Sword of Apollo (41 page)

“I have fought many men to the death since we last met,” said Nikias.

“And so have I,” said Demetrios gravely. “It is the only way I stayed alive—the skills that your grandfather and my noble father and the others back home taught me. I am a sword forged in Plataea. Nothing could bend me or break me. Not even this place. And besides,” he added with a harsh laugh, “I knew that you would win.”

Nikias had felt an intense surge of panic at the mention of Demetrios's father. How was he going to break it to his friend that his own father had been the traitor who let the Thebans into the citadel on the night of the sneak attack? The news would break him. It seemed cruel. No, it would be vicious to reveal the horror of what Nauklydes had done. “How—how did you survive here?” he asked, his voice catching in his throat.

“I will not tell my tale until I have word of home and my father and sister,” said Demetrios. “And how you came to this place. Speak, Nikias. Although seeing you has filled my heart with joy, it comes with a frost—a terror of what has happened in Plataea. For nothing good could have sent you all the way to this cursed island. Speak, before I lose my mind.”

“It is all bad news,” said Nikias soberly. “There is nothing good.” He took Demetrios's hand and clasped it between his own. “Your father and sister are dead. Murdered by Thebans.”

Demetrios's eyes welled with tears. “Speak,” he said.

He told Demetrios the long and sorrowful tale of the sneak attack on Plataea and the subsequent events, omitting everything of the culpability of Demetrios's father, crafting a tale in which Nauklydes died at the battle in front of the Gates of Pausanius—a valiant death in defense of the citadel. He could not bring himself to say the truth: that Nauklydes had fallen as low as a citizen could go in his efforts to make a secret pact with the Spartans, place himself in power, and assure Demetrios's safety. And that he had perished in misery and shame, executed by his fellow citizens.

Nikias then recounted the rest of his tale—about his disastrous journey to Athens and the even more ill-starred return home. And then, two and a half years later, the fire on the mountain and the evacuation of Plataea. He told him of the contagion in Athens, and the journey to Serifos with his cousin Phoenix, and finally about the long and strange sea journey that had brought him to Syrakuse and into the clutches of Pantares. When he was done talking, Demetrios put his head on Nikias's shoulder and wept quietly. Nikias wrapped his arm around his friend's shoulder and spoke comforting words, but his mind was racing, going back over everything that he had told Demetrios, wondering if he had slipped up somewhere in his retelling of the tale. Demetrios was a clever and cunning man who had always been difficult to trick, and Nikias had never lied to him before because his friend could invariably see through a ruse.

“I'm so happy that I could hear this story from you,” said Demetrios at last. “Someone that I trust with my life. For now I know that the hateful things that Pantares told me before he cast me into this place to rot were lies.”

“What did he tell you?” asked Nikias.

“That my father had made an alliance with the Spartans,” said Demetrios. “That he was planning to overthrow the old Arkon and seize control of Plataea. He said that my father had sent me here to Syrakuse to keep me safe until all was done. Pantares, the gloating old satyr, told me that the Spartans had whisperers who had been studying the letters that I had been sending home to my father, and that they could mimic my writing and my mind so well that once I was in the quarry they would continue sending him missives as if from my hand.”

“He did get those letters,” said Nikias. “I went to call on him and your sister a few months before the sneak attack. He read one of them to me. You said—or rather, the whisperer who wrote the letter said—that you'd lost fifty drachmas gambling. Your father was furious.”

“Was he?” asked Demetrios with a faint smile. “He should have known better. I never lose at dice. I'm lucky.”

Nikias thought about the complex web of deceit that had been woven to keep Nauklydes mollified in Plataea—to make him think that his son was still safe, while all along Demetrios had been a prisoner in the quarry. “Who is this Barka?” he asked suddenly. “Why did he give me that strange message about ‘the Ear of Dionysus?'”

Demetrios stood up and stared out the cave entrance. Some men were standing guard there, making sure that nobody disturbed the Quarry Lord. Demetrios caught the eye of one of them and waved them away with the merest gesture and they disappeared from sight. But Nikias sensed that they were still nearby. It did not surprise Nikias that his friend had risen to become the leader of this group. Back home, he had been the young man whom everyone flocked to—even the older men of Plataea, many of whom had been in love with him. For Demetrios was not only unnaturally handsome, with his keen gray eyes and black hair, but he was also physically powerful. It was his magnetism, however, that made him such a force to be reckoned with. When people met him they were instantly attracted to him and wanted to be his friend … or more. So it was only natural that he would be tossed into a pit of criminals and killers and, expected to die, instead rise to the top of the heap.

“Barka was my lover,” Demetrios said at length. “When I first arrived here in Syrakuse four years ago, the eunuch was living with the Tyrant. I was attracted to the creature immediately—you know how I am with the delicate and pretty boys. They're my weakness. My heart might be Plataean, but my prick is all Spartan. Well, when I arrived here four years ago I was like one of those idiots in a comedy who gets off the boat with their eyes as big as plates. I had been to Athens, of course, but Syrakuse is different. It looks and smells like a place from a tale. And I was smitten from the start. Arkadios, my father's old Lydian slave—do you remember him? Wheezy old sheep-stuffer—”

“Yes, of course,” said Nikias, imitating the old man's noisy breathing.

“Well, he kept warning me to keep out of trouble,” continued Demetrios with a laugh. “‘Don't step in bilgewater and your feet won't stink,' he'd always tell me. He had a bad feeling from the start that things were amiss here. But I dove in headfirst. Pantares was a very affable host at the beginning. He taught me how to dress. And how to speak the local lingo, so that I didn't sound like a country dweller. He even introduced me to all of his wealthy friends—the men who really control this cracked clay pot of a democracy. I bedded more rich sons than a Persian satrap.” He crossed his arms on his chest, gritted his teeth, and stretched his neck, jutting forth his chin—a familiar and ugly gesture that Nikias had seen him make countless times—a look that meant that he was fuming.

“I was tutored by all the best teachers,” he went on, relaxing his neck and sighing. “I even learned to play the harp after that first year, if you can believe it. You'd be amazed. I kept saying, ‘My friend Nikias can play like Orpheus. He tried to teach me but it didn't stick.' But I guess it helps when your teacher is your lover.” He gave Nikias an arch look, then went on. “Barka the eunuch and I kept making eyes at each other, and finally, one night, he came to my room and told me that he loved me and that he'd die without me. The sex that followed was transforming, my friend. There is no other word for it. This little creature seemed to know how to satisfy every one of my desires. He knew just the right words to utter. It was as if he were inside my head.”

“They say he's a soothsayer,” said Nikias.

“Not just a soothsayer,” replied Demetrios. “He can see into the future. That's no lie. But he can also see into men's hearts. And he gazed into mine. Pantares bought him when he was very young from a Karthaginian slaver. Pantares is the one who made Barka a eunuch. The Tyrant is afraid of his creation, but the general is also in awe of him. Pantares allowed Barka to go off for months at a time on the crew of some marauder ship. But the eunuch would always come back from his adventures with important information about what was going on in the world that Pantares could use to strengthen his base of power. He was Pantares's spy, you see? And perhaps the spy of other men. Maybe even the Spartans.”

Nikias suddenly flashed on a hazy memory. After Eurymakus had captured and tortured him, the Theban assassin took him to the Spartans who were encamped outside of Plataea and traded Nikias to General Draco. Nikias had been in a nightmarish stupor at the time, suffering from a concussion and a high fever. He remembered someone coming to him in the tent and whispering in his ear. Someone who told him that he was a friend of Demetrios. That must have been Barka! It made perfect sense: Barka had been in Plataea, visiting Chusor at the time. The eunuch could have snuck out of the citadel and made his way to the Spartan camp. Perhaps the Spartans were the ones responsible for Barka coming to Plataea in the first place. They needed a spy on the inside of the citadel, and they used Barka's love for Demetrios as leverage. Perhaps they promised to help free Demetrios from the Prison Pits if Barka helped bring Plataea to its knees. But he decided to keep this information to himself.

“I called Barka ‘Hyakinthos,'” continued Demetrios. “A pretty girl's name. To flatter and please him. I gave him my mother's ring—you know, the one with Pegasos carved on it. We used to go to this little shrine on the outskirts of the town—a temple of Artemis. I took him there and put flowers in his hair and told him that we were married.” He paused and shook his head. “I'm surprised that Barka has come back to Pantares's house searching for me. After what I did to him. After I left him to die.”

“What do you mean?” asked Nikias.

Demetrios glanced at Nikias and chewed on the sides of his cheeks for a bit before saying, “A year after my arrival Arkadios died suddenly. It was very strange. He was an old man but in perfect health. But he got very ill one night and was dead the next morning. I know now that he had been poisoned. That night Barka came to me in hysterics. He told me that some Lakonian merchants—men who had been staying under Pantares's roof for several months—were responsible for Arkadios's death. And that they'd killed him because he'd overheard one of them talking about me. Barka said that these men were Spartan spies and that they had been sent to order Pantares to lock me up. I thought that Barka was out of his mind. I asked him why the Spartans would have any interest in me. And he told me that my father was a tool of the Spartans—that he was planning to betray Plataea.” He stopped and bared his teeth. “Well, you can imagine how I reacted. I grabbed Barka around the throat and threatened to kill him for saying such a thing. But he told me that Pantares had given him this information during their love play. He said that even if my father wasn't a traitor, that Pantares was in league with the Spartans and that I was in danger. He said he'd seen a Spartan skytale. Do you know what this is?”

“A length of cloth,” said Nikias. “You wrap it around a dowel of a particular thickness and write out a message. The person who receives the skytale must have a dowel of the same thickness or the message is meaningless.”

Demetrios nodded. “So Barka begged me to come away with him. He was so distraught that I agreed to his plan: to head north on foot from Syrakuse, then hire a fishing boat to cross the narrow sea to Italia. From there we'd hire mules and trek overland across Greater Greece to the city-state of Kroton where Barka's marauder friends would take us to the Gulf of Korinth and thence to Plataea. So we fled. He had a small fortune in darics sewn into the hem of his gown. Now, how had he come by those? I never asked.

“When we got to the Strait of Messina we realized that we were being followed by cavalry—Pantares's Tyrsenians. There wasn't enough time to hire a boat. But it's only two miles across the strait to Italia—Skylla on one side and Kharybdis on the other. So I jumped in and started swimming for my life. Barka followed me but he wasn't a strong swimmer. There are strange currents there, and a whirlpool—just like in Homer's tale. Barka got caught up in the pull and…” Demetrios stopped and shrugged. “I swam over and he clung to me, thinking I was going to save him. But I tore off his dress with the gold coins and pushed him away, swimming to the opposite shore. I had brought nothing with me, you see, for I had nothing of any worth except some rings given to me by admirers. And that was not going to be enough to get me back home. I left the poor creature screaming as he was pulled away on the current, screaming madly. I made it to the shore. You know how strong I am in the water—I could even outswim you, Nik.” He stared silently at the floor for a time, shaking his head.

“So what happened?”

“They tracked me down five days later,” said Demetrios. “They brought me back here and put me in the quarry. Barka wasn't here. I assumed that he was dead. But now I know he'd gotten away while I had been captured. That's irony for you.”

Nikias shook his head sadly. He realized that if Demetrios had escaped from Pantares's clutches, even if it had taken him a year to get back to Plataea, he still would have arrived before the Theban sneak attack. Nauklydes would have known that the Spartans had no intention of keeping their word, and Nauklydes would have called off his alliance with Eurymakus the Theban and Draco the Spartan. None of the terrible chain of events would have happened.

“You must tell me, friend,” said Demetrios, “how Penelope, my sister, died. And do not lie to me, for I will know.”

Nikias's mind leapt back to the night of the sneak attack. He'd been moving stealthily around the citadel's dark lanes, evading the army of Theban warriors who were occupying the streets and walls. He'd heard screams coming from Nauklydes's house and went to the undercroft, where he discovered a nightmare scene: Nauklydes bound and gagged by Thebans who had raped and beheaded Penelope, his daughter. The three warriors who had done this evil thing were savagely raping one of Nauklydes's young slave girls, and Nikias destroyed them all in a blind rage.…