Spartans at the Gates by Noble Smith

Author:Noble Smith
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781250026439
Publisher: Thomas Dunne Books

SEVEN

Nikias had the sensation of walking in a dream. It was the helpless feeling of being pulled along by an enigmatic force—a force that he had no way of stopping.

He could see the black shapes of Helena and the slave girl a few paces ahead, lit only by moonlight, guiding him through the deserted streets as though they were shades taking him to the Underworld.

He didn’t know where they were headed. But for some reason it didn’t seem to matter. Maybe Helena would betray him again. Maybe not. He felt too weak to fight anymore.

He imagined the Fates standing at their loom, weaving the destinies of men. His mother had always told him that even the gods were afraid of the “Old Sisters,” as she called them. For the inhabitants of Olympus were also connected to the great hidden tapestry of the Fates.

He used to love being in the room where the women of his family worked the looms. He and his sister would crawl in and out of their mother’s and grandmother’s legs, clinging to them as they sang their weaving songs.

And the scent of that place … he could almost smell it now. The musky grease from the new-spun wool dripping down onto the hanging yarn weights and onto the floor; the mysterious natural perfume of the women’s skin and hair.

When he’d turned six his grandfather had told him he could no longer play in the women’s quarters. Nikias had tried to hide beneath his mother’s gown, but the Old Bull had dragged him from the loom chamber and ordered him to stay outside and ride his pony, shoot arrows, and practice his whip—anything but “waste his time with females.”

“Count yourself lucky,” Menesarkus had told the sobbing boy. “Six-year-old Spartan lads are already living in miserable boy-herds, eating nothing but blood gruel and barley water and getting their arses buggered raw by bearded men. If you ever want to survive a fight with one of those man-reapers, you’ll have to get tougher.”

Nikias had wanted to kill his grandfather that day. He could picture his flinty eyes glaring at him now. As though he were standing in front of him in the practice arena. Snarling and pulling back a fist to punch him in the face—

Nikias jerked and realized he was so tired he was starting to hallucinate. There was a throbbing at the base of his skull that wouldn’t go away and a faint nausea churning in his stomach. He stopped and swayed to one side, nearly falling over.

“Wait,” he said softly.

Helena and the slave girl ran back to him and propped him up.

“He’s exhausted, Helena,” chided the girl. “I told you he was hurt. But you wouldn’t listen. You never listen to me!”

“Melitta, hush.”

“I will not hush, Helena. I will not hold my tongue any longer. I told you how Kleon’s men beat him. I thought I would die watching them hurt him.”

The slave girl stifled a sob and Nikias stroked her on the head. The child’s concern touched his heart.

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