Legacy of Blood (25 page)

He found Aristodermus, and pulled him from the fray.

‘Look!' he said, pointing out to sea. ‘Something's wrong.'

‘Find Leonidas and Demaratos,' said Aristodermus. ‘Take a boat and see what's going on.'

Lysander found both friends quickly and Prokles too, and explained what he'd seen.

‘They're probably just cowering in the cargo hold,' said Demaratos.

Nevertheless, they loaded their weapons on to an abandoned enemy rowing boat. They pushed it out of the shallows, then jumped on board. Prokles and Leonidas took an oar each; Lysander's injuries prevented him rowing. Demaratos stood on the edge, watching the battle unfold on the shore. Lysander saw a wisp of black smoke rise from the far end of the deck of Moskos' ship.

‘It's on fire!' said Lysander. ‘Pull harder!'

They rowed alongside their ship, and as they rounded the prow, they saw a small boat hidden on the far side. A man was sitting, looking up towards the deck of their ship. Two ropes, presumably attached to grappling hooks, hung from the deck. He spotted Lysander
and his comrades approaching, and began to scramble around in the little hull and to shout up wildly.

‘Messapians!' said Prokles.

Two more faces appeared on the deck.

The smoke was thickening now, and black clouds were spiralling into the sky.

‘They're not trying to steal the ship,' said Leonidas. ‘They're trying to destroy it.'

The two Messapians from the deck lowered themselves over the side, and shimmied down the ropes. Immediately they were on their benches, oars in hand. Leonidas and Prokles pulled hard, grunting with the effort, and set off in pursuit.

‘Get closer,' said Lysander, drawing his sword.

They drew level with the enemy after a few strokes, and Lysander put a foot on the edge of the boat, and leapt into the base of the Messapian vessel, slicing downwards through the arm of one of the rowers. The man screamed as the oar, and his arm, fell into the water.

The other man, who didn't have an oar, kicked the inside of Lysander's knee, and Lysander toppled backwards over a bench. The man lifted a small anchor with both hands, stood over Lysander and hurled it towards his head. Lysander rolled sideways as the chunk of metal crashed into the deck. Over the sound of splintered wood came the splash of water, and he was instantly aware of cold water gushing over his shoulders and neck. The anchor had smashed a hole in the boat's fragile hull.

The boat lurched to one side.

‘Look out!' shouted Demaratos.

The Messapian landed on top of Lysander, crushing the breath from his chest. Lysander's hands instinctively sought his attacker's throat, and his fingers sank into the thick beard. He tried to roll over, but the boat came with him. He managed to take a lungful of air and suddenly they were both plunged into the water.

Lysander kept his grip on the Messapian's neck as they rolled over each other. Locked in a death grip, the Messapian's nails gouged at Lysander's face, but the stinging pain only made Lysander's hands clench tighter, crushing against his windpipe.

Lysander's head broke the surface and he gasped. The breath gave him the strength he needed to carry on, and the Messapian's hands moved more weakly.

Then they fell away all together.

Through the clear sea water, he saw the distorted, purple face of his enemy. The eyes were open, but unseeing.

Lysander lay back, utterly spent and let the waves take his weight while he caught his breath. Prokles was climbing up the rope on to the deck of the ship, with Leonidas right behind him.

‘Need a hand?' said Demaratos.

Lysander rolled over slowly and trod water. His friend was leaning over the deck of their rowing boat, extending his arm. Lysander took it, and heaved himself aboard. Moments later, Prokles appeared at the edge of
the Spartan vessel.

‘We've put the fire out. It's lucky we got here in time. The damage isn't too bad.'

‘Moskos and Sirkon. The others?'

Prokles shook his head. ‘They're on the oar-deck. Throats cut.'

With Leonidas and Prokles safely back on board, they rowed to shore. The battle was over, and a great mass of the enemy were sitting on the sand, stripped of all but their tunics, their heads hanging. Even their sandals and footwear were in a pile, to prevent them running away.

‘We did it,' said Leonidas.

‘They'll think twice before attacking true Spartans again,' Demaratos added.

Lysander didn't feel the need to say anything. All that had stood between their slaughter or survival was their training, and they had triumphed. But he could not feel pleasure at the carnage displayed before him. Bring Spartans together in an army and they were killing machines. But in the aftermath, the bloodbath sickened his stomach.

Their boat reached the shallows, and banged into the bodies that drifted on the swell. Lysander noticed a face he recognised among them – the man who tortured Demaratos in Taras. A deep gash opened right into the middle of his chest. Lysander touched Demaratos's shoulder.

‘Look, friend.'

Demaratos peered over the side of the boat.

‘I would have spared him.' He turned away.

Lysander climbed out of the boat and noticed the red tinge of the water around his ankles.

Leonidas reported what they'd found on board the ship. Getting home without a navigator would be next to impossible, but Aristodermus didn't seem interested. He surveyed the remains of the enemy.

‘What's wrong?' said Cimon at his side. ‘Victory is ours.' Nikos' lieutenant had lost his right ear in the battle, and raw flesh glistened around the dark hole of his hearing canal.

‘I cannot revel in another's shame,' said Lysander's tutor. ‘I would have more respect for them if they'd fought until the death.'

Aristodermus ordered a group of the prisoners to use oars to unblock the tunnel entrance. Two groups of two took an oar each and levered their paddles to dislodge the boulders. Their dejected faces poured with sweat as they groaned with the effort. After one oar had splintered, they got two more in its place, and finally moved the biggest boulders out of the way. Others joined their defeated comrades in lugging the smaller stones. Finally, the shattered bodies of the unfortunate Spartans were carried aside.

That could so easily have been me
, thought Lysander.

With an armed Spartan for every two prisoners, they led their captives back through the cave passageway and on the road to Taras. They left the families at the forest.

Aristodermus was deep in discussion with Nikos' lieutenants for most of the way.

The citizens who'd remained in the town came out of their houses to witness the parade of their defeated menfolk. No one spoke as the vanquished forces were
marched towards the market square. Lysander noticed that his prisoners didn't lift their heads to meet any of the accusing or sympathetic stares.

The bodies had all been cleared, but the smell of battle still hung in the air – a sickly aroma of sweat and iron. Aristodermus mounted the steps of the temple and faced the crowd, looking out to the sea beyond. By his side stood Sulla. The plinth where the statue of Aristarkus had stood remained empty.

‘Men of Taras!' he shouted. Sulla translated into the native language beside him, though Lysander suspected many of those gathered knew Greek perfectly well.

‘This has been a dark episode in your lives,' continued Aristodermus. ‘Many of your friends have died, many are terribly wounded. And for what?' He paused and looked out over the crowd, as Sulla related his words.

‘I understand that you have grievances with your Spartan rulers, but bloodshed was not the answer. I am within my rights to have all of you put to death in front of your families, just as you would have slaughtered our people.'

Around the outside of the square, some of the spectators began to weep.

‘But I am a merciful man,' said Aristodermus. ‘Even if Sparta is not a merciful ruler. You will know, all of you, that Sparta is not a typical city. We do not seek to conquer and expand. When we fight, it is to protect ourselves, and our people. To make our borders safe.
Like a bear, we are slow to anger. But take heed, when roused, our anger is absolute. We do not rest until we have eradicated the source of that anger. Is that understood?'

All around the square, tired men nodded their heads.

‘Split the prisoners, Messapians on this side …' he pointed, ‘and Tarantians on this.'

Both Lysander's prisoners were Messapian, and he ushered them to the side of the square where the hall was. They looked at him with barely disguised hatred. When the Messapians were gathered together, there were around thirty.

‘My anger is not against the people of Taras,' said Aristodermus. ‘On those people this colony will depend. But Sparta will not brook invaders from foreign cities. They must be dealt with in the Spartan way.'

Lysander felt a sense of dread rising from his belly, through his chest and up his throat.

‘Kneel Messapians!' shouted Aristodermus.

Cimon repeated the order. Some of the defeated soldiers obeyed immediately without question, others looked to each other. Cimon shouted the order again. All did as they were told bar one. Sulla went forward and drew his sword. The man spat on the ground and knelt. Aristodermus surveyed the men, and Lysander saw his lips moving silently.

‘I need thirty-one volunteers,' he shouted. ‘Men of Taras willing to show their allegiance to Sparta. Each
will be given a place on the new town council.'

A low murmur passed through the crowd of Tarantians. One by one, men detached themselves from the group, looking expectant.

But Lysander knew what they were volunteering for. A place on the council would come with a heavy price.

‘Boys, give each of these men a sword,' said Aristodermus. Lysander went forward with the others from his barracks and gave his sword to a Tarantian. Only a little while before, he would have happily run it through Lysander's middle. Now, as he turned the hilt in his hand, he looked at it as though he couldn't fathom its purpose.

‘You will buy back our trust with the blood of our enemies,' said Aristodermus. ‘Kill these Messapian worms.'

The Tarantians looked at each other like lost children, and slowly walked towards the line of kneeling soldiers.

One or two of the Messapians on the ground began to weep and beg. Others shouted in their language – angry curses invoking the names of the Greek Gods. Cimon barked an order. Lysander turned away. The shouts of the Messapians were cut short with the blades of the swords. By the time Lysander turned back around, they were all lifeless.

Aristodermus pointed to the men who had carried out the killings. ‘These citizens have proved themselves
friends of Sparta. From this time on their families will carry the petitions of the people of Taras to the Spartan rulers here. But beware, if ever this sort of insurrection is attempted again, you will find us without mercy. Burn these bodies on a pyre before nightfall and go back to your homes.'

As the bodies were dragged into a pile at the harbour front, leaving trails of blood in the dust, Lysander and the others gathered around Aristodermus. He called out Nikos' lieutenants.

‘The coming days will be hard. Trust is not engendered through fear and the sword. You must learn to live with these Tarantians not as your enemies, but your friends …'

‘Friends?' said Sulla. ‘They tried to kill us!'

‘What choice did you leave them?' said Aristodermus. ‘The taxes you levied against them were unfair – you treated them like slaves.'

‘We rule here – they
are
our slaves.'

‘But remember, comrade, a happy slave works twice as hard as one cowed by the whip.'

Lysander admired Aristodermus' philosophy, but it made him think of Kassandra's poor Helots back home. Tellios would show them no such charity, he was sure.

‘These people don't understand our ways,' said Sulla, frowning.

Lysander felt anger surge up through him. ‘Do you understand theirs?' he snapped. All heads turned to face
him, and he expected a rebuke from Aristodermus. None came.

‘You cannot expect people to bend to your will. Working together with the Tarantians, as equals, will make this society a happy one. Your families too, remember, were once not equals in Sparta.'

A murmur of approval went through the crowd.

‘My wife is friends with a Tarantian woman,' said one of Sulla's soldiers. ‘She says her cooking is actually quite good.'

The joke brought laughter, and the flicker of a smile even lightened Sulla's grim face.

‘Very well,' said Aristodermus. ‘I want you to initiate councils ten times in the year. Invite those Tarantians who have pledged themselves today, listen to their grievances. Give them a vote in the matters which affect them.'

‘And what if they rise up again?' said Sulla.

‘If you treat them with respect, they will not,' said Aristodermus. ‘I will talk with the Council at Sparta, and suggest they send a new governor here twice a year to maintain order and settle any outstanding disputes.'

It was agreed, and having wished farewell to the colonists, Aristodermus marched Lysander and his comrades out of Taras, escorted by eight torchbearers to ward off the coming dusk.

‘Do you think the peace will last?' Demaratos asked Lysander as they passed the outskirts of the town.

Lysander thought of the uneasy truce between the
Spartans and the Helots over the sea, and the distrust that still rankled between them. He'd lived on both sides, and could see that what really fed the hatred was nothing but plain and simple fear.

‘Well?' said Demaratos.

‘I hope so,' said Lysander.

It was dark as Lysander marched, barely able to keep his eyes open. His hand throbbed with each step. The Spartans took with them sacks of supplies for the journey home, sourced from Taras – fresh bread, pomegranates, hard cheeses and preserved lemons. Plus more fried fish, and cured hams.