Halo

by Zizou Corder

  ‘Any doctor could tell them that sometimes people survive,’ said Halo.

  ‘Ah, but the doctors are all dead,’ said Arko. ‘How is Hippias?’

  ‘Not dead,’ she said bleakly.

  That night, she went out riding with the Skythians again. It was the only time she felt clean, and relieved. When she was riding Ivy the wind seemed to blow away the dark stink of the sickrooms, the cries of the dying, the filth of the deathbeds, the wails of the bereaved, the taste of death. The beautiful strong horse beneath her gave her a furious joy, a refusal to accept all the grief, a sense of life and glory and survival…

  I am young, I am not sick, I am not dead, I have a life to lead still… The almond blossom returns every year, she thought. Things change. Even this will change. Everything changes…

  Xαπτερ 31

  Over that long strange bad summer of death, the plague took Pericles’s sister, and his son Xanthippus, his adopted son’s three children, their grandmother Deinomache, and their old nurse, Amycla. The yoghurt seller and his wife and baby, Philoctetes’s family, Alexis and Philoctetes himself… Gyges, and three other Skythians had died of it… Hippias’s cousin, and the three doctors in Piraeus, the slaves next door, the stable boys, those four athletes, the teachers, all the patients she had tended who she didn’t even know, what, two or three a day, dying? Everyone for whom she heard the wailing when she left the house… a thousand Hoplites at Potidaea… the sailors… the bodies in the temples – who were they?

  She often thought of the child whose body Arko had taken to the pit.

  She had thought that war was the enemy, but this plague was killing more than any war. Perhaps, the thought struck her, the Gods really have had enough of Athens altogether. Perhaps they really want to wipe us all out.

  The day after she thought that, a cooler day towards the autumn equinox, a message came from Aspasia. Pericles’s eyes were red, and he was coughing.

  Halo knew she had been right. The Gods don’t care at all for Athens. Without Pericles, Athens was helpless.

  Well, I don’t care what the Gods think, she snarled, and she picked up her kitbag, and went to Aspasia’s house.

  Pericles was already out of his mind when she got there. Aspasia let her in, kissed her, and allowed her to sit by him and tend to him. How strong hope is in the human heart! Everybody knew it was pointless to struggle against this demon plague, and yet they tried, because they loved Pericles, and the fear of living without him was overwhelming. He was given the best care anyone could come up with. The slaves brought everything that could possibly help; the finest doctors left alive came to him; Halo stayed by him eighteen hours a day, listening to him rant and rave. Aspasia gambled with her life to sit with him and pray for him.

  One morning, after she had been up with him all night, Halo still couldn’t sleep. She went back into his sickroom. There was the now-familiar smell, the same sense of Death waiting, quietly by the door, ready for when he gave up.

  For once, he was quiet, calm and weak. It was the evening of his tenth day.

  ‘Look,’ he said, his voice low. ‘The women have put an amulet on me. From the new god. They think it will save me. What do you think of that?’

  Halo didn’t dare to say what she thought – which was that if Pericles, the great man of Reason, let the women of the household put an amulet from the new god round his neck, as if that could make any difference, then he must be sick indeed.

  ‘Are you surprised I let them do such a foolish thing?’ he said.

  Halo smiled but she was on the very verge of a great sea of weeping.

  ‘It makes them feel better,’ he whispered, and he smiled, and she thought, How kind he is, to think of them, when he is dying.

  ‘Who is that?’ he said, struggling a little, trying to peer through the dim light.

  She didn’t want to say. She didn’t want to hear his anger, or to upset him.

  But she wasn’t going to start lying again.

  ‘Halo,’ she said, in a tiny voice.

  ‘Oh,’ he said.

  Did he remember?

  ‘Hm,’ he said. He gave a funny little half-smile. ‘My daughter…’ he said.

  She laid her head on the side of his bed, and after a while he gently put his hand on it, and ruffled her short hair.

  When Pericles died, Halo, who hadn’t wept all summer, sat in her old room at Aspasia’s house and wept again. She wept without stopping for several days, and Aspasia feared for her sanity.

  ‘My dear, my dear,’ she said.

  ‘I have now lost three fathers,’ Halo said bitterly. ‘Megacles is dead, Kyllarus is far far away, and now Pericles is gone… I will have no family again. The Gods laugh to take them away from me.’

  ‘Child,’ Aspasia said, ‘I’m your family too. Aren’t I? You will always have a home with me… and Lysicles…’

  Lysicles? Who is Lysicles?

  Aspasia’s face was clear and blank. ‘Look, Halo – you may not be a girl, but I am a woman… and without Pericles I am not such a special woman. You know how it is for us. I must protect myself, and Lysicles is a good man. Pericles liked him…’

  Halo just stared. Pericles’s body was hardly cold, and here was Aspasia talking of a new man.

  ‘You don’t mean it,’ she said bluntly.

  Aspasia snorted softly. ‘Sadly,’ she said, ‘I do. But I mean my offer too – come back and live with me…’There was a plea in her eyes.

  ‘I can’t,’ said Halo.

  After Pericles died, the plague at last died down. There were no new cases. It just faded out, as autumn drew in.

  It was hard to feel any joy. The Athenians were so battered that they could hardly even feel any relief.

  ‘It’s as if he were the final sacrifice,’Arko mused.

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ said Halo. ‘Let’s hope so.’

  Xαπτερ 32

  A few weeks later Halo, astride Ivy, was hurtling up a dust track north of the city. Arimaspou and Akinakes and Nephiles were with her, along with a hairy Skythian called Nikates and a couple of others. For sheer fun and pig-headedness, to let off steam, they were racing. Their horses’ hooves pounded the track as they galloped, their blood pounded in their ears, dust flew up behind them, and they all felt wonderfully, utterly free and alive – alive the way only people who have been surrounded by death can feel. The dogs galloped alongside them, swift and loping, their big ears flapping in the wind.

  Finally the riders drew in, panting and laughing, near a spring in an almond grove, so the horses could water. The nuts were ripening on the branches, and the grass was still bright and lush where the spring irrigated it. It was a cool and lovely spot, but though it was peaceful now the area had suffered badly under earlier Spartan ravaging. Farms had been seriously damaged, and the people – even if they had survived the plague – had not returned. Away from the spring, the fields were baked dry and neglected under the hot, high blue sky.

  They all dismounted, each silent for now in the reverie of quiet countryside, glad to be out of the shocked and mourning city.

  The dogs scattered around, to snuffle and sniff and relieve themselves. One of them was mewling – he had found something.

  ‘Here, boy!’ called Nikates.

  But the dog didn’t come – just carried on whining. Grumbling, Nikates pulled himself to his feet and went to where the dog was. The other hounds had gathered, making noises half of pride in discovery, half of fear.

  ‘What is it?’ Akinakes called out, just as Nikates cried, ‘Hey! You’d better come!’

  The Skythians looked round. Arimaspou and Halo, livelier than the others, jumped up and went over.

  In front of them, in a hollow, curled over on his front across his great bronze shield, lay the body of a young Spartan. He wore a leather cuirass, and his crimson cloak lay half across him. His crested helmet was at his side. His long black hair fell curling, hiding his face. He was motionless.

  The Skythian prodded the
body with the toe of his boot. ‘That’s recent!’ he cried. ‘A Spartan Hoplite!’

  ‘Check the area!’Arimaspou said. ‘There may be others.’

  A shudder ran through the Hoplite’s body.

  ‘He’s not dead,’ Arimaspou said, and quickly drew his sword to finish him off.

  ‘No!’ Halo shouted.

  Arimaspou paused.

  ‘He’s not wounded,’ she said. ‘There’s no blood.’

  ‘So?’ said Nikates.

  ‘So why is he lying here?’ she said. ‘Out here, alone? They’re never alone. Who is he? What’s wrong with him?’

  Arimaspou put his boot under the unconscious body and tipped it over.

  The Spartan’s arm flung out, and his head lolled.

  The Skythians saw the bloodied mouth, the rolling eyes, the waxen skin.

  ‘Plague!’ cried Arimaspou, and jumped back.

  ‘Sweet Goetosyrus, not again,’Akinakes murmured.

  ‘At least it’s them and not us,’ someone else said. ‘This could turn the tide!’

  But Halo saw only one thing. A great surge of something… something strong, something irrational… rushed to her heart, and to her head. It was Leonidas.

  ‘Don’t touch him,’ she said harshly.

  Arimaspou looked at her. ‘Well no, of course not,’ he said. ‘He’s riven with it. But what do we do with him?’

  ‘Send him back to Sparta, and he can infect the rest of them,’ cried Nikates, and the others laughed. ‘It’s about time they got it too…’

  ‘No, Halo’s right,’ said Arimaspou. ‘Why’s he here? What’s he doing here all alone?’

  ‘It’s not an ambush…’ said Nephiles.

  ‘But he might be a spy,’ Arimaspou said thoughtfully. ‘In which case we should take him back to the city, but we can’t, obviously…’

  ‘I’ll look after him,’ said Halo faintly. ‘He can’t travel. He’ll die. If he’s a spy he must be questioned, but – someone must come here. Go back to the city and get someone out here. A plague survivor. We don’t want him to die before someone talks to him.’ She hardly knew what she was saying. She had just one idea in mind – they mustn’t kill him. She mustn’t leave him. He mustn’t die.

  ‘We can talk to him,’ said Nikates.

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘Someone from… you know,’ she said feebly. ‘You go. I’ll guard him. I’ll nurse him. You should get away from here, all of you.’

  They were happy to go. Nobody wanted to hang around a plague-riven man.

  Except Halo.

  The moment the Skythians and the dogs were out of sight she dropped to her knees beside Leonidas, and laid her head on his chest. She rested there a second. She could hear his heartbeat.

  Not dead, she thought. There he was. Leonidas, not dead.

  Halo’s strength and courage were returning to her. She took his hand in hers, and she said, softly, ‘Leonidas – don’t die yet…’

  She almost laughed as she remembered how he had appeared to her when Death was standing by her bed.

  ‘Leonidas,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve never let me die – remember? I won’t let you die…’

  She stared down at him.

  They couldn’t stay where they were. The Skythians would be back, decisions would be made, everything would be out of her hands. She had to get him somewhere safe. Somewhere with water. Somewhere with shelter.

  She looked around, and she made up her mind. She refilled her water bottle and slung it from her belt. Then she led Ivy over, pulling on the bridle to lower her to her knees. Halo rolled Leonidas and hefted him up on to the horse’s back. He was heavy but Halo was strong, and she managed. She propped him in place as best she could, while Ivy carefully and ungracefully rose again to her feet for Halo to strap the helmet and shield on behind, wrapped and hidden in her cloak.

  ‘OK, OK,’ Halo muttered soothingly, to herself as much as to the animal. ‘OK there…’ and, once Ivy was properly up again, she swung her leg over the horse’s back. Leonidas lay flopped on his belly. If they didn’t go too fast, he’d probably stay in place. She didn’t want to have to lift him again, that was for sure.

  Dear Gods, what if one of the Skythians comes back? What would they make of what I am doing? What am I doing?

  She grabbed tight to the leather belt at Leonidas’s waist, which held his sword and his knife, and gently chirruped to Ivy. They started off. Where they were going, Halo had no idea. Away from Athens, that was for sure. Head north, take the small roads, avoid villages, find a deserted farm with a well. There’d be one. Bound to be.

  She was helping him. That was all there was to it.

  She saw several that would have done, but they were too close to the city. She didn’t want the Skythians finding them again the very next day. They had to get further away. Beyond Acharnae, she thought. There’d been lots of ravaging up there. Things would be quiet. But she had to get him settled soon. If there were Spartans about, she couldn’t risk running into any.

  What would Spartan law do with one of their own, a full Spartan Hoplite, who had the plague?

  Suddenly, Halo realized why Leonidas was out in the field all alone, away from his line and his sacred brothers. Why, despite all his training, all his fierce loyalty, he’d deserted them. He’d felt the plague coming. He’d realized what he had. He had left, in order that they shouldn’t catch it. Rather than risk their health, he’d die a horrible death, alone in the ruined countryside, far from home.

  She held his belt a little tighter.

  He’ll die anyway, came a nasty little voice in her mind.

  I don’t care, she retorted. He saved me three times at least – I’ll do anything for him.

  After several hours, when the moon had risen over the glistening plain, touching the olive leaves with silver, she saw a dark shape looming behind a mud wall, and the black fingers of a pair of cypress trees against the starry sky. No lights, no sound. That’ll do.

  Riding in, she saw a well in the yard. All was silent, the moon-shadows black as oil. Dry round pumpkins sat like skulls in the vegetable patch; the vines wandered wildly all over the place as if searching for their owners. Abandoned, definitely.

  She told Ivy to stay, as she swung down and approached the door. It opened at first kick. Inside was a mess: dusty, cobwebby, empty, burnt out, smelling of neglect and loss. A bit of roof remained in one corner. There was a bale of mildewy straw in an outhouse. She dragged the straw under the roof, and spread it flat. She laughed softly as she lugged Leonidas’s heavy body off Ivy and on to the straw bed.

  ‘Probably the most comfortable bed you’ve ever had, eh, Spartan?’ she murmured. ‘Luxurious by your standards…’

  She propped him up, and pushed his long hair back from his face. She didn’t want to look at those hot and rolling eyes, and his bloodied mouth. She was used to him being strong. Be a doctor, she said to herself, and that helped her to clean his mouth and give him water. She pulled off his leather boots and his belt and weapons, and laid him down, trying to make him comfortable. He was half conscious now, disturbed by being lugged around. She laid her own cloak on top of him.

  Eventually she had to look at him. Dear Gods. He looked older – there was stubble on his jawline; his cheeks were leaner – and he looked horribly ill. His temples were hollow, his skin sweaty and waxen beneath his tan, his lips white and moving wordlessly, with the blood constantly bubbling and seeping. But he looked like himself still. Like the confusing, amusing boy she used to know. The first human she ever knew. What a long time ago it all seemed. Delphi, Sparta, Taegetus, even Zakynthos – it was all a dream to her now.

  Sitting there in the dark, watching Leonidas as the stars wheeled overhead, she began to realize the madness of what she was doing. She had tricked her dear friends the Skythians. She had given help to an enemy soldier. She had carried off an enemy spy, to keep him from being questioned. She had run away from her beloved Athens. All this was some kind of treason – and on top of
it all, Arko didn’t know where she was. But despite all that, and despite Leonidas’s sickness, despite him being the enemy, despite everything – she was incredibly pleased to see him.

  There was no sleep that night. Halo lay down beside Leonidas on the itchy straw, but just at the moment she was dropping off he became restless, fidgety, frantic, his chest sinking and sucking for breath. He was thirsty. She gave him the water from her leather bottle, but of course it did not satisfy him. She recognized this stage – she had seen it so many times before, and she had lived through it. The unquenchable thirst that had people running in parched madness from their beds, and leaping into rivers or streams or pools, anything, to get water.

  She filled her bottle over and over from the rotten bucket in the well outside. She fed it to him, poured it over him. Each time, he wanted more. Each time, she gave it to him.

  As far as she could judge it was the sixth or seventh day. If he survived the next twenty-four hours, he had a chance.

  My brother to the left, she thought. I will cover you. Dear Gods, do not forsake us. Please, do not forsake us. Asclepius, if I have ever pleased you… Apollo, Athena… Please…

  Leonidas cried out, in his illness, and scraps of words came through. He called on Melesippus and other men, by name. He called on Archidamus – apologizing for letting him down. He called on Pausanias. He cried to his mother and his father, and he cried in anger and pain and delirium.

  Halo had nursed many people through the plague. She had watched many people die. She had learned a knack of closing off her heart to their suffering, so that her tears and her sympathy did not prevent her from washing them, changing their linen, bringing their water. She had ignored howls of suffering that would break any heart; indeed she had won a reputation for hardness, which only others who had survived the plague understood. Only they knew there was no point in weeping.