by Michael Ford
‘Halt!’ called out Aristodermus.
Lysander drew up, and looked back. The baggage cart, containing their weapons and food supplies, was having trouble negotiating a bend, and one of its wheels had become lodged in a ditch. As the four-strong Helot team released their ropes from the cart, Demaratos took a draught from his water flask.
‘Where are we heading?’ he asked.
Aristodermus pointed down over the forest.
‘You see those two low hills? They’re called Helen and Penelope. A river runs between them, which we follow to the port at Thalamae. There should be a boat there for us.’
With a huge heave, the Helots managed to right the cart. ‘Ready?’ asked Aristodermus. The lead Helot, a sharp-featured man whose skin was brown as old leather, nodded.
‘Keep marching!’ bellowed Aristodermus.
The steep ground levelled off as they came out of the heights. The few patches of snow disappeared and were replaced by the rich greens of sheep pasture. Lysander’s feet warmed up and his legs felt light. After the Ordeal he and Demaratos had faced in the mountains, fighting both wolves and their psychopathic leader, Agesilaus, the high ground felt like familiar territory. But at his side, Orpheus seemed to be getting worse. He was walking more awkwardly, and his mouth curled with each step. Lysander saw fresh blood streaking down the carved wooden stump.
‘Rest on my arm,’ said Lysander.
This time Orpheus didn’t refuse the offer. He placed his hand around Lysander’s elbow, and they descended together.
They reached the forest. The trunks were densely packed scaly salt cedars that came only a few feet higher than Lysander’s head. There were several tracks winding through the vegetation, mostly made by animals, but they kept to the main one. Lysander noticed Aristodermus ahead looking anxiously up at the sun, which was already past its zenith and sinking towards the west. We’re falling behind, he realised.
Rabbits darted in among the twisted roots, always staying at a safe distance. Lysander considered using his sling, but Aristodermus showed no interest in slowing down.
Soon he heard the sound of water, and they fell in beside a stream in a glade dappled with sunlight and shade.
‘Fill your flasks,’ Aristodermus ordered. ‘But be quick about it.’
Lysander sucked in deep gulps of water and dampened the back of his neck. He was replacing the stopper in his flask, when he saw that Leonidas was helping Orpheus up from the water’s edge. His face twisted in agony as he climbed to his feet.
Below the forest, the river fell in a series of little waterfalls between the two hills, which were actually the ends of long ridges extending down to the farmland plains near the coast. Lysander had been watching Orpheus out of the corner of his eye for the past few stadia, and his difficulties were obvious. Each step brought a wince, and more than once he’d had to stop. Aristodermus was growing impatient.
‘We have to make port by nightfall,’ he said. ‘Otherwise, the boat won’t wait.’
‘He’s going as quickly as he can,’ said Leonidas.
Aristodermus gave Orpheus a long, assessing look.
‘I took a chance allowing you to come with us,’ he said. ‘Don’t let me down.’
Orpheus flushed. ‘I let down no Spartan,’ he said, his voice trembling with anger.
Aristodermus looked pointedly at Orpheus’s stump. Then he turned and led the way onwards.
The river became wider and faster as other small streams joined it. They crossed and recrossed it several times over bridges made from logs, but the cart had to be led down to the water and walked through at shallow points. After the second such crossing, as they were regaining the path, Orpheus tripped and fell awkwardly.
‘He should have stayed behind,’ mumbled Prokles. ‘For his own sake.’
Leonidas crouched beside his friend and Lysander rushed over too. Orpheus lay on his back at the side of the path. A trickle of blood swelled out from his stump and Lysander could see the veins standing out under the cracked skin and yellow pus.
‘Can you go on?’ Lysander asked.
‘Enough!’ said Aristodermus. ‘We have to go now.’
‘And what about Orpheus?’ asked Lysander.
‘He’ll have to remain here. Leave him some food and he can make his own way back to the barracks.’
Lysander looked at Orpheus on the path. His friend needed rest and shelter, not another night exposed to the elements. He stood up and took Aristodermus’ arm. He never would have done the same with Diokles.
‘If we leave him here, he’ll die,’ he hissed.
Aristodermus shook his arm off. ‘If we don’t complete our mission, the Council will have us all executed.’
‘I’ll make sure he keeps up,’ said Lysander.
Aristodermus spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. ‘Very well, but he’s your responsibility now.’
The column moved off, and Lysander took Orpheus’s arm over his shoulder and lifted him to his feet. Leonidas took the other arm, and supporting their friend, they stumbled along behind the rest of the boys.
‘You shouldn’t have,’ said Orpheus. ‘I’ve been left before, remember? I survived then too.’
Lysander laughed, but didn’t break his stride. It was true, Orpheus had been abandoned as a baby because of his crippled leg – Spartans considered such weaknesses unacceptable. But that time a pack of wolves had found him and reared him as their own.
‘If a wolf found you now, they’d not be so kind,’ he said.
At first, carrying his friend was easy, but after some time an ache set in at the base of Lysander’s spine. His breathing became heavy, though he tried not to show it, but from the sweat that coursed down Leonidas’s face, he knew they couldn’t make it all the way to Thalamae like this.
The column was walking past fields where two free-dweller farm labourers were digging a ditch, when Lysander spotted a horse in the adjoining field. It was no racing breed, but old and sturdy, with shaggy black hair: perfect for pulling a plough.
Or carrying a passenger.
Both the farmhands looked up from their work to watch the Spartan troop pass by.
Once the path dropped down out of sight, Lysander let Orpheus sit on the bank of the track.
‘Wait,’ Lysander called ahead, causing the column to stop.
‘What is it now?’ said Aristodermus. ‘More delays?’
‘I have an idea,’ he said, and outlined his plan.
‘You expect me to help you steal a horse?’ asked Aristodermus.
‘Diokles taught us stealing was the Spartan way.’
Aristodermus raised his eyebrows.
‘If you can get it, so be it, but don’t ask me to help.’
Lysander crept up the bank to the edge of the field, and hid behind a copse of trees. The labourers had returned to their work, and he could hear their grunts of exertion as they sank their shovels into the earth. The field offered little cover, other than the flimsy fence that lay along one side. The furrows of the tilled earth would offer some protection, but Lysander would have to stay low if he was to remain out of sight.
He threw off his cloak and made his way, weaving between the trunks of the trees, to the end of the fence. He looked back to see the other boys had ascended the bank also and were watching through the branches.
Don’t let them be seen! he prayed.
On his belly, Lysander wriggled along the line of the fence, clawing with his hands and knees, his breath coming hot and laboured. He dare not lift his head, in case one or both of the labourers happened to be looking in his direction.
Finally he reached the far end of the fence, where a group of four olive trees stood, their gnarled and twisted branches clutching at the sky. Behind one of the trunks, Lysander stood in a crouch and checked his position. The farmhands were both facing away from him now, oblivious to the intruder who had just slithered within thirty paces of them. The horse was in the next field, and from the way its head was lifted and it
s ears pricked, Lysander guessed that the animal had spotted him. After the experience with Chilonis’ mare, he knew the dangers of a startled horse, and so approached slowly, still bent over.
‘There, there, boy,’ he clucked, holding out one hand to seize the harness. ‘I don’t mean any harm.’
The horse tossed its head, and moved its jaws in a lazy chewing motion, but its eyes were wide and wary.
‘That’s good,’ said Lysander. ‘No need to panic.’
‘Hey! What are you doing?’
Lysander turned to see the farmhands running towards the fence, both gripping their shovels in their hands.
‘Stop, thief!’
There was no time to think. Lysander closed his hand around the reins and threw his leg over the back of the horse. It let out a brisk whinny, and immediately Lysander felt its rear legs leap into the air. He wrapped his arms around its neck and dug his heels into its flanks. Each spasm of the horse’s back threatened to shake the teeth from his head, and the horse twisted and turned, trying to cast him off.
Lysander saw in blurred images the farmhands coming near, the look of murderous outrage on their faces. He yanked the horse’s mane desperately and kicked its sides. The angry creature galloped across the field towards the fence. It was quicker than it looked, and soon the farmhands, and their wild cries, were left behind.
Lysander steered the horse through a gate and back towards the track, where he pulled his steed to a halt. Moments later, Aristodermus and the others appeared around the path at a light jog, and Lysander slid off the animal. He was covered in mud from crawling through the field and it was mixed with the sweat from trying to control the horse.
‘Good work, Lysander,’ said Kantor, slapping the horse’s rump.
‘Not bad,’ said Aristodermus. ‘But let us waste no more time.’
Lysander nodded and led the horse over to Orpheus, who grinned.
‘I can’t go on it all the way,’ he said. ‘We’ll take turns.’
‘Very well,’ said Lysander. ‘Do you need a hand getting up?’
Orpheus took hold of the horse’s mane, and easily pulled himself into position. Despite his withered leg, his upper body was powerful. Lysander had done his duty by his friend; for now, Orpheus was safe again.
‘March on!’ ordered Aristodermus impatiently.
Chapter 12
It was dusk when they reached the outskirts of Thalamae, and again the clear skies had given way to black, rolling storm clouds. Aristodermus called them to a halt as they passed the first few farm buildings and ordered them to fetch their shields and spears from the baggage cart.
‘We don’t want every farmer in the region to know what’s going on,’ said Aristodermus, ‘so we’ll pretend we’re on exercises. Look like Spartans, boys!’
Lysander was weary from walking, but once he had his shield on his arm and his spear in his hand, he felt fresh vigour gather in his limbs. They marched across muddy fields, with the Helots pulling the cart along.
‘Where are we meeting the boat?’ Lysander asked the tutor.
‘South of the town,’ said Aristodermus. ‘Thalamae is a popular port. There will be spies there. If we moor a warship, news will be in Athens before the next full moon. We’re heading to a small bay they call the Sickle.’
‘What are the Council so ashamed of?’ Tellios’ face flashed into Lysander’s mind.
‘If this mission is a failure,’ said Aristodermus, ‘Sparta will deny all knowledge. Better that than lose face.’
‘But it won’t be a failure, will it?’ asked Demaratos.
Aristodermus grinned. ‘It depends on how you define failure. If my body is taken back to Sparta with wounds on my front, I’ve done my duty. That’s all you should be thinking about.’ Then he spotted something further back in the line and darted over, shouting, ‘Nereus, don’t drag your spear across the ground like an old man.’
With Aristodermus gone, Demaratos turned to Lysander.
‘This sounds like a suicide mission.’
‘What more could a Spartan ask for?’ said Lysander automatically, recalling when a Spartan soldier had used the same words on the eve of the battle with the Persians.
Demaratos rolled his eyes. ‘Lykurgos would be proud.’
A fresh breeze was blowing inland and Lysander smelled the sea before he saw it. A fine rain was falling when they finally reached the shoreline, and the wind created shifting patterns in the curtains of drizzle.
They were high up on a cliff top, and Lysander could see nothing through the gathering mist but the dim outline of the coast.
‘Stay away from the edge,’ said Aristodermus. ‘This area suffers from landslides.’
The path picked its way along the top of the cliff, through scrubby gorse bushes, some twenty paces inland. Orpheus climbed off the horse and it was tethered to the side of the baggage cart. The combination of the rain and the wind chilled Lysander to the core, and he flexed his fists and toes to keep the warm blood flowing. The path’s unevenness meant marching in order was impossible, and gradually the line became ragged. Lysander dropped in beside Leonidas, who was marching towards the rear of the group.
‘Look at that!’ said one of the students from ahead. A low chatter passed among the column and Lysander stared at where several boys were pointing out to sea. He could see nothing through the fog.
‘What is it?’
A gap in the mist appeared, and he made out a ship anchored off the shore. The Sickle was smaller than he expected, less than a stadion across, and a squat boat was moored on the grey-green sea, bobbing gently as the choppy sea rolled beneath it. It looked like a sturdy vessel, and Lysander could see a single set of oar-holes along one side. The single central mast held a furled sail.
‘It’s hardly much of a warship,’ said Prokles. ‘I was expecting a bireme at least.’
Aristodermus, Lysander noticed, was frowning, but he hid the expression when he turned to face them. ‘It will suffice.’
There was a round of grumbling and Lysander heard Prokles whisper something about ‘wanting us to fail’.
Lightning forked across the sky, so close he was blinded. Lysander heard the horse whinny in panic, and the hurried voices of the Helots.
‘Look out!’ said a voice. Lysander spun around, and saw the horse galloping towards him, the small baggage cart bouncing along behind, clattering on the track. He leapt out of the way, as the horse tore past him, and landed in a spiky gorse bush. There was a splintering sound as one of the narrow cartwheels sheared away, and it listed to one side.
The horse careered towards the cliff, dragging the cart behind it.
Lysander was first to move, and scrambled after the bolting horse. Blood streaked his hand from the thorns, but he ignored the stinging pain.
‘Stay away from the edge!’ yelled Aristodermus. But Lysander couldn’t stop; Orpheus might need that horse’s help again.
Lysander splashed through puddles after the terrified animal. The horse reared up and wheeled round, but thunder cracked across the sky with another flash of lightning and the horse broke into another canter. Lysander drew his sword and sliced through the rope that harnessed the horse to the cart, but he could do nothing as the maddened creature disappeared over the edge of the cliff.
‘Is it dead?’ said Endymion, his eyes wide with shock.
Lysander looked over the edge of the cliff, and a few of the others gathered at his side. The horse’s carcass lay still on the rocks below, lashed by the rain.
‘It was only a horse,’ shouted Aristodermus. ‘Find some shelter.’
‘Phemus!’ someone shouted. ‘Help him.’
Lysander turned and saw that one of the boys was lying on the ground, with smoke rising from his cloak.
‘The lightning must have hit him,’ said Leonidas.
Lysander ran to Phemus’ side, as did Demaratos. The edge of his tunic was completely burned, and beneath it the skin was stripped away in a pattern like a fern-leaf. His h
ead lolled to one side but he opened his eyes. He was alive.
‘Now we have two invalids!’ said Lernos.
Lysander’s anger flared, but this was not the time to pick another fight.
‘There’s a cave further along,’ said one of the Helots.
‘Pick him up,’ barked Aristodermus. ‘Get him out of the rain.’
Lysander and Demaratos lifted Phemus, taking an arm each, and marched him towards where the Helot was signalling. It was barely a cave – more a natural shelter under an overhang, but it was better than nothing. With the help of the band of Helots, some of the boys dragged the cart into the entranceway, blocking the worst of the driving rain.
From the cave mouth, where he huddled alongside the others, Lysander could see the huge breakers smashing themselves against the rocks below. The ship rolled back and forth on the waves a little further out.
One of the Helots brought some linen bandages from the cart. Tyro and Demaratos stripped Phemus’ charred clothing away, and applied a flaxseed poultice to the worst of the burns along his neck and shoulder. Phemus was beginning to come round, and mumbled, ‘What happened?’
‘You were hit by lightning,’ said Demaratos. ‘You’re lucky not to be walking with the shades.’
As they bandaged the wounds and retied his clothes, Lysander saw what looked like the small figure of a man appear on the deck of the ship with two lanterns. Narrowing his eyes, Lysander peered through the rain to watch the sailor swing the lamps back and forth.
‘We must leave now,’ said Aristodermus, holding up a hand to his face to gaze in the same direction.
‘But there’s a storm raging!’ said a boy called Spiros.
‘That’s why we have to leave,’ said Aristodermus. ‘We need to get the boat away from the rocks, or it will be smashed to pieces by dawn. The marine is signalling to us. Take a shield and spear, and get out to the ship at once.’
