Legacy of Blood (6 page)

Lysander stumbled backwards on the lift, but he
steadied himself and straightened. Aristodermus grinned.

I'll show him.

‘Sixty-nine!'

Lysander imagined he was back in the phalanx on the plains – imagined that each time he pushed, he was driving his spear into the shields of the Persian line.

‘Seventy-one! … Seventy-two!'

‘He's going to do it,' someone shouted. ‘He's going to beat the record!'

‘Seventy-three.'

Lysander dropped for the final squat. He couldn't feel his legs – it was just a leaden pain, like all his bones were being crushed. He tightened his grip on the bar, and imagined he was back on the prow of Vaumisa's ship, watching his grandfather plunge his sword into his own chest. He remembered Tellios calling his grandfather a coward and anger blazed through his limbs.

‘Seventy-four!'

Lysander tipped sideways, and the axle slid helplessly from his sweat-soaked hands, crashing to the ground. Lysander fell to his knees, then forward on to his front. With his cheek in the earth, his broken nose throbbed as blood thundered through him.

The dinner bell rang.

‘Clean yourself up,' said Aristodermus. Lysander watched the boys hurrying to the meal hall, each one clapping him on the shoulder as he went.

‘Well done, Lysander.'

‘Thanks, comrade.'

Leonidas slipped a hand under Lysander's armpit and helped him halfway up. Lysander waited for his head to stop spinning.

‘Leave him be,' said Aristodermus. ‘He asked for this treatment; let him deal with it alone.'

Perhaps this new tutor wasn't so different from Diokles.

Leonidas released Lysander's arm and, with a sympathetic look, followed the others inside.

Lysander staggered over to the well. With arms trembling, he pulled up a bucket and poured the ice-cold water over himself, relishing the sensation of the soothing water on his aching muscles. But his heart was still in turmoil. He allowed the bucket to clatter to the ground and turned round to survey the courtyard, leaning back against the well.
I've lost everything
, he told himself, thinking back to his argument with Kassandra.
Everything! The barracks will be my only home now until I'm thirty years old.
The years stretched ahead of him, seasons of relentless hardship and cruelty. What sort of man would he be when he finally left the barracks?

He felt a wave of sudden dizziness, and his skin turned cold. Fear gripped his throat like an invisible hand, choking him. He turned and rested his elbows against the rim of the well, staring into the blackness to prevent his head spinning. What was happening to him? He felt out of control, like a stone dropped into the abyss. He shut his eyes.

‘I never asked for any of this,' he muttered to himself.

A sound rang out behind him.

Lysander turned. He saw a stocky boy, stumbling slowly towards him wearing a short tunic and immaculate red cloak. He leant heavily on a gnarled crutch, but when he looked up, Lysander recognised the face at once.

‘Orpheus!'

He ran forward to support his friend. Orpheus was sweating from the effort of staying upright. In his other hand he was holding one of the wooden practice swords. Lysander's eyes fell to the wooden leg that emerged beneath his tunic. Orpheus' leg had been taken off below the knee by a Persian axe.

‘Patched me up well, didn't they?' said Orpheus, knocking his sword against the false limb.

Lysander embraced his friend. ‘I can't believe you're out of the infirmary already.'

‘There are so many casualties,' said Orpheus, his face white and drawn. ‘Only the most serious are kept in.'

‘How did they …?' Lysander looked down at the place where Orpheus's limb had once been.

Orpheus gave a shudder and looked away. ‘You don't want to know,' he said eventually. ‘I passed out with the pain. But they tell me I'm lucky to be alive. I'm back, now, for training.'

Lysander smiled and tried to ignore the prickles of doubt that crept through his body. Would the new
tutor allow Orpheus to continue training with them? ‘It's good to see you again,' he said, clapping his friend on the back.

Orpheus peered into the well.

‘You look troubled, Lysander. What were you looking for down there – an oracle?'

Lysander laughed. ‘Something like that,' he said. ‘Answers, I suppose.'

‘Well, the philosopher Thales thought that everything comes from water. But when Spartans want answers, they go to Delphi.'

‘Of course!' said Lysander. He gazed up into the mountains. This was the inspiration he'd been looking for. The Delphic Oracle would be able to help him put to rest the demons tormenting his soul.

‘Are you all right?'

‘I am now,' said Lysander, pushing himself off the well. ‘Let's get to dinner – there'll be nothing left but scraps.'

Orpheus shook his head and grinned, but Lysander's mind was racing.

That was it.

Delphi!

‘Someone needs to tell those Helots to use less vinegar,' said Prokles, pulling a face.

Lysander dunked his bread into the thick dark broth. It was made from pig's blood, but there was precious little meat in it. It was mostly plumped barley and a few figs. After the battle with the Persians, supplies in Sparta were running short.

‘Apparently,' said a boy called Pelias, ‘there was once a visitor from Athens. When he tasted the black broth, he said, “Now I know why you Spartans are willing to give your lives so easily on the battlefield – you won't have to eat this again.”'

Laughter erupted along the table. Lysander smiled, but he didn't mind the taste. His thoughts were on the Oracle.

‘Are you really going to ask?' said Orpheus. Lysander had whispered his plans to his friend between mouthfuls of food; the loud shouts and calls that rang around the dining hall meant they were in no danger
of being overheard.

‘I have to,' said Lysander. He glanced over at Aristodermus. He looked even more ghostly indoors, and his skin was pale as alabaster.

Will he let me leave the barracks?
Lysander wondered.
Diokles would have said
‘No'
in an instant.

‘Good luck,' said Orpheus.

Leonidas leant over the table. ‘What are you two whispering about?'

‘I want to visit the Delphic Oracle,' said Lysander.

Leonidas raised his eyebrows in surprise. ‘You'll need money,' he said.

‘But it's a religious place, isn't it?' said Lysander.

Leonidas smiled. ‘Even the Gods have palms that must be crossed.'

After the bowls had been cleared away and the rest of the boys had retired to the dormitory to polish their shields, Lysander went to Aristodermus' chamber. It had always been off-limits when Diokles inhabited it, but Lysander felt emboldened. If he didn't ask now, in private, the others were sure to find out. As he approached he heard words from within. Did Aristodermus have another visitor?

‘Then said Achilles in his great grief:

I would die here and now,

for I could not save my comrade.'

Aristodermus' voice rose, and Lysander realised he was reciting poetry. The door was open a crack, and he peered inside. The tutor was sat at a table, lit by the
glow of a candle. His round shield lay face up, and Aristodermus was rubbing a pumice stone across its surface to remove scratches. It was a slave's work; why was he lowering himself to this task? Aristodermus continued.

‘He has fallen far from home,

and in his hour of need I was not there.

What is there for me?

Return to my own land I shall not,

for I offered help not to Patroklus.'

Lysander knocked quietly.

‘Enter,' said Aristodermus.

Lysander pushed open the door and walked inside. He was surprised that the room was much like where he slept in the dormitory. Sparsely furnished, with an oak chest, and a bed of blankets over dried rushes from the river. A collection of small statuettes stood around a wine bowl, with some pieces of pottery carved with symbols representing the Gods.

‘Why aren't you tending your arms with the others?'

‘I am seeking permission to speak with you,' said Lysander. ‘About …' He searched for the words and cursed himself.
You should have rehearsed this, you fool.

‘Close the door behind you.'

Lysander did as he was asked, then stood awkwardly. How could he explain his reasoning? Would Aristodermus think less of him?

‘You must have heard me speaking Homer's verses.' The words weren't a question.

‘I heard something.'

‘They are about the great warrior Achilles, son of the Goddess Thetis. Did you know, he didn't fight at all for the first nine years of the war? Refused to, and sat in his tent.'

‘Was he a coward?' Lysander asked.
Why is he telling me this?
he wondered.

Aristodermus chuckled. ‘No, he had an argument with the Greek commander – about a girl, can you believe? His pride prevented him fighting. But not for ever.'

‘What happened?' asked Lysander.

‘His friend, Patroklus, was killed. He knew then it was time to put his stubbornness aside and take to the battlefield. What brings you here?'

‘I'd like to visit the Oracle at Delphi,' Lysander blurted out.

To his surprise, Aristodermus didn't laugh, or tell him to get out, but gestured with his hand to sit on a stool.

‘Take a seat, Lysander. Explain yourself.'

Lysander's heart was thumping under his ribs. He sat opposite the tutor, but couldn't look him in the eye. What was he thinking? A boy asking to be excused from training to consult with the Gods! Who did he think he was? His cheeks felt like they were aflame.

‘I … I…' The pressure inside his head was building and the sense of panic from earlier returned. He had to get out! Lysander tried to stand, but a wave of dizziness made him fall sideways, and he staggered against the wall of the chamber.

‘What's the matter?' came Aristodermus' voice. ‘Are you injured?'

Lysander shook his head. His vision blurred in and out of focus. He felt an arm guiding him back to his seat. ‘Sit down. Drink some water. Take your time.'

A cup was placed in his hand, and Lysander swallowed a long draught.

While he waited for his breathing to return to normal, Aristodermus took a cloth and began polishing the dull surface of the shield.

Without looking up, Aristodermus began to talk. ‘Tell me,' he said. ‘Does this illness have something to do with your wish to visit the Oracle?'

‘Ever since the battle … Since my grandfather …' Lysander began to reply.

‘I know of Sarpedon's death,' said Aristodermus. ‘He is a loss to Sparta.'

‘I don't know my place any more. It feels like the world is dark, that I'm alone … I feel myself panicking, and suddenly I can't breathe. I've searched my heart, but can't find the answers there. The Oracle is my last hope.'

Aristodermus watched his face intently, then gave a small nod. ‘It sounds as though you know what must be done.'

‘So I may go?'

‘You may leave at dawn,' said Aristodermus. ‘I hope the Pythia gives you the answers you're looking for.'

Aristodermus' skin looked pale as the moon in the black sky. The flickering candle flame caught a pink tinge in his eyes. Lysander had never seen a man like him.

‘You're wondering how I've survived, aren't you?' said the tutor. ‘Looking like this.'

Lysander nodded.

‘I was almost abandoned as a baby,' said Aristodermus. ‘My mother thought I was cursed. But my father had waited so long for a boy child, he trained me himself within the walls of the house – made sure I was strong before I entered the agoge. I was bullied by the others, but I let it fuel my training. It's a case of adapting. My skin burns easily in the sunlight, so I train at dawn and at night. I keep in the shade when I can, and rarely remove my cloak in the day. You'd do well to remember the same, Lysander. Rest when you can. Fight when you have to. The Gods will take you when they want.'

Lysander smiled. ‘It wasn't like that under Diokles. He used to say there was time to rest when you're dead.'

Aristodermus snorted. ‘And do you believe that?'

‘But that's all we've been taught to do,' said Lysander. ‘The Spartan system relies on it.'

‘Times change, Lysander. Despite what the old men would have you believe, nothing stays the same for ever. It's all very well following the strictures of Lykurgos, but our population is shrinking. One day we'll have to
let the free-dwellers fight alongside us. Perhaps even the Helots …'

Lysander gasped.

‘Just remember, I know what it's like to be different. Now, go.'

Lysander lay down on his bed. Some of the other boys were already asleep, but Leonidas called over quietly.

‘What did he say?'

‘He said I could go.'

Leonidas let out a low whistle. ‘Do you know the way?'

Lysander shook his head.

‘It's easy enough. Follow the northern road through Argos, and on to Corinth. Then take the road to Delphi along the northern shore of the Gulf. It's a long way, four or five days on foot.'

‘I'm in no hurry,' said Lysander. ‘I need to be away from Sparta for a while. I feel … suffocated here.'

Leonidas reached into the chest next to his bed.

‘Remember, Lysander. At Delphi the Gods don't talk straight.' He threw something that landed with a clang of metal on Lysander's bed. It was a small bag tied with a leather cord.

‘What's this?' he whispered, weighing it in his hand. ‘Iron?'