Cesare rested only shortly after Halcyon, who slept as heavily as him. The night's soft, cool air brushed his face, only a distant noise stirring him from a dream. He peeked out from beyond the furs and listened again for what had caught his ear. He may have only dreamed it, or it could have been an animal. Halcyon's continued sleep lulled him back to his dreamscape.
From under a pistachio tree, a leather-clad man curiously eyed the travelers in the low valley. Even from a distance, he saw the beautiful bronze armor reflecting the moonlight's silver hue. Next to the travelers' campsite were two fine horses. He rubbed his chin in thought, then quietly left in the darkness.
Chapter Fifteen
Before Apollo could even mount his sun chariot, Halcyon was yanked out of her bedroll by hands that were callused like her own. She stumbled and nearly toppled in the darkness, but she briefly saw two dirty faces pass hers. She was thrown onto her knees just as Cesare's yells filled her ears. A rusty iron blade tip pressed into her lower neck and stilled her.
"What is a freewoman doing traveling with a slave?" a bandit asked.
Halcyon cast a glance to Cesare, who was held at dagger point by two other men. Altogether she was dealing with four bandits, who probably considered these lands their territory. She returned her dark stare to the speaking bandit, glaring along the length of his ugly sword to his marred features above her. "We are headed to Corinth... to see family."
The bandit weighed the answer, then huffed low and indicated the armor to their side. "Yours?"
Halcyon ground her teeth and drew her fingers nearer the hidden dagger's hilt at her waist. She only had a slim chance to save herself and Cesare. Her heart lurched at dying out here by worthless bandits.
"It is hers," another bandit confirmed. The bandit had midnight hair, long strands braided behind his back, and wore a tattered leather cuirass. He was inspecting the armor that was beautifully crafted and confirmed it was indeed designed for a woman, not a man.
"A woman warrior," the leader bandit mocked, then flexed his grip on the sword hilt.
"These markings are of the hippeis," the dark-haired bandit further revealed. He dragged his fingertips along the stamp engraved at the right shoulder. His two comrades who held Cesare captive started talking low. He stood up and suggested, "Sciron, she could be worth a nice ransom."
The leader, Sciron, smiled toothily at the prospect of making more drachmas. "Iros, tie her." He kept his sword trained on Halcyon.
The dark-haired bandit, Iros, moved away from the armor. He reached behind his back and unhooked a length of coiled rope. He cautiously went behind Halcyon, nervous and cautious now that he knew she was more than just armor. He knelt down, then took her right wrist first. For a heartbeat, Iros thought it would go smoothly. But when he reached for her other wrist, a flash of bronze was faster than his holler of warning.
Halcyon tore the dagger free from the sheath at her hip, grazing her own flesh against the tip of the leader's sword in the process. The twinge of sharpness against her skin fueled her as she spun to her left and swung her dagger up. With deadly skill, Halcyon drove the dagger into Iros's neck, and blood poured from the wound. The bandit's dying gurgles were music to her.
Sciron was awestruck by Halcyon's skill, but he recovered and lunged at her. He missed and blew past her. He turned with the sword pointed at her. His body blocked Halcyon from obtaining her xiphos. Halcyon had her hands raised and bloody dagger at the ready. She backed up and stepped around the dead bandit.
Sciron bared his teeth then ordered, "Kill the slave, Pratinos." He made a bet and hoped he'd won it.
Pratinos was on Cesare's left, and he drew the blade tight against his neck. Cesare's initial scream made him slow down, but Pratinos only stopped cutting through the skin when Halcyon yelled at him.
"Stop!" Halcyon crumbled under the threat to Cesare's life. She tossed the bloody dagger to the ground and freely surrendered to the bandits, gritting her teeth.
Sciron smiled his yellow, broken teeth at the wealthy hoplite. Suddenly, his smile turned into a sneer, and he jumped forward with the blade overhead. He slammed his fist into Halcyon's jaw and took her down to her knees. Sciron jammed his right knee into Halcyon's chest, which threw her onto her back.
Halcyon groaned heavily, and dizziness swept through her head. A thread of panic charged through her when Sciron drew back his foot. She hastily covered her stomach with her arms before he kicked at her. Halcyon whimpered at the bolt of pain, but her arms took the brunt of it. She saw Sciron prepare to kick again, and she cringed at what it would do to the life forming in her belly.
"Please!" Cesare tried moving, but Pratinos tightened the blade to Cesare's throat. "She has suffered enough." He feared for Halcyon's developing baby in the womb.
Sciron growled low. "Hardly — compared to my dead friend." He returned his ire to the fallen hoplite. Murder shined in his eyes, even if he knew Halcyon's value as a ransom. His ragged breaths matched his rage. With a raised sword, Sciron hungered to cut into the woman's defiance.
Halcyon warred with her weakened body. She demanded her muscles to lift her and fight back, but she could barely sit up. All her attention was drawn to the rusty blade that reflected the moonlight. For the first time in her life, Halcyon felt true fear. It was for the unborn life in her belly, her instincts telling her to protect life. She frantically pleaded with the goddess Rhea, her first prayer to the Mother of the gods.
From the twinkling skies, Rhea listened to a mortal's appeal for motherhood, and she responded with thunder across the valleys. Her beautiful voice came out in a powerful yell and rolled through the campsite. A single word in a strange tongue to the Greek ear. Then a golden bolt cut through the darkness and collided with Sciron.
Halcyon gasped after Sciron fell to the ground beside her. She tingled with hints of strength and peered over her shoulder at the downed bandit. Even in the dark night, Halcyon made out the golden strands of her savior. "Thora," she whispered in awe. Like Halcyon, the two bandits beside Cesare were dumbstruck by Thora's arrival as if she were a goddess.
Quick to recover, Halcyon crawled over to her bloody dagger and fingered the hilt. She stole a concerned glance at Thora, who remained on top of Sciron's back.
Thora was several hands taller, bulkier than Sciron, and empowered by her raw anger. She hissed between clenched teeth and suddenly rolled them so that he was on top. Sciron was shocked by the action, barely registering the new position and saw his attacker flick something past his face. He only understood why when a rope noosed around his neck. Sciron choked and clawed at the thick coil across his throat while the stars twinkled above him.
At the same time, Halcyon dragged her fingertips down to the blade's tip and snared it. She rolled onto her back with her right arm retracted. In a heartbeat, she aligned her aim and threw the dagger at Cesare's captor. Pratinos screamed when the blade plunged into his right eye. He dropped his own dagger from the slave's throat.
The last bandit, Tros, watched his comrade fall to death and hastily backed away from Cesare. He had no weapons beyond his rough fists. Tros glanced at his leader, who was choking to death. He decided his life was more valuable than his leader's own and bolted from the campsite in fear.
Halcyon watched the bandit flee, then she turned her attention to Thora and Sciron. She flinched at the sudden silence in the camp. Sciron was limp against Thora and his eyes wide open toward the gods above them.
Thora removed the rope from around the bandit's neck. She shoved the dead body off and hurried to her feet. After a visual scan of the campsite, she went to her owner's side. "Halcyon," she whispered. There was strain in her voice from worry and fear.
For the first time, Halcyon heard her name on Thora's lips, and it settled warmly in her chest. She barely sat up when the Norsk slave knelt beside her. She sighed after concerned hands touched her, inspecting her for injury.
Cesare appeared on the other side of Halcyon. "Are you hurt, ěra?"
; Halcyon flinched from Cesare's gentle touch against her face. "I am fine." From her knelt position, she saw the thin line of blood on Cesare's neck from the bandit's blade. She gingerly lifted up until she was standing between the two slaves. Thora's hand was against her lower back. Gradually, Halcyon lifted her gaze until her eyes locked on Thora. For several silent moments, they exchanged emotions unspoken since they had parted ways.
"I will remove the bodies," Cesare said and planned to clean his wound. He itched to have space from the two warring women. His plan slightly failed when Thora assisted him.
Halcyon allowed it and, instead, tasked herself with starting a new fire. The chore's ease gave her a chance to absorb that Thora was here. Only shortly ago, Halcyon had been sleeping fitfully, and then her world was turned into chaos when the bandits arrived in their camp. Before the God of Death could find Halcyon, Thora had stormed into the campsite and saved her.
After the bodies were removed, the slaves sat around the campfire in tense silence. Nobody dared to speak first, because it was Halcyon's right as their owner. With a wary glance, Cesare confirmed that Halcyon was trying to grasp the recent events. Like Thora, he patiently waited to see what she would say.
Surprisingly, it was gratitude first from Halcyon. "Thank you for..." Halcyon gazed in the direction of the dead bandits. "For saving me."
"Ekki at þakka," Thora politely replied in her native tongue. She sat opposite of Halcyon on a rock and had a small pack leaning against it. Her few meager travel items were contained within the rucksack. Her features were deceivingly calm, but her stomach was wound tighter. Earlier she had been full of fire and wrath when the bandit was beating Halcyon.
"Ĕra," Cesare said cautiously, "I will gather more firewood."
Halcyon silently thanked Cesare's discretion. She indicated the hatchet beside the saddlebags. Once Cesare's footfall faded, she looked pointedly at Thora. "Why?"
Thora sat stiffly and uncomfortable with her current situation. There were so many answers to Halcyon's question, but each one ended the same way. She sighed. "You."
Halcyon dragged her teeth across her bottom lip. She nearly squirmed under the answer, but she was a gods damn hoplite, hardly a child.
"I am Norsk," Thora said. She lifted her gaze and lined her stormy blue eyes on Halcyon. "Norsk are not owned. We are not bought or controlled." Every flicker from the campfire was alive in her eyes. She thought back to the other night when she argued with Halcyon. The disagreement reminded her of her new place in the world and that Halcyon still saw her as property. "I will not be a slave... not even to you." She huffed low and stared into the fire. "I will die free and unbound, here or in my homelands."
Halcyon sat quietly and listened to Thora's beliefs. She related to them because, even as a freewoman, she was bound and enslaved until she put on the helmet. Under the bronze, she was a hoplite and a warrior among her people, no longer a woman enslaved by laws and social standards. In truth, Halcyon sadly admitted even as a hoplite, she had duties.
Thora knew that Halcyon understood her reasoning. It was only a question to delay the future. Halcyon had left the safety of her home and city in hopes to change the truth and retrieve Thora. Yet they both knew that Thora was free in spirit and would fight to be free in body. For now, Thora allowed Halcyon the fantasy that they could still sit as slave and owner, just a little longer.
With a slow reach, Halcyon fished out the tattered, handwritten message that Thora had left her. Yarikh had already translated the apology on one side, but she had no idea what was on the other. She unfolded the cloth and held that side out toward Thora.
After a deep breath, Thora translated the Norsk letters. "The wolf and the dog do not play together." She shifted on the hard, cool seat. "It is an old..." She attempted searching for the word in Greek.
"Saying," Halcyon provided.
"Já. It is an old saying with my people."
Halcyon fell silent and analyzed who was the wolf and who was the dog. She decided both were true in either case. After a heavy silence, she finally said, "You are right."
A thickness of sincerity was in Halcyon's voice that left Thora curious.
"I purchased you not to keep you," Halcyon said. Memories from months ago, of those first moments when she and Thora crossed lives, caused a warmth in her chest. "I purchased you to free you one day." A thin smile pulled against her lips when Thora stared at her in awe.
Thora opened her mouth slightly, but she was at a loss. She thought about Halcyon's plan, and tiny details started connecting in Thora's mind.
Unlike most Spartan homes, Halcyon purchased and owned her own slaves rather than using the helots from the polis. Such lifestyle as a personal slave protected Thora from threats by the government and other Spartans, especially the Crypteia. Yarikh's arrival and teachings were another progressive step toward Thora's freedom. Without the Greek tongue, Thora would indefinitely remain a barbarian among the Greeks. Smaller pieces were Thora's growing authority in the household and ability to shop in the agora, which was often done by male slaves. What had seemed like normal duties in Norsk culture were a show of authority or freedom in Sparta.
"But—" Halcyon paused as Thora refocused on her. "I cannot give you your freedom here." She indicated the wide open spaces of the rolling lands. "Only in Sparta before the polis."
Thora pursed her lips as she weighed her options to return to Sparta with Halcyon and Cesare. She considered whether her official freedom truly mattered to her. Even if she received it, she doubted it cleared her passage back to her people.
Halcyon was reading Thora's thoughts. She sighed heavily and offered, "If you wish then to return to your people, I will give you the supplies." She narrowed her gaze at Thora. "But you most likely will die or be enslaved again, Norsk or not." She said nothing else because Cesare had returned with an armload.
Thora broke from her thoughts and retrieved the second armload. When she returned, she found the campfire rekindled with fresh wood. Cesare was busy preparing a light meal. With a glance to the east, she realized daybreak was upon them. Normally at such a time, Thora would seek out a safe location and rest during the day. At night, she traveled through the lands in hopes nobody would see her. It was by sheer luck that she had come upon Halcyon's campsite, as if the gods willed it. Thora was just uncertain whether it was her gods or Halcyon's gods. Perhaps the Fates were one and the same in both religions.
After the morning meal, Halcyon began tacking her horse with Cesare's help. She still ached in certain spots after the bandits' attack but suspected the minor pains would be gone tomorrow. She left her horse hitched to a tree branch and allowed Cesare to prepare his own horse.
Eventually, Halcyon found her way to the dead bandits. She knelt by the leader and considered what little he had on him, but she was purely interested in his sword. She stripped the tattered leather sheath from Sciron. Halcyon then sheathed the rusty blade and left the dead to rot or be eaten by the wildlife. Perhaps the surviving bandit would return to bury his comrades.
In camp, Thora continued sitting by the fire, lost in thought and worry. Halcyon approached her and held out the sheathed blade. "This is now yours."
Thora curiously eyed Halcyon and took the weapon into her lap. Somehow the weathered sheath and ratty blade were worth more than all her meager food supplies. She had killed a man to earn it. And yet, Halcyon's life was priceless to her.
Halcyon offered nothing else and went to her horse. She freed the reins and took a steady breath before lifting herself onto the saddle. She waited until Cesare had done the same on his smaller horse. With a click of her tongue, she and Cesare rode southwest toward Sparta, toward home. Even if Thora had her freedom, legally or forced, it was a freedom not granted to Halcyon. She was bound to her duty as a Spartan hoplite. She had to let go of Thora.
Thora continued running her fingers down the sheath's length. It had been nearly four years since she last held and owned a blade. Somehow the short Greek sword an
chored her to the reality that she could have a life again. Gingerly, she pulled on the handle and sadly smiled at the rusty blade that peered out from the sheath. After she pushed it back in, she stood up and left the abandoned campsite.
In front of Thora, a shadow formed at her feet and stretched ahead of her. Her shadow guided her in the right direction, to freedom.
Epilogue
With finality, the Spartan sealstone pressed into the wax at the bottom of a hand-scribed parchment paper. Slowly, it rocked deeper, and the hot wax hungrily spread through the stone's artistic lines. As the warm stone drew away, the wax cooled and revealed its wonder. A Spartan hoplite was driving his blade into his enemy's chest, and the lambda symbol was proudly etched in his aspis. The seal officially bound the document in the eyes of the polis as it unbound one woman from slavery.
"It is done." Dromeus set his sealstone to the side of his table, then held out the parchment. For many years, the council elder had known Halcyon. Before then, he'd known her mother.
Halcyon retrieved the document and nodded at Dromeus. "Thank you."
Dromeus studied the famed hoplite that stood over his desk. "What will she do now, Halcyon?"
With a soft shake of her head, Halcyon honestly replied, "I do not know."
Dromeus considered Halcyon for a moment. Several days ago, the first wave of fallen hoplites returned to Sparta from the war against Xerxes. Halcyon was one of the wives to receive her husband's lifeless, bloody body on top of his aspis. All the wives followed the proper rituals. A coin under the dead's tongue, body washed and anointed, and finally prayers before the burial. Dromeus recalled Halcyon's strength that day at the burial. There were no tears. Now, Dromeus wondered how she would manage a fatherless newborn.
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