My Spartan Hellion (30 page)

He’d been surprised by the gift, but from his pleased expression, she could tell it had touched him. Somewhere deep inside, Lamia knew she was not alone in her feelings. Everything about Thanos hinted at deeper feelings for her. Just remembering the eve he’d told her he would soon leave for war, she recalled how he’d made love to her with such tenderness, such reverence, that she’d felt cherished…
loved.

Thanos was a man of few words, not one to show his feelings so openly. She now understood Callisto’s advice. He would not be quick to such declarations, but she could accept that, because his actions said it all.

“Now I know it is not Spartan or masculine, but a dagger—”

“It is beautiful. Thank you,” he’d whispered as he’d pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly. They’d made love one last time then she’d watched helplessly as he’d dressed for battle.

Later that dawn, thousands of Spartan soldiers marched towards Athens, their metal armour reflecting the blazing sun with blinding flashes of silver. At the head of the army, Thanos had long since passed by her. He’d held her gaze for as long as he could—his eyes strong, confident, reassuring. She hoped her own face had reflected those same emotions, but she could not be sure. She was worried for him.

She sighed as the last of the soldiers filed out of the city.

To let her tell the story, Thanos had practically dragged her kicking and screaming to Sparta…but then he’d given her a new life, full of friendships she’d never had, and a love she’d never thought she’d ever know. Now he was gone—and gods only knew for how long…if not for good. She bit back a strangled sob as she shook her head, forcing the thought from her mind. She could not think such thoughts. She refused to lose another person she loved. She refused to even consider the notion. Thanos was a brilliant soldier. He had to come back to her.

He has to.

“Spartan men are born to be warriors. I know it is difficult, but you must endure this with dignity and strength.”

She smiled at the familiar voice from behind her. “Basha,” she acknowledged simply.

“It gets easier.”

She shook her head. She did not want it to get
easier
. She wanted him to never leave her. “I am sure it does but I find that hard to accept right now.”

Basha’s face softened. “Spartan soldiers are the best in the world. You must have faith in Thanos and his training.”

And she did, but Basha’s words would be empty to her until Thanos returned home alive.

When she remained sullen, Basha sighed, linking their arms together.

“Come. Let us return to my home and drink all of Ulysseus’ good wine. We will be well and truly drunk by dusk.”

Her smile was slight as she let Basha lead her away. She didn’t really want to get drunk, but at least it would dull the ache in her heart—even if only for a moment.

* * * *

The Outskirts of Carthage
—
Meshwesh Lands, 186
BC

The last memory Lamia had of her parents was of her mother singing her to sleep—an ancient Berber lullaby—as she tucked her into bed, while her father smoked a shisha by the fire.

Her younger brother, Umar, had fallen asleep as soon as he’d lain down on the bed mat, but she’d fought against sleep, straining to keep her eyes open as her mother’s lovely voice drifted around her.

“Lamia,” her mother chided softly. “Close your eyes and go to sleep.”

A tiny yawn escaped her lips as she shook her head. “But I am not sleepy. Can you sing to me again?”

Her mother laughed harder, her warm, brown eyes flowing with love as she gently stroked her cheek before once again her beautiful, melodious voice began spinning the tale Lamia loved to listen to just before she floated off to sleep.

She didn’t know why she loved the song so much, because it was a sad one. Her mother had once told her it was about the evils of the world, the evils of men who visited their horrors upon the land only when the eve was dark and the moon was high, which was why the moon was always sad, why she refused to sleep.

But at seven annos, Lamia didn’t quite understand sadness and horrors—her dawns were filled with the love of her parents, the herding of sheep with her tribe, and playing with Umar, who’d just turned three annos. She didn’t grasp what could make the moon sad enough to cry. Lamia would not understand the cruelties of men…not until she awoke later that eve.

That was when the warning sound of the horn came, when the bone-chilling screams of children being slaughtered and women raped singed her ears, the charred stench of burning animal flesh turning her stomach and acrid smoke choking her lungs.

Lamia shot up from her bed mat at the same time that her mother herded her and Umar together.

Terror flashed across her mother’s face as her father raced from their small hut. There was panic and chaos all around them, but her mother held them close, her voice soothing when she and her brother began to cry.

From inside their home, she caught a glimpse of the shadow of angry red flames rising from the clearing where her people kept their livestock. She tried to block out the panicked sound of horses neighing as they struggled to escape what was now a fiery pit. The squeal of animals and screams of men and women pierced her ears, and she buried her face deeper into her mother’s warm body.

The flap to their home burst open and she glanced up thinking it was her father, but quickly realised she was wrong when soldiers with red tunics and golden armour streamed inside. Everything happened at once
—
she and Umar were violently torn from her mother’s arms as they dragged them outside.

She would never forget her mother’s face in that moment, tears streaming down her cheeks as she lunged for them both, calling out their names. After that she would never see her mother again—two soldiers dragged her away, deep into the shadows.

In a way she was grateful they’d taken her mother first so she did not have to witness the death of her son, as Lamia was forced to, right before her eyes. A soldier had simply slit Umar’s throat with his dagger and left him there to die. Later she would understand that Umar had been too young to be a useful slave. He was still a baby and needed care, but she was old enough to work, old enough to be useful. But at the time she hadn’t known that, she’d thought they would kill her too. So as soon as the soldier who held her relaxed his grip, she snatched her arm away and ran as fast as her legs would carry her.

He shouted after her, and for a few moments she heard his footsteps as he raced behind her, but something distracted him from her or someone called his name. She never knew what it was that caused him to stop, because not once did she look back.

Yet, even though she’d never looked back, the events that eve, the things she’d witnessed, would forever remain tattooed upon her mind and buried deep in her heart. Caught by surprise, most of the men fought bravely, but they were no match for the Roman army who easily struck them down, while terrified children rushed for safety only to be chased down and trampled beneath the hooves of soldiers’ horses.

 The women fared no better. Many were slain as they huddled over their children, trying to shield them from danger, while others were simply raped in the midst of the violent turmoil.

The last sound Lamia heard as she ran away, fleeing towards the fire lights of the city of Carthage, was the wail of a horn. The piercing sound reverberating off her ears caught her unawares, causing her to stumble. The sound came again. It was her tribe’s warning horn, telling her people that there was danger, that they were under attack.

But it had come far too late.

* * * *

The Outskirts of Athens
—
The Port of Piraeus

Situated on the Saronic Gulf, about ten kilometres south of the main city of Athens, was the Port of Piraeus—the only gateway to Athens from the sea.

Thanos and his army of six thousand men were camped along the sandy banks of the port with over one hundred Theban warships dotting the choppy blue waters of the gulf. With the nearly eight thousand men from Athens, the combined Greek forces boasted more than twenty thousand soldiers. The rival hegemony of the Greek peninsula had united for a single purpose and that was to protect their homeland from the ambitious Romans.

The sound of hushed footsteps captured his attention and Thanos turned his pensive gaze away from the murky waters of the gulf. Adonis strode towards him, hopefully returning with the information he’d sent him off to Athens to gather.

“What did you learn?” he asked as soon as the young
hoplite
halted before him.

 “Not much.” A dark grimace marred his handsome face. “Spies report seeing around seventy ships in the Adriatic, but we already knew that. And the numbers are not consistent. One moment it is seventy, the next it’s nearly two hundred.”

Thanos frowned at the sudden tingling of his skin, unease crawling along his flesh like the slithering of a serpent. Something was amiss.

“The Romans should have made it into the Ionian by now.”

“I know,” agreed Adonis.

“I need you to return to Athens,” he said firmly. “And I need you to stay there for four sun risings and work on gathering information. I want you to remain in the city long enough to gather as much information as possible, but come back immediately if you learn something that is vital. While you are there, also speak with Atallus. He may have more accurate accounts from more reliable sources.”

Adonis nodded. “Yes, General.” The young
hoplite
then spun on his heels to make the journey back to the city as commanded.

Thanos sighed as he watched Adonis disappear from sight. He absently traced the subtle imprint of the sheathed dagger he kept strapped against his chest beneath his
chamlys—
across his heart. He never thought he would envy Cleomenes, but for the first time in his life he wished he were back in Sparta and not on the battlefield. He’d been away from Lamia for little over a full moon and he missed her. He’d received one letter by messenger and from her account all was well in Sparta. The council was still furious with him and Cleomenes, but they had done nothing formally to demonstrate their anger, which he was relieved to hear. He did not relish the thought of fighting one war only to return home to fight another.

He let out another ragged breath, his gaze trained on the churning waters of the gulf, imagining that his emotions jostled about inside him much like the furious waves before him. He missed Lamia every waking moment and every restless eve. He loved her and even now wanted to be home with her, but he cursed himself for not giving voice to any of those feelings before he’d left. And now he couldn’t. Now he had little time to do anything but train his soldiers, gather information and strategise for the battle that lay ahead.

He couldn’t afford to succumb to thoughts of Lamia and he hated that he had to force himself
not
to think of her. In all his
annos
, he had never once put anyone or anything above his duty to Sparta as its king and military leader, but that was all before he’d met Lamia.

* * * *

Lamia burst into Cleomenes’ courtyard, her entire body vibrating with fury.

“Did you see this?” She shook her fist in the air that held the crumpled parchment.

Cleomenes shot her a grim look as he stood to cross the distance between them. “I just received it—”

“They cannot do this. My husband is away fighting a war for
them
. To protect
them
. They cannot charge him with treason.”

“And they won’t.” Cleomenes’ handsome face was stern, his voice ringing with quiet authority, and she understood why, when he spoke, others instantly stood at attention. “That is just the council’s futile attempt to get back at us, but they do not have the law to stand on.”

She relaxed—somewhat—with Cleomenes’ firm words. She’d been livid when she’d received a decree from the
gerousia
charging Thanos with tyranny and treason for taking Spartan troops to Athens. Cleomenes had also been charged and they both were now set to stand trial before the council within a fortnight. She thought it pathetic that they would try to charge and convict Thanos when he wasn’t even present to defend himself. The cowards.

“I have to write to Thanos about this at once,” she told Cleomenes. “He needs to know what they are plotting.”

Cleomenes nodded and a tight smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. “He will know immediately that this is nothing but pomp, but I agree he should be kept abreast of the grumblings of the council. In the meantime, prepare yourself to stand before the
gerousia
in his absence.”

She pursed her lips into a deep frown. She had no time for such nonsense but she did not argue. She knew that it was her duty and she’d promised Thanos she would be his eyes and ears while he was gone.

“I will, Cleomenes.” She nodded, assuring him that she would stand in her husband’s stead.

Their discussion soon turned to other matters and they made idle talk for a short while before she bade him farewell and headed for home.

She walked along the stone pathway, enjoying the balmy air that swept across the plain from Lakonikos Bay. The festival to honour the goddess Hera had heralded the beginning of summer in Sparta. The air was warm and clammy, so whenever the bay chose to send a breeze, she welcomed the cool air.

The homes of the two kings lay on opposite ends of the city, but despite the stifling heat she’d chosen to walk the distance, needing the time alone and the exercise.

With the sun now sweltering, Lamia decided she would stop to visit Basha and then continue her journey when it was closer to dusk and the city was cooler. She also had no desire to return to an empty home. With Armine at the
agoge
until dusk and Thanos gone, her home was eerily silent most of the dawn. She still had her work, but it had slowed some since the departure of the army. She smiled to herself. Despite all the ribbing she’d received, her designs were quite popular among a number of
hoplites
and now her most loyal patrons were away.