Spartan (11 page)

‘A dog, an enormous hound with huge jaws, as black as night,’ answered Talos.

‘Ah, the Laconian Molossian. A terrible beast; they say that three of them can slaughter a lion.’

Talos shivered, and the memory of Krios’ desperate howl rang in his ears.

‘My dog,’ he fixed the man with a questioning gaze, ‘is dead, isn’t he?’

‘Yes,’ answered the shepherd. ‘His throat was ripped open.’

Little Krios, companion of childish games, would never come with him again to pasture, nor would he greet him wagging his tail in the evenings. Talos felt a knot close his throat.

‘Bury him next to Kritolaos, please,’ he said to Karas, and hid his head between his hands.

T
ALOS, SHUT UP INDOORS
for long days recuperating from the Spartan attack, often fell to thinking about his situation, about the violent changes that
had swept through his life in so short a time. With Kritolaos dead, the boy had inherited his moral authority over the people of Taygetus. And maybe not over them alone, as Karas, who had become
Talos’ inseparable companion, had hinted to him.

Many things puzzled him. He knew very little about Karas: only that he had come from Messenia with his flock and had settled in a cabin near the high spring. He dwelled long and hard on the
krypteia
raid on his family; the men who took part in it had to have been the same ones that he had fought on the plain, defending Antinea. He was sure that he had heard one of them call out
Brithos’ name. He had no doubts that Brithos was his greatest enemy, and yet for some reason the Spartan youth didn’t consider him dangerous enough to have him killed; he could have
eliminated him a thousand times over, if he had wanted to, whatever Karas said.

Talos tried to make sense of the confusion in his mind . . . so many different impressions, contrasting emotions. Something had stopped Brithos’ hand, down there in the plain, the same
something that had prevented him from letting Talos be massacred by his companions, or by that bloody beast that he’d brought with him that night. As much as Talos reflected, though, he could
not understand why he had been spared. It was true that the Spartiates instinctively admired anyone who showed valour, but that was no explanation for the fact that he, a Helot rebel who dared to
defend a woman and attack a Spartan, had been allowed to live.

Something still attracted him to the city of the Spartiates; the same thing that had tempted him into the plain as a young boy. From time to time, the image of the warrior with the dragon
appeared in his mind. He knew, now, beyond the shadow of doubt, that the warrior was the father of his mortal enemy.

What warmed Talos’ heart when he felt most alone was his love for Antinea. He would dream of her coming to visit him, even while realizing that it would endanger her life.

Certain things, however, had become clear to him: he could not run away. He had a task to accomplish for his people, and he had made a promise to Kritolaos on his deathbed. He couldn’t
bear the thought of leaving Antinea, either, and he realized that it was a thousand times better to risk death by remaining than to flee to some distant place, pursued and hunted like an animal,
with no one to talk to, to lean on, to confide his fears in.

And then Antinea did come to him, early one morning, and silently entered his room. ‘Talos, my poor Talos,’ she said, embracing him tightly. A wave of heat rose to his head, and his
heart began beating wildly. He held her close, and then, released her. ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ he lied. ‘You know that the forest is full of dangers, and so is the
plain.’

‘No, you needn’t worry. No one has threatened me, and I’ve come with my father. We heard about what happened, and wanted to come to help you. I’ll stay here with you and
take out the flock myself until you’re completely better. My father doesn’t need me much just now. In a month, when you’re stronger again, you can come and help us with the
reaping, all right?’

‘Oh yes,’ answered Talos, embarrassed and moved at the same time, ‘of course I’ll come.’ He faltered as if trying to find the right words to say.
‘Antinea,’ he went on, ‘I’ll be waiting impatiently for reaping time . . . so we can be together again.’ He watched her for a moment, feeling profoundly touched as her
green eyes brightened. He took her hand. ‘Antinea . . . Antinea, why are we slaves? Why can’t I think of you without being afraid of what will happen to us?’

The girl covered his mouth with her hand. ‘Don’t talk that way, Talos, you are not a slave for me, nor am I a slave for you. For me you are a great warrior, the most valorous, the
most generous of men. You are not a slave, Talos.’

‘I know,’ answered the boy, squeezing her hand more tightly. ‘I do know what you mean, Antinea, but I also know the fear that seizes me. I know the nightmares that wake me up
in the middle of the night. My life is marked. And yet I don’t know where it will lead, because it’s not in my own hands. And if I tie your life to mine, I don’t know where it
will end, or how . . . now do you understand me?’

‘Yes, I do,’ answered the girl, lowering her eyes. ‘And that’s why, sometimes, I wish that we’d never met.’

Antinea raised her tear-filled eyes to his face. ‘Talos, I’m only the daughter of Pelias the peasant . . . and I know that our people now look to you as the special one, the
successor of Kritolaos—’

Talos sat up in his bed. ‘You’re right, Antinea, Kritolaos did prepare me to succeed him; he taught me everything he could, and he left me a difficult legacy. But I don’t know
why, exactly. One day, maybe . . .’

‘Yes, Talos, perhaps that day will come. We cannot force the hand of destiny. The gods have something in mind for you, for our people, and one day you will know, when the moment comes.
Now, we must go on living,’ she gazed at him intensely. ‘Now, we must live, and not ask for anything more.’

She leaned over him slowly, caressed his forehead, kissed him softly and lay her blonde head on his chest to listen to the beat of his heart, slow now, and as powerful as the drumbeat of the
warriors.

*

Summer and autumn passed, and strangely enough, nothing more happened to disturb their lives. Talos began working again, and every now and then he returned to the high spring
with the bow hidden under his cloak.

In the wood’s most isolated clearings he resumed his training, this time under the guidance of Karas, his enigmatic friend. They even went hunting together, and Talos’ infallible
arrows brought down deer and boars, which were secretly slaughtered and butchered in Karas’ cabin. There would be trouble if anyone noticed such a weapon in the hands of a Helot.

Talos realized that his companion had been closer to Kritolaos than he had imagined; his words hinted at the wealth of things he knew, although he never spoke out about them. Under Karas’
guidance, Talos learned to fight with deadly precision using his staff. The two of them engaged in exhausting duels and wrestling bouts, so that Talos often returned home with bruised limbs, his
bones crushed from the embrace of those brawny arms.

To Antinea and his mother, who worriedly enquired about his scars and contusions, Talos replied that they were the result of games that they invented to while away the long afternoons on the
high pastures.

The tremendous adventures of the past year began to fade as if they had taken place long ago, and Talos became accustomed to the idea of a life that could continue warmed by the timid and humble
love of his mother, protected by the massive and reassuring presence of Karas, ignited by his passion for Antinea.

And Antinea loved him, so much that she could think of nothing else. Only a few short months ago, down on her father’s farm, Talos was only the lame boy that brought his sheep down from
the mountain, the moody young man that she would have liked to tease into laughter. And now she saw nothing else but him: if his forehead wrinkled for a moment she felt gripped by sadness; if she
saw him smile, her spirit brightened and her face glowed.

She remembered with infinite tenderness how she had loved him that first time, slowly, careful not to hurt him: that unknown, marvellous force that had guided her body, Talos’ hands on her
hips, the wave of flames that had set her womb and her heart on fire.

She knew that she possessed the most beautiful thing in the world and she was sure that there would be no end to what she was living. When she stayed with her father, she waited anxiously for
Talos to come to her and on the appointed day, before dawn, lying on her bed in the dark, she imagined him lacing up his boots and taking his staff and leaving his home beneath the glimmer of the
morning stars. He would open the pen and let out the flock and then he would come down the slope, cross the wood and emerge into the light of dawn, his hair wet with dew, accompanied by the great
ram with the curved horns.

He would walk over the plain under the olive trees like a young god. And she would go into the courtyard to wash at the spring, sure of hearing the distant bleating of the lambs and then he
would appear, smiling, with his deep, honest eyes, full of love for her. And then she ran barefoot to meet him, calling his name out loud, and she clung to his neck, wrapping herself around him,
laughing and ruffling his hair in a game that was always new.

Antinea knew that boys find a companion for themselves when it is time and she knew that Talos did not want anyone but her. His fears and his worries didn’t really touch her. The time
would come when she could sleep beside him every night, prepare his food and the water that he would wash with when he returned from pasture. And she would mend his clothing on winter nights by the
glow of the fire and if he should startle awake at night shaken by bad dreams she would dry the sweat from his forehead and caress his hair until he fell asleep again.

With these thoughts Antinea passed the summer and autumn working with Talos in the fields or following him to the high pastures until Boreas made the leaves of the forest fall. Just as nature
followed its course, so she was sure that her life would continue next to the young man she loved.

But the gods had other plans in mind.

One evening at the end of the winter, as Talos sat in front of his cottage watching the sun set over the still-barren forest, he saw his destiny pass along the trail that crossed the clearing: a
strange old woman, walking bent under a bundle of rags, leaning on a long cane. Her grey hair was gathered in a bun at the back of her neck, circled by a white woollen band from which metallic
discs jangled. All at once, the woman noticed Talos and turned off the path, heading towards him. Talos watched her with apprehension, almost fear: her face was haggard and wrinkled, but her body
displayed surprising energy in its quick, decisive step.

Talos shivered. He couldn’t help but think, in that moment, of all the stories that Kritolaos had told him as a child to get him to go to bed quickly without crying or complaining: about
the harpy Kelenos, who wandered in the form of an old woman at night, searching for small children to carry off to her putrid nest on a faraway island.

‘What foolishness!’ he thought to himself as she drew nearer. And yet he couldn’t understand how an old woman could be roaming about these mountains alone as night was
falling.

She was in front of him now, and raised her grey eyes to meet his: eyes glittering with an evil light within their dark orbits.

‘Shepherd,’ she said in a hoarse voice, ‘in this land lives a man whose name is Karas and I must see him, now. Where can I find him?’

Talos was startled; the last thing he had expected was to hear that name on the lips of this strange being.

‘How do you know his name?’ he asked, perplexed.

‘Don’t ask me anything,’ replied the woman with a peremptory tone, ‘but answer my question, if you will.’

Talos indicated the trail that she had been following. ‘Return to the path,’ he told her, ‘and follow it in the direction of the mountain. When you find a fork in the road, go
to the left. You’ll enter the forest. Keep walking until you reach a clearing. There you will see a spring, and near there, a cabin. Knock at the door three times and Karas will open it for
you. But are you sure,’ he added ‘that you want to go there now? It’s dark and the forest is dangerous at night. The wolves are ravenous; they often attack our flocks.’

‘The wolves do not frighten me,’ replied the old woman with a strange smile. She fixed him with her icy eyes. ‘You are not afraid either. Are you not a young wolf,
yourself?’

She turned and walked back towards the trail without another word. In the darkness, Talos heard the jangling rattles that hung from the long cane that the old woman used to walk. He returned to
his own cottage to warm himself at the fire but the shivers that ran along his spine were not only from the cold.

‘Who was that with you just now?’ his mother asked as she put a bowl of soup in front of him.

‘An old woman that I’ve never seen before around here. She was asking for Karas.’

‘Karas? But where is he now?’

‘He went to his cabin, up at the high spring.’

‘But you shouldn’t have told her; Karas certainly doesn’t want strangers coming there.’

‘Oh, mother, what harm can a poor old woman do? She’s strange, all right, but she seemed more crazy than dangerous. Crossing the forest at this hour, alone . . .’ Talos began
to eat in silence, turning over the scene in his mind. That strange expression rang in his ears: ‘Are you not a young wolf, yourself ?’ That was what Kritolaos had called him before
dying, and Karas had greeted him in the same way. He finished eating quickly, put on his cloak and went towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’ fretted his mother. ‘It’s very dark, the moon’s not even out tonight. You said yourself there was no reason to worry over Karas.’

‘I’m not worried about him. But that poor woman may have been torn to pieces by some wolf.’

‘She will have reached the house by now. And if she had been attacked, there would be nothing you could do to help her any more.’