Free Killer of Men by Christian Cameron

smiled like a fox, and I suddenly knew who he must be. He was Odysseus. He was like Odysseus come to life.
    Draco wanted to splutter, but the man was so smooth – and so pleasant – that it was hard to gainsay him. ‘As you say, lord,’ Draco said.
    And then Pater came.
    He still had his leather apron on. He came out into the yard, saw the wine in the man’s hand and flashed me a rare smile of reward.
    ‘You wanted me, lord?’ he asked.
    ‘Do you know Epictetus?’
    ‘I count him a friend,’ Pater said.
    ‘He showed me a helmet in Athens. I rode over the mountain to have you make me one.’ The man was half a head taller than Pater. ‘And greaves.’
    Pater’s brow furrowed. ‘There are better smiths in Athens,’ he said.
    The man shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. But I’m here, so unless you don’t like the look of me, I’d thank you to start work tomorrow. I have a ship to catch at Corinth.’
    ‘Won’t the captain wait for you, lord?’ Pater asked.
    ‘I am the captain,’ the man said. He grinned. He had the happiest smile I’d seen on a grown man. ‘I sent them round from Athens.’
    I don’t think any of us had ever seen a man rich enough to own a ship before. The man held out his hand to Pater.
    ‘Technes of Plataea,’ Pater said.
    ‘Men call me Miltiades,’ the lord said.
    It was a name we all recognized, even then. The warlord of the Chersonese, his exploits were well known. For us, it was like having Achilles ride through our gate.
    ‘Oh, fame is a fine thing,’ he said, and his servant laughed with him while we stood around like the bumpkins we were.
    Pater made him a helmet and greaves, right enough. And Miltiades stayed for three days while Pater did the work and chased and repoussed stags and lions on to his order. I saw the helmet often enough in later years, but I didn’t get to stay to see it made. I was shipped back to dull old Calchas with the wine.
    I did carry with me one gem. That night, my brother and I lay on the floor in the room over the andron and listened to the men talk – Miltiades and Epictetus and Myron and Pater. Miltiades taught them how to have symposia without offending – taught them some poetry, showed them how to mix their wine, and never, ever let on that he was slumming with peasants. It’s a fine talent if you have it. Men call it the common touch when they are jealous. There was nothing common with Miltiades. He was, as I said, like a god on earth for the pleasure of his company and the power of his glance. He gave unstintingly of himself and men loved to follow him.
    He talked to the men about alliance with Athens. I was eight years old, and I understood immediately that he didn’t need a new helmet. He probably had ten helmets hanging from the rafters of his hall in the Chersonese. Mind you, as it turned out, he wore that helmet for the rest of his life – so he liked it. And it always put me in mind of my father, later, and what my father might have been.
    Aye, those are tears, little lady. We’re coming to the bad part.
    But not yet. Aye. Not yet. So we listened as they talked – almost plotted, but not quite. The talk was pretty general and never got down to cases. Miltiades told them how valuable an alliance with Plataea could be to the democrats in Athens, and how much more they had in common. And they listened, spellbound.
    And so did I.
    Then, late in the evening – I think I’d been asleep – Miltiades was making a point about trade when he stopped and raised his kylix . ‘I drink to your son Arimnestos,’ Miltiades said. ‘A handsome boy with the spirit of a lord. He guested me and sent a slave for wine as if he’d hosted a dozen like me. I doubt that I’d have done half as well at his age.’
    Pater laughed and the moment passed, but I would have died for Miltiades then. Of course, I almost did. Later.
    And the next day I went back to my priest on the mountain, and it seemed as if all hope of glory was lost.

3
    I spent