Free Mission to Marathon by Geoffrey Trease Page B

Lucius with a very fierce-looking porcupine. For Callias he had gone one better.
    He had painted a Gorgon’s head. Gorgons were hideous mythical monsters who grew snakes instead of hair. The mere sight of them could turn a man to stone.
    Philip hoped the shield would have this effect on any Persian who tried to harm his brother. But he didn’t have much confidence in it. Such stories came from long ago.
    Athens could muster only about ten thousand armoured infantry. What was that against the countless hordes the Great King could send over from his Persian Empire?
    The trouble was, Greece was not only a much smaller country but it wasn’t a single united country, ruled by one government. It was divided up, every big city on its own – Athens, Corinth, Thebes, and so on. They were all Greeks, but were often jealous of each other and would even fight wars.
    Surely, at a time of crisis like this, they ought to stand together and face the Persians with a united front?
    â€˜They will,’ Lucius assured Philip. ‘It was agreed today at the Assembly. We are sending an urgent appeal to the Spartans. The Spartans are marvellous fighters.
They’ll
come and help us.’
    â€˜Will the message get to them in time?’
    Philip knew that Sparta was a long way off. About 140 miles.
    â€˜It should. They’re giving it to Pheidippides to take.’
    â€˜Oh
good
!’ Philip was much relieved. He knew that name – that of the finest runner in Athens. He had won trophies at the last Olympic Games. Who could cover the ground faster than he could?
    â€˜And the Spartans won’t waste time when they get it,’ said Callias. Even in their armour the Spartans could do forced marches at incredible speed.
    Philip felt happier. Other cities would follow a lead from Sparta. Troops would soon be streaming in from every corner of Greece.
    â€˜Hadn’t you better get some sleep?’ Callias reminded him. ‘Marathon is not as far away as Sparta – but you haven’t such long legs as Pheidippides.’

3
Over the Hills
    Philip set off at dawn. Now the moment had come, he was really keyed up at the thought of the responsibility laid upon him.
    His mother tried to sound matter-of-fact but he guessed that she too was anxious. She insisted that he took a short cloak, fastened with a brooch under his chin. Though it was still September it would be chilly after nightfall, especially in the high hills. His linen tunic wouldn’t stretch to cover his legs.
    â€˜And remember, you won’t be walking – let alone running – once it’s dark. You must find some sheltered corner out of the wind.’
    She handed him a little package. Dried figs and raisins, bread and his favourite honey cakes.
    â€˜If you lose your way these will set you right.’
    â€˜They should!’ He laughed. The honey came from his uncle’s hives, it should have given the cakes the same homing instinct as the bees who had made it.
    Old Davus walked with him for the first mile, to see him out of town and make sure he took the right route.
    This was like old times. Davus had always taken him to school when he was little. Most of the younger boys were escorted by a family slave.
    That was what Davus was, though Philip always thought of him as a friend.
    He was the only slave they had. Many people had none, but a sculptor needed a strong helper for handling the massive lumps of marble or other stone he had to shape into beautiful figures.
    So, years before Philip was even born, his father had bought Davus from the silver mines at Laurium, where he had been toiling away under terrible conditions. ‘He saved my life,’ Davus would often say. ‘Men did not last long in those infernal mines.’
    In Athens, a slave’s life wasn’t too hard, unless he was in mining or a galley slave straining at a heavy oar. A few were in small workshops, helping a craftsman such as a carpenter or