by Nadia Aidan
A cacophony of murmurs broke out in the chambers, forcing him to raise his voice in order to be heard.
“What I wanted to share with you in person is that, from what I could gather, the settlement in Carthage is far from benign. I suspect the Roman army is planning to invade Athens and they will use their strategic location in Carthage to launch their attack.”
The room erupted then, as he’d suspected it would. Several questions were thrown at him.
“How do you know the Athenians are telling the truth?”
“Why do we care if the Romans attack the Athenians?”
“What does this all mean for Sparta?”
Cleomenes raised his hand to bring order once again to the room and Thanos spoke as soon as the men had quieted.
“Those are all important questions, to which I shall say this—if the Romans plan to attack, they will enter Greece from the Aegean then, starting with Athens, one by one they will pick off the weaker city-states until they reach Sparta, where they will trap us within our own territory. Even if they are unable to defeat Sparta, the rest of Greece will become Roman territory, and we will be forever surrounded by our enemy, always waiting for them to attack. We as the council must decide if we intend to aid the Athenians. And it is my opinion that we should if we want to stop the Romans from invading Greece.”
Again, the chambers erupted into chaos, but he could tell from the expressions on their faces that, even if they did not fully support his plan, they saw the wisdom in it. He sat back down, knowing they would not come to a decision on this sun rising. The council would need to mull over all their options and belabour every point before they would even call for a vote.
He settled into his seat, already weary at the thought of what lay ahead. A war was coming to Greece, and, while stubborn politicians talked, Roman soldiers were preparing to march.
* * * *
Dusk was on the horizon when Thanos finally arrived home, the orange embers of the sun fanning out like fingertips to caress the mountains that surrounded Sparta.
As he trotted up to his estate, he stopped his mount to greet Panos, the young helot who’d come to him as a boy and who was now in charge of his stables. Dismounting from Zeus, he handed the reins to Panos and let him lead the hulking warhorse away.
He dragged his weary body along the cobbled pathway towards his chambers, thoroughly exhausted. He’d been forced to sit before the council for several long hours, only to watch them arrive at the conclusion that they would have to reconvene in half a fortnight to call for a vote.
While he’d known to expect such a decision, he’d still been furious as he always was with the sluggish political process in Sparta. He would have preferred to be on the battlefield, training hoplites. Or better still, in his bedchamber, twisted in the bed sheets, making love to his new wife. The latter thought had consumed his mind the entire time he’d been away from her, and he found he needed to see her, if only to catch a glimpse of one of her rare, teasing smiles.
With purposeful strides, he hurried towards his chambers, fully expecting to find her curled up in his bed, fast asleep after their long journey. So he was certainly surprised when he entered the courtyard that separated the gardens from the main residence to find Armine with one of his steel blade short swords in her firm grip, and Lamia behind the young girl calling out instructions.
“That is good, Armine, but next time you pivot, be sure to keep your sword higher. Whenever you give your back to an opponent, you have to be prepared for him to take advantage of your folly and go right for the attack, so you want to be ready. All right?”
Armine nodded. “Yes, Mistress.”
“Again.”
He nearly choked on his laughter when Armine’s eyes widened at the command Lamia had issued. The girl was drenched in sweat, her woollen chamlys clinging to her skinny body, and he was sure she hadn’t been prepared for the intense session Lamia was putting her through. He had no doubt that Armine was tired, but if she was, she didn’t show it. Her wide mahogany eyes darkened with purpose and he watched in shock when the girl executed a perfect parry of a forward advance, her right foot shooting out as she ducked below the would-be opponent’s sword, then twisted around to meet the blade that would be crashing down if this were a real fight.
Now it was his turn to stand there wide-eyed. There were probably dozens of Spartan boys in the agoge who would kill for such grace and poise in executing the difficult move. How old was she again? He was stunned as he looked at the girl through fresh eyes. The child demonstrated an aptitude for battle instruction—a talent that was held in high esteem in Sparta.
He glanced over at Lamia when she barked out another order. Armine had been in his residence since she was four annos and he’d never realised she was possessed of such a quick wit. Yet Lamia had discovered this in a matter of hours. His wife had been in Sparta for less than one sun rising and already she’d found herself a devoted admirer and pupil, if the awestruck gaze that Armine studied her with was any evidence.
“I would say we have the makings of a fine soldier on our hands,” he said with a grin as he stepped from behind one of the columns where he’d hidden from their view.
Two sets of nearly identical brown eyes swung in his direction as he strolled into the courtyard.
Armine’s cheeks darkened with colour and she averted her gaze to the ground. “I am sorry, Master Thanos, for neglecting my duties—”
“You are fine, Armine. Your only duty was to attend to Lamia.” He stopped to rake his gaze over the dishevelled child. “But from the looks of it, I see she was the one who attended to you. We will retire shortly so you are free for the remainder of the eve.”
She smiled up at him, her eyes bright. “Thank you, Master Thanos.” She glanced over at Lamia then. “May I continue to practice?”
Lamia nodded with a smile. “As long as you promise not to practice what you’ve learned on anyone else. However, I suggest you rest this eve. You will have more lessons on the morrow.”
“Thank you, Mistress. I promise.” She nodded as she beamed all over, before she scurried off in the direction of the servant quarters, dragging his sword behind her.
He arched an eyebrow. “On the morrow?”
“Of course, on the morrow. Thanos, that child is brilliant. She is a quick study who picks up things after one simple demonstration. Did you know she can read and write?”
No, he didn’t.
“When I asked her about it, she told me she’d taught herself. Herself, Thanos.”
Now, that was impressive.
“That girl belongs in school, not attending to me or anyone else for that matter.”
If what she said was true, he could only agree with her. Armine’s talents were being wasted as a helot.
“You make a fine point. So you plan to instruct her—”
“Until you help me get her into school? Yes.”
He lifted his arched brow higher at the determined look on her face. Not even one dawn Lamia had been here, and already she’d found a devoted admirer, who she was planning to instruct until the child could enter the agoge for Spartan girls. For all her protests of not taking to Sparta, Lamia seemed to be settling in quite well, which pleased him greatly.
Crossing the short distance that separated them, he pulled her into his arms. “You will hear no argument from me. For once I agree with you. Had I known the girl was so skilled, I would have seen to her education myself.” He smirked at her then. “Although, maybe I should have put up more of a fight. It would have been amusing to watch you convince me,” he whispered, dipping his head to press his lips firmly to hers.
A small sigh escaped her mouth as she opened it to allow his searching tongue to explore the heady taste of her. He groaned against her lips, pulling her tighter to him to grind his growing bulge into her soft belly. It had been three sun risings since he’d lain with her, and he ached to feel the clenching vice of her snug, wet heat surrounding him, sucking him in.
She flashed him a wicked grin as she turned with him and headed for their bedchamber, but drew up short when two figures advanced towards them, their faces shadowed.
Chapter Eleven
“I hope you do not mind us arriving without announcing ourselves, but Panos allowed us in,” a deep masculine voice boomed. “He said you’d just returned from meeting with the council and I’d hoped to catch you before you retired for the evening.”
Lamia grinned at Thanos when he groaned low in his throat, clearly not happy that their journey to their bedchamber had been thwarted.
As the figures moved closer, she smiled to greet their guests, and it took her less than a heartbeat to realise that the man standing before them was kin to Thanos. She stared up at the hulking man who possessed the same coal black mane and familiar turquoise eyes.
“Ulysseus, brother. Welcome.” Thanos greeted the handsome man with the firm handshake between soldiers as he gripped his forearm tightly. When the two men released one another, Thanos moved once again to her side, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close.
“May I introduce you to my lovely wife, Lamia.” He turned to her. “Lamia, this is my younger brother, Ulysseus, and this stunning woman by his side is his wife, Basha.”
She’d shivered at the word…wife. To know she was his, and only his, did strange things to her insides. For when he called her his wife, it was a declaration—a clear statement to the world that she belonged to him.
Struggling to ignore the fluttering in her belly, she turned her gaze towards Ulysseus’ wife and realised then that Thanos had not lied about the woman’s beauty. Stunning almost did not do her justice. She had never seen a more beautiful woman in her entire life.
Framed by the setting sun, Basha’s bronze skin glowed under the tawny rays while her inky black hair, as straight and soft as the finest silk, hung to her waist. She raked her gaze over the lithe woman, taking in her charcoal-lined silver eyes, specked with amber, and her supple, womanly figure encased in a straight-fitting ivory linen chiton that hung from one shoulder. She wore heavy golden bracelets on her slender wrists and matching sandals of spun gold. In a word, she was exquisite.
Lamia nodded in their direction. “It is a pleasure to meet you both.”
Ulysseus immediately embraced her with his thickly muscled arms, welcoming her into the family with kind words, but Basha held back, her dark silver eyes not cold, but not welcoming, either.
The look in her eyes told Lamia that she was being assessed very closely, and Basha’s next words only further confirmed her suspicions.
“Why don’t you two give Lamia and I a moment to acquaint ourselves?” She glanced over at Ulysseus. “I am sure you are eager to hear of what Thanos learned in Athens, given the rumours of war.”
Thanos hesitated, but she nodded for him to go with his brother, her expression telling him she would be fine. Lamia knew what Basha was doing, and she also knew she could handle her.
With a slight nod Thanos left her and joined Ulysseus in the oikos, the private dining room in Thanos’ home, where they could recline on couches and enjoy food and wine while they talked.
“Come,” Basha said as she linked her arm under Lamia’s elbow. “We shall join them shortly.”
They walked in silence into another open courtyard that held several weapons chests and targets. She’d learned from Armine that this was where Thanos sometimes trained when he was at home.
Basha stopped almost in the centre of the courtyard, and released Lamia’s arm to face her.
“Ulysseus and I were quite surprised when we learned of you. We worried that Thanos would never wed.”
Lamia studied Basha with probing eyes, almost as intently as the woman had studied her earlier. She was trying to read the hidden meaning in her new sister within the law’s words. If Thanos never wed, then he could never produce an heir…and that would mean Thanos’ title would pass to Ulysseus and his children. She regarded Basha warily, wondering if she was one of those ambitious wives.
“I know what you are thinking, but you are wrong. Ulysseus and I have been wed for almost four annos but the gods have not seen fit to give us a child. Ulysseus also lacks the patience and diplomacy of Thanos. He is a soldier at heart. We have no designs on Thanos’ throne, for either ourselves or our unborn children.”
Lamia was careful to keep her expression blank, mainly because she didn’t want her face to betray her sympathy for this woman. She hadn’t missed the slight catch to Basha’s voice when she spoke of being unable to have a child. While she didn’t know Basha and the woman hadn’t been particularly warm towards her, she still felt compassion for her. She was fairly certain that Basha wasn’t the sort of woman who wanted anyone’s pity or compassion, so she let the comment pass without acknowledgement. Instead she got straight to the matter and voiced what she knew Basha was implying.
“You don’t think Thanos made a good choice in picking me as his wife.”
Basha cocked her head to the side, her silken strands falling over the shoulder that was bare, and scrutinised Lamia with eyes of a hawk stalking its prey.
“I do not know you well enough to make such a statement,” she said bluntly before she spun away from her and walked towards the edge of the courtyard to where several archery bows hung from iron nails jammed into a wooden shelf. Pulling one down, she tested its weight then gathered several arrows in her fist. “But I do know Thanos well enough to say this.” She placed all but one arrow aside. With the single arrow in her hand, she centred it in the middle of her bowstring, lifted the bow and drew the string back until her fingers brushed her jaw. “Thanos is a steady man, but with war coming to Sparta he has a great deal of responsibility now resting upon his shoulders,” she said and released the arrow.
Lamia followed the soaring arrow across the courtyard until it hit its mark at the centre of the target painted in red.
“He needs a woman who can handle all of this. Someone who can keep her head if there is war and will not become hysterical should Thanos need to leave Sparta for several moons to lead the army.”
She bit her lip to stop herself from saying something rude. What had given Basha the impression she was prone to hysterics? She wrestled with that notion for several silent moments, but never being one to mince words she simply decided to speak directly.
“You do not know me well enough to know whether Thanos and I are well suited, and yet you have already managed to diagnose me with hysteria. Interesting.”
“Foreign-born wives tend to have a very difficult time adjusting to the ways and customs of Sparta.” Basha shrugged, her expression indicating that she was not offended by Lamia’s caustic statement, but neither was she apologetic regarding her own.
Lamia swept her gaze over Basha, noting the tattoo of a tiny ankh that was visible on her bare shoulder. “Are you speaking from experience?” she asked pointedly, still trying to decide if she was going to dislike this woman.
Basha arched one elegant eyebrow, following Lamia’s gaze to the tattoo she knew to be the Egyptian symbol for eternal life.
A wry grin tugged at the corners of Basha’s mouth. “I am the daughter of an Egyptian priestess and a Spartan soldier. I have not forgotten the ways of my mother’s homeland, but I was raised here in Sparta. I grew up alongside Ulysseus and Thanos, so I know them both quite well and—”
“You only want the best for Thanos,” Lamia interrupted, fighting to temper her voice. In her opinion, this conversation was at an end. Lamia may not have wanted to be Thanos’ wife, but that did not change the fact that she now was. If Thanos thought they were well suited, then no matter Basha had grown up with him or knew Thanos well, what right did this woman have to question otherwise?
She crossed the courtyard towards Basha and held out her hand for the bow. “May I?” Surprise briefly flashed in Basha’s gaze before she no
dded and handed it over.
“I realise you know Thanos probably far better than I do.” She stooped down to gather a single arrow from the pile at Basha’s feet. “And I can tell you care for him a great deal and only want him to be happy. It is certainly clear to me that you do not want Thanos tied to a woman who is a hindrance to him and his duties.” Lamia lifted the bow and, just like Basha had, she centred the arrow, pulled the string back until the arrow was in line with her jaw, then released it.
Again, she followed the motion of the arrow sailing across the courtyard and watched it hit its mark, splitting Basha’s down the middle and breaking it into two pieces, which limply clattered to the ground.
She turned to face Basha, who, much to her amusement, stood there completely still, staring wide-eyed at the target. “But I can assure you, Basha, Thanos is a wise man and he certainly did not take this long to find a wife just to pick one that is unable to handle the pressures of being both his wife and his queen.”
They locked gazes then, openly assessing one another until Basha apparently came to the same conclusion as she—that the woman standing before her was her equal in every way.
Basha’s entire countenance changed then. Her face softened and, for the first time since they’d met, she smiled—a genuine one, full of warmth. Lamia returned her smile, grateful she’d passed her test. She would have hated to have this formidable woman as her foe.
“I have to agree with you, Lamia. Thanos is a wise man who has indeed made a very wise choice in you. Welcome to the family, sister.”
* * * *
“So was it that blasted Oracle or did you finally realise Cleomenes was right?” Ulysseus chuckled. “I bet it was probably both.”
Thanos’ brow knitted into a frown. He tightened his fingers around his goblet of wine as he struggled to tamp down his irritation with Ulysseus and his pointed words.
