Birth of a Warrior (6 page)

‘It looks as though you've been keeping a little secret, doesn't it? Did you think I wouldn't find out?'

‘That's my food,' said Lysander.

‘You're wrong – it's our food,' said Agesilaus. ‘I spotted it when Diokles asked me to check your sack.'

‘Why didn't you tell Diokles?' said Lysander.

‘If I hadn't kept quiet,' said Agesilaus, ‘we'd have nothing at all. You're forgetting the Spartan way – cheating is fine, as long as you don't get caught.'

Agesilaus picked up the handful of peppermint leaves that lay strewn across the ground.

‘Open your mouth,' he said. He grabbed Lysander's arm and twisted, kicking him hard in the kidney. ‘Do as I tell you, half-breed!' Lysander struggled to breathe as the pain brought tears to his eyes. His arm was close to breaking. He opened his mouth in a cry of pain. Agesilaus stuffed the ruined peppermint leaves between Lysander's lips. ‘Now, chew!'

Lysander's humiliation made him hate Agesilaus with a new passion. He forced himself to chew, grit and dirt grinding against his teeth.
I hate you!
Lysander silently swore at Agesilaus. The older boy watched to make sure that Lysander swallowed. Then with a nod of satisfaction, Agesilaus picked up the pouch of meat and tied it to his belt.

‘I'm in charge of rations from now on,' said the bully. ‘And don't you forget it.'

‘Demaratos needed those leaves,' said Lysander. ‘Why would you do that?'

Agesilaus laughed. ‘Why not?' he smirked. ‘I'm not here to look after you. My job is to make life hard for you two up here. If I walk back alone from the hills, the Elders will simply say you weren't strong enough. I've seen it happen before. For now, you'll have to collect those leaves again.'

‘But there aren't any more,' Lysander protested, standing up.

‘Down there.' Agesilaus gave Lysander a shove and
pointed to a ledge of rock that extended out from a headland about a hundred paces away. Lysander could see the green plants growing in the shelter of the cliff face.

‘But how will I get down there?' asked Lysander.

Agesilaus laughed. ‘Carefully! Now, hand over your sandals.'

‘What?' said Lysander.

‘You heard, slave,' said Agesilaus. ‘They're a decent pair, and if you fall, I'll wear them myself – a memento of the great mothax, Lysander.'

‘You're mad,' said Lysander. ‘Those rocks are sharp as knives. I won't do it.'

Agesilaus' smile disappeared. ‘If you don't, I'll throw you off myself. So, choose. A few scratches to your feet? Or your brains all over the rocks, picked at by crows.'

Agesilaus wasn't joking. Lysander bent down to unstrap his sandals, as Agesilaus watched closely.
I can do this
, he told himself. Agesilaus snatched the sandals from him.

‘You can have them back at camp,' he said, walking back up the slope. ‘If we see you again.'

Lysander approached the edge of the cliff. There was no obvious path down – the mountainside was almost vertical. The earth was broken and dusty, and a few sharp fragments of flint jutted from the hillside. Hundreds of feet below was a pine forest. Lysander felt dizzy just looking down there. He hated the idea of risking his life for Demaratos – a boy who had always
treated him badly. But he couldn't forget Kassandra's words:
He's better than you think
. Plus, Lysander knew there was a part of him that didn't want to accept defeat. He wanted to show his compatriots that he could be brave – braver than either of them.

Lysander crouched low to the ground and turned, so that his back was facing the drop. Gripping a tree root, he lowered his right leg over the edge. His foot found a crevice.
One step at a time
, he told himself.
One step at a time
. Lysander lowered his other foot, taking most of his weight on his arms. Again, he managed to find a toehold. A shard of shingle sliced the tender flesh of his instep, and Lysander drew a sharp breath through his teeth. He could feel the air sting where the skin had been torn. But he had to go on. He lowered his feet further, and found a narrow ledge to balance on. Next he looked for a handhold. Leaning back to inspect the cliff face, his weight shifted. He realised his mistake immediately. There was a sound of sliding earth, and a sensation of weightlessness shot through him.

‘No!' he cried out into the empty air. But it was too late.

Lysander was falling.

Lysander slid down the rock face. His limbs scraped against the slope and the side of his face smashed into the hard-packed earth. Then his foot jarred on something, and his body jerked to one side. A blow crashed into his ribs, knocking the wind out of his lungs and rattling his teeth. A cry of pain escaped Lysander, but somehow he managed to find a handhold, grabbing hold of a slither of rock. He gasped for air while his legs dangled uselessly. Looking up, Lysander realised he had fallen about twenty feet.

‘Help me!' he shouted, not caring that raw fear filled his voice. He heaved himself upwards, until his chest was level with the edge of the ledge, but he didn't have the strength in his arms to pull himself any higher. He sank back, defeated. ‘Please! Somebody! Agesilaus!'

Come on!
he told himself. An image flashed before his eyes: Agesilaus telling Sarpedon that he had died in the mountains, that he wasn't tough enough to prove himself.
You're not going to die here!
He took a deep
breath and felt strength pulse into his arms and hands. He let out a cry through gritted teeth and pulled with all his might. A fraction at a time, he dragged his body upwards, until he got an elbow on to the ledge. It was enough. His other elbow followed as he hauled his body over the edge. He lay on his back, breathing hard, his heart knocking in his chest. His ribs were sore to touch, and he hoped he hadn't broken one of them. He put a hand to his cheek. The skin was grazed and already feeling bruised beneath. Other than that, only his fingertips, torn with trying to stop his descent, and his bloody knees and feet were evidence of how close death had been. Any further to the left, and the ledge would not have saved him. Above him, the eagle circled in the blue sky.

Lysander waited for his breathing to return to normal. Then he climbed stiffly to his feet and began to pick the peppermint leaves, one by one.

Lysander arrived back at the shelter to find Agesilaus sitting on a rock, chewing on a strip of dried meat.

‘Your feet look sore,' he smirked, throwing Lysander's sandals at him. ‘This is delicious, by the way.'

‘Where's Demaratos?' asked Lysander, bending to fasten the sandals on to his bloody and filthy feet. He couldn't afford to use his water to wash them.

‘I sent him to get firewood,' said Agesilaus. ‘Here he comes now.'

Demaratos emerged from the trees near their
shelter, walking slowly with a handful of sticks clutched to his chest. They clattered to the ground when he saw Lysander.

‘You treacherous swine!' he shouted. Demaratos came running at Lysander and tackled him in the middle with his shoulder, knocking him into the dirt. Then he pounded Lysander with tight fists, punches landing in Lysander's face and on his chest. Lysander lowered his elbow to protect his ribs and tried to ward off the blows to his face with his other arm.

‘How dare you keep food from us!' shouted Demaratos. ‘I'll tear you apart.'

Lysander bucked and managed to throw Demaratos off. His enemy didn't move.
He feels as weak as me
, thought Lysander.

‘I was going to share it!' he shouted back. ‘I was saving it for when we were desperate.'

‘No, you weren't,' said Demaratos. ‘You would have eaten it all. You only care about yourself!'

Lysander was too angry to say anything. Instead, he stood up slowly and fetched his sack from where it lay on the ground. He took out the peppermint leaves and threw them at Demaratos's feet.

‘If I only cared about myself,' he shouted, ‘why have I just risked my life to bring you these?' Demaratos looked at the leaves silently, and then at Lysander. ‘Kassandra tried to tell me you weren't a vicious thug. But she was wrong.'

Demaratos's eyes fell to the ground.

‘Chew them,' said Lysander in disgust. ‘They'll settle your stomach. I'll go and get the rest of the firewood before the sun sets.'

‘No, you won't,' said Agesilaus, swallowing a last mouthful of meat. ‘It's Demaratos's task, and he's failed. There's not enough kindling there to warm an infant. We won't have a fire tonight.'

Lysander was past caring. He watched Demaratos scrabbling in the dirt, trying to rescue the crushed peppermint. His fury began to ease. Is this what it meant to be a Spartan? Turning on each other like animals, ready to fight like scavengers over scraps of food?

Lysander turned away from the boy on his knees and the older Spartan who laughed at them. He leant his head back and rubbed his knuckles into his sore eyes. Then he walked away, desperate for a few moments away from his mountain compatriots.
If I survive this
, he told himself,
I swear I'll never suffer such indignities again
. After everything he had endured as a Helot slave, this was worse. This was as bad as it got.

Morning brought back the pain. As soon as he opened his eyes Lysander felt nausea squirm in his stomach. He was going to be sick. He managed to scrabble a few paces away from where the other boys slept before retching. Nothing came but a gagging cough and a thin trickle of bitter yellow bile. After a few more convulsions, Lysander climbed to his feet and
inspected his body in the pale light. A huge bruise, angry purple, spread under his chest on the left side. Part of it was spongy to the touch, definitely broken.

‘Feeling hungry?' said Agesilaus behind him.

Demaratos, too, had stirred, and was looking at Agesilaus with a mixture of pleading and anger, as the older Spartan took out another piece of meat and held it under his nostrils.

‘It smells very good,' he said, inhaling deeply. ‘I want to give you your day's ration, but first you have to earn it. Show me what you've learnt in the barracks.'

‘What do you mean?' asked Lysander.

‘Well, you can start with some wrestling,' said Agesilaus. ‘They say that Diokles isn't as tough as he once was. They say he's going soft on you youngsters.'

Demaratos and Lysander shared a panicked glance. Lysander knew how weak he was feeling – surely Demaratos was the same.

‘You want us to wrestle each other?' said Demaratos quietly.

‘That's right,' said the older boy. ‘The winner gets this.' He held up the piece of meat. Lysander couldn't take his eyes from it. He would do anything for some food now, and even wondered if he could snatch it from Agesilaus' hands. He could run away, devour it and deal with the consequences later. But that was impossible. Agesilaus still looked strong and able – he was coping fine with the Ordeal.

‘I'll do it,' said Demaratos, and flashed a look at Lysander.

Lysander knew he had no choice. ‘Very well,' he said.

‘Good,' said Agesilaus, smiling. ‘The first to submit is the loser.'

Demaratos climbed slowly to his feet, never taking his gaze from Lysander. He was stood on slightly higher ground and already had an advantage. The look in his eyes reminded Lysander of a wild animal – focused and dangerous. Lysander longed to have the Fire of Ares hanging around his neck. He thought of the inscription written on the reverse.
The Fire of Ares shall inflame the righteous.
He needed that strength now. There was no way he could beat Demaratos – his bones felt fragile and his limbs sapped of energy.

Demaratos darted forward, and Lysander managed to skip out of his grasp, but an arm caught his rib, making his head spin. He held his hand to his side. A spark of annoyance flared. They circled, and now Lysander stood further up the slope.

‘It's like watching two girls fighting,' said Agesilaus from his perch.

Demaratos came forward again, and this time he managed to get his hands around Lysander's waist. With a heave, Lysander felt his body lifted off the ground. He let out a cry, but there was nothing he could do. Demaratos threw him to the ground on his back, jarring his spine and knocking his breath out of him. The pain in his rib threatened to make him black out.
Demaratos was already sitting at his feet, and had Lysander's leg threaded between his own. He gripped Lysander's foot with his hand. Lysander realised he was trying to apply the lock that Diokles had taught them.

‘I think this might be the end for you, Lysander,' came Agesilaus' voice.

Lysander had to do something – fast. He kicked at Demaratos's head, but he couldn't free himself. Demaratos found his grip and tightened the lock. Pain shot through Lysander's knee and ankle as Demaratos twisted his foot. There was only one chance left … With his free leg, Lysander aimed a kick at Demaratos's shoulder – the one he'd dislocated on the night of the Festival Games. His heel crunched home.

‘Helot dog!' Demaratos cried. Lysander felt his grip loosen. It was just enough. He pulled the foot free and aimed another kick, this time at Demaratos's face. It connected with his chin. Demaratos's jaw gave a crunching sound and he collapsed backwards. He was unconscious. Lysander stood over him. Blood trickled from Demaratos's mouth.

What have I done?
thought Lysander.

A slow clapping noise came from behind. Agesilaus was climbing down from his rock.

‘I'm impressed, Lysander,' he said. ‘You exploited Demaratos's weakness. That sort of determination and cunning will stand you in good stead on the battlefield. My tutor used to tell me: all is not lost until the blood runs cold in a Spartan's veins.' He tossed a piece of the
dried meat at Lysander's feet. Lysander didn't care about the dust. He sank to his knees and grabbed the pork, stuffing it into his mouth. The salty tang tasted delicious – Lysander had never known something could taste so good. At first, he swallowed without chewing, but the meat would not last long and he knew he would soon be hungry again. He forced himself to savour the last precious bites.