Legacy of Blood (26 page)

Orpheus's body still lay in the tunnel where he had met his death.

‘We can't leave him here,' Lysander said.

Aristodermus considered the body. ‘We can't take him all the way home – his corpse will be ripe in another day. We'll bury him at sea.'

Using Orpheus's cloak as a makeshift stretcher, Lysander, Demaratos, Prokles and Leonidas took a corner each, and carried their fallen comrade back to the shore.

A boat remained from the fighting earlier that day, and they ferried themselves out to the main vessel in groups of six. It took only five trips. The high spirits of victory had seeped away with the daylight. Lysander – like most of the boys – was in a sombre mood. They'd won the battle, but lost fifty of their friends.

‘Get a good night's rest,' said Aristodermus. ‘We row at first light.' He extinguished the ship's lantern, throwing them into shadow.

Lysander listened to his tutor's feet creak up the steps to the top deck, and huddled down beside one of the oar-benches. Between the soft sounds of the other boys' breathing, and the gentle swell of the sea under the hull, peace reigned again.

But despite his weariness, Lysander couldn't sleep. He climbed stiffly to his feet, and crept between his comrades, out on to the deck.

A breeze caressed his face. The sky was clear and the stars crowded the firmament. Lysander looked back to shore. Although the ship rocked only fifty paces offshore, Lysander already felt they had left Taras far behind.

He'd thought this place would allow him to discover a sense of belonging, but all he'd found was more bloodshed. Men pitched against other men because of their lust for power. Honour came not from the red cloak. It came from ruling with a fair and even hand. The original mothakes who had left Sparta to find the freedom they yearned for had noble intentions, he was sure. But in the end they'd become just like those they despised: ruthless despots willing to enslave others. And he'd fought alongside them. What did that make him? Was there even such a thing as the right side?

Lysander went back below with his troubled thoughts.

* * *

The wind picked up a little in the night, and they unfurled the sail at dawn, making good progress.

With Moskos and his men dead, it was up to Phemus to navigate the vessel.

‘Perhaps he was picked out by Zeus,' joked Demaratos. ‘If it hadn't been for the lightning bolt, he'd never have learnt to sail.'

Lysander and Demaratos, unable to row, took shifts on the tiller, steering the ship, and gazed across the blue expanse.

Will I ever come back?
Lysander wondered. He felt uncertain, troubled.
It feels like I'm leaving something behind.

There was no denying that the people of Taras had been wronged by Sparta. Perhaps the amulet's prophecy wasn't specific to him only. The Fire of Ares had inflamed the blacksmith, leading him to slake his vengeance by torturing Demaratos. Was he the righteous one?

Lysander's body turned cold as realisation struck home.

‘No!' he cried.

‘What is it?' asked Demaratos in a panicked voice.

‘The Fire of Ares!' said Lysander. ‘How could I have forgotten it? It must still be on the ground in the forge.' He sank on to the deck. ‘I'm a fool.'

‘You're not a fool,' said Demaratos. ‘There were other things more important …'

Lysander closed his eyes and imagined the red jewel
shining in its golden setting. After all his trials, he finally felt ready to wear the pendant again. But it was gone, lost for ever in a foreign land.

‘I have something for you,' said Demaratos.

Lysander looked up. Swinging from Demaratos's hand, with the sun behind it, was the amulet. ‘What …? How…?'

Demaratos laughed. ‘I picked it up when I was drinking from the trough,' he said. ‘It was just lying there on the ground.'

Lysander reached out, and touched the amulet.

‘It's time for you to wear it again,' said Demaratos. ‘You've earned it.'

He crouched down in front of Lysander, and lifted the leather thong over his neck. As soon as the familiar weight rested over his chest, Lysander felt invigorated. He stood up, and fingered the pendant. For so long the Fire of Ares had seemed a curse that brought with it misery and suffering. Now, the pendant was a reminder of all the sacrifices others had made. It made him who he was. It was a gift.

In the middle of the first day at sea, when they had reached the deep, dark waters, Aristodermus called for the sails to be lowered.

‘This is as good a resting place for Orpheus as any,' he said.

The boys gathered in a semicircle by the vessel's port side. Leonidas and Prokles lifted the stiff body on
to the deck-rail. Orpheus's cloak was wrapped around him, and pinned in place.

‘He served Sparta well,' said Aristodermus. ‘And we give him to Poseidon, God of the waves.'

Tears streaked down Leonidas's face as he let go of the body, and it dropped over the side of the ship. Lysander heard a splash and went to the edge. The body floated for a moment, then rolled over and disappeared.

‘Goodbye,' he whispered.

A dolphin broke the surface of the water near where Orpheus had entered, then descended again. Lysander's friend was gone.

The wind stayed strong for two days, but dropped on the second night at sea. The other boys took to the rowing benches once again, but Lysander was excused because of his injured hand. He spent the time with Phemus, trying to learn the principles of seafaring and navigation. So many stars with names he would never learn.

He was on deck, with his arm outstretched, counting how many fingers rested between the horizon and the sun, when he spotted land just after dawn on the fourth day. In his other hand was a half eaten pomegranate. Its red flesh reminded Lysander of some of the wounds he'd seen in battle.

He called out ‘Greece!' and Aristodermus came to his side.

They watched in silence as the coast rose from the blue water.

‘Good to be back, isn't it?' said his tutor.

‘It is,' said Lysander. Up ahead, was the place he'd been born into and fought for. It was Lysander's home. ‘I never thought I would miss it so much.'

They docked the vessel at Gytheion where a month earlier Lysander and his comrades had faced the Persian general Vaumisa and his armies. The sounds of masons' chisels and mallets rang in the air, as the people sought to repair the damage wreaked by fires. A free-dweller messenger was dispatched on horseback to announce their return to the Council.

‘You look a ragged bunch,' said Aristodermus. ‘Clean yourselves up, before we head back to the city.'

They washed as well as they could in the river. Half of Lysander's comrades had lost their cloaks, and those which were left were torn and filthy. They unloaded their remaining weapons and there were enough shields to go around. A boy helped Lysander change the bandage on his hand, then he strapped the shield in place. At least he would enter Sparta with his shield high on his arm.

It was a day of bright sunlight and blue skies as they marched along the river. They sang martial songs to
keep their spirits high. Scouts on horseback met them several stadia outside the city limits, and galloped forth to proclaim their return in Sparta.

As they walked through Amikles, Helots and free-dwellers alike stopped and stared. Crowds had already begun to gather along the road that led up to their barracks. Many were men in red cloaks, with their wives at their side. Each expectantly scanned the faces of the returning boys.

Looking for their sons
, Lysander realised. He chased away his own sadness. No mother and father would be waiting for him.

Aristodermus called them to a halt outside the barracks gate, and the crowd of parents descended. He heard Demaratos speaking to his father, a handsome Spartan who looked just like his son, only leaner and with flecks of greying hair.

‘We saved the colony,' said Demaratos. ‘I was badly injured, but still managed to kill eight or nine of them. Maybe ten …'

Lysander suppressed a smile. Some things would never change.

Helots were scurrying around the barracks entranceway, carrying platters of food, and jugs. Leonidas appeared at Lysander's side. His father, King Cleomenes, would not be at the barracks.

‘My Helot tells me they're planning a feast in honour of our victorious return. Some special guests are coming apparently.'

‘Who?'

‘I don't know,' said Leonidas, smiling, ‘but I hope Demaratos has kept enough of his stories back. He's currently killed twelve men; the number increases with every telling.'

Lysander laughed, and a plump woman ran out to Leonidas's side.

‘Where is my Orpheus, Prince?'

Leonidas dropped his head, and said something in reply that Lysander couldn't hear. He watched the face of Orpheus's mother, expecting it to crumple into tears. Instead, she lifted her chin, and placed a hand on Leonidas's shoulder.

‘Don't worry for me. It's you I feel sorry for, not having shared such a brave death.'

All around the entranceway, mothers and fathers were hugging their children, or standing apart in childless pairs. Not all were as composed as Orpheus's mother, and Lysander saw many leaning on each other.

He heard a familiar whinny, and spied Pegasus, Sarpedon's horse, being held by a Helot groom. Did that mean …

Someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned to see a familiar face.

‘Kassandra!' he cried.

Kassandra's face broke into a wide smile. She threw her arms around his shoulders and he winced as his injured hand was pressed against his chest.

‘Cousin!' she said. ‘I didn't know … I asked the
messenger …' Her eyes fell to his hand. ‘Oh, Lysander! What happened?'

‘It could have been much worse if it weren't for you,' said Lysander.

A blush rose to Kassandra's cheeks.

Lysander nodded over at Prokles, who was embracing his father.

‘He did his job well.'

‘What are you talking about, Lysander?'

‘I couldn't work it out, at first …' said Lysander. ‘Where Idas got his gold. But then I remembered where he'd been just before we set off. I sent him to tell you I'd been delayed at the Council.'

Kassandra looked at her feet. ‘I couldn't let you go. Not like that. If you had died and I'd never managed to say sorry, I would have lost everyone who was dear to me.'

‘I thought that you didn't want to speak to me,' said Lysander. ‘That day, when the column moved off, and you turned your back …'

‘Don't, please,' she said. ‘It's behind us now. Our family has suffered much grief. Now it's time to be thankful for what we have.'

‘I was a different person then,' said Lysander. ‘I didn't know who I was, or where I was going. I felt trapped between two worlds: Helot and Spartan. Both seemed like prisons to me.'

‘And do you know now?' she said. ‘Who you are, I mean.' The crowds of barrack boys swirled around them, red cloaks shifting in the breeze.

Lysander thought for a moment. ‘I'm Lysander,' he said. ‘Son of Thorakis and Athenasia. Friend of Timeon and Demaratos. Cousin of Kassandra.'

‘Can you be all those things at once?'

‘I can try,' he said. ‘That's the role the Gods have given me.'

He thought also,
I'm a descendant of Aristarkus. And so are you.
Could he tell her?

Demaratos came between them, took Kassandra's hand and kissed it.

‘Greetings, Lady Kassandra. I trust Lysander has told you all about how we drove the Messapians out of Taras.'

‘He hasn't even started!' said Kassandra.

The thudding of hooves interrupted them, and people in the crowd mumbled, ‘It's the Ephors.'

‘Make way!' shouted a Spartan on the lead horse. ‘Make way!'

The celebrations ceased as a path opened up to the barracks.

Myron and four others trotted towards the open gates on horseback. Lysander recognised Tellios, and the other two Ephors.

‘Who's the other man?' he whispered to Kassandra as they dismounted and entered the barracks gate.

‘I don't know,' said Kassandra. ‘He looks familiar, though.'

Kassandra stared after them, and Lysander saw her jaw set hard.

‘What's wrong?'

‘It's the settlement,' she said quietly. ‘Every day I have bad news through my messengers. Tellios has put a team of overseers in place, and they're little better than thugs. My cook is the sister of two Helot labourers. She says that the overseers are beating the workers for no reason at all. One has already been crippled, Tellios' men were so severe. I don't understand it.'

Lysander told Kassandra what Tellios had said to him before he left for Taras: about how he would work the Helot slaves into the ground.

Kassandra lifted both hands to her face. ‘I always knew he and Sarpedon disagreed on many things, but I had no idea he would carry his grudges after Grandfather's death.'

‘He means to have vengeance at the Helots' expense,' said Lysander.

‘There must be a way we can stop him,' said Kassandra.

Lysander shook his head. ‘While Tellios is one of the most powerful men in Sparta, there's nothing you or I can say.'

The stranger and Myron had gone inside, but Tellios was still at the gates, looking back at Kassandra and Lysander. He raised his hand as a greeting. ‘The feast is laid out,' he called. ‘Will you come to celebrate the
safe
return of the barracks?'

You'd rather I lay dead on a foreign shore
, thought Lysander.

Kassandra turned away. ‘You go in,' she said. ‘I couldn't share the same table as that man. It would sicken me.'

After the families were dismissed, a feast was laid out in the barracks training yard, but Lysander had lost his appetite. He watched Tellios over the tables, chewing on a piece of bread. Every so often, the Ephor would catch his eye and smile.