Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [44]
He had a priestess of Athena with him, and she was dressed, even at that hour, in the whitest chiton I’d ever seen, with gold thread in the hems. Bumpkin that I was, I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
Pater had a mouth full of egg. He swallowed. His eyes were red from weeping, and he wore a damp chitoniskos of linen that had once been off white and neatly pleated, and was now grey with age and shapeless. There were slaves in our force who dressed better than Pater.
He rose to his feet. ‘I was not chosen in the assembly to lead the men of Plataea,’ he said formally. ‘But until the assembly chooses another, I accept your words on behalf of all the men of our city.’
Miltiades spread his arms wide. It was interesting to watch him be a public man – I had only seen him at close range. He was about twenty-five then. Just coming into his powers.
‘Plataea brought one eighth of the force we had to face the Peloponnesians,’ Miltiades said. ‘We offer Plataea one quarter of all that we took with our spears, and we call you the bravest of the allies.’
The wind ruffled their cloaks. Pater said nothing, but the men of Plataea behind him were gathering, and they began to shout – approval, almost a cheer. Then the priestess stepped forward and she chanted a prayer to the Lady, and all the men present joined her. Then she purified us, for killing. She was good – her voice was gentle and firm, and every man felt better for her words, and the spirit of the goddess that we call the Lady and Athenians call Athena was on all of us.
Miltiades invited Pater and Myron to attend him at a meeting of the commanders. I found Pater my best chlamys, and I put it on him with a gold pin from the loot. Pater was above such things, but Myron gave me a nod of approval. No one wanted Pater to look like a ragman in front of the Athenians.
The two of them came back before the sun was high, and their faces were strained, and Pater had black marks in the corners of his eyes. Pater ignored my questions, and sent me and Hermogenes and every other boy we could find to assemble all the Plataeans.
There were only a thousand hoplites and another thousand boys and slaves. We assembled before the birds stopped singing. We were on the hilltop by the old fort, and Pater and Myron carried spears, as if they, jointly, were Speakers. Pater nodded at Myron, and Myron held up his spear.
‘Men of Plataea!’ he said. He was leather-pale. He’d lost quite a bit of blood, and he walked carefully where the Athenian doctor had burned the wound near his groin. He might have been a walking dead man, if the deadly archer willed it. But Myron had the courage that allows a man to go about his business, even with a wound. ‘The archon died serving the city. We have no new archon and we have no strategos.’
‘Who cares?’ someone called. ‘Let’s go home. We can debate in the assembly!’
‘Men of Plataea,’ Myron said. His voice was quiet, but men were silent to listen to him. ‘The army of Thebes is a day’s march away, and the men of Athens call on us to stay and fight.’
That was greeted with a wave of grumbles and muttering.
Pater stood forth. He held up his own spear. ‘Don’t be fools!’ he shouted. ‘We fight them tomorrow with Athens by our side, or we face them in a month at home, alone.’ That shut them up. Then Pater nodded. ‘We stopped Sparta!’ he said. ‘What has Thebes got?’
Now they cheered. Everyone hated Thebes. Sparta was a noble and scary monster from travellers’ tales, but Thebes was the familiar enemy.
Myron pointed at Pater. ‘I move that Technes of the Corvaxae be strategos.’
They didn’t roar. Pater had none of the magnetism that can make men love you. But every hand went in the air.
Myron nodded to Pater. Pater pointed his spear at Myron. ‘I move that Myron of the house of Heracles be archon of the Plataeans until we stand in the assembly.’
And so it was done.
Before the day was another hour older, the shield-bearers were packing. We had donkeys now – dozens, as part of the spoils of the Peloponnesian camp.