My Spartan Hellion

by Nadia Aidan

  Thanos had sent a messenger ahead of him and his army—they were coming. When she’d received the news at dawn, hope had flooded her, renewing her strength. All they had to do was hold the city until Thanos returned with his army.

  Reaching down, she scrambled to gather another handful of arrows when she heard the wail of a horn in the distance. She shot to her feet, squinting against the midday rays as she stared across the battlefield.

  The moment she saw him, her heart did a quick little flutter.

  Dressed in his full armour, he rode astride Zeus, the white stallion standing out among the other warhorses. Much like the dawn they’d first met, she could not see his face with his helmet firmly in place, but, even had she not caught a glimpse of the scarlet crest, she would have known instantly that it was him. He rode with a steady confidence that called out to her, and, even if she’d closed her eyes, she still would have known that he was near.

  Thanos.

  She spun around to signal the archers and the helots manning the catapults to stop. They could not risk striking down the advancing men who, as she spoke, were caging in the Romans.

  Relief rushed through her as the now vastly outnumbered Romans scrambled to push back the Spartans from both sides. As the dawn passed and the battle raged before her, Lamia realised that the Romans faced imminent defeat as Thanos and his hoplites slashed through their crumbling formation.

  By dusk, the invaders were left with only two choices—surrender and live, or fight to the death.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Captain Marcus Aurelius crept along the craggy rocks of the stoned path towards the centre of Sparta, already knowing that this plan was a mistake. General Scipio had ordered him to move a small band of two dozen soldiers along the southern trail into Sparta. Although the enemy spies had caught sight of their movement, Scipio believed the Spartan army would be far too busy defending the outskirts of the city to have time to react and flush out his men, whose main goal was to disable the catapults that were severely weakening the Roman troops then quickly return to their formation.

  He knew Scipio hadn’t expected such staunch resistance from the Greeks, but he thought it foolish on the older general’s part to have underestimated the formidable Spartans. His foolishness was why Marcus was now being ordered to undertake an equally imprudent mission that he sensed would only end in disaster.

  With stealthy steps he crept through the deserted and darkened city towards his destination until it was in sight. Three catapults sat atop a hill, along with hundreds of male slaves…and women. He grimaced. Scipio had not mentioned women. Marcus had strict principles when it came to killing women and children—he would not do it. He was a soldier, not a murderer, and killing innocent women and children was murder to him.

  He turned to his men. “Our orders are to destroy the catapults but there are women up there so we will be quick about this. I do not want any innocent casualties, understood?”

  “But, Captain, they’re armed. Besides, they’re Spartan women,” a soldier spat out, his voice ringing with insolence.

  Cornelius.

  He’d never liked Cornelius—he was lazy and lacked discipline, and there was a sinister air that surrounded the younger man that had always unsettled him.

  Marcus tamped down his rising temper so he did not succumb to the burning desire to smash his fist into the soldier’s jaw. He did not wish to delay this task any longer than need be—and a fight between him and Cornelius promised just that.

  “I do not care who they are, or that they’re armed,” he said sharply, his pointed gaze fixing on Cornelius. “If we cannot disarm them using brute force and our bare hands then we will retreat. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir,” his men responded, all except Cornelius. His beady eyes were hard and cruel with blood lust, and Marcus swore that he felt his blood freeze as the air around him grew cold and ominous.

  * * * *

  The sun was waning in the sky, dusk giving way to a humid eve, as Lamia stood with the other women and helots, her attention riveted on the battle below. Never once did her eyes stray from the lone soldier atop a white stallion. Every time he lifted his sword to deflect an attack her breath hitched in her chest. She longed to be down there with him, not standing up here helpless and simply watching, but she knew Cleomenes would never allow her past the phalanx that stood like an impenetrable fortress before the imaginary gates of Sparta.

  Cheers rang out as they watched Thanos’ forces push the Romans deeper into the phalanx at their backs. Their Roman leader had yet to sound the horn and wave the white banner of surrender, so the Spartans pressed on. She had to admit that she was impressed by the fortitude of the Romans, but she knew the battle would be over by the time the pale silver moon shimmered in the black sky. And, from the looks of it, there wouldn’t be many prisoners—most of the invading soldiers would be dead.

  She was so engrossed in the battle before her that it took her a moment to notice the flickering flames of gold. She whipped her head around, her long braid flying over her shoulder, to watch in horror as seemingly dozens of soldiers scrambled about, setting torches to all three of the catapults.

  “Romans!” she shouted at the same time that she lifted her bow, sending a stream of arrows hurling across the distance to catch four soldiers unawares. Cries of pain pierced her ears as they clutched at the long wooden darts now protruding from their flesh.

  She reached for four more arrows to arm her bow, but then everything seemed to happen at once as they sent back their own fire and a whir of arrows buzzed around her head. She ducked and dodged flying arrows, desperately trying to grasp her shield, which lay at her feet, but she wasn’t fast enough.

  She heard her name at the same time a knot of pain exploded in her side.

  With a sharp gasp, she dropped to her knees, curling her hand around the thin arrow.

  “Do not pull it out. Do not move,” Callisto barked as she helped her to the ground, laying her flat on her back. Fear flashed in the jade-coloured eyes of her friend, before she saw her push it away, replacing it with steely determination. It was a look Lamia wasn’t used to seeing on Callisto’s face, but one she’d grown accustomed to since the attack on Sparta.

  She heard a deep male voice call out “Retreat!” and for a moment she thought it was Thanos, but then she found it difficult to form even the tiniest thought when a sharp pang ripped through her and more blood leaked from her wound.

  “Go, Callisto. Push back the Romans. I will be fine.”

  She shook her head vehemently. “No.”

  If she’d had the strength she would have pushed her, but she didn’t. She opened her mouth to command her to leave, but, before she could, a dark shadow fell across them. Terror filled her when a Roman soldier with sinister eyes lifted his sword high above her friend’s back.

  “Callisto, move!”

  “Cornelius, no!” shouted that voice again, so much like Thanos’, then she watched as, almost in slow motion, the soldier’s eyes widened, his sword falling from his hand, and thick rivulets of blood gurgled from his mouth. Moments later he slumped over and collapsed to the ground.

  Callisto whirled her head around at the same time that a handsome Roman soldier came into view, his piercing blue eyes filled with concern.

  “Are you all right?”

  She wanted to shout, ‘Do I look all right?’ but the Roman’s eyes were not on her.

  His gaze was riveted upon Callisto as hers was upon him.

  Her friend nodded slowly. “Thank you.” And then she felt like an intruder when an invisible current of awareness arced between them. She felt it so she knew they must have as well. She wanted to shake them both and yell, ‘Hello, I’m dying here!’, but she didn’t have the strength.

  All of a sudden raucous shouts vibrated from around her and she struggled to make out the words. She swore she heard ‘The king is coming’. But that was impossible. Thanos had been on the battlefield only moments ago. She wondered why
Cleomenes had moved his soldiers to the hill. Just before she’d fallen, they’d doused the fire from two of the catapults and were successfully pushing back the Romans. They didn’t need reinforcements.

  Callisto gasped at something over her shoulder at the same time that the Roman’s eyes grew wide and he backed away from her, shouting “Retreat!” once again. He disappeared from her sight and, when Callisto stepped away from her, she finally understood why the Roman had been in such a hurry to leave.

  * * * *

  Thanos and his men had backed the Romans so tightly against Cleomenes’ forces that it would be a blood bath if they continued, but that was their choice. Scipio had stubbornly refused to surrender, so Thanos was left with no other option but to completely destroy the Roman army. He almost admired the general, because, if the roles had been reversed, every Spartan would have died before they’d surrendered.

  Still, he hoped that it didn’t come to that, which was why he planned to crush the spirit of the Romans so brutally that the foot soldiers would simply give up, despite the word of their leader.

  He urged Zeus forward to take up arms once again but halted his mount at the sight of angry red flames flickering against the black horizon along the hill above Pylos.

  Anger knotted his belly. Somehow the Romans had managed to circumvent the phalanx to enter the city, probably through the tunnels just beneath the ground.

  Narrowing his eyes, he scanned the distance. A little more than twenty soldiers stood on the hill battling the women and helots, who were succeeding in defending their position as they quickly doused the flames from the catapults.

  His gaze snapped to Lamia, her long mane twisted into a braid that flopped against her back as she led the charge. Pride washed over him and he curled his lips into a small smile. He’d caught sight of her when he’d first ridden onto the battlefield and his gaze had periodically strayed to her, just to assure himself she remained unharmed.

  Warmth settled around his heart as he watched her. He could not have asked for a better wife or queen to stand by his side. She was fearless, her bravery unmatched by any other woman he’d ever known.

  He was just about to turn away from her, to rejoin the battle, when something he’d never felt before gripped him. He watched helplessly as a single arrow careened through the sky to lodge itself deep in her body.

  “Lamia, no!”

  Digging his heels into Zeus’ flanks, he charged forward. The icy fingers of fear clenched tighter around his heart with each passing moment as he raced towards the hill, spurring his mount to go faster.

  In all his annos, he’d never done this. He’d never broken formation, never once left the battlefield. He hadn’t even stopped to transfer command to his second, Ulysseus, or even to Adonis who’d been close by. All thoughts of the Romans and the battle vanished from his head as he raced towards the city. None of it mattered. All he could think of was Lamia. That he loved her. That she was the most important person in his entire world and he’d not once told her this.

  “Out of my way!” he called out before he reached the phalanx. The men were stunned to see their king charging forward, but they did as he commanded.

  The six remaining layers all parted for him, immediately closing once again as soon as he’d passed through.

  Zeus’ hooves clapped along the cobbled streets as he navigated his way through the city until he reached the base of the hill.

  “Up, Zeus,” he commanded, pushing his treasured warhorse, who’d been with him since he was a colt, up the steep hill.

  Zeus trudged forward, climbing steadily until they reached the top. He’d barely reined in Zeus to a stop before he leapt to the ground, ripped off his helmet and raced towards Lamia where she lay prostrate on the soft grass.

  Nudging Callisto aside, he cupped the back of Lamia’s head and pressed his hand against her bleeding wound. Her garments were stained red, and the angry circle had spread across her entire middle.

  A cold sweat trickled down his forehead as fear gnawed at him. “Get a physician,” he barked out as he held her. He’d seen enough wounds to know she needed to be attended to soon.

  “Lamia.” He called her name softly, stroking her warm brow, pushing back the tiny wisps of hair that had broken free from her braid.

  “Thanos,” she said breathlessly, a small smile lifting her lips.

  “Shhh, do not speak. It will be all right,” he said quietly, his voice cajoling as if she were a child. He ran his hand down her face to cup her chin. “I love you,” he whispered, the words that had been locked inside him for so long tumbling forth effortlessly.

  He loved her.

  She tried to smile again, but this time the pain must have made it more difficult and her eyes watered. “I love you too, Thanos. My Spartan,” she said weakly, and then it was as if his entire world stopped as he watched her lashes flutter shut and her body still.

  * * * *

  Ulysseus saw her as soon as his horse climbed over the ridge to his home. She stood there, her eyes anxious, although she did her best to hide her fear behind a brave mask.

  Her face lit up as soon she saw him, and he urged his stallion forward until she was standing below him. Dropping down from his mount he dragged her into his arms, holding her close.

  She clung to him, the warmth of her body seeping through his armour to heat his skin. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent, which reminded him of wildflowers in springtime. He didn’t want to let her go, not after so many moons spent without her, dreaming of her, hoping the last vision of her would not be one from his dreams that he carried with him to the Underworld.

  “Ulysseus.” Her touch was tender against his hair-roughened face, bringing him back to the present, reminding him that he was still very much alive.

  He dipped his head to taste her lips. The kiss was gentle, just enough to tide him over until later when he’d explore her body more fully in the privacy of their bedchamber. Dragging his mouth from hers, he tucked her small hand in his and without a word they walked inside their home.

  Ulysseus needed to visit the baths and cleanse himself before coming to her, but she gripped his hand tight, leading them towards their bedchamber, one of only two rooms in their home with a door. This was where they went when they needed complete privacy from the helots in their household.

  He ushered her into the room before him and closed the door. Dawn was on the horizon, and tiny rays of shimmering gold streamed through the window, bathing their bed in their russet glow, fanning out behind Basha, casting her in their ethereal radiance. She looked like a goddess before him, her gauzy chiton almost completely sheer, which was why he soon noticed the changes in her.

  They were subtle. Her breasts were fuller, her hips rounder, and there was just a gentle swell to her belly, but even with the slight changes, he knew. And it destroyed him.

  He stilled, the pain of her betrayal threatening to buckle his knees. Ulysseus stood there completely helpless against the anguish that seared him, burning through his belly until it consumed his heart.

  “Ulysseus—”

  She took a step towards him, her hand outstretched, but when he drew away from her, pressing his back to the door, she stopped, letting her hand fall to her side.

  It was as if a fist had closed around his heart and he felt as if he would die from the pain. He couldn’t breathe—every single breath was painful, agonising. The air in the room had disappeared and now he was suffocating.

  He’d known this dawn would come. He’d seen the signs, but he’d hoped he would be wrong. He’d convinced himself they were past this, and when she’d told him she loved him, he’d believed her, which was why he’d been certain she would not do what he’d asked her not to do, what he’d made her promise not to do.

  “Ulysseus, let me explain—”

  “What is there to explain, Basha? I asked you not to take another man into our bed, inside your body.” His entire body shook as his voice climbed and he realised he was sh
outing, but he could not control himself long enough to temper his voice. “I asked you not to give another man what was mine, but you did not care. You claim you love me, but you don’t. The only person you love is yourself.”

  “That is not t—”

  “True?” A bitter laugh escaped his lips and he shook his head. To think he’d loved her since he was a young man, had spent his entire life trying to please her, trying to make her happy, but it had never been enough. Basha needed perfection. Driven by her own insecurities, she could not accept anything less.

  “What is not true? That you took a lover? I know you made love with Zenos.” He ignored her shocked gasp as he advanced forward, coming to a stop before her. “I saw you enter the baths with him, and I waited there for an hour until you both left.”

  She shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance. He didn’t need to hear lies from her lips when he had eyes.

  He had endured physical pain beyond what a normal man could stand and still live, and yet the pain of seeing his wife with another man, knowing she was a liar, had nearly killed him.

  “I gave you many opportunities to tell me the truth, but you lied to me, to my face. Every time I asked you if you needed to discuss something, you said there was nothing to tell. Even when we stopped making love, you did not feel compelled to tell me the truth. Why do you think I would not touch you for so many moons? I knew if you would lie about taking a lover that you would not hesitate to get with child, then try to pass it off as mine and then lie about that too.”

  Tears spilled over her lids to stream down her face, which sent a jolt of lightning shooting through his entire body, and he stood there, completely frozen. Basha never cried. Never once had she shed a tear, not even after her miscarriages. His wife did not cry, she did not admit weakness, she did not show any emotion that would leave her open to attacks that she was not Spartan enough, not strong enough, not good enough.