by Michael Ford
Lysander followed his friend to the side of the yard, where Myron and the stranger were talking to Aristodermus.
‘What are we doing?’ said Lysander. ‘We can’t interrupt them!’
‘Don’t worry,’ said Demaratos.
The three men turned as Lysander and Demaratos approached. Aristodermus pointed to Lysander.
‘This is the young man who disobeyed my order, abandoned his post, and entered the enemy territory before a major assault, jeopardising the other members of the army.’
Myron and the other man stared at him without emotion.
‘I told him that he would be flogged on his return,’ Aristodermus went on. ‘We need to set an example for the others.’
Lysander lowered his head.
How could he? After all we’ve been through!
‘That’s probably the right choice …’ said the stranger.
‘Very well,’ said Aristodermus.
‘But that’s not what we’re going to do.’
Lysander looked up and saw that Demaratos was grinning.
‘Lysander, meet my grandfather, Ajax, the new Ephor of Amikles.’
‘The vote took place while you were all away,’ said Myron. ‘Ajax is Sarpedon’s replacement for the next year.’
Ajax bowed his head slightly. ‘Your grandfather was a fair ruler, and a good man. I owe you my gratitude. Not many would have risked their lives to save Demaratos.’
‘Thank you,’ said Lysander. ‘He has saved my life many times as well.’
A Helot walked past, carrying a sloshing jug of water. He stopped in front of a line of others, including Idas, and began filling their separate flasks, so that they could dilute the wine of the guests.
‘Spoken like a true Spartan,’ said Ajax. ‘With two like you at the front of every phalanx, our city will never fall. Now tell me, Lysander, is there anything I can do for you?’
‘I have everything I need,’ said Lysander.
‘Nonsense. There must be something. Take your time, and name your wish.’
Lysander thought for a moment.
‘Clumsy Helot!’ someone shouted.
Lysander turned and saw Tellios standing over Idas, who was crouched on the floor picking up a fallen cup. The Spartan kicked him viciously, knocking him back to the ground as he tried to stand. Idas’ face burned with shame and anger – emotions that Lysander understood all too well.
‘That’s enough!’ called over Lysander. ‘Idas, get inside the barracks and clean yourself up.’
Idas’ chest heaved, and his small fists bunched. Don’t do it, prayed Lysander. You have many years ahead of you.
Idas stormed off back into the barracks building. As Lysander watched, Tellios appeared at his side. ‘I trust you’ll have that boy whipped,’ he whispered.
‘Consider it done,’ said Lysander coldly.
‘Perhaps I was wrong about you,’ said Tellios, leaning in close. ‘You seem to have straightened out your priorities.’
Lysander managed to smile. ‘Of course.’
After Tellios had gone back to the table, Lysander found Ajax again, talking alone with his grandson. A plan had formed in his head.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ he said, ‘but if your offer is still open, there is one thing you could do …’
* * *
The next day, Lysander walked across the ploughed fields of Sarpedon’s estate towards the Helot settlement that used to be owned by his grandfather. Aristodermus had sent Lysander and Demaratos off with a smile: ‘Take as long as you need; Sparta owes you a great debt.’
They’d stopped to pick up Kassandra on the way, and Lysander had been happy to see the villa back to normal, full of life, with her belongings unpacked once again. Yesterday’s celebrations had passed without an opportunity to tell her of Lykurgos’ half-Helot son Aristarkus, and what he had discovered of their common heritage. But Lysander’s enthusiasm to share it with her had waned with the afternoon sun. What good would it do for Kassandra to know that she too was part mothax? That everything she believed in was false.
With his good hand, Lysander guided the reins of Pegasus as Kassandra rode. His other was wrapped in a clean bandage and a sling. Though the swelling had gone down, and the scabs had hardened, Lysander knew that his limb would bear the scars of Taras for life. The Fire of Ares’ prophecy would be with him always, indelibly marked in his skin.
Demaratos came behind them. The narrow streets smelled of rotten food and human waste. Even by the standards of the settlement where he used to live, this was dreadful. Every so often a face would appear at one of the doorways, then duck out of sight again when the person spotted red cloaks.
‘Why are they so frightened?’ asked Kassandra.
They heard cries of pain from ahead, and quickened their steps. They reached an open space, where a building was half constructed. The cries were coming from a middle-aged man who cowered on his knees. A man in free-dweller’s clothes stood above him, thrashing him with a stick.
‘I told you to make sure the mortar was dry before beginning the roof supports,’ he shouted.
‘But sir,’ said his victim, ‘we can’t help the rain. You wanted the building finished.’
Another blow landed across his back, and the Helot sprawled on the ground.
‘Don’t be clever,’ said the free-dweller. ‘Plautus, teach this Helot how to obey orders.’
Another free-dweller, who’d been sitting on a stool picking his teeth, stood up and kicked the prone Helot in the gut. He writhed on the floor with a whimper.
‘What’s going on?’ shouted Kassandra. ‘Stop that at once!’
The free-dweller backed away, breathing heavily.
‘Who are you?’
‘I’m Lady Kassandra, owner of this settlement,’ she said. ‘And I order you to leave.’
The Helot scrambled up and limped to one of the buildings nearby, where a woman was hovering.
The second free-dweller snorted.
‘Tellios, Ephor of Limnae owns this land. We take orders from him alone. Now, be on your way.’
‘I suggest you do as she says,’ said Demaratos, stepping forwards threateningly. ‘As of yesterday, Tellios is no longer in charge.’
‘Who says so?’ said the overseer.
‘Ajax, the new Ephor who governs Amikles,’ said Kassandra. ‘Tellios has no power here. The Council of Elders has decreed his temporary authority ended. If you doubt it, take it up with the other Ephors.’
‘Of course, if you wish to talk about it here …’ said Lysander, unsheathing his sword, ‘we can oblige.’
The overseer took a step backwards, tripped over and landed on his behind in the mud. His friend Plautus helped him to his feet, and together they backed away.
‘We’ll speak to Tellios,’ he said. ‘We’ll see about all this.’
Demaratos knocked the stick from the man’s hand with his sword. With a yelp the two overseers turned and fled between the buildings.
Faces dared to appear at doorways again.
‘Come out,’ called Kassandra. ‘We mean no harm.’
Gradually, the Helots emerged from their homes. Word travelled down the alleyways, and soon the square was filled with people.
Kassandra nodded to Lysander, who climbed on part of the half finished masonry. Pride coursed through him.
‘Some of you may know me,’ he said, smiling. ‘My name is Lysander, son of Thorakis the Spartan. But also son of Athenasia, the Helot. I have lived in a settlement such as this one, and I have lived in a Spartan barracks.’ The faces around looked at him with suspicion. With his good hand, Lysander untied his cloak, and threw it into the mud. The crowd gasped.
‘I stand before you not as a Spartan, or a Helot, but as a human being like yourselves,’ he announced. ‘Now I carry a sword, where I used to wield a sickle. With one I cut down men, with the other crops. But this land needs both food and workers to survive.’
A grumble passed through the people who ha
d gathered.
‘Sparta would be nothing without your toil. There would be no food to feed the soldiers and we would all starve. And without the protection of shield and spear, this land would be prone to invasion after invasion, plunder and pillage.’
Surveying the tired and twisted wretches before him, Lysander felt their sorrow like it was his own.
‘I know that your lives are difficult, and that sometimes your masters treat you badly. I am here to tell you now that this will not happen again on this settlement while I live. Just as my Spartan grandfather looked after my Helot mother, I will make sure you are cared for. There will be no more beatings. No more hunger. When you are ill or injured, you will be spared work. We will employ a new overseer, not as a scourge and punisher, but as my guarantee that things will change.
‘You,’ he said, pointing to the man who had received the beating, ‘the job is yours until the next full moon. The Lady Kassandra will employ a manager with whom you can speak.’
‘It can’t be true …’ said one of the Helot women. She came forward and took Lysander’s hand, placing it against her forehead. ‘Bless you, son of Athenasia.’
‘This is only the start,’ said Lysander. ‘But one day, like harvesting a crop, we will reap the benefits.’
The Helots cheered. Among the crowd, a child began to cry, its wail cutting above all other sounds. Lysander spotted a young woman rocking the baby on her shoulder.
The crowd surged around him, and he felt himself lifted on to the shoulders of the Helots. They bounded across the clearing, calling out his name.
‘Lysander! Lysander!’
From his vantage point, he saw Demaratos offer his hands to the struggling mother. For a moment, she paused, but his friend spoke some quiet words. She smiled and extended her arms with the screaming child.
Supporting the head, Demaratos took the baby in his arms, and nestled it against his red cloak. Almost at once it hushed, its tiny fists gripping at the wool.
If that one baby feels no fear, thought Lysander, that’s a start.
He turned around, and looked back towards Sparta. This small city – just five villages clustered around the acropolis – had held his life under its sway for nearly fourteen years. Growing up, he couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t understand what a red cloak meant. Danger. Fear. Power.
But now he wore one himself its meaning had changed. It symbolised comradeship, duty and above all courage.
If it weren’t for the courage of others I wouldn’t be here. Not only the Spartans who had stood beside Lysander in the phalanx, like brave Demaratos and Leonidas, and wise Orpheus. But his parents too: his father Thorakis who died on the battlefield and entrusted the Fire of Ares to his brother; his mother who strove to keep him safe in the settlement.
And how different his life would have been if Sarpedon had never entered it. His grandfather had placed him in the agoge, and given him a chance of a life beyond the drudgery of the fields. When the reckoning had come, he’d chosen to meet the shades rather than see his grandson die.
And Lysander couldn’t have survived in the barracks without Timeon, the friend who’d not batted an eyelid when Lysander donned the red cloak of their oppressors. He’d met life with a steady grin, even when times were hard. He too had paid the price for being Lysander’s friend, murdered in the night by the Krypteia. But Lysander knew that one day he’d meet Timeon again in Hades, when he’d walk across the fields and see that smile again.
Lysander imagined his friends in the Underworld lifting their faces to the sun.
‘I’ll make you proud,’ he whispered. ‘I swear.’
‘We should be heading back,’ said Demaratos. ‘Aristodermus said we have marching practice this afternoon.’
Lysander climbed down from the Helots’ shoulders. His friend handed back the baby to its mother. The Helots were smiling, and talking excitedly, their work forgotten for a short time. Two of the women were speaking to Kassandra.
Honour the dead by caring for the living, Chilonis had said. She was right. The red cloak could mean compassion as well.
Sparta had set Lysander on this path. He’d thrown off his shackles, and made his own destiny. Now it was time for the Fates to spin their threads. Whatever they threw at him, Lysander could take.
Also by Michael Ford
The Fire of Ares
Birth of a Warrior
Copyright © 2009 by Working Partners
All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording, or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
First published in Great Britain in January 2009 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Published in the United States of America in 2009 by Walker Publishing Company, Inc.
Electronic edition published in October 2012
www.bloomsburykids.com
For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to
Permissions, Walker & Company, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York 10010
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Ford, Michael (Michael James).
Legacy of blood / Michael Ford.
p. cm.
1. Lysander, d. 395 B.C.—Juvenile fiction. [1. Lysander, d. 395 B.C.—Fiction.
2. Soldiers—Fiction. 3. Social classes—Fiction. 4. Slavery—Fiction. 5. Amulets—
Fiction. 6. Sparta (Extinct city)—Fiction. 7. Greece—History—Spartan and Theban
supremacies, 404–362 B.C.—Fiction. 8. Italy—History—To 476—Fiction.] I.Title.
PZ7.F75328Leg 2009 [Fic]—dc22 2008033376
ISBN: 978-0-8027-2811-1 (e-book)
