Legacy of Blood (11 page)

Come on
, Lysander willed them.
Let me go!
Lysander knew little about the men, other than they were of two families who famously disagreed. The eyes of the chamber were on them, and each King looked at the other. Slowly, Cleomenes stood.

‘The boys' barracks will march,' said Cleomenes.

Lysander had been handed the opportunity to prove to himself that he was still a warrior.

But will we ever come back alive?
he thought.

The boys in the barracks were wrestling outside when Lysander and his companions returned.

‘Quit your games,' bellowed Aristodermus. ‘We're shipping out! Gather your cloaks and weapons. The baggage carts will be here before dusk, and we march tonight.'

Orpheus hobbled alongside Lysander.

‘Where are we going?'

Lysander explained the extraordinary debate in the Council chamber.

‘Taras is at least three days away by boat,' calculated Orpheus. ‘By now the Messapians will have consolidated their positions. We have to hope that some of the Spartans there will have survived and be in a good enough condition to fight.'

‘We?' said Lysander. ‘Surely you're not coming? You need more time for your injury to heal.'

‘I don't think my leg's going to grow back, Lysander,' he laughed. ‘You'll need all the men you can get.' Orpheus sat heavily on his bed, and unrolled his cloak.

‘Why did Tellios say that the Tarantians weren't true Spartans?' asked Lysander. He fastened his marching sandals on to his feet.

‘People don't talk about it often, and I only heard because we had a slave from Taras when I was young. The colony was founded about two hundred years ago, in Lykurgos' time,' said Orpheus, ‘but not by pure-blooded Spartans. They say that during the long wars against your people, the Messenians, the Spartan leaders allowed Spartan women to bear children with free-dwellers, and Spartan men to father children with non-Spartan women. The idea was to give their offspring full citizenship – to let them wear the red cloak and grow the fighting population. But after the conflict ended, and Messenia was subdued, their citizenship was withdrawn. They had a choice: stay in Sparta and be no better than a free-dweller, or travel overseas and found their own city. They chose to leave.'

‘So they're mothakes?' said Lysander.

‘I suppose so,' said Orpheus. ‘Taras is an important trading port as well.'

As Lysander gathered together his blanket and armour, he dwelled on Orpheus's words. He wasn't interested in the economics, but these people were
outcasts, on the blurred edge of Spartan citizenship, just like him. Perhaps this was where the Oracle had foreseen his destiny, among his own sort. There he would no longer be tainted as the Spartan who was once a slave.

In Taras he would be normal.

‘You look thoughtful,' said Demaratos. In his arms was a shield, and piled inside the bowl were pieces of armour – bronze coated with tangled leather straps. Lysander thought he could still smell the blood from the battlefield.

‘I'm fine,' said Lysander. ‘Ready to go?'

‘Almost,' said Demaratos. He placed the shield on the ground. ‘But, first, I think you should take this back.' He took the Fire of Ares from around his neck, and offered it to Lysander. The red stone glimmered with promise in the centre of the amulet. He reached out. As the jewel touched his skin, he expected to feel his old strength flood through his limbs, but nothing happened. He may as well have been holding a pebble from the training ground.

I'm not ready.

He hung the pendant back over Demaratos's neck.

‘No,' he said. ‘Not yet.'

‘Whatever you say,' said Demaratos. ‘I'll keep it safe until you're ready.' He picked up his equipment once more. ‘Should we let Kassandra know? I haven't seen her since the victory celebrations.'

‘Idas,' Lysander called to his Helot. ‘Come here.'

The slave-boy hurried over. ‘Yes, Master Lysander?' he said.

‘Go to the house of the deceased Ephor Sarpedon. Tell Lady Kassandra, daughter of Demokrates, that Demaratos and I are going to Italy.'

‘Yes, master,' said Idas. ‘Is that all?'

‘Yes,' said Lysander, then, ‘No.' He reached into his bag and took out the singed lock of hair. If he died in Taras, he didn't want the only remnant of his father to be left there. ‘Give her this.'

The Helot took the leather roll, throwing Lysander a curious glance, and quit the dormitory.

‘Come on,' Lysander said to Demaratos.

An uncovered baggage cart was waiting outside the barracks, and Lysander was surprised to see a crowd had gathered – it was mostly women, and young children. Word must have spread about the mission to Taras – these were the boys' mothers. One or two came forward and hugged their sons, but most kept a reserved distance. It was nothing like the send-off when they had marched out to face the Persians. There were no songs now nor fanfares, no citizens crying out encouragement. The atmosphere was subdued.

Aristodermus stood waiting for them, beside a cart loaded with shields, spears and supplies. Lernos stood at his side and Orpheus came behind him.

‘Even the cripple's lining up,' sniped Lernos.

‘This cripple lost his leg for Sparta,' said Lysander. ‘Which is more than you ever gave.'

‘You little …' said Lernos, coming at Lysander.

Aristodermus stepped between them, and pushed Lernos backwards against the cart. ‘Enough squabbling. Orpheus, you're barely out of the infirmary. I admire your courage, but this is no place for you.'

‘I can march,' said Orpheus.

‘He'll slow us down,' said Lernos.

‘No, I won't,' said Orpheus. ‘Look.' He threw down his crutch and hobbled quickly in a circle. Aristodermus sighed.

‘I'll vouch for him,' said Lysander. ‘I'll make sure he doesn't fall behind.'

‘Very well. We march tonight for Thalamae. A rider has gone ahead to secure a ship, and it will be there tomorrow, but no later.' He pointed at Orpheus. ‘If you don't make the pace, we leave you behind. Understood?'

‘Understood,' said Orpheus.

While Aristodermus assembled the rest of the boys, Tyro emerged from the barracks leading four Helots.

‘Are they coming with us?' Lysander asked him.

‘As far as the sea,' said Tyro. ‘Aristodermus said the Council didn't want to waste a good mule.'

The four Helots took hold of the ropes fastened to the cart and looped them over their shoulders.

Lysander didn't have any doubts who'd ordered that particular humiliation. Tellios.

‘Get in line,' shouted Aristodermus. Lysander joined one of the two columns that had formed in front of the
cart. ‘Move out!' yelled their tutor.

As they marched, Lysander heard a few of the mothers shout out words to their sons.

‘Come back with your shield, or on it,' said one.

‘Your father died for Sparta,' said another. ‘Make him proud with your death.'

A shiver went down Lysander's back. He couldn't ever have imagined his own mother saying such cold words of encouragement, but such was the Spartan custom. Death was something to be wished for, defeat and cowardice the ultimate failure.

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.

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.'