Birth of a Warrior (23 page)

‘Spartans!' said Vaumisa loudly. He turned and climbed to the deck, barking orders in his native tongue.

The Persians scrambled across the deck, seizing bows and quivers. Vaumisa bellowed furiously, and pointed to where Lysander and Kassandra were standing beside Sarpedon's body. The archers turned and hurried to string their arrows.

‘We have to jump!' shouted Lysander, grabbing Kassandra's arm.

She pulled back. ‘I can't leave my grandfather!'

There was no time to argue. Lysander slipped his
arm around her waist and propelled her towards the edge of the platform. Her legs wheeled as she fell through the air towards the water. Lysander launched off behind her, hearing the soft
pffft
of an arrow pass his ear.

The water took him. Kassandra was already at the surface and he swam up beside her. She was panting with panic and cold. The Persians were lining the deck above, aiming their bows.

‘Back down!' he shouted, pushing her head beneath the water.

Arrows darted silently through the water around them, trailing white bubbles. He grabbed Kassandra's hand and kicked hard. She seemed to understand and pulled her hand free, swimming beside him underwater. Lysander swam until his lungs were close to bursting, then broke the surface with Kassandra beside him.

‘Are you hurt?' he shouted to Kassandra.

‘No,' she gasped. ‘I don't think so.'

The Persian ship was about twenty paces away. They were firing arrows at the approaching Greek ships now. As the trireme drew closer, Lysander could see the soldiers lined up along the decks, spears at the ready. Every time a volley of arrows arced above them, they took shelter beneath their shields in unison. The oars lifted chaotically in the Persian ship and began to churn the water. They were trying to escape.

‘Help!' shouted Kassandra. ‘Over here!'

Lysander joined his voice with hers, until a soldier on the nearest Greek ship spotted them and shouted an order back to his helmsman.

The ship split from the others and came towards them. As it drifted alongside, a ladder was thrown over. Lysander held Kassandra by the waist and thrust her out of the water. A soldier reached from above and pulled her up. Lysander followed, shivering as he climbed the ladder. He only just had the strength to hang on. Two hands gripped him under the armpits and lifted him the rest of the way.

He was standing face-to-face with Demaratos.

‘Sarpedon?' he asked urgently. ‘Is he safe?'

Lysander shook his head. Demaratos placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘I'm sorry. He was a great warrior. We will avenge his death. Come on,' he said. ‘There are Persians to capture.'

A Spartan soldier had thrown his cloak around Kassandra's shoulders. She came to Lysander's side, shivering with cold, her sodden hair sticking to her face. He put his arm around her and the two of them gazed out to sea.

Lysander's ship was last in the pursuit now, and the others were close behind Vaumisa's fleeing ship. Lysander could see Vaumisa standing on the forecastle of the Persian ship, anxiously looking back and shouting orders to his men. But they were tiring. The oars didn't move with such speed any longer. The first
two Greek ships were level now, one on each side, about two boat-lengths away. Lust for vengeance boiled in the pit of Lysander's stomach. His grandfather's death would not be for nothing.

‘Row faster!' shouted the commander on Lysander's ship.

As the first Greek ship closed in, Lysander could see Vaumisa abandon his platform.

‘That's right,' said Demaratos from Lysander's side. ‘Run away if you can.'

The reinforced prow of the Greek ship crashed into the stern of Vaumisa's vessel, shattering the hull and sending splinters of wood flying through the air. The oars on the port side of the boat jammed in the water, and it came to a sudden halt, turning jarringly in the water. The second Greek ship came from the other side, and rammed home into the starboard. In the chaos, Lysander saw the Persian hull splinter. As the planks crumbled into the water, he stared into the belly of the ship. Water gushed in and screams of panic filled the air.

‘Take these,' said Demaratos, handing Lysander a shield and spear. ‘Kassandra – go below. It's not safe here.'

‘I'm not afraid,' she said coldly. ‘I want to see Vaumisa brought to justice.'

Their vessel was drawing alongside now, and adrenalin surged through every one of Lysander's limbs. The Persian deck was in chaos, as oarsmen and soldiers
armed themselves for combat. Lysander could no longer see Vaumisa.

‘Reel them in!' ordered the commander. Soldiers standing on the edge of the boat swung ropes armed with hooks on to the Persian ship. The irons bit home, and immediately the Spartans began pulling the Persian ship towards their own. The water churned with foam beneath the ships and Lysander watched as Persians who'd fallen into the water were crushed as the two hulls ground together. The Spartans gave a blood-curdling cry and poured on to the Persian deck, spears held high. Lysander jumped as well, followed by Demaratos. Lysander thrust his spear at the nearest Persian. The tip ripped across his belly and spilled his guts over the deck. Lysander turned the spear around and smashed the lizard-sticker into the prone soldier's cheek, killing him instantly.

The Persians were outnumbered. Some were already giving up, but the Spartans showed them no mercy other than a quick death. But where was Vaumisa? Lysander scoured the deck, threading through the slaughter. He climbed on to the platform and saw Sarpedon's body lying where they had left it. His peaceful face showed nothing of the trauma he had undergone. If it wasn't for the sword's hilt sticking out of his chest, and the pool of thick black blood, he might have died in his sleep. Lysander fought back his tears. The rear end of the ship listed as water flooded the hull, and Lysander stumbled to keep his balance.
The vessel wouldn't be afloat for much longer.

Then Lysander saw Vaumisa.

In the dark water, forty paces further out, the Persian general was making away in Sarpedon's rowing boat, with Cleeto heaving desperately at the oars.

Lysander shouldered his spear.

‘Persian!' he shouted. Vaumisa sat in the small boat and stared back. Lysander couldn't make out his expression. It didn't matter to him now.

Lysander pulled back his spear arm. He focused along the shaft, as his tutor had taught him. ‘Never throw your spear unless you really have to,' Diokles had always said.

I have to
, whispered Lysander to himself.

He launched the spear, following through with the throwing arm for maximum power.

Vaumisa had nowhere to run.

The tip caught him beneath the neck and burst through the other side, showering Cleeto with gore. The general's hands went to his throat as the blood sprayed over his torso and into the water around. His eyes went wide with shock, and Lysander heard a guttural noise as Vaumisa began to choke on his own blood. The Persian toppled forward, his face smashing into the edge of the rowing boat with the full force of his body's bulk. The boat rocked perilously. Vaumisa's hands scrabbled at his throat as he writhed like a fish suffocating in the air. Cleeto cowered at the back of the boat. Vaumisa jerked suddenly and slammed sideways. A
wave of water swamped the vessel and Cleeto tried desperately to keep the boat steady by throwing himself to the opposite side. It wasn't enough. It tipped over, sending both men into the dark water.

Cleeto's head broke the surface, and his hands thrashed. All Lysander heard was a muffled cry. Then he was gone. Lysander watched the surface for any other signs of life. There were none. Vaumisa was dead.

May the Furies torment you for eternity
, Lysander prayed. Then he turned away.

The damaged Persian ship lurched, and the bow lifted out of the water.

‘It's sinking!' shouted Demaratos. The other Spartans were already jumping back on to their own ship. Lysander looked at his grandfather's body.

‘I can't go without Sarpedon,' said Lysander. ‘Help me with him.'

Demaratos nodded, and came to the base of the platform. Lysander pulled the sword from Sarpedon's body, and placed the weapon in his own sheath. A small well of blood escaped the fatal wound. He placed two hands under Sarpedon's mighty shoulders. The body was still warm, and it crushed Lysander's heart to think of the life that had seeped away. He managed to move his grandfather's corpse to the edge of the platform where Demaratos could reach the legs.

‘Ready?' Lysander asked Demaratos. His friend gave a single nod as he prepared to take the weight. Lysander cradled his grandfather's head gently while
Demaratos held his legs. Between them, they lowered the corpse. The timbers of the Persian ship creaked.

The Spartans were already uncoupling their hooks from the ship, preparing to depart.

‘Help us!' shouted Lysander. ‘This man is an Ephor of Sparta.'

A small group came over to assist Lysander and Demaratos. When Demaratos and the body were safely aboard the Spartan ship, Lysander clambered over as well.

Lysander and his friend stood side by side, watching in silence as the Persian vessel was swallowed by the waves. Soon all that remained were corpses, floating in the sea water amongst the debris of weapons and timber.

The waves slapped against the hull of the ship as it came to a halt at the jetty at Gytheion. The shoreline was crowded with soldiers, bloodied and filthy from battle. Most of the small buildings and fishing boats were no more than blackened, charred remains. The Ephor called Myron stood on the landing gangway below, with a dozen Spartan soldiers standing in his wake.

‘Where is Vaumisa?' he called up.

‘He's dead,' said Demaratos. ‘Lysander killed him.'

The Ephor looked hard at Lysander.

‘Sparta thanks you, son of Thorakis. You have proved yourself a brave warrior. And Sarpedon?'

Demaratos was silent, and Lysander could not bring himself to speak.

‘Come, where is the Ephor?' said Myron.

Lysander fought to control his voice. ‘He's … dead.' Myron's face took on a sheen of disbelief as he heard the news. ‘He sacrificed his own life,' continued Lysander, ‘so that Kassandra and I could live.'

Myron was silent, but the soldiers behind him exchanged glances and murmurs. One whispered, ‘It cannot be true.'

‘And his body?' said Myron eventually.

‘We rescued it,' said Lysander, gesturing behind him. Sarpedon's body was lying on a makeshift stretcher of sailcloth and ship's planks. Kassandra, her face deathly pale, sat at his side, holding the old man's hand. Myron climbed the bow ladder, and pulled himself up to the handrail to look on to the deck. The truth confirmed, he sank back to the jetty.

The Ephor nodded slowly, his jaw set firm and his eyes far away. ‘The Council must be told,' he muttered. Then he turned back to Lysander. ‘Sarpedon is lucky to have you as a descendant.' The tears itched behind Lysander's eyes – he blinked them away. ‘He must be taken to Sparta immediately, and given a hero's funeral.' He turned to his men. ‘Arrange a cart. I want one of you to ride ahead. Take the fastest horse, and tell them to inform the Elders that Sarpedon is dead.'

‘I'll escort the body,' said Lysander. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving his grandfather's side.

‘Very well,' said Myron. ‘Bring horses for these Spartans,' he ordered.

Lysander turned and looked back to Kassandra. Demaratos crouched beside her and she was trembling with the cold. He realised that he was her only real family now.

He hobbled back towards them. Every step sent pain through his injured calf, but the wound was already scabbed with blood, and there was no sign of infection.

‘We have to go,' he said.

Kassandra looked up at him, her eyes hollow with grief. Demaratos lifted her hand from Sarpedon's and helped her to her feet.

While they watched, Sarpedon's body was transferred from the ship to a waiting cart. Two horses were harnessed into place, and a Spartan soldier came out from amongst the crowd. Lysander didn't recognise him, with all the dirt and blood that crusted his face.

‘Greetings, friend.' The voice told him who it was.

‘Greetings, Leonidas,' replied Lysander.

Leonidas threw his arms around Lysander's shoulders and held him in an embrace. Behind him, Lysander spotted Orpheus, resting against an upturned rowing boat. A surgeon had obviously seen to him. There was nothing below his knee, and a bandage heavy with blood covered the stump. He was pale, but he managed to raise a hand in Lysander's direction.

‘Lysander,' said Myron. He turned to the Ephor, who was holding the reins of a horse. Lysander recognised
that it was Pegasus, Sarpedon's finest stallion. ‘Ride to Sparta with Sarpedon.'

‘Thank you,' said Lysander, stroking Pegasus' flank. Demaratos helped Kassandra into the back of the cart and jumped in beside her. Myron came forward with a fleece and handed it to Demaratos. He draped it around Kassandra's shoulders.

Suddenly shouts stirred from further along the shore. Two Spartan soldiers were dragging a figure between them and he shouted curses in his own tongue.

As they reached Myron and Lysander, they threw him to the ground.

‘Cleeto!' Lysander exclaimed.

‘Sir,' one of the Spartans addressed the Ephor. ‘We found this Persian trying to climb ashore at the rocks.'

‘Do you know this villain, Lysander?'

Lysander nodded. ‘Yes, he tried to hang me on board Vaumisa's vessel. He was one of the general's personal guards.'

Myron looked at Cleeto in disgust.

‘Then his life is yours, Lysander. What would you have us do with him?'

Lysander looked at where Vaumisa's henchman knelt, still dripping saltwater. He remembered how he had knotted the noose and placed it over his neck. How he had pulled on the rope that almost killed him.