Birth of a Warrior by Michael Ford

Author:Michael Ford
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Published: 2008-01-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 14

The birds began their song with first light.

Lysander led the way down from the mountain, hurrying along the path as dawn broke over the hills to the east. His feet were soaked by the dew, but he didn’t care; it washed away the blood. He and Demaratos were returning home, leaving behind the mountains, and death. He had faced the test of a true Spartan. He had completed the Ordeal, killing fish, bird and beast. He’d entered the mountains a boy; he was leaving them a man.

As they emerged from the trees, the villages and fields of Sparta appeared below. Everything looked so small from this height. All this was at stake if the Persian army descended upon them.

Lysander looked at his companion. His face burned with shame when he thought what Agesilaus had put them through. He put out a hand to stop Demaratos.

‘Demaratos,’ he began, ‘what happened back there …’

‘You were a hero,’ said his companion. ‘Don’t feel ashamed of your Ordeal. And, don’t worry, I have no intention of letting any of my friends know how much Agesilaus humiliated us. I’ll have the glory instead, thanks very much! Anything else … well, can stay in the mountains.’

Lysander knew he and Demaratos had earned each other’s respect – that much, at least, had happened over the past few days. But could Demaratos be trusted now that they were returning to the barracks? He’d find out soon enough.

‘Come on,’ said Lysander. ‘We’d better hurry.’

They passed the vineyards and olive groves of the lower slopes. The Helot settlement lay further off. Timeon would be buried now, his family back at work, trying to put aside their loss. Lysander remembered the smoke rising from the villages by the sea, and imagined the Persians committing the same carnage here. The settlement, with its tightly packed houses, would burn quickly. Would Timeon’s family soon be buried beside him? It was unthinkable. With Ares’ blessing, the Spartan army would destroy any invaders, surely. But what if the Gods weren’t listening? All Lysander knew was that they had to get back to Sparta – fast.

They made it to the main track into Sparta. Lysander had a stitch in his side, but was still trying to run. Demaratos jogged along beside him. Lysander could tell by the sheen of sweat that his companion was fighting the pain from the boar injury. A band of Helots were making their way towards the village. Between them was a cart drawn by a donkey. It was laden with food – cheeses and olive jars – and stacks of firewood. Lysander’s stomach growled.

The cart trundled to a halt as they approached and the men turned to look at them. Lysander realised that their unwashed bodies and grubby tunics made them look even poorer than Helots.

‘Do you have any food for two travellers?’ said Lysander, coming to a stop.

‘This food is for the troops,’ said a bearded man, sitting on the back of the cart. ‘But I’m sure they won’t miss a lump of cheese.

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