Spartan

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  *

  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.’

  ‘Well then, I want to know who she is, mother, and I’m going to find out now. Don’t worry about me if I don’t return tonight. I’m armed and I can defend myself. I
’ll be up there in no time. You go to bed, you must be tired.’

  He walked out, quickly disappearing into the shadows. His mother stood at the threshold listening to the sound of his footsteps, until even that sound was swallowed up by the silence of the night.

  *

  Karas’ powerful shape was framed by the door. Behind him, the inside of the cabin was lit up by the ruddy reflections of the flames that flickered in the hearth. He opened his eyes wide in the darkness, as if not believing what he saw before him.

  ‘Perialla!’ he exclaimed. ‘You, here?’

  ‘Let me in, quickly,’ the old woman said, ‘I’m nearly numb with the cold.’ Karas moved aside, and the old woman brushed past him, grasped one of the stools and sat down to warm her hands over the fire. Karas sat down next to her. ‘Are you hungry?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m hungry; I’ve been walking since dawn and I haven’t found anything to eat but a piece of dry bread and a few olives at an inn.’

  Karas brought her bread and cheese.

  ‘Have you no wine?’ the old woman demanded. ‘My throat is very dry.’

  Karas took a flask from a shelf and poured some red wine into a wooden mug.

  He waited until she had swallowed a few draughts and, having checked that the door was well closed, he sat down again next to her.

  ‘Then, will you tell me what has happened? I can’t understand how you can be here, and how you managed to find me,’ he said, fixing her with a suspicious gaze.

  ‘How I found you? Oh, Karas,’ she answered, ‘what can remain hidden to Perialla, the prophetess, the voice of the god of Delphi?’ Karas dropped his stare.

  ‘No,’ continued the old woman ‘you need not worry, no one has followed me, but . . .’

  ‘But?’

  ‘But I think that we will soon have visitors.’ Karas leapt up and reached for the heavy club leaning against the wall behind him.

  ‘Calm down,’ continued the woman. ‘There is no danger, but if my spirit does not deceive me, a young wolf has just put himself on my tracks.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Oh, I’m not speaking of an animal. He is a young shepherd I met down in the clearing who told me the way to your cabin.’ Perialla wrinkled her grey eyebrows as if trying to remember something. ‘I looked at him well,’ she continued slowly, pronouncing each word carefully. ‘He is wolf-hearted . . . for he fears not to cross the forest at night. I read the suspicion in his eyes. He will come.’

  Karas gazed at her, frowning. ‘Do you know who he is?’

  ‘No,’ said the woman, ‘but he is not a shepherd.’

  Karas poured her more wine. ‘Why have you left the temple?’

  ‘I was forced to,’ sighed the woman. ‘I lent my mouth to deception and I sold my soul . . . at a high price.’ She gulped down the wine all at once, then broke into coarse laughter.

  ‘Do you know why, down there, in the city of the Spartans, King Leotychidas sits on the throne which was rightfully that of Demaratus, who has been living for years in exile?’ Karas did not understand. The woman grabbed a lock of his hair in her hooked hands and shook his head. ‘I will tell you,’ she continued, ‘even if your mind is dull: because I, Perialla, the Pythia of Delphi, the voice of Phoebus, sold him.’ She laughed again, hysterically.

  ‘I know that Demaratus was deposed, before the Athenian battle at Marathon against the Persians, because it was discovered that he wasn’t his father’s son.’

  ‘Fool,’ hissed the woman, ‘it was I who made him a bastard, persuaded by King Cleomenes who hated him and by the gold of Kobon, his Athenian friend.’

  Karas listened, wide-eyed. ‘Quite a lot of gold; I had never seen so much gold in my whole life . . . and there would have been some for you, too,’ she added, shaking her head. ‘I’ve never forgotten Karas the shepherd, who gathered me up exhausted and starving when I escaped from those who had enslaved me.’

  ‘You shouldn’t have done it,’ murmured Karas, confused.

  ‘Well, I did it, and it seemed that everything would remain hidden . . . nearly four years had passed . . .’

  ‘Kobon,’ pondered Karas, ‘I remember him. Wasn’t he the temple scribe?’

  ‘Yes, your memory serves you well. Kobon was backed by the Athenians, I’m sure. They never pardoned King Demaratus for opposing King Cleomenes, when Cleomenes wanted to punish the Aeginetans who surrendered to the Persians at the time of the battle of Marathon.’

  ‘Then, if I understand you well, the Athenians and Cleomenes plotted together to destroy Demaratus.’

  The old woman looked at him with a strange sneer. ‘It’s possible, Karas, but I don’t think that it’s very important to either of us anymore. The Council of the Sanctuary has passed judgement: I am cursed. For ever.’

  She lifted her head and the metal discs on her band jingled. ‘Ousted . . . yes, but they didn’t dare put me to death.’ Her eyes glittered in the languishing flames of the hearth. ‘They are still afraid – of Perialla.’

  ‘You can stay here, if you like,’ offered Karas. ‘I have the flock—’

  ‘Quiet!’ interrupted the woman cupping her ear. ‘There’s someone outside.’ Karas grabbed the club and flung himself out of the door.

  ‘Stop, Karas, it’s me!’ It was Talos, who had been just about to enter. ‘Quick, follow that man,’ he said, grasping the arm that brandished the heavy club and pointing to a hooded figure that was running towards the edge of the clearing. They rushed after him in pursuit, and Karas had almost caught up with him, but the hooded man managed to spring into a dense thicket and Karas quickly lost his tracks. Talos arrived, panting.

  ‘Damn this leg! I could have had him, but I tripped. Just then you burst out of the cabin and nearly smashed my head in with that tree you’ve got in your hand.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Talos, but in the dark like that . . . Who was it?’

  ‘I don’t know; a Spartan, maybe. I was on my way up here because a strange old woman—’

  ‘I know,’ Karas interrupted him.

  ‘Well, halfway up the trail, I saw him come out of the forest and so I started to follow him. Unfortunately, I had to stay quite far behind him, because the path is full of dry leaves and twigs and I didn’t want to make any noise. The man came as far as the cabin and seemed to be eavesdropping at the window. I crept nearer and nearer until I could jump at him, but in the dark I tripped on a dry branch; he twisted free as I fell to the ground, and got away. What I don’t understand is why your dog didn’t attack him.’

  ‘That little bastard ran off again tonight. It’s mating season; by now he’ll be whining around some penned-up bitch on heat.’

  They came through the door, still open wide, but Talos stopped at the threshold, perplexed by the vision of the old woman who had spoken to him down at the clearing, sitting calmly next to the fire.

  ‘The young wolf,’ she said without turning. ‘I knew that he would come.’

  ‘Right,’ said Karas. ‘But before the wolf there was a Spartan snake, and he was spying on us.’

  ‘I had noticed something,’ said the old woman, ‘but my mind is foggy these days. I don’t see clearly anymore.’

  ‘Come right in, Talos,’ said Karas to the young man who stood timidly near the door. ‘This woman is not your enemy. She can do great good or great evil, depending how her heart is inclined, but you must not fear her. One day you will know who she really is. She is going to stay with me now, because she has no place to go, and fortune has dealt her a hard blow.’

  ‘Come forward,’ said the woman, still not turning to face him.

  Talos went to the other side of the hearth and sat down on the floor, on one of the mats. The woman’s face, just barely illuminated by the glowing embers, was spectral. Her grey eyes fixed him from beneath nearly closed eyelids.

  ‘There is something terrible in him,’ she said suddenly, turning to Karas, ‘but I can’t understand what it is.’

  Talos was startled; how co
uld this woman speak in such a way? Who was she? He had never seen anyone like her.

  The old woman closed her eyes, then took something from her sack and threw it on the embers, liberating a thick cloud of dense, aromatic smoke.

  ‘Perialla, no!’ exclaimed Karas. The woman didn’t even look at him, but leaned forward over the hearth, inhaling the vapours. She grasped the staff that she held by her side, and began shaking it rhythmically, jingling the rattles.

  Talos felt drunk, as if a strong wine had gone to his head.

  Perialla panted, shaken by tremors. Her limbs stiffened and her forehead beaded with sweat. Suddenly a lament broke forth from her, as if a blade had penetrated her breast.

  ‘Powerful gods!’ she shrieked. ‘Powerful gods, let Perialla see!’ She collapsed, her head bent forward, gasping. Suddenly she stood up, leaning on her staff, and opened her eyes. They were fixed, staring, glassy. A distant howl, in the wood. The woman started: ‘Your sign . . . O Lord of the Wolves, Phoebus, Perialla hears you . . . Perialla sees . . .’

  She began to shake the rattles, intoning a strange cant as the two men, in silence, watched her spellbound, unable to move a finger. In the confused sing-song, words began to surface like branches of a tree in a sea of fog, and then the words tied in, one with another:

  ‘The dragon and the wolf first

  with merciless hate

  wound each other.

  Then, when the lion of Sparta

  falls pierced, tamed by the javelin

  hurled by the long-maned Mede,

  He who trembled takes up the sword,

  the herd-keeper grips the curved bow,

  Together to immortal glory running . . .’

  Perialla closed her eyes and fell quiet. Then, again, she began rattling on the staff in her hand. That strange, even sing-song poured out of her mouth, a cant that began sweet and low, then became hard, strident.

  The prophetess seemed to be searching for something in her voice. Restless, terrible thoughts flashed through her eyes and crossed her forehead, which wrinkled violently as if racked by painful contractions. Her eyes seemed to stare into a void, and then suddenly came to rest on Talos’ face. Words suddenly spilt forth: