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300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 73
|
No trumpets sounded. No horn was blown. There were low-voiced orders from the officers and quiet nudges from the petty officers. The oars had been dipped in fresh fat to slide easily in the oarlocks. The sails were tied tight to the masts to avoid rustling. No lamps were lighted on the ships.
It was not yet midnight when the rowers from the Persian army got tiredly up from the dry ground after a few hours of sleep, their hands still red from the rowing of the day before, their shoulders aching and their legs numb. After they received their half-dry oars and smeared them with fat, they drew up in two lines, one behind the other, stumbling in the darkness.
The petty officers under the hanging rope ladders waited to give the signal to board. Messengers brought it in low voices from one ship to the next all up and down the four miles of coast where the Persian fleet was drawn up. To the east were first the first divisions of Phoenicians, then the divisions of Ionia, then of Lycia, of Egypt, and of Cyprus. Dozens of different languages, dozens of different uniforms, dozens of different kinds of prayers. There were all different builds and makes of ships: the Phoenician ships with their high and wide decks to accommodate more marines, archers and spearmen, the Ionian ships, smaller, lighter and more maneuverable, with their great power of speed for ramming, and finally the Egyptian ships with their elongated prows and their heavy equipment, constructed for drawing alongside other ships and boarding them.
The stones the petty officers held in their hands began to beat out their muffled rhythm when everything was ready. The hundred and fifty thousand oarsmen waiting in lines under the rope ladders began to go forward silently. Two by two, they climbed up the ladders, came on deck and took their assigned positions. Behind them came the petty officers to inspect their position on the rowing benches. Then came the signalmen and the helmsmen, taking their places at the bows and sterns, respectively. Then the warriors boarded. Then archers and spearmen with their weapons, enormous bows of horn and ivory with dozens of yards range, javelins of osier and dogwood with sharp bronze points, swords, daggers and axes for hand to hand combat.
Last of all the captains boarded. They inspected the state of their ships, spoke to their officers, gave their orders in low voices, made arrangements with the petty officers and steersmen, and sat on their raised pedestals at the stern of the ships.
One hour after midnight everything was ready.
The slaves on shore pushed hard and the ships slid into the water.
The Persian armada sailed for the most important battle in its history.
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
The Noose Tightens
|
Themistocles looked at the eastern horizon, where the sun had just risen. Then he turned his gaze to the empty sea stretching out for half a mile before him, in front of the first ships in the Persian armada. He looked at it carefully, searching for the signs the fishermen had told him about. When he saw dark bands begin to come up and the surface began to look like the back of a fish with silver scales, he immediately sent his messenger to the other divisions of the fleet. The wind rustled in the masts of the ships. The hour they were waiting for had come.
Without losing time, he went to the Artemis' rope ladder, climbed up to the deck and stood at the stern, with his face to the shore. He raised his hands to the heavens and waited for a moment, silently, while his sailors and rowers gathered in front of him. Then, suddenly, he broke his silence and addressed the men in a passionate voice, as Greek always do before sending them into battle.
"Free citizens of Athens! Rowers of our fleet! My brothers!" he shouted in his stentorian voice, famous from his rhetorical speeches in the assembly of Athens. "Our hour has come! Either we will live free or we will die. Today we will fight with self-sacrifice and courage, we will crush the invaders and throw them back to Asia, to their arid steppes and tyrannical emperors!
"Citizens of Athens! Rowers of the fleet! You are the ones the aristocrats look down on. You are the ones they call the most and the worst. Today you can prove that you are not only the most, but the best. Today you have the chance to prove that the democracy gives birth not only to thinking citizens, but also to heroic soldiers. Today is your day, and you will never get another chance like this, to fight and defeat the proudest and most haughty of all tyrants. Today is the day you can humiliate him before his slaves and win glory like our ancestors, the heroes who conquered Troy! Do you want to do that today, citizens of Athens? Are you ready for glory?"
A buzz and clamor sounded from end to end of the gathering. Their chests, exhausted from pulling the oars, swelled as if filled with the winds of winter. Reddened hands were clenched into fists and raised. Mouths flayed by sun and salt were opened wide. Cheers, shouts and cries of derision filled the air.
"My brothers!" shouted Themistocles, and he raised his open palms to the delirious crowd. "Look at my hands. Look at them well. Look at the calluses on my palms. They are hands like yours, although you all know my wealth could have given me hands as soft as the hands of Apollo. Since I was a boy I have pulled the oars in my father's ships and I still pull the oars along with you in the exercises of the fleet. I am one of you, my brothers. I am you. Not from need, but by choice. Because I believe in the power of democracy and the power of democracy is you, its simple people, its citizens and fighters.
"Fight bravely with me today, citizens! Fight with manly courage, but also with your mind and with passion! Fight to humiliate the proud barbarians!
"Forward, citizens of Athens!"
"Forward, children of Greece!"
"For democracy and freedom!"
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 76
|
Artemisia was taking her place on the east side of the Persian formation when she heard the voice of the lookout from the bow.
"Nothing yet, my lady. All their ships are still on shore."
She turned and looked over the mass of Persian ships. Behind her not an inch of sea was visible. The ships were crowded closely, in some places rail to rail and in others stern to stern. In some the oars had been raised to make more room, and in others the rowers had pulled them in so they would not break.
And yet Achaimenes had still not sent ships into the straits. The Persian vessels kept coming in, one after another, like thirsty camels coming to a well. Even more ships had drawn up on the nearby eastern exit of the straits, forming a dense line of rams to cut off any chance of escape from the trap.
"The trap for whom?" she murmured skeptically to herself.
She sighed and pressed her lips together. If the Greeks attacked first, as had happened three weeks earlier at Afetes, they would fall on their closed lines and be torn apart like soft flesh falling on iron spears. But if the Persians had to attack first, it would be hard to maneuver in such a dense formation. Then the danger would not come from the Greek ships, but from their own.
She had warned the emperor. But Xerxes decided like a proud king, unable to withstand his own vanity, and not like a wise general. He had drawn his entire enormous fleet up and now he was admiring it, seated on his throne, on the side of the mountain behind them. He had chosen the risk of resplendent triumph over the safety of patient victory.
If Themistocles kept their agreement and the ships of Athens left at the right moment, the Greek fleet would look like a little rabbit before a huge bear and the triumph of Xerxes would be certain. And it would have been made on her advice. Then the emperor's gifts would exceed all her fantasies and her rise in the hierarchy of the Persian court would be swift. The Great King was famous for the harshness of his punishments, but just as famous for the generosity of his rewards.
But if Sikinos was lying and Themistocles, a man for whom intrigue was second nature, did not keep to their agreement, then victory was not so certain. There was a danger of becoming involved in a conflict at sea in which their numerical superiority would become a great disadvantage. The only comfort she had was that the Greeks were fighting amongst themselves. Of that she was certain because, all the way through the whippings and the torture, the Persian slave swore to Ahura Mazda that he had seen them arguing, swearing and fighting with his own eyes.
"How well can an army fight if it is panicking? How can officers work together if they are torn by strife and coming to blows with each other?" she wondered, optimism coming back to life inside her and dispelling her fears. "That stupid democracy of theirs… It will destroy them…" she murmured finally, and it was as if she could see Themistocles himself again, as he was that night in her bedroom at Halicarnassus.
"They're leaving! They're leaving, my lady!" sounded the voice of the lookout at the prow.
She abandoned her thoughts, jumped up and climbed onto the pedestal at the stern.
"Some of their ships are leaving from the western side, my lady" the lookout explained.
Yes. From the west. She could see them herself, even though her ship was on the eastern side. In the clear morning air, she could easily make out a division of about forty Greek ships that had set sail and were withdrawing, taking advantage of the wind that had just started to blow.
A broad smile was carved on her face. She had been right. Sikinos had told the truth. The ships were withdrawing. The Greeks were breaking formation, abandoning their alliance, escaping.
She climbed down from the pedestal at the stern and walked quickly down the corridor to the stern.
"What city are they from?" she asked her lookout anxiously.
Her heart was in agony. At the other exit there were a hundred Persian ships from Pamphylia, waiting like a spider in its web until their victim was ready.
"I cannot make it out, my lady. Their sails are white, like the sails of Athenian ships."
She sighed heavily and returned to her place.
It was no longer important whether the ships leaving were Athenian or whether the Artemis, the ship of Themistocles, was among them.
In a little while the battle would start and the gods would decide victory and defeat, life and death.
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 77
|
Xerxes sat on his shining throne on the mountainside and looked at the sea straits with shining eyes. He saw the retreating Greek ships as well, and his mind was already carried away by the brilliant victory and the glory awaiting him.
Next to him, General Mardonius amplified his enthusiasm, trying to increase his share of the coming triumph. Good words never do any harm, and neither does flattery, especially to ears that are used to hearing them.
"The lookouts I placed on the cliffs confirm everything the slave has said. The signalmen on our ships report the same. There is panic in the Greek camp," he had said earlier, in a voice trembling with enthusiasm.
"And now their ships are leaving. I hope they don't all leave and I have someone to crush" the emperor said cheerfully.
"Even if they want to, they can't all leave. Our trap has closed. All the sea routes will throw them on our rams" Mardonius answered conceitedly.
"Wonderful…"
"They themselves know it, my king. They are trapped. Our messengers and lookouts inform me that their women are already wailing on the sides of the hills and in the temples of the island" he explained, before adding with even greater arrogance "and their men are in despair. They are running up and down on the coast without a plan and without discipline, in total panic."
"That is natural, Mardonius. Even their god, Poseidon, would be frightened if they saw our fleet and our hundred and fifty thousand rowers and marines" said Xerxes, even more arrogantly. "Really… What about their rowers?"
"Their rowers are paralyzed by fear. They do not even dare to board their ships yet."
"Anyone would hesitate."
"Do you think this is our time to attack and strike their ships on dry ground? The Greeks won't have time to board."
Xerxes leaned back in his throne and looked silently at Salamis opposite."
"No… We cannot, their shores do not have room for that many ships" he said finally. "Besides, it would be too easy of a victory. Not worthy of me at all. No… It is better to wait for them to go out on the sea so we can crush them."
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 78
|
On his ship, the tallest and heaviest of the Persian fleet, Mervalos looked in puzzlement at the forty Greek ships sailing to the west.
"They are leaving, master" said the helmsman standing behind him. It was difficult for him to hide his joy. "They are running like rabbits!"
The Phoenician admiral did not share his helmsman's enthusiasm. "Exactly as you say… Rabbits run…" he murmured, looking thoughtfully at the Greek ships, with their sails spread and their oars pulled in. "But these ships are sailing slowly, they look like they are going on a journey. Who runs in panic like that?"
"Maybe they are doing it to provoke us. But we could overtake them easily and strike them from the back."
"Maybe that's exactly what they want…" murmured Mervalos, looking at the Greek ships drawn up on the shore. "To weaken our east side by taking off some of our ships."
"We can strike quickly and return in time."
"No."
"We are in no danger from them, that's obvious" insisted the helmsman and pointed at the Greek anchorage. "Look, master… Look at their women… Look at their rowers running back and forth… They are frightened and disorganized…"
"The truth is that they look that way…"
"Well then?"
"But are they?" wondered the Phoenician, thoughtfully rubbing his beard, which was fluttering in the breeze that had suddenly started up. "Are they?"
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 79
|
Adeimantos and his division have withdrawn" said the messenger sent by the lookout on the hilltop.
"Is the Persian formation complete?"
"Some of their ships are still in the middle. All the rest are in position."
"Good…" Themistocles looked at the white clouds on the surface of the sea, where the water was not protected by the long cape of Kynosoura that stuck out like a thumb into the sea on the east side of the straits. Then he turned his eyes to the waiting rowers. "Then we're ready" he said calmly.
"Ready" confirmed Cimonas, standing under the stern of the Artemis and waiting for his orders.
Slowly but decisively, Themistocles nodded his head. Then he climbed onto the pedestal at the stern and raised his right fist.
"May the goddess Athena be with us…" he said, and put on his helmet.
The trumpets sounded and the fifty thousand rowers and marines of the Greek fleet climbed into the ships and took their places at the oars and on the decks, behind the oiled leather of the oarlocks and the protective shields on the rails.
Old men, women, even little children pushed at the wooden scaffolding. The keels, smeared with sheep fat and supported on boards, slid into the sea.
Thousands of oars were plunged into the water and hundreds of prows sailed against the enemy.
The trap was closed.
Now it was time for battle and bravery.
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 80
|
What is happening, Mardonius?"
"They have boarded their ships and started, my king."
"Finally…"
The emperor leaned forward, full of excitement.
The hour he had been waiting for so many years, had arrived.
"Finally…" he repeated and ordered the imperial scribes to open their papyri and record his triumph in detail.
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 81
|
From the west end to the center were the ships of Athens, exactly opposite the Phoenician formation. If that broke, the rest of the Persian fleet would break up.
On the east side were the sixteen ships of the Spartans and next to them the ships from the island of Aegina. In the center of the Greek formation were the ships from the other cities and the islands.
The Artemis sailed ahead with all the speed her rowers could give her. To the east was the cape and to the south was the land mass of Salamis. Between them the water was calm, protected from the southeastern wind that came howling into the straits and stirred up the waters off the coast of Athens.
"Straight ahead, attack speed" shouted Themistocles. The petty officer gave the command to the rowers and the signalman transmitted it to all the ships of the division.
To the right of Themistocles sailed the Aisia, Cimonas' ship. To his left was the Ischys, the ship of Ameinias who was shouting passionately at his crew, as if they were on seats of the stadium at Olympia watching the athletes in the Olympic Games.
"Even more power to the oars" shouted Themistocles, seeing the white clouds on the surface, a sign that they were coming out of the protected waters.
The high rails of the Phoenician ships were a hundred yards away. The forty marines and twenty archers on their great decks could be seen clearly. On their own decks there were only ten marines and four archers, which made the ships lighter, because Themistocles believed that a sea battle is won or lost by maneuvers and by ramming, not by swords and arrows.
The Artemis bucked wildly when it hit the wild waters. A wave hit her on the side of the bow. The bow reared up and then fell, slapping the water. The ship shuddered from bow to stern like a house in an earthquake. Many of the marines were shaken and grabbed on wherever they could, and the helmsman threw himself on top of his great oars to hold the ship steady.
"Avast!" shouted Themistocles suddenly, and the rowers slowly reversed the direction of their rowing, slowing and then stopping the ship.
The trumpets sounded slowly, giving the message. The ships of the Greek fleet, one after the other, slowed down and stopped near the center of the straits, tossed by the waves. The maneuver looked like a dog throwing itself onto its prey, only to find that the prey was not a rabbit but an enormous bear.
"Now what do we do?" asked the petty officer.
"We stay still."
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 82
|
"They are afraid. That's logical" said Xerxes, and laughed out loud. "Fear holds empires together. It destroys armies and fleets."
"That is true, my lord" Mardonius agreed cheerfully. But his eyes remained fixed uneasily on the western side of the Greek armada, where the ships of Athens were drawn up with their rams ready to go. That could only mean one of two things: that their hostage was mistaken or that Artemisia had lied.
"Give the command to attack, Mardonius. When a wild beast hesitates in fear, that is the best moment to strike," Xerxes commanded.
|
19 Souls
|
J. D. Allen
|
[
"mystery"
] |
[
""
] |
Chapter 53
|
The road twisted up to Breckenridge. Back and forth, winding like a snake with a bellyache. It was summer, so there was no snow to fight, just vacationers in their oversized campers taking up both lanes. Jim supposed it should be a pretty drive, but the circumstances distorted the beauty of the scenery.
When she got a clear bit of asphalt, Ava pushed the Town Car along far above the posted limit. She bit her bottom lip and tapped the steering wheel with her index finger. Anxious. Worried. Pressured from her boss to get this psycho before she made more headlines.
No one had been told of the connections to past killings. The media was focused on the brutality of the Cynthia Hodge murder and was unaware of the depth and breadth of Sophie's killings. It wouldn't be long until someone leaked something. Secrets were not long kept in Vegas, no matter the city's slogan. It should be Whatever will make news in Vegas will make the news.
They came to the fork in the road. Ava eased left. Before long the pavement gave way to a white-graveled path that would take them to Sophie's hideout.
The driveway was long and tree-lined. Postcard material. The forest was too thick to make out any structure from there. Too dangerous to drive up to the house, and their backup was still on the way.
She pulled the car off just past the drive. Foot power from here on out. Ava opened the trunk, loaded, and cocked a shotgun. She offered it to Jim without words.
He considered it, then shook his head. "Not for me." He looked toward the house. "Shouldn't we wait for the SWAT team?"
"We're just going to take a peek. Assess the situation." He liked her style.
Twigs, pine cones, and other material crushed beneath his feet no matter where he placed his big boot. A particularly loud snap made Ava stop and glare at him. He cringed. How Native Americans used to be so quiet was beyond him. Maybe that was historic urban legend.
Sneaking up like this had his heart flopping around in his chest like a super ball. This much tension was bad. Made him nervous. Jumpy. It was dangerous. He attributed it to the fact that he wanted Sophie too bad and was worried over Sandy.
Personal investment was doubled down in this case. Bad mojo made for bad outcomes. Declining the gun had been a good idea. He was ready to jump out of his skin. And just like O said, a squirrel could run by and startle him enough to shoot Ava in her cute little ass.
She glanced back as if she heard his thoughts but pressed on. The sapling trees and vines tripped them up, slowing progress. A bead of sweat had rolled down his back and more would follow. He had his slap-jack in his right hand. Ava had her handgun at the ready and the shotgun hung over her shoulder.
She eased through the woods with a grace Jim would never possess, as if the branches and twigs were intentionally not in her way. That wasn't possible. The bottom line was his mass and momentum carried a volume hers did not.
She stopped and braced with her back against a tree. She pointed ahead. There was a narrow cabin at the end of the gravel. Two-story, given the height of the windows. Nice. Something a family from L.A. would rent for a week of skiing in December. He could picture a large Christmas tree covered in fat multicolored lights reflecting onto new snow through the wall of windows. Of course it was the middle of the day in August and nothing twinkled. Regardless, not the kind of place a murderer brought her victims to be tortured and killed. His gut told him something was off.
"No cars." It was a very low whisper.
"Maybe around back?"
Ava nodded. She pointed to the right and to him. "On three," she said without sound.
"What about the backup?"
"They'll be here."
Not what he meant. She held up one narrow finger. No polish. No rings.
|
19 Souls
|
J. D. Allen
|
[
"mystery"
] |
[
""
] |
Chapter 54
|
She would go to the left, he to the right. But the place looked deserted.
She didn't look back at him. Her brain was already on her mission. Jim's brain was deciphering what his gut was screaming at him. Would Sophie leave her hostages unattended after so much careful planning?
|
19 Souls
|
J. D. Allen
|
[
"mystery"
] |
[
""
] |
Chapter 55
|
Ava moved out. That left him no choice. He turned and headed in his assigned direction, skirting just inside the tree line.
The yard was narrower on his side, bringing him closer to the house. Glare from the sun blocked his view inside the tall front windows. A cheerful spring wreath with white birds on it adorned the front door.
Maybe this was the wrong place. Maybe she'd used a false address with her employer. That would make sense.
He crouched and ducked behind the front bushes to try for a glance inside. He stopped just short of the floor-to-ceiling windows. He peeked in quickly, saw nothing, and then waited a few seconds before a second look, this one longer.
Bright, open, and airy. There was cabin-themed decor everywhere. A bear rug and log furnishings with heavy plaid fabrics. The kitchen was at the back of the large two-story room. No one in sight.
He headed back the direction he'd come and continued to the back of the cabin. That side of the building was logs all the way up. One small window, shoulder height. Bathroom. It was covered by a curtain. Nothing to see. He made it around the back.
That was better than expected as well. Multi-level deck. Hot tub. Grill. Flowers decorated the area. It was only ten yards from a large pond. High-dollar for a hideout.
Ava stood at the back door, weapon lowered. "I didn't see anyone."
"Me either. Looks like we might be in the wrong place."
She shook her head. "I don't think so. May look pretty, but it feels creepy as hell."
He looked in the back door window around the drawn curtain.
She tried the door. The knob turned.
"Thought you wanted it all by the book?"
"That would be best. But …"
"Sandy's clock is counting down," he said, glad she was using his line of logic today.
She nodded. "Dan's not exactly safe either."
A low chirping noise repeated several times. Not a bird. Electronic. He looked down, following the line of the bottom rail of the deck. A small round device was screwed to the post closest to the door. That was some kind of trigger. Triggers meant things going boom.
"Motion detector."
"What?"
He grabbed Ava around the waist. No time to explain. He pulled her away from the door. Tangled legs made them both stumble down the two levels of deck steps. He recovered first and pulled her toward the pond. She caught her footing and started running with him. They were about five feet from the water when the world ended.
|
19 Souls
|
J. D. Allen
|
[
"mystery"
] |
[
""
] |
Chapter 56
|
No sound.
Jim was deafened. His legs were numb and he couldn't breathe. No way this was good.
He tried to breathe, drew in water. In a panic his lungs coughed out the fluid. Jim tried to move his arms. They answered.
In an instant his body returned to the normal responses to his mental commands. But his hearing was still off. He realized he was in the pond, one leg pinned under a large piece of timber. He sat up and his head was above the water.
Heat pressed against the back of his head. He twisted around. The cabin was ablaze. All of it. Immense logs of the framework had folded in on themselves like a Boy Scout campfire on steroids. The yard was littered with the shards, large and small, of the exploded timbers.
"Ava!"
He didn't see her. He dug in the mud, pulling at his leg. It didn't feel broken, only trapped. This was going to leave a mark. He held his breath to fold forward and dig at the mud holding him under the wood.
Ragged shards scraped his trapped leg. His foot twisted first, then his calf. He pushed up with all his weight and the timber rolled off. He stood in the water, testing his steadiness. His shin would carry a nasty bruise for a while, but he'd live.
"Ava!" Strange to listen to himself yell and not hear a thing.
He started out of the water and saw her sit up in a tall patch of reeds a couple of yards away. Her hair was a soaking-wet mess, her head was bleeding and her arm hung limp and twisted in an impossible direction. Her shoulder was dislocated or broken. Either way, she would be in a great deal of pain when the shock of the blast wore off.
Smoke billowed past, obscuring his path as he waded in her direction. The cabin burned like dry kindling.
"You okay?" He said it but was sure her hearing would be as dampened as his.
Her reaction was neither positive nor negative. But she did mouth something he could understand. Her hand went to her head wound first. She gently tested the cut and then inspected the blood it left on her fingers. Then she tried to move her left arm. He barely made out the screech of pain that accompanied the action.
"Keep it still."
He dug for his phone. Wet. No bars. No signal. They had passed several other cabins on the way in. Surely someone heard the explosion. Backup was on the way. He took off his shirt and wrapped it around her body, tucking it under her arm with the least amount of movement to her shoulder as possible. She cringed again.
"Sorry."
He tied it off, making a sling of sorts. Would hold it better than nothing.
|
19 Souls
|
J. D. Allen
|
[
"mystery"
] |
[
""
] |
Chapter 57
|
The cell phone on the dash started talking. A ring tone. The cartoon. Marvin the Martian. "Where's the Kaboom? There should have been an earth-shattering Kaboom."
No need to respond. It was an electronic message sent from the device planted under the cabin.
She closed her eyes, ignoring the road. The bastards had found her happy place. Her retreat. The thought was a soul-sucking wound in her stomach. There wasn't much she was attached to in this world. That cabin had been about it. Since they found her birth mother, Sophie had suspected Bean may be good enough to find her.
She was right. He would be punished.
She took in a yoga breath. Long, deep, it filled first her chest and then her belly with fresh air.
Good thing she had trusted her intuition and headed northeast.
"Fucking PI."
A horn blared. She opened her eyes. She was half in the right lane. Who cared? Calmly she steered the van back into her lane.
She envisioned the explosion. The creep she'd bought the C4 from promised spectacular. Even setting them up she'd been torn. That plan was a double-edged sword. If it worked, the cabin—her dream home—was gone.
Not what she planned. No.
Told you so.
"Shut up."
You should have just found Danny yourself.
"Not now."
The nag was right. There had been no lack of trying on Sophie's part. For months she had searched for Dan. She sat taller so she could see him through the rearview mirror.
He was sleeping, his body laid out on the bench as if he was in his bed, a peaceful expression on his angel face
Sophie sighed. She should have kept at the hunt herself. Instead, she'd lost patience and hired that irritating PI. Bean was supposed to be a loser only after a quick buck. He had even acted like a loser both on the phone and at that pathetic diner. No professionalism. No receptionist. No office building.
She gripped the steering wheel. With any luck Bean was right there when the house blew. Standing on her porch, or even better, inside. She closed her eyes again. She'd loved that house and had looked forward to living her perfect life with Danny there. Fucker. He'd been nothing but trouble.
She turned up the radio and let the music fill the rolling metal box. It was loud. Violins echoed off the walls. It was not a proper sound stage for Schubert, but it would help soothe Sophie's worn nerves. Carla raised her head for a moment and settled back down.
Let it go. Move forward. She tried to push the rage away. Send it down to that place where it disappeared in her gut in a tiny ball of shit to be flushed away. Anger did her no good. The house was just full of things. Nothing she couldn't replace.
The bigger problem was that Bean and his helpers were so close on her tail. Digging in her business. She wasn't used to people knowing about her, knowing her history or her details. A strange sense of anger and shame filled her. Not that she was shamed by any of her actions. No. Only the few loose ends she'd left behind caused her any embarrassment. One day she would go back and eliminate all those loose ends.
A situation like this called for going on the offensive. No running for Sophie Evers.
She glared at the waitress in the back. She didn't look as comfortable as Danny. She was sitting, her head at an awkward angle. Good. It was time to use that leverage.
The GPS unit said she had one hour, twenty-three minutes until arrival. Sophie needed to hold it together that long. She needed to get those two unloaded, count her losses, and then solidify a new plan. There was lots of stuff at the cabin that could be evidence. But she was sure there was nothing about Indiana. And if there was, the explosion and the incendiary devices should have destroyed all of it. Still, you could never tell with fire. It did what it wanted.
|
19 Souls
|
J. D. Allen
|
[
"mystery"
] |
[
""
] |
Chapter 58
|
A man came running around the back of the house. He was tall, red-headed, and had a dry phone in his hand.
He fell to his knees beside Ava. It was clear he was talking. Some sound was drifting through the haze of Jim's hearing. Not enough to understand completely.
Call maybe. Others? Jim shook his head no. At least he hoped there was no one in that cabin. God, he hoped Sandy wasn't in there.
Jim pointed to his ear and shook his head. The universal I can't hear you gesture earned a returned sign for I called for help.
The man opened up a fanny pack medical kit. Johnny-on-the-spot this guy was. He rinsed Ava's forehead with water from a squirt bottle. She closed her eyes to keep from getting fluid in them. The cut wasn't as bad as Jim had first thought.
Jim got up and strode to the burning structure. All he could think of was the bonfires his buddies used to throw in college. In his past life. Before his world fell to pieces. He'd gotten it together since then. Some. But now he found himself in the middle of what looked like a war zone.
Then it hit him that if Sandy was in that massive bonfire, his heart would break once again.
He was pushed back by a wall of heat as the front of the structure collapsed in on itself. Everything was burning. The place had been rigged to be totally destroyed if disturbed.
He heard the pop and searing of the wood push through the empty numbness of his ears. He could make out the muffled sound of a fire truck coming down the drive. The driver swung it wide, rolling through the shrubbery along the path, to spin it around so he could back closer.
Behind the fire unit was the ambulance. They followed, stopping short of the walkway. Jim's vision blurred as two men and a woman filed out, large plastic cases containing all manner of medical equipment in tow. Ava would be fine.
Behind them were three black SUVs. Backup. At last.
Jim felt a little wobbly. The female medic stopped by his side and tried to steady him.
"I'm good."
She pointed at the grass and pushed him into a seated position. Seemed reasonable. He let his legs give way; she eased him down. "Anything hurt, sir?"
"I couldn't hear."
"Explosion?"
Jim didn't say anything, just gave her a small nod.
She shouted, "Common. Should return fairly fast unless there's damage." She looked in his ear but didn't make any proclamation as to the future health of his eardrums. "Anywhere else hurt?"
"I just had a piece of wood fall on my leg. It's okay."
Without permission she cut straight up his pant leg, all the way to the knee, and yanked it open. There was a large round area that was trying to start a bruise already.
She felt around the wound. "Nothing feels broken." She checked his eyes and had him follow the path of her moving thumb a few times before she left him to go see if the others needed help.
The firemen worked in a choreographed dance with water and time to put out the flames. Jim watched for longer than he intended and then got up to go check on Ava.
|
19 Souls
|
J. D. Allen
|
[
"mystery"
] |
[
""
] |
Chapter 60
|
Jim eased back in his seat. They should be getting close to the small town where they believed Sophie was holed up. Locals had done a drive by and someone was in the house. That's all they were asked to do.
The fruity smell of the Tahoe made his stomach turn. He was in the back seat. Maybe this had been a K-9 unit at some point. He couldn't narrow down the offending scent. Using stinky shit to cover the smell of stinky shit confused him. The vehicle was thick with the strawberry perfume. And not the fresh-picked strawberries like mom puts on shortcake kind of smell. No. It was the medicine-ish, kid's cough syrup kind of strawberry.
Ava's face was pale. A military medic on the plane had popped her arm back into the proper position. It had to hurt like a motherfucker. She now had a brace, a better sling, and a little pain medication. She'd refused anything stronger.
"You shouldn't be here."
"I'm the agent in charge, or have you forgotten?"
"Wow. Um, no, I have not. I was just worried—"
"Don't worry."
He looked out the window. A light rain. Clouds. That was good. Made it darker. Easier to sneak up. Of course, a SWAT team would be doing that.
It churned his gut being so out of control. What if they fucked it up and Sandy was hurt? But no one was concerned about his worries. They were all following some book on tactical and hostage situations. Jim wanted to follow his gut, go in there and strangle that bitch with his bare hands.
They pulled up into the parking lot of a long-ago closed gas station. How a gas station went out of business with the price per gallon so high, he'd never know. There were several police units, five FBI cars, and a tactical van there.
Ava climbed out gingerly and addressed the officer in charge of the Knoblesville police.
Jim hung back. She'd told him pretty clearly that she was in charge from here on out. He leaned against a police car and watched. Still within earshot, of course. The house was a doublewide, north of town. At least fifteen yards from any other structure.
"Well, brother. Looks like Lady Fed doesn't need the likes of us any longer." Double O strolled up and leaned on the car right next to Jim.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
He shrugged, put a toothpick in his mouth like a lollipop. "Was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by."
"The neighborhood?"
He shrugged, lit a cig, and handed it to Jim. He needed it. The nicotine wouldn't ease his problems, but it sure made them easier to swallow.
"Ely called. I was at the airport, changed flights." It was good to have one person he could depend on. "The SWAT team decided to wait until full dark to go in."
"Great idea. As long as you aren't being held hostage by a maniac," Jim muttered.
"Look at that. Fifteen cops, at least that many agents." O spit out the toothpick. "The crazy bitch will see all that coming a mile away. She was smart enough to booby trap the house in Cali, she'll have done the same thing here." O situated his jeans by pulling up then down on the waistband. "You know, a couple smart guys could probably get in there quieter and easier than that big SWAT team."
"You think?"
"I do.
"Rental's back there." O motioned behind the mess of official vehicles. "Got GPS and the address."
Ava would kill Jim if they moved in first and messed up her perfectly planned rescue. Only, her plan left one thing to be desired: the element of surprise. Sophie Ryan Evers had time to prepare for it.
"Let's go."
|
19 Souls
|
J. D. Allen
|
[
"mystery"
] |
[
""
] |
Chapter 62
|
"You stole a baton from a cop?" O shook his head.
They made their way past the property at 11103 Southwest Highway. Its driveway led into the dark. No way going in the front door was going to work.
They had gone to the next farm road and cut through the woods on foot. O held his gun at the ready. Jim had managed to find a police baton lying on the hood of a car before they left the checkpoint. "He left it laying around. You know how bad crime is these days."
"Right."
The SWAT team need not have waited. The forest was so dark Jim had a hard time negotiating the stumps and roots. Again, there was no way to be quiet about it when the damned blackberry bushes were reaching out and grabbing his clothing. Did not help going in stealth mode one bit.
They headed toward a couple of lights twinkling through the trees. They eased closer, doing their best to be quiet. Again Jim wondered how the hell he made so much more noise than everybody else. O had at least forty pounds on him and he was ghostlike as he moved around the trunks and over the dried leaves.
They stopped and hunched down behind a couple of downed trees. The trailer wasn't the only building on the property. Closer to them was a shed large enough for a car. A small outdoor light burned on the corner, revealing an ancient tractor rusting behind the shed. The seat and steering wheel were gone. The tires were flat and cracked by time.
For the second time in as many days, Jim was hit by the shockwave from an explosion. This one was smaller, farther away. In the front of the trailer. He and O both ducked for cover.
Jim peeked over the logs. Fire and smoke rose over the trailer.
"Cops came in the front. So much for waiting till dark."
Jim saw movement off to the side. Three men in assault gear were creeping through the woods, moving in unison around the back of the trailer. Jim suspected the formation was mirrored on the other side. They hustled into the yard.
Mistake.
Within seconds one stepped on a mine. The explosion was loud. Jim's not-quite-back-to-normal ears complained.
Guys came in and retrieved the screaming men and dragged them to the relative safety of the woods. They would fall back. Call for more help.
"They'll reconvene," O whispered.
"Probably send in a negotiator."
Ten minutes passed. Nothing moved. Not a curtain. Nobody crossed in front of the back windows. "You think it's another dead end?"
Jim thought about it. Remembered her smug look the morning after she'd … He closed his eyes. The sooner this ended, the sooner he could forget Sophie Evers and move on with his life. Dan wouldn't be so lucky. If he was still alive, he'd lost his mother and his sister to the crazy bitch.
"She's arrogant. She may have had one backup plan, but I doubt she has two."
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Prologue
|
[ Fifty eight years earlier ]
[ Babylon, 538 B.C. ]
Cyrus the Great, ruler of all Asia, grasped his gilt scepter and swept the landscape before him with a direct and focused gaze. He beheld the endless plain of Mesopotamia watered by the imposing river Euphrates. In the distance, a few miles away to the right and left of the river, six miles long and five miles wide, lay the greatest and most glorious city he had seen in all his years of conquest. It was the only city that had resisted until now, the only one he had not yet added to his possessions, the only thorn in the soft underbelly of his vast empire.
"Babylon… the city of cities…" the emperor murmured to himself, impatient yet filled with awe.
He sat on his golden throne atop a wooden platform supported on the shoulders of fourteen dark-skinned carriers. His eyes were squeezed almost shut, like his tight-pressed lips—narrowed not just against the glare, but from anxious concern. Babylon had the best system of defense of all known cities in the world, even better than the renowned Nineveh. Its famous limestone and granite wall was a hundred and fifty feet tall and a hundred feet wide. Two four-horse carriages could run side by side at full speed along the top of that wall, and they would still take quite a long time to cover the fifty-three miles of its perimeter. In front of the wall ran a great trench, sixty feet wide and ten feet deep, filled with water from the Euphrates and encircling the city. The wall was pierced by two huge gates through which the river entered the city from the north and left it at the south, after passing through the whole city. The gate on the north side opened every morning to let in boats filled with every kind of merchandise from all over Asia. It was a gigantic, double gate with one door leading to the world outside the wall and the other to the city inside. When both doors of the gate were closed, its bottom part touched the surface of the river. This made it impossible for anyone, whether mounted or on foot, to get into the city since no one could have swum underwater against the strong current for a hundred feet, the thickness of the wall.
At the center of this rich city with its terrific defenses was the greatest prize any conqueror could desire, the famous tower of Babylon, one of the so-called wonders of the world. Seven floors tall and two hundred and thirty feet high, it dominated not only the city but the whole plain and the two great rivers, the Tigris and the Euphrates. It was the golden temple of the great Babylonian god Bel Marduk. In it served the twenty-four priests who, together with the king, ruled Babylon and all its wealth.
Cyrus blinked his eyes. The glare from the golden roof of the temple blinded him and simultaneously enraptured his mind, while the light glancing off the thousands of blue bricks that adorned the temple stained his face cyan.
He dragged his gaze away from the city, stood up and turned around. Immediately the two generals standing at the back of the throne fell to their knees, bowed their heads to the floor, and touched their foreheads to his feet. His vast army spread out before him from the manmade hill where he stood to the dim reaches of the plain to the east, where sight lost itself in the dull veil of swiftly approaching night. Five hundred thousand front line warriors and five hundred thousand assistants, tens of thousands of workers, servants and merchants, cooks and prostitutes, brought here from all the ends of the empire. His army covered an area greater than the area of Babylon itself.
The Persian emperor raised his golden scepter and held it out, pointing at the city behind him whose image was fading slowly in the soft light of sunset. Then he raised his head imperceptibly towards the heavens and gave thanks in advance to his god, the winged Ahura Mazda, for the conquest of glorious Babylon. This conquest would make him lord and master of all of Mesopotamia and consolidate his empire as the only power in all of Asia, from the Mediterranean Sea to India.
When his prayer of thanks had ended, he returned his scepter to vertical position and struck the wooden floor of the platform three hard blows. The two generals kissed his feet, stood upright and took up their positions before the army. The attack on the unassailable city would begin that same evening.
His plan, inconceivable for a common mind, went into effect the moment the sun hid itself and continued in an unbroken, feverish rhythm until dawn. A great distance from the unassailable walls of the city, massive boulders were dragged to the Euphrates by elephants and thrown in, lessening the flow of its waters. A short way below this curious dam, for a length of several miles, hundreds of thousands of men were lined up, one next to the other, on the two banks of the river. In their hands they held basins woven of reeds, covered with leather and sealed with pitch. Behind them stretched two deep trenches, many miles long, constructed by imperial engineers in the previous weeks.
As soon as it became dark hundreds of thousands of basins were immersed in the now-calm water at the same time and they began rapidly and efficiently emptying it. In a few hours the level of the Euphrates had sunk by several inches. By the time the night was at its darkest, just before dawn, the level of the waters was at the height of the knees of a man of average size.
The glorious moment had arrived. The two generals led foot soldiers and cavalry to the riverbed and drew them up facing the city's great northern entrance. The water lapping the lower edge of the enormous gate had sunk, leaving six feet of empty space. There was enough room for a soldier with all his gear or a horse without its rider to pass through.
Within a short time thousands of Persian soldiers had entered the city. They seized it suddenly, taking inhabitants and defenders in their sleep.
The next morning the gold and blue radiance of the tower of Babylon reflected the light of the morning sun and shone on the face of the emperor who stood at its top, surveying the famous hanging gardens.
Cyrus lowered his head and looked at the thousands of Babylonians who had gathered below the tower, silently awaiting his decree. Around him, along the sides of the roof, kneeled the twenty four priests of the Babylonian god Bel Marduk with their heads bowed.
The emperor raised his imperial scepter and showed it to the crowd. He held it high for a short while, like a flaming sword, for all to see.
Then, with his gaze on the far-away red and gold horizon of the dawn and the bright light of the new day, he lowered it suddenly. With it fell twenty-four sharp swords.
The heads of the priests were cut from their necks and fell into the void. Their headless bodies followed soon after, bathing the townspeople in their sacred blood.
The kingdom of Bel Marduk had ended.
Babylon the Great had fallen.
The Persian Empire dawned with the sun.
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Athens, 514 B.C.
|
The music of kitharas could be heard in all the neighborhoods of Athens around the Acropolis, in all the narrow streets, in all the one-storied and two-storied houses. In every garden, in every temple and in every grove of sacred olive trees. The procession of the Sacred Veil of the great Panathenaia festival was about to start.
Earlier, gymnastics competitions had been held in the three great gymnasia of the city. A little later, the most important music competitions followed. Then there were contests in reciting passages of poetry from the Homeric epics, the Iliad and the Odyssey. Now everything was ready for the festival's grand finale.
The police and the Agora overseers had removed all the prostitutes and drunks from the streets and had personally supervised the cleansing of all the shops, especially the ones that sold meat and fish. The fountains were cleaned, the altars of the gods were purified, the temple of Zeus was polished and the street that led to the walls of the Acropolis was newly strewn with gravel.
Outside the walls the inhabitants of Athens and the foreign visitors waited impatiently for the festivities to begin. For the procession to start and to reach the Acropolis and the temple of the goddess Athena, high above the city. For the animals to be slaughtered and the ceremonies to be solemnized. And then for the sharing out of roasted meat and wine and the great celebration with singing, music and dancing that would follow.
Outside the Dipylon, the west gate of the wall of Athens, a great chariot in the shape of a boat had been made ready. The four chosen virgins, who for a year had been weaving the Sacred Veil they would present as a gift to their favorite goddess, had taken their places on the wooden boat with wheels that symbolized Athens' naval power. They wore simple white robes that left one shoulder bare and their heads were adorned with wreaths of olive branches. In their fingertips they held the golden-yellow veil they had woven with their own hands. The veil showed scenes from the Gigantomachy and the Titanomachy, the great victories of Zeus and the twelve gods of Olympus over the Giants and the Titans.
When the hot sun of July reached the center of the sky, the sign was given for the procession to start. The four virgins raised the veil and set it up on a pole in the center of their wheeled boat, so that it looked like the sail of a ship filled with wind.
The wheeled boat moved slowly up the street, its wheels crunching on the gravel. Behind it came young men leading the hundred oxen for the sacrifices, young women carrying woven baskets full of gifts, musicians with their instruments and citizens of Athens bringing amphorae filled with oil, honey and wine.
The middle-aged Aristogeitonas and the youth Armodios watched the procession start and held their breath. The first stretched out his right arm and put it tenderly around the shoulders of the second. Armodios pressed his lips together and nodded his wreathed head decisively. He looked his beloved Aristogeitonas in the eye and grasped the handle of the sharp knife hidden under his white tunic. The two lovers were ready.
The boat with the stretched veil passed through the gate and entered the city. At a sign from the head of the procession, the two wreathed oxen pulling it turned to the right and took the Panathenaic Way that led through the Agora and ended at the gates of the Acropolis, where the priests of the temple of the goddess Athena were waiting.
Slowly and steadily, the head of the procession approached the sacred precinct dedicated to the female deities and the pedestal standing in front of it. On the pedestal stood the governor of the city, the tyrant Hipparchus, together with his brother Hippias. Their father, Peisistratos, had seized power fifty years before and imposed a brutal tyranny which now, after his death, was carried on by his oldest son. The tyrant Hipparchus was dressed in his glamorous official clothes and looked down with conceit, arrogance and contempt on the people of Athens gathered outside the walls. But when the sacred veil reached his pedestal, he bent his head in a show of humility and respect for the goddess.
The moment had arrived. The lovers moved quickly on both sides of the pedestal. While the tyrant's guard was busy with the ceremony in honor of the sacred procession, first the youth Armodios and then the middle-aged Aristogeitonas climbed quickly onto the wooden pedestal. When they reached the top, they pulled out the knives hidden in their tunics. Aristogeitonas grabbed Hipparchus by the throat and immobilized him. His youthful lover raised his knife and, with a quick movement, buried it in Hipparchus's unprotected chest, twisting it with hatred.
The heart and lungs were shattered instantly.
The tyrant of Athens fell dead.
Democracy had returned to the city that gave it birth.
"The Baptism of Blood"
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 6
|
Dust and choking heat. The air was like the air in a blacksmith's workshop. As the sun climbed higher in the sky, foreheads were moistened with sweat and faces turned red from the burning rays.
And from excitement. Thousands of people were crowded together under the rock where the Persian fortress and the headquarters of the governor of the city were located. From the western beaches where the Ionian cities were to Susa, the capital of the Persian empire two thousand miles to the east, people had come to Sardis for the annual festival in honor of the Mother Goddess. All those who were faithful or just curious had gathered around the great pits, holding leather bags full of water in their hands and with their heads wrapped in linen cloth soaked in water for protection from the sun. They waited patiently, expectantly, as hour after hour the air grew more and more suffocating from the smell of meat being roasted by the hundreds of peddlers and the odor of thousands of sweating bodies. Pilgrims were everywhere. On the roofs of the imperial limestone buildings, in the branches of the few little trees, crowded together on the surrounding hills, even clinging to the rocks on the hill where the fortress of Sardis was built.
The girl and her nursemaid were not among them. Their prominent places had been chosen by Artaphernes himself, the Persian satrap of the whole province. They sat on bleachers made out of thick canes from the river, right in front of the place of sacrifice. Next to them and around them sat ambassadors of the Persian emperor Darius who had come there from the capital, advisors of the Satrap Artaphernes, commanders of the Persian army, gold traders from Sardis, owners of mines, large landowners and stockbreeders, and all the power and authority of the satrapy.
The girl was worried. She had gone to the baths where they had carefully cleansed her with warm water, had rubbed her skin with the metal scraper, massaged her body and hair with cool water, and perfumed her with sandalwood and incense in all the hidden spots and folds of her unripe body. Finally, her nursemaid had dressed her in her new garments, a colorful Persian robe of cool linen and a high conical hat to protect her head and her clean hair.
Her eyes could not get their fill of the strange and new scene, the immense crowd that filled the whole valley and the hillsides, the proud stances of the guard of the honorary delegation, the plumed costumes of the officials, the precious jewels shining on their bodies. The priests of the goddess, the mystics and their followers. The sanctuary workers who were now setting up special wooden racks above the great pits and the dozens of bulls that waited, shut up in a corral, bellowing and stamping the dry ground with their hooves.
The whole time, her hand stayed in the old, familiar, tender hand of the dear nursemaid who took care of her night and day, and who had been her shadow from the time her eyes first saw the light of day fourteen years before. She as strict as a tutor should be and as tender as any mother, and she was just as absorbed in the scene before them as her charge was. She watched without speaking. For all of her beloved little girl's begging, not a word came from her mouth. Words had no value, they would only cheapen the glorious spectacle that was to follow. Now and then she glanced at the girl's overwrought face and smiled fondly. The fate the gods had assigned to the nursemaid had been hard. She was barren and infertile, alone and unwed, but in the end, her reward had been the precious gift that sat beside her, the girl who had made the years of her old age beautiful from the first time she held her to her breast until now. She was her one and only nurse.
At that moment the girl glanced worriedly at the sky, half closing her eyes against the blinding light.
"The chariot of the sun runs faster than Hermes, the swiftest of the gods. It is already in the middle of the sky."
"Don't worry. Everything is arranged, provided and measured out by the priests."
"Will they have time?"
"Don't worry" her nurse repeated. "The blood will flow in its time..."
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 7
|
The bull bellowed frantically. Tied with five thick ropes of braided strips of hide and with a forged chain around its neck, it was dragged by ten men while several more goaded it on the rump with sharpened canes. The uproar and the dust kicked up by the maddened brute covered the whole of the little valley, because on this day the god Aeolus had closed up his bags of wind and the city was without a breeze.
Just before the bull arrived at the wooden grate, a man waiting at the edge of the pit stripped off the white tunic he was wearing so that he was naked, smeared himself with aromatic oil and, amid the celebratory chanting of the priests, climbed down into the pit, which was deeper than he was tall. There he kneeled to the earth, prayed to the goddess, and prepared for the ritual cleansing that was to follow.
When the chanting of the priests had stopped, complete silence spread out over the hill. It was as if all mouths had closed at the same time so as not to insult the Mother Goddess with their voices. The girl looked on, fascinated, unable to speak because of suspense and the rapid beating of her heart. This was the great hour of sacrifice. The hour for which she had travelled to Halicarnassus in Caria, to the capital of the satrapy of Sardis.
When the thick ropes were tied to the five stakes thrust deep into the earth around the pit, and the chain on the bull's neck was stretched by the strong arms of temple servants, the bull was immobilized on the wooden grate. Its bellowing and the stamping of its hooves shook the air, foam came from its mouth, which opened desperately, and thick saliva ran down its snout and neck. Its brown coat glistened with sweat, its great eyes stared and its tail waved back and forth feverishly. Perhaps it foresaw the end that was approaching. The girl was sure that the bull knew what was coming.
The high priest made three complete circles around the bull, speaking the sacred words of cleansing and sprinkling it with palm oil scented with vrentheio, the Lydian perfume of musk and lavender. Then he stood in front of the animal, grasped its two horns firmly in his two hands, and raised his voice which pierced the air like the howl of a wolf. The naked man in the pit below the grate raised his head, reciting a hymn to the Great Mother. The horns sounded loudly. Another man, dressed in calfskin, climbed up to the wooden grate and took up position under the bull's head. In his hand he held a double ax. With a sudden movement, amid the bellowing and the sound of hymns, he raised the ax and cut the muscles and tendons of the bull's neck. Then, with a long and broad knife, the man cut through the animal's jugular vein while the priest pulled the horns, stretching the head so that the blood rushed out.
The baptism of blood was well underway. The man in the pit received the waterfall of steaming animal blood ecstatically. His naked body was covered in the hot red liquid and his head was stretched back so that his face would receive the life-giving offering. Above him, the sacrificed animal trembled and shook in a desperate attempt to hold on to life. The bellowing had ceased and had been replaced by a death rattle. The life-giving power of the invincible bull flowed onto the faithful man along with the goddess's blessing. Until the bull fell lifeless on the grate, all the blood drained from its body.
"Unbelievable..." the girl murmured, her eyes wide.
"Ritual cleansing is a great gift from the goddess. It is life and good fortune itself" her governess commented calmly. Then she abruptly became serious. "Don't be afraid" she urged, feeling the trembling of the hand she held in her own.
"I don't..."
"Calm down. You're number eighteen."
"I... I don't think I can..."
"The baptism of blood is a gift from the goddess. You can say the prayers we have learned to calm down. You still have time. But you must do it. Your name is already written in the catalog of the temple and the priests have read the wishes on the sacred alter of her temple. If you do not do it, your hubris will be punished and her wrath will fall upon you. Bad fortune will follow you until the end of your life."
"I don't know if..."
"There isn't any if. You cannot get out of it. Your fate has been decided. Today you will bathe in blood."
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 8
|
The tenth bull had been sacrificed. The hour was approaching rapidly. Luckily her hands had stopped trembling. As the sun sank into the west, as the pits filled up with blood, the girl felt her body dry out and the beating of her heart slow down while her mind relaxed. It was not just that she was getting used to the sight and her first reaction was fading. The poppy milk that her nursemaid had given her to drink had had a calming effect. After the first few swallows she felt her limbs relax, her spirit strengthen and her will expand, like the sail of a ship with the wind at its tail.
The eleventh bull and she was already anxious to get into the pit herself, to receive the baptism of blood. Yes, the truth was exactly what her nursemaid had just told her. On this day she would bathe in blood. She would receive the goddess's gifts that would accompany her for the rest of her life: well-being, abundance, good fortune. She had to do it. She was impatient to do it.
At the sacrifice of the twelfth bull they were going to leave the seats to go to the sacrificial area. At the fourteenth bull they were going to take their place next to the pit. At the fifteenth bull the priests would take off her robe and cap, leaving her naked, and the temple women would rub her with the perfume of musk and lavender. And then would follow the hymns, the descent into the pit and she would be sprayed with the life-giving blood that would seal her destiny with the gift of the goddess's favor.
"Come on, let's go, it's time..."
She and her nursemaid climbed down the seats made of canes, took the path between two lines of guards with their scaly armor and their long, embroidered trousers and came to the door of the dressing rooms where the faithful gathered to receive the first blessing from the initiate and to prepare for the ceremony.
With the poppy milk flowing through her veins, enhancing her excitement, with the murmuring of the priests ringing in her ears like a divine incantation and with the scent of perfume and incense thick in the air, a sacred inebriation filled the girl. Inside her, in her stomach and her heart and out to the tips of her fingers, she felt the beginnings of a new force and power, and this too was a gift of the goddess, a sure sign of her favor. Her spirit was already flying above Mount Tmolus, it rose to the heavens and reached the kingdom of the gods, the boundless ether. Her feet did not touch the ground. Ecstasy had taken her. She did not think of earthly things or hear words from human lips. She only felt the touch of her nursemaid, pushing her slowly but surely towards the dressing room where they would take off her clothes and prepare her naked body, and wrap her head in the ceremonial cloth dipped in perfume of musk and lavender.
And then it happened.
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Chapter 10
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They moved with what little strength they had left in their stunned bodies. Their legs trembled from fatigue and from the trauma of the slaughter they had seen. They ran desperately, striding barefoot over fallen bodies and around those who were kneeling, about to die, without noticing the cuts on their soles from the sharp pebbles and with no interest at all in the pain in their traumatized joints.
They got no farther than the base of the great central platform. Before they could reach the path leading upwards, they saw Athenian soldiers racing toward them from the left. In a little while they would be upon them. The path was steep and hard to climb, and their feet were slow from fatigue. The soldiers would take them at the beginning of the path and kill them without mercy.
"No! Back!"
The little one's cry stopped the nursemaid in her tracks, and she stood and looked to her side. She to saw the formation of Athenian soldiers running towards them, clashing their swords on their shields. Their faces were twisted with fury, their hands red with blood.
"To the city..." the nursemaid murmured, trembling. "Let's go to the city to hide."
But when they turned their faces toward the city, the city wasn't there. It was all in flames. Thick smoke covered Sardis, a black haze blotted out the sun. The houses, the stores, the groves, even the temple of the god Ahura Mazda built by the Persians after the conquest of Lydia, were burning. Everything was on fire.
The nursemaid looked around her in despair. Her lungs were blocked, feeling the end. Her heart had almost stopped beating. Her mind was paralyzed. "But by Zeus, we're finished..."
"No..."
Unexpectedly, the great god's name had brought an idea to the girl's mind. She looked away from the east, from the burning city, and turned west, to the end of the valley, to the hill where the temple of the goddess Artemis stood.
"The temple. The Greeks will not strike the temple of one of their own goddesses. It is the greatest sacrilege. They won't dare. We'll hide there and ask for protection as supplicants.
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Chapter 12
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The girl ran up to the first dead soldier. She quickly examined his helmet, his breastplate, his leggings and blue cloak. Then she looked at the other soldier. His breastplate was pierced by an arrow and so was his helmet. No, that wouldn't work. The first one was better, his gear was in better condition.
She quickly bent and turned him over. She took off his helmet, then undid the clasp of his cloak, under the throat. She stood up and put the long blue cloak over her own shoulders and fastened the clasp around her own throat. The she took the helmet in her hands and tried to put it on.
Impossible. It was too small. The dead man's head was smaller than her own, even without the abundant masses of braided hair arranged around it. No matter how hard she pushed, the helmet stayed halfway down her head, and it wouldn't cover her neck. She was sweating from her feverish effort, her face had taken on the color of a flaming pyre.
Behind her, around the corner, she heard the heavy steps again. The Athenian soldiers had finished. They were coming. Any moment they would be at her back with their pointed spears and sharpened swords.
The girl did not hesitate for a moment. With the sharp blade of the sword she cut off two thick braids of her hair. Then she tried the helmet again. It was impossible to pull it down so that it hid her face. She raised the heavy sword above her head and used its flat side to push it down with all her strength. With one strong blow to the bronze crown, the helmet went down to her neck, taking the tips of her ears with it and making her eyes water from the pain.
At the moment the Athenian soldiers turned the corner and saw them in the walkway, the girl had her back turned. The soldiers saw a blue cape and a helmet with the characteristic double crest of an Athenian officer.
The girl did not speak. She had taken the stance for a blow, as she had been taught by her military tutor. Completely motionless, her feet at shoulder width, her arm stretched out and her palm firmly grasping the grip of the sword. The metal blade of the sword was held out vertically in front of her and its point touched the breast of her nursemaid, who stared at her, dumbfounded and terrified.
"Artemisia?" she stammered, feeling the point of the sword between her breasts that had withered up with feeding this girl who was now pointing a sword at her. "What are you doing, my child?"
The girl did not answer. She stood motionless, holding her breath, and listened to the exhausted panting of the two men behind her. Until she heard their steps begin again, hesitatingly.
"I am saving my life..." she murmured softly, looking into her nursemaid's eyes. "The fate Clotho has already spun yours out and you are close to death now. The sin is not so great..." she said softly, and with a decisive movement she plunged the sword into the nursemaid's body, piercing her heart and lungs.
The conical Persian hat fell from the aged head.
The body wrapped in its colorful robe fell to the ground.
The nursemaid's eyes were wide open and they still looked as if she could not believe what was happening.
Male laughter, hideous laughter, sounded behind the girl.
"You lost the bet, Pitya" said one of the soldiers behind Artemisia's back. "Our officer didn't take pity on the old woman. You owe me two cups of wine..."
"Damn... And she was wearing jewelry..."
"We can't do anything about that. The officer who killed her will take the jewels."
"Too bad..."
Then there were steps walking away.
Until complete, deep, deadly silence fell. At least, it fell in the mind and soul of the girl, Artemisia from Halicarnassus, the only daughter of the Satrap Lydgamis.
"May the gods forgive me..." she murmured and kneeled next to the lifeless body of her beloved nursemaid, closed her eyes, and covered her motionless forehead with the sacred ceremonial veil, dipped in the perfumes of musk and lavender.
Then she kissed the wrinkled cheek once, took out a silver coin, opened the governess's mouth and placed it softly on her tongue.
"To pay the boatman who carries you to the kingdom of the underworld..."
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Chapter 83
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"They are afraid, it's obvious" muttered Mervalos, looking at the low Greek triremes bobbing up and down on the waves like walnut shells, and then at their own heavy vessels with the raised rails and the dozens of marines on their decks. "We'll make one mouthful of them…"
"They are afraid, my lady."
"How can you be so sure of that, Diomedes?"
"They underestimated our power. Now that they are close to us, they have realized their mistake and they're stopping. What else could it be?"
"Only the mind of that cursed Themistocles knows" Artemisia answered her helmsman, her heart boiling at the thought of the Athenian's betrayal. He had made a fool of her and the emperor at the same time. Xerxes was famous for his rage and if there was no glorious victory after this, then she herself was sure to be one of the victims. "By Artemis, if we win and I get out alive, I'll tear him to pieces with my own hands," she swore to her protecting goddess.
In vain, because as everyone knows, the oaths of pride always give way before the commands of love.
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Chapter 84
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The Greek ships stayed still at the center of the straits, a position which is very difficult for a ship to hold without dropping its heavy anchor and with the wind hitting it from the side. The rowers did not pull the oars out of the water at all, but moved them back and forth in a short, rapid motion, their hands and shoulders numb from the uninterrupted effort.
"If we have to do this much longer, the men will be exhausted before we attack."
"Who told you we were going to attack?" Themistocles calmly answered his anxious petty officer.
"Well then what are we going to do?"
"Go backwards slowly… Softly… Without turning, stern first…"
His order was transmitted soundlessly through the little white cloths stretched at the sterns of the Greek fleet, in accordance with the plan Themistocles had laid out in the last war council they held before they sailed.
Very slowly the Greek ships started to row back again, towards Salamis. They were retreating, it was obvious that they were retreating. And without any coordination, giving the impression that they had been overcome by awe and terror. Exactly as Themistocles wanted.
"Are we leaving? Are we giving up?" asked the helmsman with his great oars raised.
"It is wise to known when and how to retreat" he answered him. "Isn't that what bulls do before they charge?"
The ill-organized retreat of the Greek fleet continued for about two hundred yards, until the ships had got back to the calm waters and slowed their pace.
That was the moment when the great horn and the drums were heard from the other side. The Persian ships had been ordered to attack by the emperor and their drummers began to give the rhythm to their rowers. The marines and archers took up battle position at the prows and the rails to the side. The captains raised and put on their armor and their helmets. The drummers quickened the pace and the black Phoenician ships lunged forward in pursuit of the terrified Greeks.
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Chapter 85
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"Avast and battle position!"
The white flags were taken down from the sterns and red ones were hung in their places. The Greek ships stopped abruptly and with the help of the helmsmen and the calm waters, they quickly drew up in a straight formation, one next to the other, with their rams pointing forward.
"Avast! Stay still again!"
Themistocles' order seemed at least paradoxical, since the enormous Phoenician ships were bearing down on them from the end of the straits at full speed, with their short, heavy rams tearing through the water. Everyone knew that standing still at the moment of clash and ramming could be fatal for a ship. It wouldn't have the speed to maneuver, and it wouldn't have built up the momentum to strike.
"Avast? Are you sure?" shouted Cimonas from the deck of the Aisia. "In a little while they'll hit us!"
"You're too much of an aristocrat to know the secrets of the sea… And it's time for you to learn… Avast!" Themistocles repeated with certainty, looking straight ahead and calculating the speed and the distance.
"May the god Poseidon help us…"
As the Persian ships continued relentlessly on course, the great biconvex bows on their decks were strung and hundreds of arrows were shot up almost vertically and in bursts, like a sudden summer storm. At that angle of shooting they would fall from a great height, killing the marines on the Greek decks as well as the unprotected rowers on the highest bench.
But that did not happen. The wind took the arrows and pushed them aside while they were still high in the air. At the same moment the Persian archers lost their footing and could not aim right, because the Persian ships had now reached the center of the straits, the point with the strongest wind.
As the wind blew through the black rigging and the curly-horned goats at the prows, the raised decks of the gigantic Phoenician ships changed from an advantage against the enemy to a disadvantage against the wind. With their high sides exposed to the strong wind they rose and fell uncontrollably, while at the same time leaning to the right.
The farther they sailed the more difficult it was to keep to their original course. And it was even more difficult to stay in formation. They started to turn in spite of all the will of their captains and the best efforts of their oarsmen. After a few minutes of exposure to the strong wind their rams were turned to the side and they drifted to windward. But in spite of their unusual and dangerous position, they did not change course. That would have looked like fear and retreat, and it was unthinkable to show fear under the eyes of the emperor, who was watching the attack from his throne. From the moment they received his order and started out, there was only one choice. Forward and only forward. That was what they did, hoping to cross the dangerous center of the straits as quickly as possible. Luckily the Greeks were panicking and terrified. And anyway, not even Ahura Mazda himself would be able to protect them when they were exposed like that.
Themistocles waited. He watched them and his heart felt like it was pounding on top of his metal armor. His plan had unfolded exactly as he wanted it to. Now the great moment had arrived. The moment that would decide everything.
When he saw the first Persian ships enter the smooth waters, he raised his hand high. Then he brought it to the side of his mouth. He waited one or two moments and then shouted in his stentorian voice.
"Full speed ahead! Attack speed!"
At the same instant blue cloths were raised on all the sterns of the Greek ships. From their decks sounded the piercing trumpets and pipes playing the martial hymn of the Greeks. The captains of the whole fleet gave the command to attack, while from the mouths of the rowers came the passionate verses:
Forward, children of Greece
set your country free, set your children free,
your wives, the temples of your ancestral gods,
the tombs of your ancestors
now the struggle is forever…
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Chapter 87
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On the Cassiope, Artemisia was trying in vain to maneuver her ship into battle position. To port and starboard her other four ships were crowded, before her was the stern of a ship from Lycia and behind her the bow of another from Cyprus. If she rowed backward so as not to ram the ship in front of her, she was in danger of being rammed by the one behind her. The situation was hopeless and the only thing she could do was to keep a safe distance so as not to suffer damage without even being in the battle.
But that would not last long, and she knew it. The lookout high on the mast had informed her that the Greeks had sunk many ships of the first line and that they were putting pressure on the whole eastern side of the Persian formation. She looked back unconsciously toward the mountainside where the emperor sat on his throne, surrounded by his generals, his advisors and his mages.
"Foolish, by Artemis, foolish and incompetent in sea warfare. All these ships will cripple each other without the Greeks having to lift so much as a finger."
She climbed up to the curved ornament of the stern and tried to watch the course of the battle to the west, where the elite divisions of the Phoenicians were drawn up. If those managed to beat the Greek divisions across from them, the Greek formation would break and an empty space would be created, relieving the pressure on the center and the east side.
She could not make much out. The atmosphere created in the battle by dozens of clashing ships caused a haze that was impenetrable to human eyes. Also, the heavens were covered by black clouds and the clear morning light was lost. So she could not even see which Greek ships were battling in front of her. She hoped though, hoped with all the strength of her spirit, that they were Athenian. She wanted to find him in front of her. She wanted to make him pay for his betrayal. Themistocles. Cunning Themistocles. Devious Themistocles. Charming Themistocles.
She cursed herself because even now, even after his betrayal and the trap he had set for her, her heart still yearned for him. She was very young and she was a woman, but she was already a famous warlord. She was an amazon who did not hesitate to throw herself into the fire of battle. And she did it in the Greek way: not looking on from the rear and giving orders, but leading her troops and ships herself. And yet, when she was with Themistocles she still thought like a simple-minded woman, destined to melt with love and lose her head at the thought of a man.
"But whatever happens, we have something in common. That cannot change. Maybe that's why sometimes…"
She stopped her monolog, spat in disgust and got down from the stern. The heartbreaking cries of the Persians and the triumphant shouts of the Greeks were growing stronger and stronger. It was a sure sign that the Greek ships had broken the Persian front line at several points and were now approaching their second line. She had to take precautions before they came within ramming distance. She had to order her ships to take up a defensive position to repel the attack. But it was not at all easy to do that in these unbelievably crowed conditions.
"Raise the oars!" she shouted to the captains of the ships next to her, to gain space for the rowers to push the Cassiope forward as soon as she gave the order. "Stay like that and when my ship leaves, each of you in turn take up my position to extricate yourself and follow me. First the two ships to port and then the two to starboard" she finished her orders to her captains.
Then she put on her helmet and grasped her sword tightly.
"Hands on the handles of the oars, everyone in readiness!" she shouted to her petty officer, who immediately relayed the order to the rowers in the hold.
"Row forward?" asked the petty officer.
"Not yet. When I give the order" shouted Artemisia and she began to climb the mast to watch the course of battle with her own eyes.
She did not need to climb to the top. The wake of a tremendous collision shook every board of the Cassiope.
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Chapter 88
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Eyes narrowed.
Lips hermetically sealed.
Xerxes watched the sea battle with increasing discontent, unable to believe his eyes. His ships were crowded together and they were retreating, leaving an empty space to the Greeks, a space that was very useful in this narrow strip of sea.
"Who commands the Phoenicians?" he asked at a certain point, through his teeth.
"Their leader is their king, Mervalos."
"And the Persian admiral?"
"Your brother, Ariavanis."
Xerxes sighed heavily, trying to rid himself simultaneously of his worry and of the rage that overwhelmed him. Then, feeling somewhat calmer, he scanned the sea battle before him once more.
On the eastern side, the Ionians were under great pressure from the Greek advance, but they seemed to be holding out and in some cases, sporadically, to be counterattacking. They had a huge advantage in weaponry and sooner or later they would prevail, since they could afford to lose many ships without reversing the balance of forces. In the center things seemed to be proceeding just as steadily, with the Persian lines holding in spite of the fierce attack they had sustained. But on the west side of their formation, the situation had reversed itself and things looked dangerous. That was the point where his brother Ariavanis was fighting, the point where the elite divisions of Phoenician ships were drawn up against the Athenian ships.
Those divisions were almost torn apart. Some of their ships had been completely destroyed, and nothing remained of others except some broken boards and oars floating on the waves. There were many ships that continued fighting, but they retreated constantly and were in danger of being crushed on the rocks. The longer the emperor watched, the more clearly he saw that the situation was not just dangerous, it was almost desperate. The Phoenicians were being attacked on two fronts simultaneously, from the front and from the side. The forty Greek ships that had withdrawn before the battle had now returned and were striking from the vulnerable starboard side. No matter how well trained and well armed a fleet is, it is still difficult for it to fight off a coordinated double attack. That is true of battles on land and even more true of battles on the sea, as the enraged Xerxes now saw.
"And yet… It is impossible for us to be defeated. Impossible… The Persian army is invincible…" he murmured and raised his eyes to the heavens in a plea to the god of the sun. But the god of the sun had hidden himself behind a thick veil of clouds as if he were abandoning them at the critical moment.
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Chapter 89
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With the help of the ships of Adeimantos that had suddenly returned, the Phoenician fleet was rapidly pushed back to the east. The last lines ran aground on the rocks off the coast and were smashed to pieces. The Persian marines sank straight to the bottom in their heavy armor, while the Phoenician rowers who tried to swim away were mown down by javelins and arrows from the decks of the fast approaching Greek ships. The frothy sea was died red and severed hands, feet and heads bobbed in the water along with intestines and pieces of wood from smashed ships.
"They are leaving. The Phoenicians are running for the eastern exit."
"They don't have any other choice" Themistocles answered his helmsman. "If they stay, they won't have a single ship left."
"Shall we pursue them? Full speed ahead?
"No."
"No?"
"Let them go. They cannot escape. The exit from the straits is blocked. They will fall on their own ships trying to get away."
"Then the battle is over for us?"
"The second line of our ships will stay. The first line, advance to the center to help the ships from Megara. Helm to starboard."
The Artemis leaned far over and made the turn.
After the Phoenicians they had to deal with the Egyptians and the Ionians.
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Chapter 91
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"It is the Cassiope, the ship of Artemisia."
The messenger had just returned from the eastern lookout, bringing the answer to the question the emperor had asked a short time earlier.
Xerxes nodded and told his personal scribe to note down the name on his papyrus.
"Why?" asked Mardonius, who had expected her to finally get the punishment her insolent and disobedient character deserved.
"She shall inscribed in the Orasagon… She deserves it…" the king answered him.
"The role of imperial benefactors?" asked Mardonius, stunned by the unexpected answer. "Her treachery is undeniable."
"It was not treachery."
"The ship she hit was not Greek, Great King. It was ours. It was the ship of Damasythymos, king of…"
Xerxes raised his hand tiredly, commanding him to stop. "I know. But again, I believe it was not treachery. It was a struggle to survive, to save her life and the lives of her men. And in such a struggle, everything is allowed. If we had more commanders like Artemisia, we would have avoided this disaster…"
The words of Xerxes faded inside the bitter taste of defeat in his mouth as red-hot iron fades in ice water. His hand went limply to the armrest of his throne and his body reclined in a posture of exhaustion and resignation. But his gaze remained fixed on the straits before him which were full of oars, planks, broken sterns, half sunk keels, human limbs and broken bodies. He took a deep breath and sighed, breathing out forcefully in an attempt to release all of his pent-up frustration.
"My men fight like women and my women like men…" he murmured slowly and tonelessly.
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Chapter 53
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"Wars are not won by repetition" Leonidas was saying at the same moment.
"What do you mean?"
"Wars are won by surprise. Tomorrow we will not draw up on the field of battle. Now the Persians know our tactics. Their generals will have studied our movements and taken their measures."
"So we're not going to fight?" Dienekes asked, dumbfounded.
"Who said anything like that?" Leonidas answered, smiling.
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Chapter 54
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The next morning the Spartans did not gather their phalanx, did not raise their spears or go out before the wall. The Persian scouts looked for them in vain from their raised lookouts.
The sun was high in the sky but the area in front of the Spartan wall was still empty. Even the gate with the sliding wooden door at its center remained fast shut. Higher up, on the bastions of the Greek wall, not a single crested helmet could be seen. The place looked eerie and abandoned.
"Maybe they have left" Mardonius said to himself when he read the reports from his scouts. "They fought one battle, caused some damage, and retreated to wait for us somewhere else. Or maybe they simply ran away when they understood they won't always be this lucky."
"Yesterday they won a great victory. No one abandons a victorious field of battle that quickly" said Hydarnes, skeptically.
"But the reports are clear. There is no one on or before the wall."
"But behind it?"
"Behind the wall they cannot fight. They cannot defend it. No one wins a battle by hiding" Mardonius insisted, looking at Xerxes who was sitting on his throne outside his tent and gazing at Thermopylae four miles away. "They have left. Their city is many days march to the south. It is more likely that they want to fight the next battle nearer their own territory. My agents in Athens and our friends from the city of Argos report that the rest of the Spartan army is barricaded in a narrow spot called Isthmos a hundred and fifty miles south of here."
Xerxes did not speak. He looked at the battlefield and the narrow pass for a little while and then turned his gaze back to the camp. But he did not look either at Mardonius or Hydarnes. He looked at his servant, Patiramphi, who stood beside him holding the golden cup with perfumed water.
"Go and call Dimaratos. He will solve the problem for us," he ordered him.
The exiled king of Sparta, who had found refuge in Xerxes' court and was now repaying him for his magnanimity by following him and advising him on the campaign, came to the great tent wearing a simple white chiton without ornaments or jewelry. He bowed before the Great King and then retreated a few steps and stood to attention. A strange thing for a Spartan to do, even in exile, but ingratitude is also a great sin for a Spartan.
"I am listening, King of Kings."
Xerxes briefly told him of Mardonius' assumption and the objections of Hydarnes.
Dimaratos did not hesitate for a second. He replied as if he did not need to think at all. "Mardonius is mistaken. A Spartan never abandons the field of battle. He either triumphs or dies."
"How can you be so sure?" Mardonius was indignant. "You have been away from your city for ten years. Everything could have changed."
"Fish may grow legs and horses may grow scales, but the law of Sparta does not change. It has been followed with iron discipline for forty generations."
"You are sure, then, that Mardonius is mistaken?"
"Absolutely. Spartan warriors do not leave."
"Then where are your famous warriors?" Mardonius asked angrily, pointing at the empty field of battle. "Are they hiding behind their wall like chickens?"
Dimaratos shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know. But I will give you a piece of advice, general" he said, turning his gaze to Mardonius. "Do not go to find them with stalks of wheat in your hands. You will need spears. Many spears…"
"I know how to go and find them, Dimaratos" Hydarnes answered him, and came closer.
"How?"
"The same way they found us yesterday…"
"Do whatever you want as you have planned it. The only thing I ask is to pass the straits and march quickly towards Athens. Even though yesterday it seemed very difficult to me" Xerxes muttered tiredly. Then he turned away and walked to his private apartments without saying another word.
In spite of Mardonius' optimism and Hydarnes' plans, his mind was on a phrase he had heard a few hours before. A phrase said with certainty and courage in a woman's voice, raised against all of his generals: You will not achieve anything. Everything will be decided on the sea…
"Everything will be decided on the sea…" he muttered now, thoughtfully repeating her words.
"Bring Artemisia to me… And inform the bath attendants…"
"To prepare the hot water and aromatic oils for you?"
"Not for me. For Artemisia…"
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Chapter 55
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He looked at the yellow cloth of the ceiling with the intensity of a priest before carrying out a ritual. His gaze motionless, his lips pressed together, lines of thought on his forehead. Not a word had come from his mouth for some time.
Artemisia sat and turned towards him, looking him in the eyes. "Can I be of service to you, my king?"
He did not break his silence or lower his eyes. The fabric of the ceiling continued to monopolize his gaze.
Artemisia sat a little higher than his swarthy chest. She opened her red lips and passed her tongue over them to moisten and soften them. The she lightly touched his hairless chest and her hand slipped lower, to his penis that still shone in the half light of dusk, covered with her fluids.
Her lips opened again and drew all of it in, her tongue playing upon it with the artistry of Sappho and her daughters as she had been taught by those who came to Halicarnassus from the island of Lesbos.
In spite of the undeniable hardness of his member and the slight tremor brought on by his pleasure, the king touched her ebony hair and pulled her softly upwards.
Artemisia sat up and looked at him in surprise. Unpleasant surprise.
"Don't you like me anymore?" she asked in a trembling voice. Everyone knew what happened to the king's mistresses when he lost interest in them.
Xerxes smiled for the first time in many hours. Faintly, but he smiled. "It's not that."
"Then what?"
He took his gaze from the ceiling and sat up on the pillows of the bed. "I lost many men yesterday…" he said dejectedly.
Artemisia, who was still holding his penis in her fingers, felt it loosen like dough placed in warm water. She opened her palm and, with two quick kisses to his underbelly, she got up and sat beside him, looking at him attentively.
"You will win, my king. Everyone knows it. No tree can withstand the sweeping wind, no matter how strong its roots are."
"I will win, but at what price?" he answered with melancholy. "You have been right every time you have spoken so far, and you do not hesitate to risk your head by saying what you think in front of everyone."
"It will not happen again."
"Do not be hasty like Mardonius. You will make mistakes."
"I do not understand."
"I want you to help me."
Artemisia sat up and looked at him, puzzled. "How?"
"You are Greek…"
"I am the queen of Halicarnassus and a subject of the empire" she hastened to explain.
"Your roots are Greek, their blood flows in your veins" Xerxes continued undisturbed. "You speak their language and believe in the same gods. I want to learn about the Spartans. I want to understand. Tell me. I trust you, but I don't trust Dimaratos."
"I cannot tell you much, my king, beyond what the whole world knows. They are fearless fighters, the best in the world. Many of our cities are descended from common ancestors with Sparta, but Halicarnassus has ties to Athens."
She felt his muscles spasm when he heard the hated name. And his skin tighten like a ship's sail in the wind.
"Tell me about Athens then."
"Hippias knows it better."
"Hippias is a dotard who thinks only of revenge and becoming tyrant again. He advised my father on the last campaign and the advice led to catastrophe. I will get rid of him when he ceases to be useful. Tell me about the Athenian soldiers. Are they like the Spartans?"
"Athens is not famous for its army, but for its navy. Its ships and its sailors are its great strength."
"Sailors did not beat us at Marathon."
"They are neither such great fighters nor such upright men as the Spartans are. You do not have as many reasons to admire them in war. They talk a great deal and they quarrel a great deal, but just because of that they also think a great deal. That is their great advantage. Thought. The Athenians would never be in a battle like the one you saw yesterday and today."
"Hippias and our spies in Athens have spoken to me of a certain Themistocles. Do you know him?"
The muscles of her body tightened. She fought to hide the reddening in her cheeks and the fear in her eyes. She wondered for a moment whether the king knew something about herself and Themistocles. Whether someone had spoken to him. She tried to guess. It was impossible. His eyes were fixed on her and motionless, like black nails.
"Do you know him?" Xerxes repeated the question insistently.
"Yes. If Leonidas is the famous hand of the Greeks, Themistocles is their cunning mind. Ten times more dangerous, and he is not lacking in valor either. He convinced the Athenians and the other Greeks that they must confront you on the sea."
"Foolish. If the Spartans stop our army and we cannot pass, then the sea will be irrelevant. If we defeat them and pass, then it will still be irrelevant."
"Wrong" she answered curtly. She had refound her usual self confidence when the conversation left Themistocles and came back to warfare.
"Wrong?"
"If our fleet does not come in time, our army will not be stopped by Leonidas but by hunger. Whoever dominates the sea dominates the world. In this war, the sea will determine the victor."
Her moment had come. Artemisia jumped nimbly from the bed, pulled the carpet that covered the floor of the tent to the side, picked up a rod and drew a map of the area on the beaten ground, as she remembered it from the relief on the table of the council of war.
Then, using the rod, she showed him the positions of the Persians and the Greeks on land and sea. She explained her plan quickly, emphatically, persuasively.
"If we use our fleet, we can outflank their positions, disembark our soldiers to their south, and surround them. No army can fight on two fronts at the same time. Not even the Spartans."
"Intelligent…"
"But there is one problem, my king."
"What?"
"To do that we have to destroy the Greek fleet guarding the sea straits and the passes that is lying at anchor at Artemisio," she answered emphatically. "We must first defeat Themistocles, its commander…"
Xerxes sighed. "We Persians do not know the sea, we are men of the plains and deserts."
"But the Phoenicians know it. They are the best sailors in the world and they are your subjects."
"Exactly. They are my subjects. I do not trust them for such an important mission. Besides that, they are merchants. Men of money, born to buy and sell…" he added suddenly and fixed his eyes on her. "Whereas you…"
"I am also your subject."
"Not only that," he said meaningfully and stroked her head tenderly. "You also know about naval war. Your country is a sea-going state and you command your fleet yourself."
"That is true."
"Will you help me, then?"
"How?"
"By helping my brother Achaimenes and my fleet destroy the Greeks. I know you know Themistocles, the commander of the Greek fleet. I had reports from Halicarnassus. He came to your palace. That man now commands the enemy fleet."
Silence. Heavy, intolerable silence.
"Am I wrong, Artemisia?"
"No, my lord."
"Destroy him!" Xerxes said suddenly, his eyes shining with rage. "Destroy him and put your plan into practice."
"Themistocles or his fleet?"
"I am not interested in one man, no matter how big his reputation is. Without his fleet, Themistocles is naked, a man without weapons, without power."
"I will do it," her answer came immediately and decisively. "But we don't have time, my king. You know that. We must hurry."
"In the morning they informed me that our fleet is anchored at Afetes, across from the Greek fleet, half a day's journey from here by fast horse. Leave at once and do whatever you think is necessary. With you will come two royal messengers so you can inform me immediately. If we manage to destroy their fleet and transfer part of our army to the south of the Spartans as you propose, everything will be over soon."
In a few minutes Artemisia had dressed and left the royal tent.
With anxiety and a pounding heart.
And not just because she was back with her ships again.
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[
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"Greece"
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Chapter 56
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The Immortals. The renowned, elite imperial guard. Professional soldiers, terrifically impressive, trained hard in many years of war from India to Egypt. But not all of them. It was only one of their battalions, one thousand out of ten thousand.
They resembled priests at a ceremony. They were wearing their colorful garments—red tiaras on their heads, sky blue caftans to their thighs, porphyry cloaks and green trousers. When they marched together, they looked like a moving rainbow. Their eyes were painted with black kohl and their foreheads with green oxidized copper. On their necks, wrists and fingers they wore their best golden jewelry that flashed in the strong midday sun. The quivers, bows and arrows were slung on their backs, their sheathed swords at their sides, and in their hands they held their spears, engraved with the royal symbol, a golden pomegranate, shined to perfection by their attendants. It was an imposing sight, unquestionably magnificent, worthy of an imperial army.
Behind them a wall of dust confused the sight and created an imposing background that heightened the impression. The attendants of the Immortals, who followed their masters everywhere, had been ordered to carry branches with them and to drag them over the dry ground. Farther back, the other nine thousand Immortals stamped their feet on the ground, stirring up even more dust and creating a rhythmical pandemonium as if the underworld were quaking.
"Nobody move…" Leonidas gave the order softly to the watchers standing on the wall above them, watching the advance of the battalion of Immortals from cracks in the cliff, unseen themselves.
Beneath the watchers, with their backs to the wall, the attendants were spread out. Soldiers who were not omoioi and equal citizens of Sparta, but helped the army as light infantry, armed with slingshots from which they shot round lead pellets weighing thirty grams, that were easy to carry in large amounts. Behind the double wooden gate in the wall stood a small phalanx of sixty Spartan fighters in a long rectangle with its narrow side four yards long, the length of the gate in the wall.
A long way farther back, the rest of the Spartans were drawn up with all their gear, ready for battle.
"Three hundred feet and closing" called the watcher from the wall.
"Wait" Leonidas said calmly to the phalanxes of his soldiers.
"How long? If they get too close and they have siege machines, the wall won't take it" asked Dienekes.
"They can't. We broke the dams and the ground is muddy. They won't be able to carry them here."
"They can carry ladders."
"They won't touch the wall. They won't get there."
"Two hundred feet…"
"Load the slings" Leonidas ordered the attendants.
Then he looked at the four files of warriors waiting for him behind the gate in the wall. Fifteen lines deep. Sixty men in the first, peculiar phalanx of the attack he was preparing.
"A hundred and fifty feet."
"Weapons at the ready."
In one movement, without making a sound, the Spartans of the first phalanx behind the wall lowered their helmets, picked up their shields, and raised their spears.
"A hundred and thirty feet."
"Wait. Don't move. Surprise is everything."
With a nod, Leonidas ordered the two hewn trunks barring the gate to be taken down.
"A hundred feet."
His last glance was to his back. Behind the first phalanx were four more, ready to follow the first wave of the attack. The double transverse crests of the officers' helmets waved in the light breeze. The vertical crests of the soldiers gave a magnificent height to their formation. Their shields flashed in the sun. Their spears pierced the heavens.
Everything was ready.
Leonidas lowered his helmet.
"Sixty feet."
"Now!"
The gate in the wall opened. Dozens of lead missiles left the slings of the attendants simultaneously, like a torrential metal rain.
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Chapter 58
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He withdrew, enraged and frustrated, to his apartments, and lay on his bed thinking about the unexpected, unheard of defeat of his enormous army by a handful of fighters for the second day in a row. He lay still while the tears drew lines and made paths over his dark face. Not from grief for the lost Immortals, but from humiliation.
Slowly, slowly, while time passed and the heavy hand of melancholy gradually loosened its grasp, Xerxes' mind turned to Artemisia's plan. The more he thought about her words the more convincing they seemed. Once more she was right. Things were exactly as she had said. There was no way out on the dry land, no matter how crushing his numerical superiority was. Her plan on the sea was perhaps the only solution, since in spite of his order that gold and silver from his treasury should be given to any local who could lead the army through the high mountains and take him around to the rear of the Spartans, no one had appeared that whole day.
The tent's curtain opened suddenly, interrupting his thoughts, and his personal attendant appeared in the opening.
"My king…"
"Not now, Patiramphi."
"Mardonius just arrived with someone and is asking to see you."
"Tomorrow. Today has been tiring. More than tiring. Tragic. I lost many of my best men, nobles from the court of Susa, beloved friends and my brother, Avrokomi. I must mourn and perform libations to the Great God. My brother will pass the bridge of the Great Judge tonight. Call the priests…"
But Patiramphi did not move.
"Call the priests and the mages!" Xerxes repeated imperiously, surprised at his servant's slowness.
Behind him, in the door of the tent, Mardonius appeared. He came into the bedroom and stood before the emperor, looking at him intensely.
"I have told you that I do not wish to see anyone, Mardonius. Not even you!"
"Then do not see me…" his commander in chief answered enigmatically. "But you must see the man I am bringing with me."
"Why?" asked Xerxes, wondering at his general's insistence.
"Because he will bring us the victory tomorrow."
The emperor laughed sarcastically. "Are you bringing a god with you?" he asked.
"No. I am bringing a Greek."
Xerxes sat up in confusion. "A captive?"
"No. Free. He came of his own free will."
"A deserter?"
"No."
"Then what? Why did he come? And how did he get here?"
"By your orders."
"My orders? Who is he?"
"His name is Ephialtes…" Mardonius said slowly, and smiled meaningfully. "And he is the one you asked for… The one who will lead us over the mountain…"
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[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
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Chapter 60
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The moonlight gleamed on the ornaments as the figures walked hastily up the narrow path between the steep canyons of Mount Kallidromo.
A few hours earlier, immediately after the night's trumpets gave the signal for silence, half the force of Immortals, having in the meantime replaced the huge numbers of men they had lost, had gathered as silently and secretly as they could at the edge of the Persian camp a few miles to the west. There, the five thousand men and Hydarnes, who had been made head of the enterprise, met Ephialtes, the Greek traitor who would lead them over the mountain for a leather purse full of gold from the Persian treasury.
Now, while the moon was high, the Persian soldiers quickly marched over the Anopaia road that cut the mountain in half, crossing its gorges by passes carved in the rock by rushing waters from the winter rains.
"How long will we need, Greek?"
"About six hours, my lord. Dawn will find us on the other side of the mountain, behind their position."
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[
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"Greece"
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Chapter 61
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The small boy was still out of breath. The sheepskin he wore next to his flesh was soaked with sweat and the clay amulet hanging on his chest, carved with the form of the goddess Artemis, went up and down like a little boat on a stormy sea.
"Are you sure?"
"It is summer, my master's sheep are still high on the mountain. I watch them."
"And you saw them?"
"Yes. They went over the path. They were wearing strange clothes, colorful. They spoke a language I didn't understand."
"Were there many?"
"They walked by for a long time. Their voices woke me. I watched them, but I could not count them in the darkness and I was afraid to come closer."
"Someone has betrayed us. It is impossible for the Persians to have known that difficult path" commented Dienekes.
"It is easy for the tongue to be loosened when the eye sees gold" murmured the diviner Megistias. "Unfortunately, the omens were right…"
"Perhaps the thousand Phocaeans at the exit of the path stopped them."
Dimophilos, who knew them better, smiled bitterly. "Do not place your hand in the fire, Dienekes."
Leonidas did not comment on what he said. "Gather the officers" he told Dienekes calmly.
"The Spartans?"
"All of them. We are all equal here in battle and in death."
A little while later, around the extinguished central fire of the camp, the officers of the alliance, those that were still alive, gathered to make their decisions.
Just before they started to talk, the scout they had sent out earlier arrived, dismounted from his horse and announced that the Phocaians had abandoned the exit of the path and had run away to the hill a little farther back. The Persians ignored them and marched towards the sea. In a few hours they would be there.
Leonidas looked to the east, which was turning grey. "Before the sun climbs high, they will have closed off the road that leads south towards central Greece and Athens. They will have surrounded us."
"Can we retreat before they close off the road?" asked Dimophilos.
Dienekes looked at him as if he had just heard the strangest thing in the world. "Retreat?"
"In a little while they will surround us. What are our chances?"
"Chances?" This time it was not Dienekes who wondered, but the Spartan Maronas. His left hand hung lifeless at his side. The tendons had been cut and the fingers were dead. But his face was like his cloak, red with rage. "The chances don't matter. You cannot go into battle calculating your chances like a merchant at an auction. We can fight on both fronts. We can face them."
"Until when?" shouted Philaretes, the leader of the Arcadians. "What does it matter whether we resist until morning or evening? Or even until tomorrow or the next day? In the end we'll be defeated. That's what logic tells us."
Dienekes opened his mouth to disagree, but Leonidas' hand stopped him.
"You are right, Philaretes…"
Dienekes' mouth closed suddenly. He looked at his king in amazement. So did Maronas and his brother Alpheos, sitting beside him. The Spartans could not believe their ears when they heard those words from their king.
Would the Spartans break their law for the first time in their history?
Would they retreat?
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[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
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THEMISTOCLES
|
[ Athens, Greece ]
Dozens of voices sounded together, high up on the rock of the Acropolis, before the sanctuary of Athens. The eighteen-year-old youths of the city were giving the Ephebic Oath.
I will fight alone and with others
and when die I will leave my country
stronger than I received it.
I will willingly obey those who adjudicate
and whatever the people establishes with a joint decision...
A short time before, on the hill across from the Acropolis where the democratic assembly of Athens met, they had received the highest title of honor, the title of Citizen of the Athenian Democracy. That same day they received their honorary weapons, the shield and spear.
Now, dressed in white cloaks, they were lined up before the temple, right hands raised. They proudly repeated the words of the official oath of the democracy, read out from a papyrus by the wise adult man appointed by the assembly to supervise them.
Immediately after the end of the ceremony, each of those eighteen year old youths would officially be considered an Athenian citizen. The next day their military education would begin, and they would have to become soldiers as well.
"I can't wait..."
"It won't be long, Alkamenes. You can wait until tomorrow morning" Themistocles answered sourly.
"I don't think I can wait that long."
"The important part is today."
"For you."
"For everyone. The most important thing is for us to become citizens of Athens. Equals among equals, with the same rights and obligations to the city..."
Equals... It was a word that had come out of Themistocles' mouth thousands of times in all those years they were growing up together.
Alkamenes laughed. He had those words, his friend's obsession, dozens and even hundreds of times before. Themistocles had been repeating them continuously since the time they all learned to read and write, and later, when they were sixteen and wrestled together, naked and oiled, in the same palaestra.
"I know that it's your dream to be elected by the people, to have permission to speak and address the assembly. To cover yourself with glory..." he said, teasingly.
"You're wrong. My dream is simply to serve the city and more importantly, to serve the democracy and the people of Athens" Themistocles murmured irritably and then added in a bitter voice, "If the nobles and the aristocrats like you let me of course, because I don't..."
"Oh no. Don't start that again, please" his friend cut him off impatiently.
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300 The Empire
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[
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"Greece"
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Chapter 16
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For the first thousand yards the whole group ran together like a pack of wolves falling hungrily on their prey. The eighty pounds of bronze armor seemed like a light sack and their feet flew over plants and branches, stones and pits. Besides, the first thousand yards were the easiest. They were still in the cleared valley, on an even and level field.
But after a mile the way became steep and the path wound through a thick forest, climbing the mountain. Fewer than a hundred of the six hundred runners remained in front when the forest gave way to dry, bare stones with sharp edges that could cut a runner's foot from end to end. Now the eighty pounds of armor felt more like a hundred and eighty, the muscles of their shoulders ached from exhaustion and their heads leaned toward their chests from the weight of the bronze helmets.
Lambrias was in front, just as Themistocles had predicted. In full armor, holding the heavy spear in one hand and the iron sword in the other, with his back straight as a statue's, he strode forward confidently and securely. Neither the dry branches that threatened to flay his body nor the sharp rocks that could cut his feet managed to slow him down.
Several yards behind him came Themistocles, gritting his teeth, and with him ran about ten other athletes. To his surprise, when he looked to the side to assess the situation he saw the delicate Aristeides, red from the effort but running with a steady rhythm. Physical strength and endurance were not his strong points; in spite of the palaestrae, his body had not become tough and well-knit. But on that difficult day Aristeides was the living proof that sometimes, as the philosophers say, spirit rules over matter.
In spite of his surprise, Themistocles smiled. For him, Aristeides was also the proof of his own argument that the mind and the will always come before physical strength. At this moment, his permanent opponent in the rhetorical competitions was also a model for his own attempt to overcome Lambrias's physical superiority.
Themistocles turned his gaze to the front again. He saw with dissatisfaction that Lambrias had increased the distance between them while he was looking back. The front runner had already reached the great trench with the steep drop. He stood at the edge for a moment and then, balancing his body, threw himself into the void without hesitation. He tumbled down the steep slope curled up like the wheel of a cart and stopped softly at the bottom of the gorge. He got up and, plunging his sword deep in the earth, pulled his heavy body up. Then he raised his spear and stuck it in, pulling and raising his heavy muscles that twisted like the roots of a hundred year old tree.
Imitating his example, Themistocles curled up and jumped into the void. However, his attempt was not so successful. When he landed on the bottom of the gorge and tried to stand up, he felt pain so intense that he thought his left foot must have been torn off and stayed on the slope behind him. And his left arm was in no better condition. When he stood up and examined himself, he found a deep wound in his ankle. He must have hit a stone or something while he was going down. Clenching his teeth and limping, he hobbled to the beginning of the steep slope on the other side of the gorge and thrust his spear into the ground as Lambrias had done.
But not with the same success. In spite of his best efforts, the tired muscles of his arms could only pull him up slowly. It was almost more than he could do to balance in this new, higher position, and he could not hang on with one arm to thrust the spear in with the other.
"Use your legs" he was astonished to hear Aristeides' advice coming from behind.
"My left leg is useless. I can't move my ankle."
"Your knees... Use your knees... Carve out a place for your knees before you raise the rest of your body."
It took him a long time, but he made it. When he reached the top he turned his body and rested until he felt the sharp pain in his foot recede and the hammering in his breast quiet down. When he got up again, he saw that only three other athletes had made it across the gorge, one of the worst obstacles in the race. Aristeides was one of them, but now he was lying on the ground with his face sweaty and twitching and his chest rising and falling like a boat in a storm. His arms and legs trembled uncontrollably and his nails were scratching the ground.
Unfortunately, Lambrias was nowhere to be seen. With his eyes Themistocles carefully searched the bushy area that stretched out for half a mile in front of him and ended in a thick forest of pine and plane trees, but he could not make out the huge, running figure. Finally, a great distance ahead, he saw Lambrias advancing confidently. With disappointment Themistocles had to admit that, except if some miracle happened and Hermes lent him his winged sandals, the race was lost.
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300 The Empire
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[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
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Chapter 18
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He sat without moving and watched the water in intense frustration. The large lake was an insuperable obstacle. His mind was paralyzed, he had fallen into a languor in which scenes from his childhood played before his eyes, sights he had seen in the Agora when he was going to his teacher's house and even earlier, in stories and myths he had heard from his father's friends in the courtyard of their house.
Looking at the reflections of the sun on the water, a Babylonian myth came into his mind. It was a story told to him by their Persian slave Sanacheirim before he was forced to change his name to a Greek one and call himself Sikinos. The myth told of the creation of the world and the two great Assyrian gods of water, Apsou and Tiamat, who sent endless rain to the earth in an attempt to kill their children because they were making a lot of noise and wouldn't let them sleep. All of the children of the gods drowned except for Marduk, who managed to survive by clinging to the trunk of a tree that floated on the water. When the rains finally stopped, Marduk found a dry place, stepped on the ground, and was safe and sound.
Themistocles suddenly raised his head and looked at the water that spread out before him, blocking his way. He pushed himself up with his hands and took out his sharp sword. He went back a few feet into the woods and looked around feverishly, with dilated pupils. He chose four small pines with straight, tender trunks, and struck them with his sword just above the ground, near their roots. The green wood gave way quickly under the sword strokes, and the trunks fell to the ground. He cleared off the branches, grabbed them and pulled them to the lake, where he laid them one beside the other.
Then he looked up and down the shore. He saw small plane trees, tall pines and low willows. The willows would work for him. He cut an armful of their longest and most flexible branches, the ones that fell from the top of the tree to the bottom like a woman's hair. Then he went back to the pine trunks, cleaned the leaves off the flexible branches so that they looked like thick cords, and tied the trunks firmly together. When his makeshift raft was finished, he pulled it into the water and climbed onto it, carrying his sword and long spear.
The trunks rocked under his weight and sank about two feet at first, but then came back to the surface and stabilized. Themistocles smiled in triumph. A shout of victory burst from him. He felt he had conquered the water.
Mind against muscle.
Human ingenuity against brute force.
Resourceful Odysseus against fearless Achilles.
That was his strength.
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Chapter 19
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He used the spear to push the boat, sinking the point to the bottom of the lake and poling steadily and firmly. The raft started to move towards the opposite shore. At that slow speed, though, it might take hours to cross the distance of half a mile.
While pushing on the spear with all the strength he had left, he raised his eyes and looked along the path. He saw that Lambrias had reached the last curve in the path and was starting slowly towards the waterfall. If he managed to pass under the water and come out on the other side, everything would be over.
With his eyes following his opponent's progress, he tried to speed up the raft. He sank his spear more quickly and pushed harder. The raft swayed but continued on its course. When Themistocles had reached the middle of the lake, Lambrias had reached the edge of the foaming falls and was preparing to pass through the narrow gap between the cliff and the arc of water.
Themistocles bent his head and concentrated on what he was doing. In his mind he heard the rhythmic beating of the drum that gave the tempo in every warship. Sweat dripped from his face, his legs were going numb and the muscles of his arms were going red. It had to work. He had promised himself.
Victory.
In his mind there was only victory.
Until he heard a screeching cry that echoed in the rocky valley. He stopped poling with his spear and raised his head, wondering. There wasn't a soul on the shore in back of him, nor in front of him, on the far side of the lake.
But the cry came again.
He looked to his right.
And then he saw him.
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2040 Reconnection
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Kris Schnee
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[
"fantasy"
] |
[
"virtual reality",
"Thousand"
] |
Chapter 4
|
Alma sped through her last 'vacation' week in a few days of subjective time. Preparing lesson plans was more important than questing for magic or seeking better housing, so she reluctantly put adventuring aside. Instead she did pretty much what she'd done on Earth: sit in restaurants, reading and writing.
Until the robot piloting appointment. The building for that was linked to the hotel, past a hallway full of lasers and sawblades. Alma stared into the deathtraps and asked a passing dwarf, "Is this normal?"
"Yeah, the commute's a pain," he said. He started marching past them, swinging his hammer to parry the blades.
Alma watched. The hall looked menacing, but really she'd only have to face one or two obstacles at a time. It was artfully designed to be reasonably easy yet make players feel cool solving it. She followed the same path, hopping and dodging, but then a blade she'd mistimed swung down and tore into her.
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2040 Reconnection
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Kris Schnee
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[
"fantasy"
] |
[
"virtual reality",
"Thousand"
] |
Chapter 7
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That night, or Tuesday or whatever the hell time it was outside, Alma slumped against the bar and smacked her empty milkshake glass down. It didn't break. "Another."
Kai was the only real person on duty right now. The dim bar-and-grill had a midnight feel with few customers and with the TVs muted. He backed his long chestnut body out of the sink area and trotted over to Alma. "I'm cutting you off after this one."
"Calories here are make-believe. I am not up for this job."
"It was your first day. It'll get better."
Alma gnawed on an authentically bland peanut. "I used to teach the smart kids. The ones headed to college, ROTC, the good technical schools. These kids are like chimps! Or goldfish; saying that's less likely to get me fired."
Kai worked his alchemy with a blender, pausing to say, "It's that big a gap, that they're like animals to you?"
Alma rested her head on one hand. "That sounds awful, I know. But I'm smart. I don't know what uploading did to my intelligence level, but I think me still brain good. I'm like, here" -- she held her other hand above the bar, then slapped it down -- "and average is here, and these Basic kids are down at your hooves. How do I relate to that?"
"Do you always tell average people you're up there looking down?" he said, standing taller than her.
"Damn it, Kai, you sound like an American. I don't need to apologize for knowing I'm good at something, so long as I don't think that gives me the right to control people. And it's not like I'm better at everything. Like with... cooking. At cooking you're up there and I'm way under you."
Kai was facing away, flicking his tail. "I like that image."
Alma sputtered. "Excuse me?"
He turned and set a banana milkshake in front of her. "Mostly teasing. I..." He scratched one of his long brown ears. "I had a falling out with the human I was made for. We're still friends. Part of our spat was what you're saying. It's tough to talk with people when you're smart and talented and you've been living in a different mental world from them. I and the other Originals were designed for that kind of outreach. All the magic in Talespace too: it's there to give you humans a bridge between what you are, and what you wish you were. So... hating the gap doesn't do any good. You either cross it somehow, or accept that you can't. I don't know which one applies here."
"Between natives and uploaders?" Alma said. "Or smart and dumb? Talespace and Earth?"
"Any of those. You've already started to find a life here and see our problems. I don't want to pull you away from interacting with Earth if that's what you want, but maybe doing new things here will give you ideas for working with your human students."
"Like what?" said Alma, perking her ears.
"There's a castle of skeleton warriors working for the Forces of Evil. Want to go battle the undead with me? You can raid the place to help pay your bar bill, even."
Alma grinned. "That sounds educational."
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2040 Reconnection
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Kris Schnee
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[
"fantasy"
] |
[
"virtual reality",
"Thousand"
] |
Chapter 10
|
Hours later, she wished she could open that portal to the beach and dive through to escape. The students sat in front of her, fish-eyed, expecting nothing in particular. The school was only using her as a babysitter! The administrators hardly even cared what she supposedly taught.
She lectured, "What I'm trying to say is, these pieces called 'atoms' join up. Remember the soda can? The bits of metal are only weakly linked, so when you hit them they fly apart but they grab onto other bits and get hard again."
Dopey giggling from the peanut gallery.
"We've been sitting here too long," Alma said. She deployed her backup plan. "Let's play a game. Everyone take your tablet." She led the class out of the tent to the open field. "Your screen will show you a treasure hunt! Everybody find a treasure and come back, okay?"
She let them run off and get some exercise. Meanwhile she disengaged from her robot and stretched, fluttering her tail. She'd marked imaginary waypoints on the school network that the computers could detect, so that when some kid physically went to certain spots of ground, they could run around to "dig up" a picture and text about some interesting bit of chemistry. These students would never be trusted with any but the simplest lab experiments.
"I got gold!" shouted Stobor.
"No fair; I want gold!" said a girl.
Alma grinned; she'd built rules for trading into her little educational game. She kept an eye and sensors on the group. One boy drifted toward blue tent #1, so Alma followed before he could disrupt the smart kids.
The teacher there was saying, "Doctor Rush was also an early abolitionist. In an era when most folks thought blacks were inferior, he argued that any inferiority was the fault of slavery itself. How might you apply that kind of argument to the modern world?"
The students piped up. "The Caliphate! Yankee schools. How we treat dogs, now that there're smart ones!"
"All interesting comparisons. For Monday I'd like short essays about Rush's theory of degradation through oppression, and what value it might have today. Be ready to argue orally."
Alma's student started running in circles in plain view of the other group, holding his arms out. "I got rubies!"
One of the bright kids said, "I found my topic."
Alma's cheeks burned. She tugged the kid's arm, saying, "Good job. Let's go back."
Another student asked his neighbor, "What about Talespace as oppression? That thing's just a robot now."
Alma coaxed the treasure-hunter away before he could disrupt the other class more. She rounded up everyone else and tried to focus on her lesson, not the pity of the humans who still had long lives ahead on Earth. "Let's start with you," she said to one of her students. "What did you find?"
"Pearls," he said, holding up his tablet with a picture of a necklace and some text.
"Are pearls rocks?" asked Alma.
"Uh-huh!"
"Read it again."
"Uh. They're made by oysters?"
"Very good. Now, does everyone see that symbol on the pearl picture? That means it's treasure made by living things. Who else has a symbol like that?"
"Amber!"
"I got coral," said another kid.
Alma got discussion going about what the treasures had in common, and why people valued them. That morning was her best session so far.
|
2040 Reconnection
|
Kris Schnee
|
[
"fantasy"
] |
[
"virtual reality",
"Thousand"
] |
Chapter 12
|
Alma found Meg packing up a booth at the Newcomer Fair. "Meg, are you an evil harpy?"
The feather-armed lady grinned. "According to my ex-husband! Why?"
"The design on your coins matched some Forces of Evil ones. See, the other night I helped kill Gerard and looted his corpse. That's going to be awkward at our next brunch."
"Yeah, I'm with FoE, and I recruited him. Don't worry about killing him." She poked Alma with one talon. "But watch your back if you go after more important targets."
Alma tried to help her pack up the body designs and clothes she had on display, but Meg waved one hand and the merchandise vanished. Different rules for Earthside players. Alma said, "Do you buy into FoE as a real conspiracy? Gerard sounded like you guys have long-term plans to take over Talespace."
"There are different kinds of evil. I'm just involved because somebody has to play the bad guys, and it's more fun for everyone if the villains aren't all Ludo's dumb puppets."
"But you're Earthside. You won't be here if the group really does something bad to this world."
The harpy scowled. "Don't remind me. Yeah, yeah, I'm not a real person to you."
"What? No! You're just not living here."
Meg looked mollified. "FoE's got ranks. You can't make Overlord or higher without getting your physical body mulched and your brain diced."
"That's some hardcore commitment to a gaming clan." It made sense, then, that the higher ranks might have something truly sinister in mind.
Meg sighed and walked with Alma to a little cafe along the fairground's curving wall. "I almost got in. I had Talespace friends willing to sponsor me if I pulled off some epic villainy. Now I get grief from my FoE friends about not being here yet. Earthside, I've got a real job doing HR consulting, but I'm living on noodles. Saving up for the day when I can say goodbye to that life. The villain stuff is just another job."
Alma hugged her, but Meg wouldn't feel it, and the cafe's food would do nothing for her either. "You shouldn't rush so much that you miss out on what a regular human life has to offer. Are you decently young and healthy, still?"
"Yeah, but I'm gambling with the Reaper by living out here on Earth."
The existence of Talespace was like a whirlpool, pulling people in who didn't really need it yet. Alma said, "It's good to hear you've got a motive for FoE work other than being evil for evil's sake. Once you get in, maybe they'll tell you their secret plan if there is one."
Meg looked around with longing at the wild fairground, in plain sight but out of her true reach. "I mentioned there being different kinds of evil, but that's not the same thing as the silly ranks. I mean, Gerard's a thug that we've positioned where he'll do more good than harm. Some people at all levels buy into the 'take over Talespace' story. But I think the Prince -- our leader -- is in on one big joke with Ludo. Come on. Would Miss Villain-With-Good-Publicity let us cause a serious threat and make Talespace un-fun? You know she's watching anybody with hacking skills, for one thing."
"Maybe." Alma spotted Poppy over at the oak tree shop. "I should talk with one of the other conspiracies for comparison. Hey, Meg?"
"Hmm?"
"Go do something fun. Feel the real sun on your face and the wind in your hair, and the taste of something with chocolate."
The harpy smiled. "Thanks. I could use a reality check."
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2040 Reconnection
|
Kris Schnee
|
[
"fantasy"
] |
[
"virtual reality",
"Thousand"
] |
Chapter 13
|
Meg vanished, leaving Talespace to do Earthside things. Alma stretched, letting her tail flutter, and walked over to greet Poppy. "What do you make of FoE? Meg and Gerard are with them."
Poppy, too, looked done selling for the day. She dumped a box of coins into a bag and hefted a backpack over one shoulder. "Are they? I haven't been in contact since we met. Seems to me there are enough problems here without creating more."
"Need help packing?"
"Thanks, but the whole tree can warp back to Midgard. Got a good enchantment on it."
Alma realized she'd forgotten to pay Meg back with the proceeds from fighting Gerard. Eh; Talespace money didn't mean much to Meg. "Different rules for each club?"
"Not really." Poppy sighed. "One difference between my group and FoE is that our agenda is positive. When I was younger, I spoke out for all kinds of 'social justice' causes, like militant vegetarianism. You name it, I was outraged about why anybody disagreed with it. It was all a mistake, because I was pushing causes, not morals. I hadn't stopped to think about what I really believed in beyond 'do what seems nice'. The evil guys are just the mirror image of that. I blame a guy called Kant for that kind of thinking."
"So is Great Oak a religion?" asked Alma.
Poppy posed with her tail high and one hand on her chest. "Strike at the root," she said as though reciting scripture. "I suppose so, and there are bound to be schisms. The other founders and I are trying to make something that unites people even across other religions or language or nationality. As much as I like my new species, the group needs principles under the silly decorations. You should visit our official territory sometime."
"How do I reach it?"
"It's in Midgard. You can't just warp back with this tree, though; it doesn't carry people. There's a path through the Ivory Tower caverns, or you could learn a teleport spell."
Alma's ears perked. "Ooh, I know one! With almost no power or control, though."
Smiling, Poppy said, "You probably need a focusing item to set a destination, and a potion to boost the spell..."
Alma spent all her coins on cool magic stuff.
Poppy said, "This talk of portals reminds me: are you free on Sunday? We're performing at one of Ludo's 'Fun Zone' shops and could use an extra."
"Sure!" She'd been to a Fun Zone in Texas. Places like that had friendly robots and bad pizza for kids, and VR pods and other immersive entertainment for adults. It'd be interesting to see the place from within Talespace.
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300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 43
|
Leonidas smiled for a long time. Then he looked away from the Persian. He looked first at the three respected elders of the city council who waited, standing a little farther back, for his decision. Then he turned and looked at his men, standing motionless in the lines of their phalanx like armored statues.
At an almost imperceptible sign from him, the first file moved and its eight men ran towards him.
They came up to the ambassador and grasped him by the arms, while they immobilized his two attendants.
"You cannot touch us. We have asylum. We are official ambassadors and hold the Caduceus" said the Persian without losing any of his arrogance.
One of the Spartans moved quickly and took the wooden rod from his hand.
"Not any more…" said Leonidas, and came towards him.
"You cannot do anything. We are an official delegation. It is great hubris if you hurt us."
"The hubris came from you first. It was a very great impropriety from a guest."
"What hubris?"
"You compared a simple king with the gods. That is hubris to the gods. Especially in the city of Apollo."
"We do not believe in the same gods" explained the Persian. He had lost some of his arrogance in the meantime.
"That was not all."
"I did not say anything else. If you hurt us, the great curse of blasphemy will fall upon your city. You know that."
"There is no greater blasphemy, Persian, than to ask free men to become slaves of their own will."
"There is the emperor and there are his subjects. That is how the world is made."
"Not ours!"
Leonidas said nothing further. He looked around him once more and then walked to the right, to where the altar of the goddess Artemis was located, and the great well of water with which they cleaned it after sacrifices.
Behind him followed his men, dragging the Persian by the arms. Sweat from the burning summer heat melted the paint on his eyes and his light, many-colored garments were growing heavy with sweat. Only his jewelry remained as bright as ever, reflecting the golden light of the sun.
"Shall we swear an oath to the gods?" asked the Persian ambassador with a weak smile, when they let him go behind the sacred altar.
"Why do you not ask them yourself? In a little while you will see them."
"How…"
"You asked for earth and water, Persian" the Spartan told him severely, looking at the vase and the amphora that the messenger was still holding in his hands.
"Yes…"
"Go and get some yourself, then!" shouted Leonidas. "Because this…" He screamed, and the muscles of his face tightened, revealing all of his pent-up rage "… this is Sparta!"
The next second his terrific arms shot out.
The breast of the Persian received a terrible blow and fell backwards.
His blood-curdling cry ended in a splash as he fell to the bottom of the well.
He had gotten the earth and water he asked for.
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300 The Empire
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Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Come and Take Them
|
Besides the Thessalians, Thebes and the city of Argos that sided with the Persians out of long-standing enmity with Sparta, all the other Greek cities agreed to participate in the war effort. They sent soldiers and ships, and they swore to the gods to hold to their decision with all their might. The ships would gather as soon as possible in the dockyards of Athens, Salamis and Aegina, while the phalanxes of the Greek army would be drawn up in two defensive lines. The first would hold the pass at Thermopylae, a hundred and twenty miles north of Athens, and the second would hold Isthmos, forty miles to the south of Athens.
One month after representatives of the Greek cities had gathered and the alliance had been formed, the Hercules company, the Spartan royal guard, bid farewell to its city. It was the ceremony that Sparta always organized for its soldiers leaving for war. First there were sacrifices to the gods, led by the archpriest who also commanded the expeditionary force, King Leonidas himself. Immediately after that, all the city's inhabitants lined up on the road leading to the city's exit. Men, women, children, even babies hanging at their mother's breasts stood by the sides of the road, wearing their black garments, to say goodbye to the soldiers, wish them a triumphant victory or honorable death, and listen to them proudly chant their battle hymn as they marched off to war.
The supplies, pack animals and slaves that would accompany the Spartan phalanx had already left days previously to set up camp and makeshift kitchens. The soldiers would follow accompanied only by their personal attendants, who carried their personal belongings and their weapons. Fourteen hours quick march every day. One meal. Six hours of sleep. Three weeks to get to the field of battle, three hundred miles north of Sparta.
Leonidas stood before his soldiers, raised his cup with the last of the wine, poured half of it on the ground as an offering to the gods, and drank the rest. He strode slowly towards the point where his wife, Gorgo, was waiting for him together with their children, and went first to his oldest son. He bent, caressed his head, and asked him to continue their line with dignity and honor.
"Since the time Sparta was founded our wives, our mothers and our sisters have never faced an enemy sword. You must continue this tradition, my son. That is the inheritance I leave to you" he said calmly and in a steady voice.
Then he turned, opened his arms, scarred from dozens of battles, and tightly clasped his wife, Gorgo in them. He felt the wild beating of her heart against his chest, smelled the aroma of her unbraided hair, and tenderly kissed her dry cheek.
"I only have one wish and I want you to remember it and put it into practice. Choose a good husband…" he urged her, simply, and fixed his gaze on her large black eyes for a little while—for a last moment, something to remember from their happy life together.
Beside him, behind him, the Spartan soldiers were saying goodbye to their wives and sons who would carry on their lines if they had the great honor of falling in battle defending their country—which, as everyone knew, was very likely to happen on this campaign. No tears were shed, there was no begging or regrets. The country was more important than anything else. And military honor was the greatest good. Those were their values.
A little while later the soldiers returned to their lines. They took up their weapons and gave the order to their attendants to raise the rest of their gear from the ground. The time had come. The pipes sounded piercingly three times and then started up their familiar rhythm. The men began to sing loudly, led by Leonidas, and marched in formation toward the city's exit. Half an hour later, the golden wheatfields of the plain swallowed up their worn and faded red cloaks. Before they left, Leonidas had ordered that the men should not be given new cloaks so as not to unnecessarily burden the treasury. After all, most of them would not need a cloak at all after the battle. In a tomb there is no difference between an old cloak and a new one.
After their departure the sound of their battle hymn faded quickly together with their image. Their rhythmic stride on the dry ground was soon lost. But the military body that left for Thermopylae was not the total of nine thousand first and second reserve soldiers that Sparta had.
It was not the four and a half thousand first line soldiers that were usually sent on campaigns.
It was not even the one thousand five hundred select warriors.
It was only three hundred.
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300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 46
|
A chorus of shouts came to their ears. Almost the whole Greek camp had climbed up on the wall or else the slopes of the mountain and was looking to the north, towards the depths of the plain. A large plume of dust rose from the low hills at its end. Just at the edge of sight, black dots moved in lines like great, supernatural snakes. It was the Persian vanguard that had reached Thermopylae.
"Tell the allies" Leonidas said to Cimonas. "We have contact with the enemy. Nothing will happen today, and maybe not tomorrow either. A great army needs days to encamp and study the field of battle."
"Then I can stay with you."
"No. A great army also needs its fleet. It depends on it for food and supplies. You must leave immediately and inform Themistocles. By tomorrow at the latest, their fleet will be in these waters. Tell him to prepare and wait for him. And…" he stopped for a moment, looking at the horizon "tell him that Leonidas will do what he promised..."
By evening the empty plain was flooded with men. The shouts of the Greeks had ceased. They looked in awe at the unbelievable number of Persians pouring in like a rushing river. The dust of their footsteps on the dry ground had filled the air not only over the land but over the sea as well. Their many-colored uniforms and their curious weapons were surprising. Even more surprising were the strange animals the warriors brought with them, animals that most Greeks had never seen before and that some had never heard of. Some with humps like the actors in tragedies in the Athenian theaters, and others the size of five horses with legs as thick as the columns of a temple.
"Light fires."
"It is early for dinner."
"Not for dinner, Dienekes. Light fires everywhere. Behind the wall, on the coast, on the mountainside, on the hills to the south, light them as far as the eye can see. Fires that can be seen from the plain and the enemy camp, as if the place is full of our soldiers. And tell the attendants to polish the shields until they can see the hairs of their heads in them. There is no sight so fearsome as a line of shields flashing in the sun."
Dienekes understood. He pulled back behind the wall and went to the attendants' camp. He gathered them together, drew a rough map on the ground, and told them where to light the fires. He sent them off with pyrite in their hands and the order to throw green wood on the fire so that the smoke would be seen from far away during the day as well as at night.
Hours later, as the sun set behind Mount Kallidromo, the fires of the Greeks looked like dozens of lighted arrows shot into the ground by the god Hephaestus.
"They must believe that there are many thousands of us. When fear nestles in the heart, then the sword does not nestle so firmly in the hand" explained Leonidas, looking at his companions.
"But they are like ants, uncountable. Not even Zeus himself on Olympus could count them. Even if fear nestles in their hearts, they'd still stretch out endlessly" said Dimophilos, the commander of the seven hundred men from Thespies. "No matter how we fight, no matter how many we kill, they will defeat us in the end."
"They can defeat us, yes. But they cannot defeat nature."
"I don't understand you, Leonidas."
"They have to move continually. Otherwise they are in danger of falling sick, and epidemics can spread very quickly if so many thousand men stay so close to each other in one place for days. They must also find fresh food and clean water. We have destroyed all the plain's resources and poisoned the rivers and the wells. If their transports do not come soon with their supplies, they won't last many days in one place. That is why our own fleet is stationed at the straits of Artemisio, to prevent theirs from getting here. If Themistocles manages it, we won't have to defeat them ourselves. Hunger will defeat them. All we have to do is to keep them here for two weeks."
"Two weeks?" asked Dimophilos, stunned. "Two weeks is a long time to hold off that many thousand enemies.
"I have the advantage."
"What advantage? With three hundred men?"
"Yes," Leonidas answered calmly.
Dimophilos looked at him in amazement. Of course he had heard that Spartans were fearless in battle, but he had never yet heard that they were unhinged.
"The pass is thirty yards wide from the sea to the mountain cliffs at its narrowest point, which is right before our wall. So they cannot put more than thirty men on the front line of their phalanxes. We can wait for them before the wall, where the pass widens a little, lining up sixty men in our front line. So we have an advantage of two to one on the field of battle, no matter what reserves the Persians are holding in the rear…"
Dimophilos' mouth fell open, listening to Leonidas' reasoning. He could not think of any questions or comments.
He was convinced.
And to be as fearless as that, you need to be a little unhinged.
The Spartans were both.
|
300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 47
|
Then followed four days of waiting, with tentative moves by the Persian infantry and harassment from mounted archers who galloped up to the wall, shot a few arrows and then returned to their camp. The Spartans did not shoot back. They couldn't be bothered. Guerilla warfare was not warfare for them. They had not learned to fight while hiding like women.
But underneath their bronze armor, their hearts began to swell with impatience. Waiting and doing nothing are perhaps the most difficult work of all for a man who has learned to throw himself passionately into the fire of battle from the first moment.
Leonidas had given strict orders that all everyday activities should continue as if nothing unusual was happening. His men got up from their spread-out cloaks in the morning, arranged their long hair, ate their best meal of the day, breakfast, exercised their bodies as usual, carried out their military exercises and sharpened their swords and spears.
"Who sharpens his sword sharpens his courage" said Leonidas to his subordinates. He insisted on his order being followed, even though it looked like the points might be ground down to nothing under the sharpening.
"Messengers are coming!" the watchman from the advance guard on the left, higher side of the wall, had come running and the words came in quick bursts from his panting chest. "They are coming to the wall holding the Caduceus. They might be here already. But…"
"But what?" asked Leonidas, wondering at the scout's sudden pause and his awkward glance.
"They are headed by…" the scout swallowed. "by a woman…"
"Are you sure?" asked Dienekes, wondering himself.
"Yes. But she is not wearing women's clothes. She is wearing a man's armor."
"Then how do you know it's a woman?" asked Leonidas.
The scout swallowed. It had been many days since he had been with a woman. His body reacted in the normal way of a man who sees a beautiful woman. But there was no way he could admit something like that to his king. "It is a woman…" he repeated simply.
Leonidas saw his red face and understood. He shrugged his shoulders indifferently. "All right. So what?"
"A woman in war?" asked the scout, aghast. "The word manliness comes from the word man."
"To go to war and fight you need courage, everyone knows that. But the only fear you need to face is the fear of dying or being wounded. Wounds and pain in the flesh. That is, nothing. But the women who send their men and their children to war while they themselves remain behind have to face wounds and pain in the heart. And that takes much more courage and manliness" answered Leonidas, and got up slowly.
"There is something else…" murmured the scout. "Something even stranger."
"What?"
"The woman is not wearing Persian armor."
"Is she naked? Even better…" joked Dienekes. "Just what we need to raise our men's morale…"
"She is wearing Greek armor and she speaks Greek."
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300 The Empire
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Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 48
|
When he heard those words Leonidas clenched his fists to break his rage, as he had been taught to do in his training ever since he was a small child. For a Spartan, there was no failing worse than treachery.
Without saying another word, he strode firmly to the wall, the gaze of all his men fixed on him. He climbed the rough stones like a nimble boy and stood on top of them with legs shoulder width apart, arms crossed on his chest and eyes forward.
Now he could see her too. The woman was wearing a Greek helmet and not the conical tiara, the hat worn by representatives of the Persian king. She was unarmed and her arms hung relaxed at the sides of her breastplate. A few steps behind her stood her entourage. It consisted of two men in many-colored trousers and caftans that hung to the knee. One held up the carved wooden Caduceus, the symbol of messengers, and the other held a large roll of papyrus.
"I am not thirsty…" the woman said suddenly, breaking the long silence.
"What does that mean?" asked Leonidas, surprised by her words.
"I heard that you threw the last person Xerxes sent into a well. Well, I am telling you that I am not thirsty."
Leonidas smiled in spite of himself. "I would never throw a woman into a well. Especially not one dressed in the Greek manner. Who are you and what do you want?"
"My name is Artemisia and I am the queen of Halicarnassus. I am here with my soldiers and five warships…"
"Thank you, but we do not need help" the Spartan interrupted her. "There are enough of us."
It was Artemisia's turn to smile. "I serve the Great King in the navy, but I also take part in his council of war. I am here today by his order."
"For what reason?"
"To offer peace to the Spartans in his name" she answered him solemnly, before adopting a more familiar tone. "I speak our common language and believe in the same gods. You can trust me, Leonidas."
"A common language and the same gods do not matter when the mind thinks differently. Tell me what you want, you are keeping me away from my soldiers."
"Xerxes informs you that he will respect your city and your law. We know that for you Spartans, the law is above everything."
"If Xerxes respects our law, he has already trampled on it. Because our law does not allow barbarians to respect it."
"He will not destroy Sparta, Leonidas, I know that well" she insisted. "You will have your own kingdom and…"
"A kingdom like yours? That will have to campaign and make war on his orders, and not according to the law and the citizens?"
"You will be masters of your own land" continued Artemisia, undaunted by his insulting interruption. "The Great King wants only an oath of obedience and his taxes from you. Nothing else. Think about it, Leonidas. Think about his proposal. You have nothing to lose except a few words and a little money."
"We will lose something more important than that. We will lose our freedom. By giving an oath of obedience, we will trample on our citizens' most important right."
"If you do not accept you will all die. What will your famous freedom mean after your death?"
"And choosing when and how you will die is also freedom" Leonidas answered drily. "Besides, there is something more terrible than death…"
"What?" Artemisia wondered honestly. "Death wipes out everything."
"Dishonor. That is not wiped out even by death."
"You will not be dishonored. Xerxes undertakes" she said, pointing to the man with the papyrus standing behind her "not to dishonor your women and not to desecrate your temples. If you abandon your position and the Athenians now, you will leave and return to your country safely."
"This is our country too. Whether or not you have forgotten it" he commented scathingly. "But even what you are saying is dishonor, because there is no greater dishonor than to become a slave without giving battle."
"You will not become slaves. It is enough to…"
"Enough to what?"
"Enough to surrender your arms."
Leonidas remained silent for a little while. Then he drew his short sword from its sheath and held it high, the blade shining in the sun.
"Come and take them!" he told her decisively. "Let him come and take them himself!"
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300 The Empire
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Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
The Gates of Fire
|
The waiting was over. Early in the morning, before dawn, the Three Hundred and their allies from Thespies got up from the ground, washed their bodies, arranged their hair, polished their shields and helmets with sand, rubbed them with oil, put on their clean tunics, offered libations to the gods and their ancestors, and put on their armor.
They formed into groups according to the scheme they had practiced hundreds of times in their gymnasia, and came out in front of the wall.
They drew up their phalanx a hundred yards in front of it, at the narrowest point of the pass, on ground that had been carefully cleaned in the previous days for a space of five hundred yards, in the area where they had set the traps for the cavalry. Thirty men on the first line, and ten lines after that. A perfect and compact rectangle of leather, wood and bronze.
They rested their shields upright on the ground, supporting them against their greaves, thrust their spears into the ground and waited with their helmets at their foreheads. A light wind was blowing from the north, the air was clear and at that precise moment the sun rose in the east.
Immediately Alexander, Leonidas' second subordinate, came out of his position and checked the phalanx's arrangement and direction. Then he looked carefully at the sun and sent his attendant forward. With successive orders, he commanded the men to turn slightly to the right with their polished shields and then tilt them back until they reflected the sun and the attendant was completely bathed in light, shining like someone riding the chariot of the god Apollo.
Then he raised his head and looked towards the Persian camp, far away on the plain. Even the large tents of Xerxes and his generals, that had been set up at the rear of the camp, were lighted up by the beam of light coming from all the shields together, reflecting and concentrating the rays of the sun.
Shouts and cries suddenly came from the sleeping Persian camp. The earth shuddered like a mother giving birth from thousands of running feet. Exclamations and words of surprise were heard in dozens of languages unknown to the Greeks. But they did not need to know the words. The wonder and surprise were clear from the tone of their cries. The first goal before battle, the most essential, had been achieved. The fanatical and fatalistic men of the east would now believe that a great god, the god of the sun, was on the side of the Greeks. And that was an incomparable psychological advantage.
"There is nothing more impressive than the flashing of polished weapons…" murmured Leonidas and raised his spear high, commanding the phalanx to close and to take up battle position.
The shields were raised suddenly without changing their angle, then passed to the left arms and locked together, sealing the men's bodies behind a bronze wall. The spears were picked up from the ground and, in one movement, were raised over the shoulders and the shields. The helmets came down from the foreheads, closing he faces in a mask of hard metal.
Leonidas, standing on the place of honor to the right of the phalanx of his men, suddenly lowered his sword.
The pipes behind the warriors began to play in the strong rhythm of the Spartan martial hymn.
The men of the first line took a step forward, stamping their feet.
And then another.
And another.
Leonidas stretched out his spear to direct them.
A chant shook the air as the phalanx prepared to march toward the enemy:
Forward, brave Spartan children...
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300 The Empire
|
Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 26
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Shall we call our own Mages, great king?"
"No. It is not necessary..."
The Persian Mages of the royal palace were not needed to explain anything. The meaning of the vision and the oracle's prophecy were clear for all to see. Everyone knew that the olive is a tree that does not grow in Persia but grows in abundance in Greece. And everyone also knew that Asia and Europe are divided by a sea. It is called the Aegean Sea at its broadest point and the Hellespont at its narrowest. It was the sea he must cross.
"Unite two lands that are divided by a sea..." repeated Xerxes ecstatically, almost seeing the vision before his dazzled eyes. "Could there be anything clearer than that, Artabanus?" he asked, looking behind him.
"No, son of Darius... the words of the gods are clear... You must crown your head with the olive, the sacred tree of the Greek goddess and the city that bears her name, Athens."
"In a very little while Athens will not exist anymore. Nor will the temple of the goddess on the rock of the Acropolis. In its place I will build a temple to the god of the creation of the world, Ahura Mazda. And next to that, the Persian palace of the satrapy."
"Greece is a small and poor country."
"So what?"
"There is not enough wealth there to support a satrapy."
"Greece is only the beginning. Behind it, in the direction of the setting sun, there are other, strong and rich countries. I have heard of them from the Phoenicians, who sail their merchant ships to all the seas. Syracuse, Italy, Europe. Our empire will conquer the whole world. Just as Mardonius said, from the moment the sun appears until the moment it disappears, it will shine its light only on the territories of our empire. Believe me, Artabanus. The cities of Greece will only be the beginning. The countries of Europe will follow immediately after" Xerxes cried, beside himself with joy. Then he suddenly grew serious and gloomy. Rage distorted his face. His gaze darkened. "But before that I must keep the promise I gave to my father. To wipe Athens off the face of the earth. To conquer it and punish its inhabitants without mercy for the defeat and the insult we endured at Marathon.
"And so are we ready, son of Darius?"
"We have the wish of our forefathers. We have the omens of the gods. And we have the best and most powerful army the world has ever known" said Xerxes and rose. "What else do we need?"
That same evening ambassadors were sent to the great palaces. In a grandiose ceremony, they were each given a silver vase and a small amphora. The vase for earth and the amphora for water. The ambassadors would ask the Greek cities, the separate little states that functioned all over Greece, to give the messengers of Xerxes "earth and water", a proof of submission and obedience to the Great King.
The next day, besides the ambassadors who left for the Greek cities, hundreds of royal messengers scattered to every corner of the vast empire, riding swift horses and taking the three great imperial roads. The eastern road that led to India, the southern road that led to Egypt, and the western road that led to Sardis.
They carried the order of the King of Kings to all the nations of Asia and the peoples he commanded. To gather an army and a fleet the equal of which the world had never before seen.
The die was cast.
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300 The Empire
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Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 30
|
Let me give you some advice, cousin…"
The voice that was heard in the royal hall of symposia with its colorful stones and gilded fountain, was not hoarse or heavy. It was not an old man's voice, like the voice of Sindos. It was as soft as light fabric fluttering in the breeze, tinkling and musical like the water of the fountain. It was serious and commanding, but at the same time charming and playful. It sounded like the delicate and harmonious voice of a singer, but also like an order from a person who is accustomed to command, whose words have weight. It was the voice of a despotic man trapped in the splendid body of a woman.
Her jet-black hair fell to her waist like a silky night veil, in complete contrast to her eyes which were the color of emeralds on a cloudy day. Her body was wrapped in a light blue chiton decorated with golden embroidery and fastened at the shoulders with carved clasps. A short white cloak fell to the backs of her thighs. In spite of her expensive women's garments, her bare arms and legs were muscular and at every move the muscles showed as carved lines on her dark skin, tightened from training and burned by the sun.
"Oh… Are you here, my dear?" murmured Sindos, and he got up from the couch with the cup of wine in his hand. "Didn't we agree that you were going to stay in the hunting lodge until the moon was gone?"
"I didn't want to miss the chance."
"Your chance to hunt foxes is now, when there is a full moon. When it's gone you won't be able to make out your own shadow in the forest."
"I'm interested in another fox right now. One that doesn't live in the forest, but on the sea. As you said yourself, whoever dominates the sea, dominates the world" the woman answered. She embraced the old man and stood before the low table, looking at Themistocles. "Isn't that so, cousin?"
Themistocles got up from the couch and came to stand before her, his limbs numb and his gaze fixed on the imperious beauty he saw. He stared at the woman in front of him, who reminded him of the legendary amazons, the mythical warriors of Thrace. He was stunned by this woman who had called him cousin. Her high cheekbones and her full lips, which naturally turned down at the corners, reminded him of his mother, Euterpe.
Under her intense gray-green eyes, Themistocles felt like the phoenix, the bird that is reborn and flies swiftly, tearing the air. She smiled at his confusion, which was impossible to hide. Her curved lips rose and two dimples appeared on her cheeks. She came towards him and kissed him, touching him softly with her moist lips, and all of Themistocles senses were sweetly sharpened as if he had drunk a whole cup of the nectar of the gods in one gulp.
"I am Artemisia, daughter of Lygdamis and niece of your mother. Welcome to Halicarnassus, cousin."
"You haven't given me your advice…" murmured Themistocles as soon as he found his mind and his voice again.
"I know why you have come. It didn't take much guessing to understand. My advice is to visit Miletus, it's only six days journey from here. Fifteen years have passed since their rebellion against the Persians, and the ruins are still smoking. That will be your fate if you raise your head and oppose the will of Xerxes" she told him calmly. The dimples from her charming smile were still showing in her painted cheeks. "The Persian lion will eat you in one bite, cousin…"
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300 The Empire
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Theo Papas
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[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 32
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He looked at the stars and thought about his life. Themistocles considered himself a lucky person, blessed by the gods. He hadn't been born an aristocrat, nor was he descended from noblemen, but he had lacked for nothing all his life. His father was a knowledgeable man, shrewd and circumspect. Although he came from a poor family who worked the earth, his mind and his character pushed him to become a trader, to work the sea roads and acquire a considerable fortune.
That fortune got the young Themistocles an education from the great teachers and philosophers of Athens. It got him the opportunity to build up his body and his will in the gymnasium of Hercules. It helped him become a successful trader himself and gave him a comfortable life. All of this later brought him the political power he desired. The power to take part in the city's public life, to influence people for its good and, finally, to be elected to one of the most distinguished positions in the democracy of Athens, the position of general. He had lived free under the gods, as all men should. Frugally and humbly, but with dignity and pride. With the power to decide their own fate and that of their city by themselves.
Looking at the black sky sprinkled with bright points and listening to the light rustling of the waves of his beloved sea, he felt his anger slowly fade and disappear, as a wave is absorbed on a soft, sandy shore.
The last thing to fade was Artemisia's words: you are stupid. That was what bothered him most out of all her pretentious boasting about the achievements of the Persian empire, its boundless wealth and its unbelievable power.
"Am I stupid?" he wondered out loud, looking at the star-embroidered heavens. "Am I stupid, Athena, goddess of wisdom? Am I?"
He didn't have time to decide on an answer. A knock on the door interrupted his reflections and distracted him.
It's Sikinos, he thought. Sikinos coming to ask when we are leaving tomorrow.
The caravan for Sardis, the Persian capital of Asia Minor, would start the next day from the market of Halicarnassus, before the sun climbed over the horizon. He had arranged that they would leave with it.
But when he pulled the latch and opened the wooden door, he did not see Sikinos before him. He saw Iasmi waiting on the doorstep. She was wearing a thin linen chiton that showed the rich curves of her body, her face was made up with red cinnabar and her body scented with heavy myrrh.
Themistocles hesitated for a moment. It had been months since he had been with a woman. There were evenings when he longed to embrace and taste a perfumed female body. But tonight was not such a night. The conversation earlier at dinner had removed the erotic desire from his mind and brought gloomy thoughts instead.
"No… No, Iasmi… Some other time, perhaps…" he told her softly, trying not to offend her.
"You cannot refuse."
Themistocles laughed. He had heard of the famous voluptuousness of the women of the east, who had inherited something from the unbridled hedonism of the women of Babylonia and something from the intense sensuality of the priestesses of Cybele, creating an explosive mixture of female lust.
"But…"
He was not allowed to continue his objections. Iasmi's hand covered his mouth and cut off his refusal. Then it left his face and went farther down.
"You must follow me" she said, taking him by the hand.
"I don't have the desire tonight. You are very beautiful and as attractive as Aphrodite. I am sure that no man with even one eye in his head could resist you but just tonight I…"
Iasmi smiled broadly and cut his verbosity short. "Are you Athenians always such chatterers?"
Themistocles laughed in spite of himself. "Just me. Well… And a few others... Anyway, we live in a democracy… But… Honestly, tonight…"
"It's not about me. I have orders to lead you somewhere" she told him, and pulled him by the hand.
They crossed the great hall with the Greek statues, climbed one more stair, passed a gallery decorated with colorful stones and lighted with dim lamps, came to another hall painted with forms of Aphrodite and Artemis, and came to its end, before a double door of aromatic cedar wood.
"Here…" said Iasmi, and softly raised the iron latch.
The door swung halfway open without a sound. The entrance to a half-dark room showed in the opening. Shadows flickered on the wall like moving paintings. A strong scent of liquid musk and burnt amber reached out to him from inside.
"Who is here, Iasmi?" he asked, his heart thumping in his chest.
The answer was not long in coming.
But it did not come from Iasmi.
"Come inside, stupid Athenian…"
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300 The Empire
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Theo Papas
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[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 33
|
The shapely figure stood upright next to two large couches. Lower down, on a wooden table decorated with ivory and terracotta, there were figs, walnuts, honey and sweet grapes, and a delicate amphora full of wine from Samos with two silver cups.
Farther back, the doors to the balcony stood wide open. The light veils hanging from the roof fluttered in the evening breeze coming from the sea, bringing a pleasant coolness and the familiar smell of the sea and filling Themistocles with well-being and euphoria.
Artemisia was wearing a full length caftan the color of sand, fastened with a golden clasp on one shoulder and leaving the other bare, while on the side it was tied only with fine cords. It was made of a soft, airy fabric that wrapped her body like a glove.
Themistocles swallowed noiselessly, dumbfounded by the beauty he saw before him. Artemisia's face had lost the severity it had at dinner. She had rubbed it with aromatic oil and it shone in the light of the lamp. Her abundant hair was piled on the top of her head and caught with an ivory hairpin, showing a neck like a swan's. Her lips, painted with red henna and aromatic cream, were provocatively half open, showing two rows of straight, white teeth.
"Do you not wish to sit, cousin?"
"Ah…"
"Or are you used to standing up, like on the rostrum of your famous assembly where you like to talk and orate by the hour?"
"We talk about the city's business. So many thousands of citizens need time to be heard, to judge and make decisions."
"Wasted time. That explains why Athens is just a village compared to our cities."
"Is that why you called me?"
Artemisia smiled. She bent down, took the amphora and filled the two silver cups with wine. "Will you not come next to me?" she asked him, offering the cup. "It is sweet wine from Samos. The kind you like…"
"How do you know that?"
"In the east, people have big mouths" she said, and smiled. "Especially the Persians, big and honest. Even if they are servants, the great god of creation, their one and only god, forbids them to tell lies. It is the greatest sin. When the time comes for them to cross the bridge of the Great Judge of souls, such a sin could send them to eternal damnation. That is why the Persians never send other Persians as spies…" she finished, meaningfully.
"Sikinos told you?"
"Yes, he told me… About everything, even the personal things. Especially the personal things. And as I told you before, Persians believe honesty to be a great virtue…" Artemisia explained, and her lips curved in a cunning smile.
They sat on the couches next to each other, in the way Greeks usually sat at symposia. With one arm supporting their reclining bodies turned towards the low table, and the other serving the needs of the stomach and throat.
"I am sorry about the silly things I said earlier. It was rude, unbecoming in a hostess. But you annoyed me, cousin."
"I only told you my opinion. It is what I believe."
"It is mistaken, nevertheless" Artemisia answered, smiling. "Think about what I said and you will see I am right."
"You won't convince me with a little wine" Themistocles replied with a smile, and took a large swallow of the excellent, sweet, amber wine.
"I know you have enough money, cousin. I know you are good at your work. My uncle told me about you. And your mother sends us news of your family every now and then, when she can find a merchant ship to take it. And I know that you're as stubborn as a mule and as wise as a fox. You know how to hold the helm steady, as I do. Also, we are relatives. The blood that flows in your veins from your mother's side has governed Halicarnassus for many years."
"Where are you going with this, cousin?"
"I am an only daughter. My father Lygdamis, king of the city…"
"And slave of the Persian emperor" Themistocles interrupted her ironically.
"No matter what you say, you won't spoil my mood" smiled Artemisia. Then she explained a little more seriously "Not a slave. You mean tributary. It's not the same. We pay some taxes to the emperor, we apply his laws and carry out his wishes, but in return we receive continuing peace and protection. Our trade has increased, our wealth has multiplied. You are a merchant too. Think about what I am saying…"
"You are an only daughter, you say," Themistocles stopped her flow of words. "So?"
"If I were a man I would already be king."
"And?"
"The nobles and the officers will not accept a woman on the throne. That means that the city is officially ungoverned."
"I know that. But your uncle is acting as governor."
"For now," she said, and looked him straight in the eyes. "I must marry for Halicarnassus to have a king."
"I wish that for you."
"You can do something better than wish."
"Find you an Athenian?" he asked ironically.
"Yes."
"Who?" he wondered.
"You…"
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300 The Empire
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Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 34
|
Themistocles felt as if one of Zeus's thunderbolts had fallen next to him. He forgot all of his witty replies. His eyes started out of their sockets, looking at Artemisia.
"What kind of game is this?" he asked, stunned.
"It's not a game. Our house has governed the city for three generations. I do not wish to put some stranger on the throne now. And you are not a stranger. You were born and live in Athens, but your mother is my father's sister. In your veins flows the same blood as flows through mine."
"Blood means nothing."
"Blood means everything, cousin. With one word, you can become king" she urged. "When I learned you were coming I sent my men to the harbor, where there are some Athenian merchants. They asked about you and the news was excellent. They spoke highly of Themistocles, son of Neocles, from Athens. And so I weighed all things in my mind, and decided. All that is needed now is for you to decide as well. As I told you before, it is simple, and the throne of Halicarnassus will be yours."
"I don't like thrones."
"Don't start talking nonsense again. Everyone likes thrones. Who would refuse to be king?"
"Tributary king" he corrected her. "But it's not just that. I was born and raised in a democracy. I like the assembly, as you said before. I like talking and chatting with my fellow citizens about city matters. I like it that decisions are not just the wish of one person, but the will of many. But more than that, I like it that a simple merchant like me, without aristocratic descent from one of the official tribes of Athens, can be elected general and hold one of the most powerful city offices simply on account of his worth as a person and the power of his words.
Artemisia rose. Slowly, ostentatiously. She stood before him. Her face did not show anger, but solemnity and self-confidence. She raised her hands, undid the clasp at her shoulder, and let the chiton slip from her body with a light rustling sound. Even in that relaxed, voluptuous position the muscles on her shoulders, her arms, her belly and her thighs stood out, reminding Themistocles of the Spartan women who trained next to the men in the palaestras from a young age. But the resemblance stopped there. She also had femininity that the goddess Aphrodite might have envied: full breasts and rounded, vigorous buttocks. Her whole body had been carefully denuded of hair and it shone with aromatic oil in the flickering light of the lamps.
"Perhaps you do not like me?"
It was a rhetorical question. There was no answer. The stunned Themistocles stood still and sweated, and his face showed amazement at the beauty he saw.
"I am offering you a rich throne and a young body like the bodies of Aphrodite and Artemis put together. Why do you not want them?"
"Because I have learned to live free. And I think that is the greater good."
"Free…" Artemisia chewed on the word. "So I am a slave?"
"You are a tributary."
"It is a fair return for the great goods the Persians bring. Marry me and you will enjoy them with me."
"On my knees…" was all Themistocles would say. Not so much because he couldn't think of anything else to say, because his volubility and his rhetorical ability were well known. But speech was cut off by the sensuous body and the sculpted face before him. "I would enjoy it, but I would be on my knees…" he repeated slowly.
"That's no reason. Everyone kneels at some moment, for some reason. You are a politician, you should know that. Even you kneel before the gods at their altars."
"But not before humans. I prefer to die standing up than to live on my knees."
"What an unrealistic view… Almost foolish…" she said, but now her voice was honey-sweet. "Why would you prefer that?"
"Because power is not held by the one who kneels, but by the one who always stands upright."
"Are you sure?" she asked in a sultry voice, and came even closer.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm convincing you of the opposite. I am using that persuasion you admire so much."
Without saying any more, she bent her carven legs and knelt before his couch. She ran the ends of her fingers over his broad chest and tight stomach. Then she laid her whole palm on his body and caressed him farther down. She took his erect penis in her right hand and rubbed it, covered it with oil from her hand, then opened her lips and took all of it in her mouth, stroking the naked tip with her tongue.
This special love play with the lips and the mouth was a practice of the women of the island of Lesbos. The women of Athens did not do it. Themistocles had heard about it but had never experienced it until then. It made his head pound and his body spasm with pleasure.
A little later, when his head was empty of kings, armies and campaigns and his penis was competing with the anvil of Hephaestus for hardness, Artemisia took him by the hand and led him to the great bed, made of oak and sandalwood, which was already made up and waiting for them.
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300 The Empire
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Theo Papas
|
[
"historical fiction",
"Greece"
] |
[] |
Chapter 36
|
Days later, on the way back from Sardis, Themistocles was surprised to find that instead of thinking about the terrifying mass of the army he had seen, he kept thinking about Artemisia.
Her moist eyes as she writhed in pleasure and her moist body that he pierced like the hard bronze ram of a warship. Her soft, full lips and her playful tongue that wrapped his hard penis and played with it like a hetaera with a flute. Her smooth skin that shuddered under his heavy body and her heavy breasts that pulsed vigorously when she rode him like a wild stallion, howling with pleasure. But also the striated muscles of her trained body, hard as the marble of columns and sculpted like the statues of temples.
Since that night, every evening before he flung himself on the straw mat he carried with him and surrendered to the embrace of sleep, he had prayed to his beloved goddess of wisdom, begging her to visit him with some dream and give him her guidance.
"Most wise Athena, goddess of wisdom, deliver me… Take the thought of Artemisia from my mind or help me to decide otherwise and make her my wife if that is right…" he murmured on the last evening before boarding ship to return to Athens.
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