Spartans at the Gates (50 page)

Chusor walked over to the bed, bringing his chair with him, and sat by Nikias's side. He took his pulse, then examined the wounds on Nikias's skull with a pensive look.

“What do you think?” Nikias asked.

“You are proving most difficult to kill,” replied Chusor.

“How do I
look
, though?” Nikias said, touching his swollen face.

Chusor stared into his eyes. “It will take you a long time to heal from these facial wounds. And your right shoulder is bad. But you do not seem to have suffered any hurt to your brain, which is a relief. Your face might never look the same, although I set your broken nose while you were comatose. You should be able to breathe through it again once it has healed.”

“Am I that hideous?” Nikias asked.

“I never thought you were particularly good-looking to begin with,” said Chusor with a wry smile.

“Thank you for doctoring me,” said Nikias. “If someone had to poke holes in my skull, I'm glad it was you.”

“A simple procedure,” said Chusor, getting up to take a closer look at the back of Nikias's skull where he had drilled three small holes. “I had to do it to relieve the pressure on your brain from the swelling.” He lifted the wrapping. It had been two days since he had performed the operation, and there was no sign of infection—no necrotic stink. The skin looked healthy too. He put Nikias's wrapping back on. “You are young. You will heal,” he said, almost to himself.

“You saved my life,” said Nikias.

“The women of your household were the ones who kept you alive,” replied Chusor. “Your grandmother, sister, and Kallisto refused to let you die. But it was fortunate that I came back when I did.”

“Where
did
you go, Chusor?” asked Nikias with a searching look.

Chusor ignored his question. He went to the table in the corner of the room and picked up an object covered in a leather wrapping—a thing that he had brought into the chamber earlier—and put it on the bed within Nikias's reach.

“What's this?” asked Nikias, unfolding the leather cover to reveal a sword in a plain scabbard.

“Diokles found the blade under the city. When we were excavating tunnels to serve in case of a siege,” explained Chusor. “He discovered an old tomb. This was the only treasure that we found. I set it in a new handle.”

Nikias gripped the handle and slid the double-edged leaf-shaped sword from the scabbard. It shone like polished silver. He saw a stranger reflected in the mirrorlike surface: a young man with a head shorn of all its hair, and a face that was swollen beyond recognition and covered with scabs and bruises. “It's a beautiful blade,” he said softly. “I've never seen the like.”

“Nor I,” said Chusor. “It's made of a curious amalgam of metals. It's lighter than iron but stronger. And the edges were incredibly sharp, even after being underground for centuries. It's almost like it's been charmed by a god.”

“It must have been made by the people who lived here before the Sea Raiders came,” said Nikias. “What are the words etched here?” He squinted at the strange script running up the center of the sword's blade. “This is in the language called the Ox-Turning, isn't it? The same script written on our ancient stones.”

“Yes,” said Chusor. “As best I can tell it's a blessing: ‘Light-god-help-me-slay.'”

“The Sword of Apollo,” said Nikias.

“Indeed,” said Chusor with a smile, nodding his head. “Apollo: god of light.”

“I lost two swords on my journey,” said Nikias. “My grandfather's old blade and one given to me by Perikles.”

“The Sword of Apollo is yours now,” said Chusor. “You'll need a good weapon in the coming days. The Spartans won't give up, you know. They suffered a great loss at the Persian Fort, that is true. Over two thousand warriors in their service were killed. Five thousand Helots have been freed. Hundreds of full-blooded Spartiates breathed their lives into the dust, and hundreds more are captive here in the city. But the two kings of Sparta and the elders of their high council will not let this disaster go by unpunished. They will send an even bigger force next time. They will avenge their dead, free their prisoners, and recapture every single Helot in the Oxlands. And they will besiege this city for a lifetime if that is what it takes to destroy Plataea.”

Nikias smiled grimly and slid the sword back into the scabbard. “I know that the Spartans won't give up,” he said. “And thank you for the sword.”

Chusor stared into space, stroking his smooth chin.

“You cut off your hair and goatee!” said Nikias. “Strange that I only just now noticed.”

Chusor glanced at him and smiled slightly, then looked away. “I am like the sheep from the old tale that sheds its wool to disguise itself from the wolves, forgetting that they can still smell its scent.”

“Where is Diokles?” Nikias asked. “I haven't seen him yet.”

“He has gone away with some old shipmates,” said Chusor. “They departed several days ago. I went with them to Kreusis, but I returned to Plataea because … well, I came back because I had a feeling that I must. And I was right to return, for I found you near death. But now that you are on the mend I have to join my companions.”

“Then it's true?” asked Nikias. “Leo said you're going away for good. Where?”

“The sea,” said Chusor. “To roam the sea on a galley.”

Nikias nodded and stared at the sword.

“I'll leave you to rest, friend,” said Chusor. He cleared his throat. “Good-bye, Nikias. I don't know if we will see one another again.”

He made to leave but Nikias reached out and gripped his wrist. “There's something I have to tell you. About Athens.”

Chusor looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

“Your lover Sophia,” said Nikias. “I don't know how to say this.” He paused and lowered his eyes. “She's dead. She died in a fire several months ago.”

The smith dropped his chin and passed one of his large hands back and forth over his smooth head, then covered both eyes with his palms. “Barka prophesied truth again,” he hissed under his breath. Awe and anguish were intermingled in his voice. “Years ago he told me that Sophia would die in a fire lit by our love. And so I never went back to Athens for fear of condemning her to death. But such is the nature of prophecies: you are damned by either path that you take at the intersection of the roads.” He took his hands from his eyes and they were wet with tears.

“I asked to see you the moment that I awoke from my stupor last night,” said Nikias. “So that I could tell you. I'm sorry to bring you such sad news.”

“I knew it in my heart,” said Chusor. “A sadness has touched my soul for some time.”

“I met Sophia's daughter,” said Nikias. “She told me how kind you were to her when she was little.”

“You met Helena?” Chusor asked. “Is she well? The last I saw her she was a boyish, skinny little thing,” he said with a fond smile. “Sophia would never tell me who her father was,” he added under his breath.

“She is beyond compare,” said Nikias. “And intelligent. And so many other things. We became … friends.”

“Indeed?”

“There's more. Listen. Sophia had
another
daughter.”

Chusor's eyes narrowed. “Another daughter? That cannot be. Sophia was barren after Helena was born.”

“The gods sometimes bless women with fertility again later in life. At least, that's what I've heard my grandmother say.”

Chusor scowled and said, “Then she's Kleon's daughter.”

“No,” said Nikias. “She's
your
daughter.”

Chusor smiled out of the corner of his mouth. A slanted and humorless smile. “Impossible,” he said.

“She was born seven months after you left Athens,” Nikias said. “She has your eyes and dark skin. I thought she was part Aethiope when I first saw her. And she's very tall for her age.” He met Chusor's intense and fixed gaze. “And she's in great danger because of you.”

*   *   *

Later in the day, after Nikias had been alone for some time at his rest, Kallisto entered the room with a plate of food. She set it on the table by his bed and then lay down next to him, gently pressing her body against his side. He stared out the window, gazing at a crow standing on the rooftop of the adjacent house.

“The one with the white tail feather,” he said. “He knows you've brought me food. He'll land on the windowsill soon and beg for bread.”

“I'll shoo him away with a pillow,” she said. “Dirty old thing. He haunts this house like a ghost.”

“No,” said Nikias. “Apollo sends him. And I like the bird. He brings me good luck.”

After a long silence Kallisto said, “Why won't you look at me, my love?”

Nikias glanced at her and said with a mournful voice, “Can you still love me after all that's happened?”

She kissed him very gently on the cheek. “I didn't fall in love with you for your face,” she said.

“No?” he asked with a faint smile. He wanted to tell her everything … about his shame for all that had occurred. About how Eurymakus and Axe had broken him in the chamber in Tanagra—how he had begged for his life like a coward and revealed the secret of Arkilokus being a prisoner in Plataea. About the horror of watching the Helot slaves behead each other, one by one, until the terror had nearly made him lose his mind. About making love with Helena … and the fact that he longed for her still. But the words stuck in his throat and he was silent.

“It was your words,” said Kallisto with a playful laugh.

“My what?”

“I fell in love with you for your poems. Even the
bad
ones.”

Nikias could not hold back his tears. He wept like a child while she covered his swollen face with soft kisses. “Don't be sad,” she said in a soothing voice, full of love, full of compassion. “There is so much to be joyful about. Your grandfather is going to let us marry. And there is this.”

She took his hand and placed it over her womb, smiling mysteriously. Nikias stared deep into her shining eyes … and in that moment he understood.

 

A
LSO BY
N
OBLE
S
MITH

Sparks in the Park

Stolen from Gypsies

The Wisdom of the Shire

T
HE
W
ARRIOR
T
RILOGY

Sons of Zeus

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

NOBLE SMITH is an award-winning playwright who has worked as a video-game writer, a documentary-film executive producer, and the media director of an international human rights foundation. He is also the author of the novella
Stolen from Gypsies,
the nonfiction book
The Wisdom of the Shire: A Short Guide to a Long and Happy Life,
and the first book in the Warrior Trilogy,
Sons of Zeus
. He lives in the Pacific Northwest with his wife and children. Learn more at
www.thewarriortrilogy.com
.

 

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

 

THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.

An imprint of St. Martin's Press.

 

SPARTANS AT THE GATES.
Copyright © 2014 by Noble Smith. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

 

www.thomasdunnebooks.com

www.stmartins.com

 

Cover design by Ervin Serrano

 

Cover photographs:

soldier by Collaboration JS/Arcangel Images;

sky by Peter Gudella;

fortress by Gabriela Insuratelu/
Shutterstock.com
;

fire by Olga Miltsova/
Shutterstock.com

 

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The Library of Congress has cataloged the print edition as follows:

 

Smith, Noble Mason, 1968–

    Spartans at the gates: novel / Noble Smith.—First edition.

            p. cm.

    “Thomas Dunne Books.”

    ISBN 978-1-250-02558-6 (hardcover)

    ISBN 978-1-250-02643-9 (e-book)

  1.  Soldiers—Fiction.   2.  Greece—History—Peloponnesian War, 431–404 B.C.—Fiction.   3.  Plataiai (Greece)—Fiction.   4.  Athens (Greece)—Fiction.   I.  Title.

    PS3569.M537837S66 2014

    813'.54—dc23

2014008412

 

e-ISBN 97811250026439