let out, and he felt completely empty and deflated. He wasn’t angry with Ulysseus—he was only lashing out at him because his brother was convenient and he could not lash out at the one person whom he truly was furious with—himself.

  “I am sorry, brother. My anger is directed towards the wrong pers—”

  “Ulysseus, release him,” Basha snapped from the doorway. “I grow weary of all the things that disappear from my home because you two are constantly tussling like children.”

  Ulysseus released his hold on him as Basha sauntered into the oikos, her hips swaying gently. For just a moment, a look passed between Basha and his brother that was so intimate he felt as if he should cover his eyes. It was a look of longing—their eyes, their bodies saying what their lips would not—but it passed just as quickly as it had come, and he almost thought he’d imagined it when Basha turned towards him with a smirk on her face.

  “There is a messenger here with a note for you, Thanos. He says it is from your wife.”

  * * *
*

  Thanos walked towards his home, dragging his feet slowly. He’d wondered how long he could go before Lamia’s patience ran out. He was surprised she’d lasted as long as she had. He’d avoided her for a full moon, by rising early and returning long after she’d gone to bed. But he’d known she wouldn’t stand for it forever so it had been no surprise when he’d received the summons for him to return home.

  Ulysseus had roared with laughter when the helot had arrived with the terse message, trembling as he delivered it—‘Come home now or I shall drag you home myself!’

  “For all your searching I do believe you wed a Spartan woman after all,” Ulysseus had taunted, falling over himself with laughter.

  With his foul mood, he would have actually punched his brother that time had Basha not kicked him out, saying, “I can see where this is headed and I have no intention of letting the two of you destroy my pottery again. Go home to your wife, Thanos. You are very lucky she did not actually come and drag you home, as she threatened. I know I would have if you stayed gone until dusk for as long as you have.”

  He’d scowled at her words. Basha had always been his champion. They’d rarely disagreed on anything and she had always been quick to defend him, so he was more than surprised that she’d taken his wife’s side.

  Women.

  No matter he’d known Basha all his life, after just a few moons her and Lamia had now banded together against him. And Thanos knew it had been from her co-conspirator that Lamia had even discovered his whereabouts in the first place.

  For the last full moon he’d spent his eves hiding out at his brother’s until he was certain she was asleep and only then would he return home. Last eve he’d overindulged in too much wine, and had passed out on one of the couches in his brother’s oikos. He’d finally stumbled home well past dawn. He knew it was cowardly to hide from his wife, but he saw no other way. It was hard for him to be at home with her, in separate chambers, pretending to be her husband when he was not.

  Leaving his brother’s home behind, Thanos walked the short distance towards the spot where he’d left Zeus tethered. It was well into the eve, and the moon winked out from behind weaving clouds, piercing the charcoal night. The streets were empty, eerily silent, and for a fleeting moment a chill of unease crept down his spine, leaving the hairs on the back of his neck tingling. He tightened his hand around the reins.

  Thanos glanced up, his gaze searching into the darkness, but he saw nothing but barren, mud-brick pathways.

  For some time now, he’d felt as if someone was watching him, but nothing had ever come of it so he’d just brushed it aside. Yet again, he felt someone’s eyes upon him, but as he raked his gaze in every direction, he didn’t see anything that was amiss. He shook himself with a mocking curse. He had far more tangible problems than the imaginary ones he’d created in his head.

  The most important one being the very real troubles with his wife. He acknowledged that he’d made a mess of things by pushing Lamia away, but he didn’t yet know what else to do with her. She planned to leave him. What was he supposed to do?

  He was not a man who existed in grey spaces. Either she wanted to be there with him, or she did not, and he could not pretend to be her husband in the truest sense when so many uncertainties lingered between them—when he knew she would one dawn pack her belongings and disappear from his life.

  With a pained sigh, he lifted his hand to untie the knot that held Zeus to the post. These were all questions he could not answer alone. He needed to return home. It was finally time for him to face Lam—

  Raucous laughter echoed on the wind, snaring his attention. Two young men stumbled onto the street, bloated with wine and staggering on wobbly legs.

  They were drunk and Thanos curled his lips into a small grin as he watched them tumble along. Ahh, the stupidity of youth. He knew they would curse themselves at dawn when they awoke with pounding heads.

  He let his hand fall to his side and followed the same pathway the boys had just taken. It had been several moons since his last visit to the tavernas but he could use a nice full cup of wine. As soon as he was done, he would then go home and face his wife.

  * * * *

  “Thank you for coming with me.”

  Basha sent her a sidelong glance as if to say she owed her many coins for this. “I couldn’t let you go alone. I hope he’s here because if Ulysseus awakens before I return then I will never hear the end of this.”

  “He has to be here—”

  Basha sighed deeply and Lamia knew what was coming, but she did not wish to hear it.

  “Lamia, I have tried to prepare you for the possibility that he may have taken—”

  She halted immediately, rounding on her sister within the law. “Don’t say it. Do. Not. Say. It.” She punctuated each word softly, coldly.

  Basha sighed. “Fine.”

  Lamia nodded and resumed her hurried pace towards the tavernas. When Thanos had failed to return home an hour past the time he should have, she’d gone in search of Basha. Luckily for her, Basha had still been awake, although Lamia had not been pleased to hear Basha’s news. Thanos had departed from Basha’s home over two hours ago. He should have been fast asleep in his bedchamber by now. But he wasn’t. And she refused to believe he was in another woman’s. But this was two eves now and—

  Stop it.

  She shook her head firmly as if she could banish the notion from her mind. Do not torture yourself this way.

  Just the thought of him warming another woman’s bed made her heart wrench so she refused to even think about it, which left only one other place where Thanos could be—the tavernas. She prayed to the gods he was there, because, if he wasn’t, she didn’t know what she would do. After their fight, she’d known that Thanos wouldn’t simply idle about, twiddling his thumbs for her to make up her mind about them—after all, she’d told him she was leaving with such a finality that it would not have been erroneous for him to believe her. She’d still never considered he would seek out another woman, however. Foolish it may have been to think such a thing, but she never would have imagined Thanos could betray her so cruelly while he still called her wife.

  She caught sight of the torches blazing in the distance and quickened her pace. When she reached the rickety old building with its crumbling façade and nauseous stench, she hesitated. She had no idea why people would wish to spend their time in such a dreary place, but that wasn’t her concern. Her only concern was Thanos, and with thoughts of him firmly fixed in her mind she stepped inside.

  Her heart sank when she swept her gaze over the room. About two dozen men crowded the dingy space, along with a few women, whom she assumed to be prostitutes, but Thanos was nowhere in sight.

  She choked back a sob and spun around to leave.

  “Where are you going?” Basha questioned, blocking her path.

  “He’s not here,” she whispered brokenly, hating how her voice now quivered. It was humiliating. How could Thanos do this to her?

  Basha stared at her as if she was mad. “What do you mean he’s not here?” She pointed over Lamia’s shoulder. “Look there, in that corner, behind the prostitute.”

  She followed the direction of Basha’s hand until it landed on Thanos, who sat at a table off in a corner. She’d missed him before because three men sat across from him at the table as well, obstructing her view, along with the prostitute who kept dipping in and out of her line of sight. She frowned then when the woman completely blocked her view of Thanos by sitting in his lap.

  She was going to kill him, Lamia decided, as she marched towards him with Basha on her heels.

  She stopped before Thanos to glare down at him. His pupils were dilated from all the wine he’d consumed, but he was sober enough to realise he was in a wealth of trouble as he stared up at her, alarm spreading across his face.

  She swung her gaze towards the woman, who looked to be barely older than Adonis. She felt nothing but sadness for her. This was no way for a woman as young as
she to make a living. However, her pity was short-lived when the woman ran her palm along Thanos’ thigh.

  She glowered at her. “I suggest you remove yourself from his lap if you do not desire trouble.”

  Anger flashed in the girl’s eyes, and Lamia stepped closer when the woman did not so much as move.

  “It would be wise for you to remove yourself as she asked,” Basha called from over Lamia’s shoulder.

  The prostitute’s gaze darted between the two women, realising immediately she was outmatched. With a nod, the girl quickly scrambled off Thanos’ lap and disappeared.

  With the young woman gone, Lamia turned her attention to the three men sitting at the table, their rapt gazes riveted on her and Thanos.

  “Could you spare us a moment?” She did not wish for an audience to hear what she had to say.

  The men were slow to shuffle off, but eventually they disappeared from sight as well.

  When Basha backed away to give them privacy, Lamia finally turned her full attention to Thanos. Mindful of the curious eyes and alert ears, she kept her voice low.

  “We can do this two ways, Thanos. You can walk out of here with me and we can go home and have this conversation in private. Or you can stubbornly refuse to leave and we can stay here and give all of Sparta something to talk about for the next fortnight.”

  Thanos may have been drunk, but he wasn’t stupid. Moments later they departed from the tavernas and headed home.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Lamia jabbed her sword into her imaginary opponent’s chest.

  No, she corrected, he was not imaginary at all. Thanos would fit perfectly on the other end of her sword.

  As soon as they’d arrived home last eve, Thanos had passed out in his bed, fast asleep. And when she awoke at dawn, he was still there, still fast asleep. She’d left him there. He was lucky he hadn’t been awake because she was furious. As if carting home a drunk husband wasn’t enough, before they could leave the prostitute had demanded payment from them, which had been promised to her by Thanos.