by Zizou Corder
‘OK,’ said the Cretan wearily. ‘Let’s see what you can do.’
Halo strapped on a belt with a pouch of arrows, picked up the bow, felt its weight, tried the strength of its string. She strung her arrow (socketed, with a bronze head – nice, she thought), fitting the string neatly into the nock. She raised the bow, holding the string to her ear with three fingers, the way Kyllarus had taught her, her sightline running straight and true along the arrow.
She hardly had to glance at the target: she hit it dead centre, re-arrowed, hit it dead centre, re-arrowed, hit it dead centre again, re-arrowed – she did it eight times in two minutes, and only stopped because she had no arrows left in her pouch, and there was no room left on the target. She looked up. The Cretan was frowning. The Skythian was smiling softly. His hound panted quietly, watching the action.
She hadn’t seen a Skythian smile before. It was unnerving. She was afraid she might miss her shots.
‘OK, OK,’ said the Cretan. ‘Try from twenty metres back.’
Halo collected her arrows, estimated twenty metres again, strung her arrow, tried to ignore the Skythian, and did the same thing.
The Cretan sighed.
The Skythian smiled again.
Arko was finding it hard not to snort with laughter.
‘OK, OK,’ said the Cretan. ‘Shoot from where you like.’
Halo was finding this very easy. After all, the targets stood still and let you take your time. She wasn’t being given the chance to show her skill at all. But she collected her arrows, went further back into the discus course, steadied her eye and began to shoot. Every one of them hit the bullseye. Then, as she raised her last arrow, from the corner of her eye she saw a duck flying by, quick-flapping up from the river, flying low. She couldn’t resist it. She’d show that silly Cretan. She swerved, glanced, and loosed the arrow just far enough ahead, just where the duck would be by the time the arrow arrived and – yes. The bird plummeted. Shot through the heart. She ran across the field to fetch it.
The Cretan was shouting at her when she got back. ‘This is not a hunting trip! This is target practice on a sports training field! That was extremely dangerous! What if you had hit someone! I will be informing your schoolmaster of your lack of discipline. Stupid boy! You will be punished!’
Halo narrowed her eyes. He was really beginning to annoy her.
‘Tell you what,’ said the Skythian mildly, not looking at her. ‘Why don’t you join us tomorrow, see what the Skythians can teach you.’
Halo was so very surprised that for a moment she forgot to be alarmed. No one trained with the Skythians. They hardly even spoke to other people, except to arrest them or put the fear of the Gods into them. They were the tightest of all the bands of foreigners in Athens. Partly because they were guards and police, living in their special barracks; partly because of their strong accents, partly because technically they were slaves, they kept together and weren’t interested in anyone else. They even had their own doctor, an old man called Taures – she’d seen him by the barracks, coughing and drunk. (Hippias had pointed him out. ‘That is the kind of doctor who doesn’t deserve the name,’ he’d said. ‘He only knows how to bind battle wounds, and he’s no good at that anyway.’)
Halo looked up at the Skythian.
‘Really?’ she said – because alongside alarm and surprise came curiosity. Skythians were the best archers in the world, everyone knew that. They could shoot backwards, on horseback, while pretending to retreat. They had the best bows, the best techniques. She would very much like to see what they could teach her.
‘Really,’ he said.
She glanced at Arko.
‘Could he come too?’ she asked.
‘You two are as one person,’ the Skythian said courteously. ‘He comes too.’ His hound lifted its head, letting its long pink tongue show a little between its white teeth. Its ears perked up.
She looked at the man, and at the dog, and back to the man. She was scared.
She grinned. She’d trained with Centaurs, Spartans and now Skythians. Leonidas would be proud of her.
‘OK,’ she said.
Halo and Arko joined the Skythians the following evening, as the air was growing cool, in their field, outside the walls. If anybody passing by stopped to watch them, the Skythians shot arrows at their feet to send them away. Everybody knew this by now, and they didn’t linger.
‘Are we mad?’ Halo murmured to Arko, as they approached for the first time.
‘Utterly,’ he said. ‘Oh, sweet Ares, there’s old One-Eye.’
The Captain rode swiftly up to them as they arrived, reining in his long, sand-coloured horse. Unlike the others, he wore a tight jacket. The deep-blue cloth was still bound round his missing eye. His scars were livid, but his face beneath them was almost delicate. It made him all the more frightening.
‘You are welcome,’ he said briefly.
‘Thank you,’ said Halo.
Then, much to her amazement, he swung his leg over and slipped off his horse. She had never seen a Skythian standing. He was still pretty tall.
‘Show me how you ride,’ he said.
He was offering her his horse!
‘I have only ever ridden Arko,’ she said. ‘Er, this is Arko. I am Halo.’
‘We know who you are,’ he said. His voice was soft, but lined with steel. ‘Arko, do you wish to be ridden?’
‘Only in emergency,’ said Arko. ‘Or play.’
‘So mount,’ said the Captain, turning to Halo.
She looked. How on earth? There was a bridle. She eyed it, sideways – there didn’t seem to be any scalps or bloodstains on it. There was the huge horse. There was an audience of tough unsmiling Skythians, and their tough unsmiling dogs. There was nothing that could help her. So she smiled gamely, took the reins in her right hand, and jumped. The Gods knew she’d jumped on to Arko’s back before – and sometimes he’d just galloped off, as perhaps this horse would do now…
She flung herself across the horse, on her belly. She swung herself round, to get her left leg over, to pull herself upright. She had no idea what to do with the reins, but she knew to grip with her knees.
She gripped tight. The horse took it as a signal – and took off.
It ran faster, purer, cleaner that Arko ever could. It lowered its head into the wind created by its own speed, and it galloped like a ghost, searing across the field, running, running, running…
She held the reins loosely, and her knees tight. She kept her weight forward and her head down. She felt so exposed – no human back in front of her, no waist to hold on around, no shoulders, no russet head of hair flying in her face – just a horse head, pulling, pulling, horse ears flattened back, horse mane flying from strong horse neck, and the wind… It was fantastic.
It was over too soon. The horse, perhaps sensing that all was not going to plan, slackened, and returned to the Captain as if obedient to a silent call.
Halo sat, smiling shakily.
‘Well,’ the Captain said. ‘We have something to work with. Akinakes, teach him.’
Akinakes – the rider who had invited them – appeared and took the horse’s bridle. He offered Halo his big silver-ringed hand to help her down from the horse. He even had a ring on his thumb. The courtesy surprised her. She had expected their training to be brutal.
‘Thank you, Akinakes,’ she said, and turned to the Captain. ‘And please, what is your name?’
‘Arimaspou,’ he said.
‘An unusual name,’ she said politely. ‘What does it mean?’
‘One-Eye,’ he said, staring at her calmly. Out of his one eye.
Zeus only knew what gave her the stupidity, or the stupid courage to say it – but before she knew it…‘It suits you,’ she said, deadpan. And then flung both hands over her face in horrified shock at what she had said – surely now, her cropped black curls would soon be hanging from that very bridle…
But vengeance did not immediately slice her in half with its sha
rp Skythian dagger. Instead a strange sound greeted her ears.
Arimaspou was laughing. He was laughing a lot. They were all laughing. In fact, for a moment she thought Arimaspou might reach out and rumple her hair.
Anyway, she laughed too. So did Arko. And something was released by them all laughing together.
In the following weeks Akinakes trained her, and sometimes Arimaspou himself. Their bows were far more advanced than the wooden Centaur bows she had been used to. These were backed with sinew for flexibility and strengthened with horn, and their bronze arrowheads were tiny and deadly sharp. Before she was even allowed to shoot the first time, she had to learn to restring the big bow and refix an arrowhead. They corrected her technique in riding and archery, making her practise over and over. They nodded unconcernedly at her blisters, and approvingly as her hands toughened up. It was hard work. She took it without complaint. They would never, never know that she was a girl, or think that she was soft. Her muscles grew stronger, her skin grew tough, and she was bruised every day from falling off the horses.
As she got to know the Skythians a little she took to greeting them when she saw them around town, instead of glancing nervously at them. In return she would get a grave nod, or the laconic lift of a finger in greeting. It was easier though to get to know their Molossian dogs, and she discovered the great pleasure of being on affectionate terms with a big fierce animal that everyone else was scared of. It turned out these great fanged, drooly-mouthed creatures very much liked to play with balls. Except for one laughing young rider called Nephiles, the Skythians were not the game-playing type, but Halo loved throwing the balls for the Molossians, and having them bring them back, and rest their heads against her knees, and squabble with each other for the place of luxury, sitting across her lap, when they all gathered round in the evening after training to drink askhu, the cherry-syrup in milk that was the Skythians’ favourite.
One night, as they sat around the evening fire, Arimaspou gave her a present of a metal thumb-ring, like the silver ones they all wore. He had showed her before how it was used to hold the bowstring in place, and to protect the flesh of the inside of the thumb from the rubbing of the string.
‘Your thumb is tough enough now,’ he said. ‘Tender thumbs cannot wear this ring. Maybe you’ll earn a silver one one day…’
She was incredibly pleased. It was almost praise.
‘… if we survive the war long enough to train you up,’ he said drily.
A strange, tense mood had criss-crossed the city ever since the Plataean messenger had arrived. The leaders were finalizing alliances, captains were preparing their troops. The watchtowers along the Long Walls to Piraeus, the port of Athens, were fully manned; storerooms were full, weapons were in tip-top condition. Halo watched the Athenian Hoplites perfecting their manoeuvres out in the training field. She couldn’t help comparing them to the Spartans – and yes, they looked good, but… The Spartans looked like one creature made up of hundreds of men, and the Athenians looked like hundreds of men. That was the best way she could find to describe it.
Rumours of war with the Spartans rippled to and fro, and Halo heard plenty: Corinth had changed sides, Potidaea had fallen, Kerkyra had been invaded, one of the two Spartan kings, Archidamus, was mustering the Spartan army at the Isthmus.
It was beginning.
When Halo heard this she made her way to the Assembly, to hear what was being said by those who really knew. As she entered, everyone was sitting hushed and attentive, because Pericles was speaking. It made her proud – and ashamed too, because she still had not told him the truth. He was in the middle of a sentence, speaking quietly but firmly.
‘… the Spartans invade, as they will any time now, and start to ravage our beautiful land of Attica, I have a feeling that they will try to trick you. They might think it clever to ravage everybody’s lands but mine, which lies right on their route to Athens. I think they will leave my land untouched, to make you suspicious of me. Well – if that happens, I will give that land up, and declare it public property. But more importantly – my advice, as the General who has had the honour of serving the people of Athens for so many years, is this. We will prepare for war. We are wealthy and well equipped. We have strong walls protecting the city and Piraeus, our food supplies by sea are safe. We have twenty-nine thousand Hoplites. We have one thousand and two hundred cavalry, including mounted bowmen; we have one thousand and six hundred unmounted bowmen, and three hundred triremes ready for active service. We will bring into the city all the property we can from the countryside. We – all of us, country dwellers included – will come inside the city and guard it. We will not go out and offer battle.’
A wave of surprise and incomprehension circled the gathered Athenians. But Halo understood. So that was his idea! That was why he had laughed at the Oracle about the Spartans winning if they fought their hardest. They couldn’t fight their hardest, because he wasn’t going to fight them!
It was brilliant. Bring everyone inside the city walls, and leave the Spartans running around outside with no one to bash their big shields against. She started laughing. Her uncle was a genius.
At that moment, a youth hurtled past her, stepping on her toe in his hurry to get into the Assembly.
Pericles looked round. ‘Yes?’ he said.
‘Citizens!’ panted the boy. ‘… Spartan envoy is at the gates now… wants to discuss coming to terms… Do we let him in?’
A hubbub of discussion welled up.
‘Who is it?’ called someone.
‘Melesippus, sir,’ said the boy.
Melesippus! Halo’s heart clenched. Where Melesippus was, Leonidas was.
‘Tell Melesippus,’ cried out Pericles, his voice suddenly stronger and louder, ‘that the time for coming to terms was before the army of Sparta marched out of its own lands. Tell him, let the Spartan army return to Sparta, and then send an embassy, and then we will think about receiving him. Tell him to be beyond the frontier today.’And then, with withering scorn, he said, ‘Offer him an escort.’
His voice was still ringing as Halo wheeled round and raced from the Assembly. She hurtled down the Sacred Way towards the main gate, and was there before the messenger made it, joining the throng which had gathered to stare at the Spartan who dared to come asking for negotiations. She wriggled quickly through the crowd and clambered breathlessly up on the wall by the gate. Boosting herself up, she sat on top, and looked down to where the Spartans waited outside, on the road just by Kerameikos.
She saw Melesippus, looking just the same, strong and dark and broad-faced, standing straight and patient, waiting for his answer. She saw Dion, the slave, sitting with his pack, taking a rest. And she saw Leonidas, and her heart leapt.
His name was in her mouth on a big bubble of air that almost burst out. Stopping it choked her, making her cough. She put her hand over her mouth, and her eyes fixed on him – on the angle of his neck, his curly hair, the movement of his cloak. How familiar he looked! She really wanted to run over and talk to him – to thank him for letting her go free at Delphi, to ask if he’d got into trouble over it, to ask had they made him a Hoplite yet, would he be coming here again, soon, to fight…
How could he be her enemy?
It hurt her heart to see him there, so close, and yet separated from her by so much.
She was still up on her perch as the messenger returned. He went over to Melesippus and spoke to him. She watched as Melesippus heard the answer; saw his shoulders set and his head nod slightly as he listened, and saw his little snort of derision at the notion of being ‘escorted’ across the boundary. She watched Leonidas watching his mentor. She saw his face harden.
She saw Melesippus raise his head and heard him cry out, in a great voice, for everyone to hear: ‘This day will be the beginning of great misfortunes to all Greece.’
She heard the crack of sorrow in his voice. She thought, Melesippus has seen war. He is a decent man. She thought, I could run after them and tell them
it’s pointless coming anyway because Pericles will not bring the army out to fight you; you might as well go home…
Halo did not want them to come to Athens, in their unstoppable ranks, with their swords and their trumpets and their scarlet cloaks and their long hair, and their ranks of deadly spears. She did not want Leonidas and Athens to be enemies on the field of blood. They were both too close to her heart. Imagine if a Trojan girl, Cassandra or Polyxena, had been in love with Achilles or Odysseus and then the Siege of Troy had started… She stopped herself. She wasn’t in love with Leonidas.
Was she?
I don’t know what being in love is, she thought.
In her urgency clambering up the wall, she hadn’t noticed that she had grazed her knee. Now the blood was hot and red against her dusty brown skin. She touched it gently as she watched Leonidas, a small figure on the road, walking away to the west.
Xαπτερ 24
A few days later, on a beautiful May morning, the Spartans invaded Attica.
The word came through, zigzagging down the street and across the agora: they’ve mobilized! They’ve crossed the border into Attica! They’re marching across our land! On their way to our city! If you go up the Acropolis you can see their shields flashing in the mountains! They’re stopping at Decelea; no, they’re havering on the border…
As soon as word went round, another invasion began: the invasion of the country Athenians coming inside the city walls, obedient to Pericles’s strategy.
Halo first noticed it when out at the training field with the Skythians. She was practising the Parthian shot: trying to get the timing just right, so you let your arrow loose at the exact moment when all four of your horse’s galloping hooves are off the ground – if you pace it wrong, you get jarred and cannot aim, but if you aim swift enough and shoot swift enough in mid-air, you can get as pure a shot as if you were standing with your own two feet on firm ground. If you carry a fistful of arrows in your right hand, you can just about do it – reaching back to the quiver takes too long.
