Birth of a Warrior (15 page)

‘What do you think you're doing?' she whispered.

‘I need to tell them what I've seen,' he hissed back. ‘Persians, coming from the south.'

‘You can't simply barge into a Council meeting,' said Kassandra. ‘It's against the laws of Sparta – you'll get us both killed!'

Her words made Lysander stop. He needed to choose his moment carefully. The conversation suddenly stopped. He peered around the column and saw Sarpedon enter from a far door.

It was six days since his grandfather had wished him well in front of the barracks. Six days that had changed Lysander for ever.

‘Elders of Sparta,' began Sarpedon, his voice filling the courtyard. ‘My thanks for gathering here at short notice. News from the battle is good. The King who marches with the troops reports our army has withstood the Persian assault with courage. Many have fallen – at the last count over four thousand have died to protect the city. They will be able to walk in Hades with honour. Many more will die before the fight is won.'

As Lysander watched, another old man, with wiry muscles, stepped forward.

‘Tellios, my fellow Ephor of Limnae,' said Sarpedon. ‘Please say your piece.'

‘Thank you, Sarpedon of Amikles,' replied Tellios. ‘We trust your words, of course, but can we trust the army to triumph? A thousand armed Spartans will stay in the five villages to protect the King who remains here, but they are ready to take up their weapons and join the fight. We must send them to reinforce the bulk of the army.'

Another man turned to face the crowd.

‘Fellow Councilmen, you know me as a man of
good judgment. I have faced the enemy with many of you by my side.'

‘This is the truth, Myron, Ephor of Pitane,' said Sarpedon. ‘Speak freely.'

‘Then I will say that we should keep the final battalions in Sparta. Without them, we are defenceless. Even a small force – a few thousand Helots – could overwhelm us.'

‘If the Persians break through, a thousand men will be useless,' protested the Ephor called Tellios. ‘We must prevent that at all cost. The men should be dispatched immediately. The Helots will not revolt – they have as much to lose as noble Spartans. Anyway, after the punishment we meted out before, they wouldn't dare rise up again.'

The debate broke out amongst the men.

‘How can you be sure, Myron?'

‘The Helots are cowards – they have no leader.'

‘The slaves are looking for their chance for revenge.'

‘Silence!' called Sarpedon. ‘We will have order in this Council!' The voices died down, and Sarpedon's face pronounced his fury. ‘This is not the Assembly of Athens, where the mob shout over one another for attention. This is Sparta! We will have order.'

Lysander watched as the faces of the gathered men grew serious.

‘We must put this to a vote. All in favour of keeping the garrison in Sparta, raise your hands.' Lysander counted the arms – twelve, including Sarpedon
himself. ‘All in favour of sending the remaining battalions north, show your choice.' Fourteen. ‘So be it,' said Sarpedon. ‘I will send a message to the King, telling him that the Council is decided: the remains of the army will head north immediately.'

‘No!' Lysander shouted, stepping out from behind the pillar. He couldn't let the Spartans leave themselves defenceless. Kassandra looked at him, her face pale with fear. The grizzled faces of the Elders turned towards them, their faces full of suspicion.

‘Spies!' said one of them.

Four of the Elders ran towards him, sword-tips pointed straight at his neck. Lysander knew that if he moved, his life would be over.

‘Don't hurt him!' shouted Kassandra. She pushed herself in front of him, regardless of the swords. The Spartans looked back hesitantly at Sarpedon, waiting for his orders.

‘Kassandra?' came a voice. Sarpedon pushed between the armed men. His face was twisted with fury. ‘Lower your weapons,' he growled, and pushed down the blade of the nearest sword.

He seized Lysander and Kassandra roughly by the arms, and marched them away.

‘Wait,' said Lysander. ‘I have information … about Vaumisa.'

Sarpedon let go of his granddaughter, and spun Lysander around, pushing him against a column.

‘You have offended my household and the Spartan Council already. Don't try my patience with lies …'

‘I'm not lying!' shouted Lysander, shaking his arm free. ‘Persian ships have already landed on the south coast near Gytheion.'

The Council huddled in small groups and began whispering. One of the men looked over at Lysander and shook his head.

‘The boy must be lying,' called Tellios, but Sarpedon raised a hand to silence him. ‘Vaumisa wouldn't be so bold.'

‘I saw them with my own eyes,' urged Lysander. ‘Dozens of boats – the harbour villages were ablaze.'

‘It cannot be,' mumbled Sarpedon, but he didn't sound convinced. ‘The coastal villages would have sent word. They would have warned us.'

‘They sent a messenger,' said Lysander. ‘But the Persians already had men ashore. They killed him, with arrows.'

Sarpedon turned from him, and faced the anxious faces of the Council.

‘It sounds as though he speaks the truth – the Persians are fond of their cowardly bows. It means they don't have to look into the eyes of the man they killed.'

Some of the men nodded. Tellios did not. He pointed at Lysander.

‘How can we trust this boy? Look at him. He's not yet a man.'

‘He is my grandson,' said Sarpedon, ‘and he has completed the Ordeal. His word is as good as my own.'

Tellios bowed his head respectfully.

Sarpedon motioned to Kassandra. ‘Leave us, granddaughter.' Kassandra did as she was told, and Lysander turned to go after her.

‘Not you,' said Sarpedon. ‘Come with me.'

Lysander watched Kassandra slip into the villa, casting a last glance back in his direction. Perhaps he shouldn't have been so harsh with her earlier. Sarpedon strode back towards the centre of the courtyard. The crowd parted to let them through.

‘We must make new plans,' bellowed Sarpedon.

What looked like a thick parchment lay rolled up on the ground. Sarpedon took hold of one end and pulled it open. Lysander saw that it was a cured animal hide. From its size, he guessed it belonged to a cow or ox. There were markings painted on the surface with brown dye. He recognised one word – Sparta.

‘This map shows Sparta and the surrounding lands, Lysander,' said Sarpedon. He ran his finger over the markings. ‘Here are the mountains – Taygetos to the west, Parnon to the east. The river Eurotas flows here.' He traced a line through the five villages to the sea. ‘The Persian forces we know of have landed here, beyond the northern passes. We are holding them for now, but if they break through and reach the forests to the west, our advantage is lost. We must keep them in the open.' He looked at Lysander, his face hard. ‘Show us, Lysander, where did you see the boats?'

Lysander studied the map, and laid his finger by the southern coast.

‘And how many ships were there?' asked Myron.

Lysander thought back.

‘At least thirty,' he said.

Sarpedon drew in a sharp breath. ‘With a hundred men on board each ship, that makes at least three thousand. They'll be here at dawn.'

‘We don't have enough men,' said Myron. ‘They'll burn Sparta to the ground!'

Sarpedon stood to his full height and massaged his forehead with his scarred hand. Could three thousand Persians really lay waste to Sparta?

Tellios spoke next. ‘We must evacuate the King to Taras, and send the city's treasures with him.'

‘But what about the Helots?' asked Lysander.

Myron laughed. ‘What of them, boy? They will burn in their houses or be taken for slaves. We cannot concern ourselves with their fate.'

‘No,' said Sarpedon. ‘The boy is right. We cannot abandon the city. If the Persians gain a stronghold, they will never be dislodged. They'll be like ants, swarming all over Greece.'

‘And how will we face three thousand Persians?' asked Tellios, sneering. A few others murmured their assent.

‘We'll gain nothing but more Spartan corpses for the birds to pick at,' said another.

A muscle in Sarpedon's jaw twitched as he listened to the other men.

‘Better to live and fight another day,' said Tellios,
turning to the others. One or two nodded in agreement.

Sarpedon grabbed a pot, and flung it against a pillar. Earth and fragments of pottery exploded across the courtyard and Lysander flinched.

‘You doubters bring shame on Sparta!' roared Sarpedon. ‘You ask how we will face them? With courage! While we still have men, we still have hope. A thousand men await with their shields and spears, and every one of them is ready to give his blood! Which is more than can be said for you, Tellios!'

The crowd was silent. Tellios stared at Sarpedon. For a moment, Lysander thought a fight would erupt, but Tellios sat down slowly.

‘You are living in a past age, Sarpedon,' he said quietly. ‘This is a time to be practical, rather than shedding lives needlessly.'

‘Tell us, Ephor,' said Myron. ‘How will we repel the Persians?'

Sarpedon stared at the map, and then at Lysander.

‘With an old wrestling technique,' he smiled. ‘We will use a feint.'

Several of the Elders shook their heads, and Lysander heard someone mutter, ‘He's weak in the head.' Lysander fought the urge to speak out. He knew his place.

Sarpedon knelt stiffly beside the map.

‘Bring me some of those pebbles, Lysander,' he said, pointing to a pot. Lysander grabbed a handful and laid
them on the map. Sarpedon positioned two lines along the mountain ranges either side of the river.

‘We will send our one thousand Spartans in a pincer movement, five hundred on either flank along the tree-covered mountain ridges. We'll crush the Persians between them. Their armies will be in disarray.'

Lysander looked into Sarpedon's eyes. It was a brave plan, but risky.

‘Vaumisa is no fool,' said Myron. ‘Why would he fall for such a trick?'

‘Because,' replied Sarpedon, lifting a finger, ‘we will give him bait.'

The Elders exchanged glances, and Lysander heard hissed whispers. What was his grandfather planning?

‘What will you use as bait?' he asked. Sarpedon glanced at Lysander, then looked quickly back at the map.

‘We will need a battalion to meet the Persians on the plain,' said Sarpedon. ‘To draw them forward. If Vaumisa scents an easy victory he won't be able to resist. I have fought his tribe before, many years ago. Many of you were with me in their land and saw the opulence in which they dwell, bedecked with jewels and gold. Persians are greedy. If they think Sparta is within their grasp, they will not hesitate.'

Myron the Ephor nodded.

‘It might work,' he said, ‘but where can we find another battalion? We'll need the remaining men on the flanks. We have no other soldiers.'

Sarpedon smiled. Lysander felt a pulse of excitement flow through him.
Is he planning what I think he's planning?
Lysander thought.
Could it be?

‘There are others who can fight,' Sarpedon said simply. Then he looked at Lysander a second time. Lysander understood immediately. His grandfather wanted him to fight for Sparta.

‘Boys?' scoffed Tellios, coming to stand between the two of them. ‘You want us to send students into battle against the ruthless armies of Persia? Has Zeus sent down a thunderbolt on to your head?'

‘We can do it,' protested Lysander from behind Tellios. The older man turned round to gaze at him in open mockery. The crowd erupted into laughter, and Lysander's skin prickled with heat.

‘Have any of you got a different plan?' he shouted. ‘Or will you all scatter like a flock of starlings?'

One by one the men stopped laughing and straightened their backs. Lysander had deliberately stopped short of calling them cowards, but he could see he had their attention now.

‘Sarpedon is right,' he said, walking around the courtyard. ‘If we abandon it, the city will fall to Vaumisa, and all of Greece will hear that Spartans fled when they could have stayed to fight.'

‘You should stay out of politics, boy,' said Tellios.

‘This isn't about politics,' countered Lysander, spinning round. ‘This is about being true to Sparta.' He found that his fist had come up over his heart.

‘And what do you know of Sparta?' said Tellios. ‘Before the summer, you were planting crops in the field.'

The crowd gasped at the insult.

‘A Spartan would defend his name,' Sarpedon muttered from behind Lysander. Lysander knew what he meant – in the Council there could be no favours because of family. Lysander would have to prove his worth to these men. He turned back to Tellios.

‘I can shoulder a weapon as well as any man in the phalanx,' he said.

‘Can you, indeed?' said the Ephor. ‘Then prove yourself.' He looked at one of the other Elders. ‘Fetch those guards from the gate.'

The man looked at Sarpedon, as if asking permission. Sarpedon nodded.

Moments later, Kyros and Alexandros came into the courtyard, looking confused.

‘You!' said Tellios, pointing to Kyros. ‘Give the boy your sword.' Kyros unsheathed his blade and handed the hilt to Lysander. He took the weapon carefully, wondering what the Ephor had planned. He had only ever fought with the blunted weapons of the agoge. This was sharpened to a deadly edge. He looked at his grandfather, but Sarpedon's face gave nothing away.

‘Right,' said Tellios, this time motioning to Alexandros. ‘Let's see how well this boy handles a weapon. Fight him.'

‘How will we decide who's won?' asked Lysander.