Spartans at the Gates (40 page)

Eurymakus frowned. Nikias had been muttering in his sleep ever since Axe and the young Tanagraean guardsman had carried him to this building for safekeeping a day ago. But Nikias had spoken only nonsense. He kept rambling on about a talking white horse that could turn into a shaft of light and fly away; and a magical singing sword—given to him by Perikles, of all people!—that lay at the bottom of the sea. Several times during his fevered nightmares Nikias had opened his eyes, staring into the distance, hallucinating that gold darics were spilling from his stomach, or that he was trapped in a collapsing tunnel made of bones, or stuck in the hold of a sinking ship that was filled with the corpses of his kin.

Eurymakus had to admit they were interesting nightmares. He wondered what kind of elaborate fantasies Nikias would retreat to when the suffering began.

“I can't remember her name,” said Nikias in a strangely coherent voice, though his eyes were still closed tightly. “Why?”

“Whose name?” asked Eurymakus in a soft voice, his lips so close to Nikias's ear that he could smell the oily scent of his hair.

“
Her
name … the stone … the doctor told me…” muttered Nikias, his voice incoherent again. He shifted in his sleep and shivered. Then he laughed. “The Babylonian doctor knows … but he's drunk. Demetrios would know how to figure it out. But he's found the golden fleece.…”

Eurymakus reached for a blanket and covered Nikias with it. Then he held a skin filled with water to Nikias's lips, squirting some into his mouth and making certain that he swallowed. Then Eurymakus prayed to his
fravashi
—his guardian angel—to bring Nikias out of this delirium. To make him sound of mind. Torturing a deranged man was a fruitless and dissatisfying effort.

He chewed on one of his fingernails, a nervous habit from his youth that he had corrected long ago but which had come back all of a sudden—ever since he had laid eyes on the unconscious form of Nikias.

Ten years of waiting!

Several times over the previous decade since his brother's death, Eurymakus had risked venturing into Plataean territory and spying on Nikias, hiding in the olive grove above Menesarkus's farm, watching the family of Plataeans like the most patient of spiders. He had seen Nikias grow up, changing from a wild boy to a savage young man. And all that time he had planned how he would one day capture him and take him apart, piece by piece, in front of his grandfather's horrified eyes. That plan had failed on the night of the sneak attack, though he had come so tantalizingly close to having both Menesarkus and Nikias in his grasp.

Nikias the cunning. No! Nikias the fortunate. A young man seemingly protected by the entire pantheon of Greek gods.

But now he was here. A prisoner, chained in an undercroft far beneath the streets of Tanagra. Helpless and alone. No god could touch him here. It was like a beautiful dream. But this was real. He had been led to Tanagra by his guardian angel, and given this gift as a reward for all of his efforts. There were no coincidences in life. This was destiny.

He heard Nihani stirring in the corner of the room where she had fallen asleep on the floor. He thought back to the night they had escaped from Thebes. Eurymakus had crept down to the main room of his house, where he'd found the guards ravaging her body. He had sprung on them like a wild cat—three swipes from his poisoned claw and they lay writhing on the floor, blood pouring from their eyes and nostrils as the venom did its work.

Eurymakus and Nihani had found the horses she had purchased in the Theban stable. Then they had gone to a sally port on the eastern gate where a guard who was still loyal to Eurymakus had let them out of the citadel. They had ridden hard through the night, arriving in Tanagra just as the gates to the city-state were opened in the morning. They had been admitted without incident and had gone to the home of a wealthy Tanagraean merchant named Polykarpos—a staunch anti-Plataean who had been secretly plotting with Eurymakus for over ten years to overthrow the Athenian rule of Tanagra.

Thirty years ago this Polykarpos had married off one of his daughters to a Plataean citizen, and she had borne him a son named Kiton who had spent much of his youth in Tanagra, where the boy had been coddled by his grandfather. Kiton had grown up to be a fearsome Plataean warrior, and had been given a nickname based on his favorite weapon.

“Axe” was what the Plataeans called him.

Axe hated the Athenians and was loyal to his Tanagraean grandfather. And he had been one of Eurymakus's spies inside the Plataean citadel on the night of the sneak attack. Eurymakus had been surprised to find Axe still alive and taking refuge in Polykarpos's house, for he had thought the Plataean had perished during the battle. Eurymakus had been even more astonished when, a few days later, Axe's cousin, a young man who guarded the gates, had burst into Polykarpos's house, breathless and excited with news: Nikias of Plataea had arrived in Tanagra!

Axe had slipped out of Polykarpos's house before Eurymakus could stop him, and the great oaf had nearly been spotted by the young Plataean in Tanagra's public square. But Axe had ducked back into Polykarpos's house before Nikias had seen him. Eurymakus had quickly sent Nihani to follow Nikias through the citadel. The clever woman, still in the guise of a man, had trailed him to the Three Thieves, pretending to be a male prostitute when confronted by Nikias.

The plan to burn down the inn and force Nikias out of his room had been Eurymakus's scheme. And Axe and his cousin had carried it out perfectly, smoking Nikias out like a mountain badger from his hole.

Eurymakus heard a sound outside the chamber door and stood up. The door opened and Polykarpos lumbered into the room, followed by Axe bearing a pine-pitch torch that crackled loudly.

The merchant was a big man in his sixties. He resembled a much older, gone-to-seed version of his nephew, for he was corpulent and wore perfume in his hair like an Athenian. The small chamber was quickly filled with its overpowering scent. Polykarpos's eyes, like Axe's, were too small for his head, and his bushy beard hid his face.

“Is he awake?” asked Polykarpos, casting a dark glance at Nikias.

“No,” said Eurymakus. “Axe does not know his strength. He hit him too hard.”

“I tried to kill him,” said Axe with a slanted smile. “I don't care if that sheep-stuffer lives or dies.”

“Oh, he will die,” said Eurymakus. “But he will die
slowly
.”

“Is this torture necessary?” asked Polykarpos, twisting one of his many rings on his fat fingers. “Why don't you just extract the information you need and slit his throat?”

“I don't need any information,” said Eurymakus. “There is nothing about Plataea that Nikias could tell me that I don't already know.”

“Then why—”

“He must pay for what he and his family have done,” said Eurymakus, trying to keep his voice calm. He despised having to explain himself to this merchant.

Eurymakus watched as Axe walked over and squatted by Nikias, holding the flame close to the young man's face.

“Be careful,” said Eurymakus. “You'll set his hair on fire.”

Axe put the torch a little closer with a mischievous grin, singeing Nikias's hair until it curled and smoked.

“Stop!” ordered Eurymakus. “There will be time for that later.”

“Just checking to see if he's really unconscious,” said Axe with a shrug.

“Disgusting smell,” said Polykarpos, waving away the smoke.

Axe cleared his throat and spit on Nikias's face. “There,” he said. “That will put out the fire for good. Or should I piss on him? I say we start in on him now,” he added. “We're wasting time. My uncle has a big Median slave who's hung like a donkey. Let's have him rape Nikias to start. That will give us all a good laugh.”

“We have all the time in the world,” said Eurymakus. “I will not begin until Nikias is fully aware of what is going on.”

Axe stood up and kicked Nikias in the stomach. “Awake or not, I would enjoy it either way. I've hated this piece of shit since he was a boy. Just like I hated his worthless father, Aristo.”

Polykarpos scratched his bushy beard with a nervous gesture. “Listen, Eurymakus,” he said, speaking in a lower voice, “we need to talk about what comes next.”

“I told you already,” said Eurymakus. “We wait until the Spartans destroy Plataea. In the meantime we start bringing together all of the Tanagraeans who are ready to kill the Athenian loyalists in the citadel. When the time is right we take over the city and then send emissaries to the Spartans.”

“
We
ally ourselves with the Spartans?” mimicked Axe. “
You
are not a Tanagraean, Eurymakus. You're not even a Theban anymore from what I can gather.”

“You are not a citizen of Tanagra either,” replied Eurymakus icily. “But I still have the ear of the Persian king as well as the Spartans, and I will be the bridge that connects Tanagra to them both. I can bring Persian gold to Tanagra. Enough to buy armor for a thousand men. Can you say as much, Axe? The Persians would indeed be willing to finance Tanagra, just as they had given gold to Thebes.”

Eurymakus turned to Polykarpos and said, “You cannot hope to remain independent from the Spartans unless you have the backing of Artaxerxes and the Persian Empire. Otherwise the Spartans will make you their vassals.”

By the looks on their faces his words had worked, for Axe shrugged and turned away as if accepting defeat, and Polykarpos nodded contritely.

“What about Thebes?” asked Polykarpos. “Won't the Spartans give Thebes the power to rule in the Oxlands once Plataea is destroyed?”

“Thebes is like a one-legged man,” said Eurymakus. “We lost too many warriors in the battle against Plataea. We…” Here he paused and rubbed his hand on the stump of his arm. “…
they
are now powerless. Thebes will fall under the Spartan yoke. Tanagra has the opportunity to become the most powerful city-state in the Oxlands. But only with my help.”

Eurymakus turned and saw that Nihani now stood beside him, staring at Polykarpos and Axe with her haughty gaze. Eurymakus noticed Axe ogling her. Nihani saw this, too, and stepped closer to Eurymakus's side.

The room was silent except for Nikias's mumbling.

Polykarpos put a hand on his chin and stared at Nikias, thinking for some time. “I don't want this Plataean to be alive much longer,” he said at last. “There are men in Tanagra who are still loyal allies of the Plataeans. They would have me sharded for torturing the heir of the Plataean Arkon. I say we kill him and bury his corpse in the forest.”

“I agree with my grandfather,” said Axe. “The sooner, the better.”

“I need a week,” said Eurymakus. “That is all that I ask.”

“You shall have three days,” said Polykarpos. “You can do whatever needs to be done with this poor lad in three days. ‘Death is a terrible discharge that we all must eventually pay,'” he recited with a sigh. He cast another glance at Nikias, then exited the chamber.

Axe followed after his grandfather, saying over his shoulder, “Don't start the fun without me,” then slammed the door shut behind him.

After the two men were gone Eurymakus stood for a long time staring at Nikias.

“I don't like either one of them,” said Nihani.

“I would gouge out Axe's eyes for undressing you with his eyes that way,” said Eurymakus. “But we need him. And we need Polykarpos, even though he is as spineless as a snail. We will use them for as long as we can.”

“We should go to Persia now,” said Nihani. “Kill Nikias and be done with him. Your revenge is in your grasp.”

“No,” replied Eurymakus. “Death is not enough. He must suffer. Only then will my brother's spirit find peace.” He chewed on a nail, pulling it off, causing his finger to bleed. “The game has shifted, my love,” he said. “We have been shown the path by Ahura Mazda. If I can bring Tanagra to the Spartans, I will be back in their good favor. I can't run away to Persia like a dog with its tail between its legs. Not when Plataea is so close to being destroyed.”

“God be praised,” she replied in a wooden voice. “Come now.”

She led him to the corner of the chamber with the makeshift bed.

“Take off your tunic,” she commanded him. “Get on your hands and knees.”

As they made love Eurymakus kept his eyes locked on Nikias the entire time, and exploded in the most violent of orgasms. He lay next to Nihani, breathing hard, and then fell into a deep slumber. When he awoke she was kneeling next to him, staring into his face, smiling impishly.

“My love,” she whispered. “The Plataean is awake.”

Eurymakus got up very slowly and turned to face Nikias. The young pankrator stared back at him, hair and face wet with sweat, struggling against the chains, an expression of horror on his pale but lucid face.

“Zeus, no,” hissed Nikias.

 

NINE

When Diokles the Helot was a child he had found a puppy cowering in a ditch—a stray that was near death. He had cared for the animal in secret, feeding it milk from a goat, and the dog had grown strong.

But then the tall, lean, noseless Spartan master who owned the village and all of its inhabitants came for an inspection and discovered what Diokles had done. Helots weren't allowed to have dogs. Dogs could be used to hunt and Helots were forbidden to hunt. Or a dog could act as a sentinel—to alert Helots engaged in secret meetings that their Spartan masters were in the village. So the master killed the dog by smashing its head against a wall, and then he ordered his men to hang Diokles upside down by his ankles and whip him until his skin was in shreds.

Diokles had lived. But just barely. And he had never stopped hating the masters. Especially the one with the face like a skull: Master Drako.