Free The Fire of Ares by Michael Ford

now Lysander felt in danger of his life. He struggled desperately to grip the animal’s flanks with his legs, while hanging on to Sarpedon with his hands. The dry soil burst in clouds from the horse’s feet. Lysander’s teeth rattled in his head as he prayed for the ordeal to be over.
    He was glad when they dismounted a short walk from the Helot settlement. The Ephor, who had changed from his toga into a coarse cloak, tied the reins to a fence post.
    â€˜Show me the way,’ he commanded.
    When they reached the door of Lysander’s home, he felt embarrassed. Sarpedon was used to luxury, and here he was on the threshold of Lysander’s one-room shack. He knocked on the door.
    â€˜Who’s there?’ came his mother’s voice.
    â€˜It’s me – Lysander,’ he replied, trying to disguise the worry he was feeling.
    He heard the wooden bar being lifted from its cradle, and the door swung open.
    â€˜I was worried about you, Lysander,’ Athenasia said, throwing her arms around Lysander’s shoulders. ‘They told me Agestes came here and took you. Are you all right? Are you …’ She stopped when she spotted Sarpedon. She stumbled backwards into the room and pushed herself against the rear wall. Both hands reached for her mouth.
    â€˜How … no … why are you … no,’ she muttered,shaking her head. Lysander followed her in, and tried to calm her.
    â€˜Mother, it’s fine. I am here,’ he said, attempting to draw her hands down from her face. ‘What’s wrong?’ But Athenasia could not take her eyes from the tall figure on her doorstep. Lysander watched as Sarpedon took three steps inside the shack, bowing his head to fit beneath the lintel. Then he spoke.
    â€˜Greetings, Athenasia. It has been a long time.’

CHAPTER 9
    The Spartan Ephor stepped further into the room, filling the space around him.
    â€˜Athenasia, I mean you no harm, and I am not here to cause any trouble. I wanted only to see if it was true.’
    The words had little effect on Lysander’s mother. She sat, stiff with fear, her eyes wide with alarm.
    â€˜What do you want with my mother?’ asked Lysander.
    He had spoken louder than he intended. Sarpedon’s nostrils flared and anger darted from his eyes, but just as quickly vanished.
    â€˜Shall I tell him, or would you like to, Athenasia?’ Lysander’s mother said nothing, so Sarpedon continued. ‘Your mother and I knew each other a long time ago,’ he said softly. ‘Athenasia was a slave in our household for many years.’ Lysander looked at his mother, who gave a tiny nod: it was true. She held out a hand to Lysander. He took it, and sat beside his mother.
    â€˜Let me tell you a story,’ Sarpedon began, his deep voice comforting. ‘I had two sons. Their names were Thorakis – he was the elder – and Demokrates – his younger brother. They were the most splendid young men in all of Sparta, Lysander – tall, strong, and brave. Some said they resembled Kastor and Polydeukes themselves. The Gods saw fit to take both of them in battle, the sort of death every Spartan warrior dreams of.’ Sarpedon’s voice became thick with emotion, but he swallowed once, and continued. ‘Twelve years ago, they brought Thorakis’s body back to Sparta. He had fallen to a Tegean sword, fighting on the coast. But only after he had cut down the fiercest of the enemy, a warrior called Manites. May the Gods bless him in the Underworld.’
    The story set Lysander’s heart thumping. Sarpedon continued.
    â€˜The younger, Demokrates, was a brave man also. He was taken from the world in his prime. Kassandra is his daughter, Lysander. He died only three years ago, facing the spears of the Elis by the western sea. My sons have both brought me honour. I wish only that I might have died before them, but I have been …
fortunate
.’ He said the last