Free Birth of a Warrior by Michael Ford Page B

the spot, reaching with its mouth to where the shaft hung from its muscular flank, then careered off into the bushes.
    Demaratos staggered to his feet. His hands were bloodied where he had fended off the boar’s teeth, and his tunic was badly torn. Thick blood coursed down his leg where the animal had sunk its jaws into his flesh. A loose flap of skin was hanging off. Demaratos’s face was pale with fear. He almost fell again, but Lysander steadied him.
    â€˜I failed,’ he said, not meeting Lysander’s eyes.
    â€˜At least you’re still alive,’ Lysander reassured him.
    â€˜Thanks to you,’ said Demaratos. ‘You saved my life.’
    â€˜Yes, and he lost my spear, and the boar!’ shouted Agesilaus. He stepped out of the clearing. ‘Don’t you ever dare take my weapon again.’
    Further down the slope, they trudged out of the bottom end of the forest on to a plateau. The vista took Lysander’s breath away. He could see Sparta in the distance: the five villages and the surrounding settlements where the Helots scraped together a living. Up here in the mountains, without their red cloaks and weapons, it didn’t matter whether Lysander was Spartan or Helot. The elements had no respect for either. Lysander was caked with dirt, and covered with scratches. His tunic was torn, and he felt hunger like a knot of pain. Without food and water, everyone wasequal. It didn’t matter if you were born a noble or a slave – it was how you behaved that counted. The Fire of Ares had taught him that.
    Demaratos tripped on the path and fell to his knees. He began to retch. Lysander knelt beside him and placed a comforting hand on his back.
    â€˜Leave him,’ said Agesilaus. ‘He’s slowing us down.’
    Lysander stared at his companions. Both Agesilaus and Demaratos looked awful, with hollow cheeks and dark circles under their eyes. He knew that he looked the same. It was impossible to ignore the hunger that gnawed at his insides.
    â€˜We can’t carry on like this,’ said Lysander. ‘If we don’t find food soon, we’ll all starve.’
    â€˜And what do you propose to do about that, Lysander?’ asked Agesilaus.
    Lysander gazed down to where the Helot settlement, the site of his old house, sprawled across the land beneath the hills. He thought about the meals of stewed lentils and stale bread that he used to share with his mother. His mouth watered at the memory. Agesilaus came to stand beside him and looked down at the settlement.
    â€˜A true Spartan would take food from one of those houses,’ he said in Lysander’s ear. ‘I bet they have bread, cheese and maybe even some meat.’
    â€˜I can’t steal from a Helot – they have next to nothing as it is.’ Lysander said. But he could feel the stain of doubt spreading through his heart. Could he?He and his companions were close to starvation.
    â€˜Can’t, or won’t?’ said Agesilaus, and spat on the ground. ‘You’re a Spartan now, remember. The Helot slaves owe us everything in their possession. Do you think you’d make a good thief?’
    Lysander’s stomach answered for him, letting out a loud grumble.
    â€˜That’s what I thought,’ said Agesilaus.
    â€˜Please, Lysander,’ said Demaratos. He was still limping from where the boar had attacked him. He had torn off a strip of his tunic and tied it over the wound. ‘You don’t have to steal a lot. Just enough for the three of us.’
    Lysander looked again at the settlement. Demaratos was right. The Helots were desperate people, but right now, who had the biggest need?
    â€˜I’ll do it,’ Lysander said. He started to walk in the direction of the settlement. Agesilaus and Demaratos trailed after him. If this is what it took in order to eat, Lysander could steal.
Just don’t ask me to be proud of myself
, he thought. He remembered the vision