Spartans at the Gates (27 page)

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. “I've taken much worse than those feather-fists could serve out,” he said, trying to make her feel better.

“It's not much farther,” said Helena to Nikias in a soothing tone. “Come. You can rest soon enough.”

He let himself be held by Helena and Melitta. Their slender arms did little to support him, but he liked feeling their warm bodies close. Earlier he had thought that they resembled shades … but now they felt very much alive.

The girl Melitta reminded him, in a way, of his hot-tempered sister, Phile. He wondered why Helena would let her slave talk to her in such an impertinent manner. And then it came to him in a flash, as if a secret thought had been spoken out loud.

“She's not your slave,” said Nikias. “She's your sister!”

Helena gasped and glared at the girl. “You told him, Melitta?”

“No!” replied Melitta, amazed. “I said nothing.”

“She didn't tell me,” said Nikias. “I have a sister of my own. I know how siblings speak to one another.”

They walked in silence for some time before Helena said, “I was going to tell you tonight. We are half sisters.”

“It's no business of mine,” said Nikias.

“It is, in a way,” said Helena. “We're both the daughters of Sophia the hetaera. The one whom Chusor loved.”

Nikias was speechless as they led him the rest of the way across a small square to an ancient temple made of timber frames and brick. It was enclosed like a house with a single porch and a front door.

“What is this temple?” asked Nikias.

“The old Temple of Aphrodite,” replied Helena, opening the door. “One of the few buildings of the Old City to survive the burning of Athens by the Persians. We are members of this order, my sister and I.”

They entered a sanctuary lit by a single oil lamp burning on the altar. A hunched woman—an aged priestess of the temple—nodded at Helena and went through a curtain, leaving them alone.

“We'll be safe here,” said Melitta, shutting the door behind them and barring it with a board.

Helena took off her cloak and spread it out on the floor in a corner of the chamber. She gestured for Nikias to make himself at ease, and he lay with his back propped up against the wall. The place smelled of aged oak and burnt olive oil—a homey smell that reminded him of the great room at his grandfather's farm. His body relaxed for the first time all day and he let forth a great sigh.

Helena and Melitta left him for a while, disappearing behind the curtain at the back of the sanctuary. When they returned Helena carried a basin filled with water and some clean rags, and Melitta held a cup of wine that she put to his mouth so he could slake his thirst.

Helena moistened a cloth and started cleaning the blood and dirt from Nikias's face while Melitta sat nearby with her legs folded under her, watching him with her dark discerning eyes. Again he was struck by how familiar the little girl seemed.

He looked at Helena and realized she had taken off her veil and headscarf. She wore no makeup and her hair was pulled back in a single plait, accentuating the perfect oval of her face. Her beauty was beyond compare and when she looked into his eyes he felt a sudden pounding in his chest. It amazed him that this woman's mere glance could have such a bewitching power over him.

He asked, “Why did you want to see me?”

“So many reasons,” said Helena with sadness in her silvery voice. “First I want to beg your forgiveness. Kleon is the master of my life, as though I were a shadow puppet moved by sticks and strings. And I feel such terrible shame for what happened to you at my house.”

“Was the man in the room that night Kleon?” asked Nikias.

“No,” she replied. “But he is Kleon's closest confidant.”

“Does he threaten you?” asked Nikias.

“I am his toy. His plaything. But he threatens one whom I love very dearly.” Helena glanced at Melitta and the two shared a doleful smile.

“Why would he threaten your sister?” asked Nikias. “What sort of man is Kleon to want to harm a little girl?”

“I'm not little,” said Melitta angrily. “And I'm not afraid of Kleon.”

“You should be, Sister,” said Helena with an edge to her voice. “He is a man to be feared. He hounded our mother to her tomb. He told me that if I set one foot through any of the fifteen gates of Athens he will have me killed. And Melitta too. If we managed to make it out of the city … well … he would hunt us down to the Gates of Herakles.”

“I saw your mother's house,” said Nikias. “Did Kleon make that fire happen?”

“I don't know,” said Helena. “But I suspect as much. She was trying to get Melitta and me out of Athens. She had bought passage for us on a ship. Kleon must have found out. When our mother died I had no other choice but to become a hetaera.”

She put the dirty rags she'd been using to clean Nikias's face into the basin, stood up, and walked to the center of the small chamber. “Our mother never wanted this to be my fate. She abhorred the notion and saved enough for both my sister's and my dowries so that we could marry. But all of that was lost in the fire.”

She paused and took a breath, touched a hand to her mouth as if she could not make herself speak.

“Please go on,” said Nikias.

“When you were drugged,” said Helena haltingly, “and spoke of the man Chusor, I thought the Fates had sent you to us. I knew him, you see, when I was a little girl. I was Melitta's age when he and my mother started their affair. He was very kind to me and I loved him. It broke our hearts when he was forced to escape Kleon and this snake pit of Athens. But Kleon's tentacles are long. And now he is drawn back into the mire.”

“What does Chusor have to do with Kleon and his whisperers?” asked Nikias. “He fled Athens a dozen years ago.”

“Tell Nikias how old you are, Melitta,” said Helena.

“I'm several months past eleven,” replied Melitta.

Nikias looked at her blankly.

“Plus the nine months I spent in my mother's womb,” added Melitta with a wry smile.

Nikias closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn't help but laugh. “I thought you were an Anatolian slave girl,” he said. “But you're one-quarter Aethiope.” He opened his eyes and looked at Melitta full in the face. “You're Chusor's daughter. Now that I look at you, Melitta, I see my friend's eyes staring back at me.”

“You must help us,” said Helena. “For your friend's sake if not for ours.”

“What do you want me to do?” asked Nikias.

“Kleon is almost certain that Melitta is Chusor's child,” said Helena. “And eventually he will kill her, such is his hatred for your friend.” She crouched by Melitta, wrapping her arm around her sister's slender shoulders. “When you return to Plataea you must let Chusor know that his daughter—the legacy of his love for Sophia—exists in this dangerous place. Tell him that I am on my knees, asking for his help.”

Nikias sat up and reached out his left hand. “Put your hands in mine,” he said, encompassing both of the sisters' hands into his callused palm. “I promise to come back here with Chusor and take both of you away from this place. You understand? That is my oath.”

“Are you leaving tonight?” asked Melitta with despair.

“No,” said Nikias, laughing.

“Promise!”

Nikias reached into his pouch and took out a metallic disk, placing it in Melitta's palm and closing her fingers around it.

“Keep this safe for me,” he said. “It's the marker for my sword—an heirloom of my house. I'll come to you to retrieve it before I leave Athens. To make certain that you are well.”

Helena started crying and Melitta wrapped her arms around her body, holding her tight. Nikias leaned back against the wall and stared at the sisters with heavy lids. Soon exhaustion overcame him and he plunged into the realm of Morpheus.

Several hours later a hand touched his chest, rousing him from sleep. The lamp had gone out and the room was dark.

“Nikias,” said Helena's voice close to his ear. “It is still several hours before dawn. You must leave before the priestesses open the temple.”

He reached out and put his hand behind her head, guiding her mouth to his. Her warm lips kissed him back. He moved his hand down and felt the nakedness of her back. She pressed her breasts against his chest and reached between his legs, guiding him. They moaned at the same time, pushing their bodies together.

“Your sister,” whispered Nikias.

“Asleep,” came the breathless reply. Then she stopped moving and said, “Nikias, I wanted us to be together from the moment I saw you. In the street, outside the theatre.”

He said, “The first time we made love I—”

But she cut him off saying, “The first time didn't happen.
This
is the first time.”

Kallisto's face flashed in Nikias's mind … and he pushed the image away. The only face that he wanted to conjure up in the darkness was Helena's. Sweet Helena. The world and all its worries vanished and they were alone together, protected under the ancient temple roof, two disciples of Aphrodite.

 

EIGHT

Nikias made his way through the dark lanes of Athens in the direction of the Street of Thieves. It was that time of night, hours before dawn, when every living thing—except the owls and their prey—was asleep. Even the winds seemed to be at rest. It was a terrible time to be awake and alone.

He'd betrayed Kallisto—the woman he had asked to be his wife. But worse than that, he thought, was that he'd fallen in love with Helena, and with every step he took away from the temple of Aphrodite he felt a sort of wildness coming over him … a madness of unsatisfied desire. He wanted to sprint back to Helena and be with her again. To never leave her side.

He held his hand to his lips—the hand that had caressed her body with such pleasure. The intoxicating scent of her was still there on his fingertips. He couldn't stop thinking about her alluring voice, the tender way she had kissed him, the feel of her silky hair brushing against his face while they made love.

Men would kill and betray for a woman like her.

He heard the screech of an owl and looked up toward the Akropolis; he saw the dark shape of wings passing in front of the night-gray pillars of the Temple of Athena.

“Where have you been!” shouted a voice full of fury.

He turned and saw Phoenix walking toward him, bearing a torch. His cousin grabbed him by his left arm and started marching him in the opposite direction.

“Get off,” growled Nikias, shaking off Phoenix's grip with a furious jerk of his arm and planting his legs like a stubborn mule.

“We need to put our oars in the water, mate!” said Phoenix. “We've got a meeting with the chief. And we're late.”

“With Per—Perikles?” stuttered Nikias.

Phoenix raised his eyebrows and smiled wryly. “Who else?” He started walking quickly up the lane without glancing back to see if Nikias followed. Nikias had to run to catch up with him.

“But how?” asked Nikias.

“I went to see him,” said Phoenix. “Told him my cousin the pankrator, Menesarkus's heir, was begging for an audience. The mad thing is that he'd actually heard of you! I've never said a word to him about you, mind. He wanted to see you straightaway. The chief only sleeps a couple of hours a night,” he added. “It's already morning for him.”

Nikias could hardly believe what Phoenix had just said. Was meeting the most powerful man in the Athenian Empire really this easy? After all of the insanity he'd been through in the last two days … it seemed absurd.

“It's who you know,” said Phoenix, the smug tone in his voice implying that he was the main reason Nikias had been granted this meeting.

“Where are we meeting him?”

“Just follow, damn you,” replied Phoenix with the air of a man who was used to giving orders, but not in the least bit used to being questioned.

They wended their way through the dark city streets lit by Phoenix's torch, moving closer and closer to the looming rock of the Akropolis. The bright moon shone in the cloudless sky, making the marble buildings glow. Eventually they arrived at the long flight of stairs leading up to the top of the Akropolis. But a guard of twenty or so armored warriors stood blocking the way. The men parted as Phoenix and Nikias approached, making a path between them. Before they got to the foot of the stairs, however, a warrior stepped forward and held up his hand for them to stop, and then he proceeded to search Phoenix's clothes for hidden weapons.

“Careful with my eggs, Akilles,” said Phoenix sarcastically as the guard reached between his legs. “And my spear doesn't need waxing tonight.”

Several of the warriors nearby laughed.

“Always a jest with you, oar-master,” said Akilles.

“You're not my type anyway,” said Phoenix.

Nikias sized Akilles up with his pankrator's eye. The guard was a sturdy warrior, with the crooked nose of a fighter. Nikias felt as if he'd met him before. The guard turned to Nikias and said icily, “Take your arm out of that sling.”