Infinite Sacrifice (10 page)

Beside the altar, young men dance
naked as choruses of girls sing war songs to flutes, lyres, and
cymbals. Women hurry to place wheels of cheese in various positions
on the steps. I hear a commotion to the west and can’t help but
smile when I see a troop of young men run down the valley driven by
their leaders on chariots. Leander’s leading the sandal-less pack
of bare-chested men. The residing priestess chooses her favorite
male dancer and bequeaths him a prize sickle as Leander and the
others are allowed to drink from the river before the rite begins.
I can’t help but cross my fingers for him to do well. The leaders
leave their chariots and take out their whips tied to their kilts.
Each powerful man chooses his position among the steps carefully as
the doomed lot gathers in racing position at the foot of the steps.
The priestess brings her hands up in front of Artemis and claps
them together to start the competition.

The men dart to reach the cheeses
closest to them as the whips crack hard against every back. Some
men recoil to grab the sting of ripped flesh as others, like
Leander, ignore the pain to reach a wheel of cheese. Leander’s
whipped again as he descends the steps to lay down his offering of
cheese but only grimaces and spins to his left to climb ten more
steps to another wheel. Other men are not faring so well; at least
two are badly bleeding from wounds that tore around their backs to
slice their necks or chests. They stand hesitant at the steps,
trying to pick an opportune time to attempt another try, but the
leaders are watching them out of the corners of their eyes as they
whip the stronger boys piling up their cheeses.

One of the weaker men makes a move
to go behind, but the leader spins around with a crack so loud it
sounds like thunder over our heads. The man screams in agony and
falls upon the steps. A splatter of blood sprays the crowd when the
whip is brought back. The leader spits in his direction, waiting
for him to try to get up once again. Leander makes his way to the
top step to the last wheel under the priestess’s foot and receives
two whips on either side of him before making it back to his pile.
With all the cheese snatched, the priestess brings her hands
together again, but not before the fallen man receives one last
punishing sting. Pride wells up within me as Leander is chosen as
the winner and allowed to present the cheeses to his goddess. The
rowdy crowd cheers, and I try to make my way toward him in the
chaotic crowd as the men wash their blood off in the
river.

“Leander!” I cry, and I catch a
quick glimpse from him as he climbs back out on the banks. He looks
away, though, and assembles behind his leader who ties up his whip
and lashes his chariot forward. The red tiger-striped backs of men
disappear over the mountain as they leave their fallen disgrace
back upon the steps; no one dares to help him. It will be a miracle
if he makes it back to his men that night.

Chapter 4

It’s amazing what you cling to when
you’re given very little. Those moments in the barn and later in
the darkness of our bedroom, I made a love story. I made his rare
appearance, quick movements, and few words into a fantasy, yet
every time was like the first. Since I’m pregnant, we’re officially
married, but we will not move in together until he turns thirty,
when he’ll be given a household by the military. The bigger my
stomach grows, the less he wants to meet me, and after four
meetings, he tells me to send notice when the baby
arrives.

My mother had prepared me for this
life. Spartan men belong to the state. They’re sent away to school
at seven, suffer agoge until twenty, live with their military group
until thirty, and from thirty to sixty, they’re at the beck and
call of the military. If something comes up and the army needs
reinforcements, they’re forced to join until the campaign is over.
However, I’m just as content to be in control and with
Ophira.

At about nine months, I have a
terrible dream:

I hold a large melon, the size of
a horse head. I drop it, and it splatters into many pieces. A huge
pig comes at once to eat the melon, and I try to shoo the pig away.
I’m protecting two seeds, but the pig pushes me over, eats the
smaller seed, and then jumps off the cliff I’m standing on. I watch
as it plummets down into the dark chasm squealing like a
baby.

I wake up crying and think for an
instant I wet the bed. I feel my stomach tightening, and I call for
Ophira.

She comes running. “I’ll go get
Leander.”

But I yell to her as she opens the
door to my bedroom. “No Ophira! Stay here!”

“He told me to fetch him at once.”
She stands there confused.

“I don’t want them throwing my baby
off a cliff!” I scream out, trying to breathe between pains that
are worsening.

She closes the door, understanding.
“We’re going to get in trouble Alcina! Sparta’s the only one who
gets to decide who’s fit or not.”

I try to sit up. “I’ll say I was
outside in the fields, and the baby came so fast.”

Ophira helps me get through hours
of labor. She tells me to get on the floor and kneel while she
supports me. Kneeling feels much better than the pressure my belly
put on me. When I feel the urge to push, I push, not able to stop
as I feel myself tear open. I can only scream as Ophira catches my
squirming baby boy. She cleans him and lifts him up for me to see.
Strong and so loud, he’s every Spartan woman’s dream. I know he’ll
pass the Spartan test for sure. I feel foolish now, realizing my
dream was nonsense.

I start getting contractions again,
and Ophira instructs, “Push the afterbirth,” but she soon screams,
“Another son!”

We’re crying from the shock, and I
use all the strength I have left to push off the bed to see the
surprise in her hands.

My heart sinks.

He must be half the size of the
firstborn. His color is poor, and he isn’t making any noise, even
after Ophira spanks him—no cry, only struggling fish-like gulps of
air. We don’t speak for a long time, and the air carries the
metallic smell of blood. I stare on as Ophira cleans and bundles up
each one. She puts the firstborn baby in my arms; I name him Arcen.
She drapes her cloak around her shoulders, cradles the second baby,
and she comes over to get him.

I hold on to Arcen and say, “There
must be something we can do?”

She speaks through her tears.
“There’s nothing we can do; it is your Spartan law!”

“Wait a moment, I have to
think.”

She hesitates but looks like she
lost all hope.

I gasp and say, “Spartan mothers
cannot raise a weak boy, but they care nothing of weak helot
children!”

It takes one minute to register,
and then her eyes widen in shock at the idea.

“You want
me
to be his
mother?”

I nod with tears of joy.

“No, I don’t even have a man. No
one will believe this!” she says backing up as if she can walk away
from this.

“Leander has not seen you in
months. No one knows about you or if you have a husband away
fighting. I bet no one will even ask.”

I move back toward her and pull the
blanket down to show the weak one’s little face. She looks down at
the fragile, pale baby who studies her face through its narrow
swollen slits.

“Look at this child! How can you
hand him over to be thrown against rocks! Rocks,

Ophira!”

Her eyebrows pinch together under
her scar. “How will I even feed this child?”

“I’ll send for a wet nurse for
Arcen, and I’ll nurse this one in secret.”

She looks again at him, smiles, and
says through happy tears, “I will call you Theodon,
god-given.”

Ophira puts her cloak back on and
readies to take Arcen to Leander. I give Arcen a parting kiss,
knowing I’ll see him again. Ophira fishes out her medallion and
lifts it over her head and free of her long wavy hair.

She places it over Theodon’s tiny
head, and as she tucks it into his blanket, she whispers, “For
protection and strength.”

As they leave, I gaze out to the
sun setting in a red sky and sit to nurse Theodon. When I look down
at his tiny face, I know I already love him.

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

Leander returns that night glowing
and proclaims, “I held my son up for all to see, and the Lesche all
said there has never been a stronger baby seen!”

My heart wells with pride. Leander
has never talked this much for so long. Everything is
blooming.

Leander hears another baby crying,
and he looks at me, perplexed.

“That is Ophira’s son. She gave
birth a few weeks ago.”

He cocks his head to the side. “Is
she married?”

“Yes, her husband has been away
fighting in the Citizens’ Army for months.”

I note to be sure to tell him of
his death in battle soon.

“Well, I’m sure he is not anything
like the son we have!” He holds Arcen up in the air, hardly
supporting his rolling head. “Strong one!”

Leander goes back to his men, and a
specialized helot comes to nurse Arcen. She takes over his care
entirely. I miss much sleep sneaking in and out of Ophira’s room
nursing Theodon. Even though I’m tired, these moments of closeness
in the dark with him are such peaceful moments; moments I lost with
Arcen. Every respectable Spartan mother gets a wet nurse, but I can
see there is something about nursing that attaches a baby so. I can
tell Ophira resents how he seems to want me whenever she picks him
up.

One day Ophira comes to me and
says, “I think we should start giving Theodon brothed maza
now.”

“He is too young for food yet,” I
snap, a little too quickly.

“Alcina, do you want him to grow up
and think of you as his mother? Because that’s what will
happen!”

I don’t say anything.

“You need him to think of me as his
mother, or we’ll both get killed for this.”

The words hang in the air for a
stale moment until I hear its honesty. “I understand. We will start
feeding him maza.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The boys are in the field playing
with the scattering greyhounds, and I go call them in for dinner. A
frail boy with freckles darts by.

I grab him by the arm and tickle
him. “Come in for dinner. Where’s Theodon?”

He points behind a tree and leaves
to go clean up inside. I smile, seeing part of a sandal behind the
tree trunk.

I tiptoe off to the tree and jump
out. “Whaaaaa!”

Theodon screams and runs across the
field with me in pursuit, his copper-colored hair shining and
bouncing in the light. He’s shirtless with a wrap around his waist,
and even though he’s only seven, he has the muscles of a
ten-year-old. I finally catch him and roll on the ground with him.
He throws his head back and giggles, showing the small space
between his teeth I love so much. We sit down to sausages and
hard-boiled eggs, our small family of four. Leander will come in
for a few nights at a time, but this is the way we all liked it
best. Today is a little sad, though, since it’s our last day before
sending Arcen away to agoge and I secretly hope it’ll make him
stronger. He seemed to wither as Theodon flourishes. Theodon wins
every race, every match, and every game. Arcen doesn’t excel at
anything. I hope the severe conditions of agoge will give him the
motivation to thrive. Maybe the heavy competition and relentless
drills will give him strength. Maybe the deprivation of needs and
starvation will make him hungry to steal and fight. I’m sure he has
it in him to be strong. The worst thing a son can do is fail agoge
or to be accused of cowardliness.

In the morning, I pack his bag with
the scanty things they let him bring. Arcen sits on his straw
mattress, fiddling with a piece of straw he plucked out, tears
hitting his hands.

Pulling his chin in the air, I
demand, “Spartan men do not cry!”

He begins a high-pitched whine and
cries, “But I’m scared. I don’t want to go.”