Killer of Men - Christian Cameron [96]
I laughed. ‘I swore an oath,’ I said. One thing all Greeks respect, from Sparta to Thebes and all the way to Miletus, is an oath.
‘Will Miltiades join us?’ I asked.
He rubbed his beard. ‘Heh,’ he said. ‘Good question. Miltiades is fighting his own war in the Chersonese. You might say he’s been fighting the Persians for five years.’
‘In Ephesus, Heraklides, we called him a bandit,’ I said.
Heraklides grinned. ‘Aye. Well, one man’s pirate is another man’s freedom-fighter, right enough.’ He laughed. ‘And you can drop the formality and call me Herk. Everyone does.’
That gave me something to think about. Miltiades was a soldier – a real soldier. And he wasn’t coming. And Herk’s friendship was worth something.
The next night, we were on another Chian beach. The Chians had a lot of ships, and a lot of men, and they were powerful and had never been conquered. They were going to have seventy or eighty hulls to put in the water. The Athenians were delighted, and decided to wait. The local lord, Pelagius, declared a day of games on the beach, and offered prizes. Really good prizes, so that even Archi wanted them. There was a full panoply for the winner. Spectacular stuff – a scale shirt, the smith’s nightmare, six months to make. The aspis was fair, nothing spectacular, but with a worked bronze face to it, and the helmet was fine, although not as good as the shirt and nothing on my father’s work.
There was a race in armour – just becoming the fashion, then – as well as a fight with swords, wrestling and javelin-throwing.
I was a free man, and Archi encouraged me, so we walked down the beach to where Lord Pelagius had his ship pulled in by the stern. We wrote our names on potsherds while his steward watched us, and the lord himself came up – an old man, as old as I am now, but sound.
‘Now, there’s a pair of handsome boys, that the gods love to watch compete. You’ll race?’ he asked Archi. Archi had the best body of anyone our age. He had surpassed me in size by a finger’s breadth, and his muscles had a sharp edge that mine never had.
We both blushed at such praise. ‘We’ll enter all the contests,’ Archi said.
The old nobleman smiled but he shook his head. ‘Not the swordplay, lads. That’s for men.’
Archi nodded, but that was my best event, I thought in my youthful arrogance. I spluttered.
‘Fancy yourself a swordsman, do you?’ the old man asked. He peered at me. ‘Well, you look old enough to take a cut. If there’s a place left, I’ll put you in. But we don’t fight past the first cut, and if you die, or kill a man, it’s your fault. We expect careful men, not wild boys.’
I blushed again, and nodded. ‘I’ve trained since I was ten, lord,’ I said.
He looked at me again. ‘Really?’ he said, and smiled. ‘That might be worth seeing.’
Archi put an elbow in my ribs as we turned away. ‘Trained since you were ten? The gods will curse you for a liar, my friend. Even though you are the best sword I know.’
Archi was a typical master. He’d never asked where I came from or what I’d done. Never. I loved him like a second older brother – but he never knew me well.
We walked back along the beach, and I was pleased to see men looking at us and, I think, taking our measure. Games are good. Competition is good. That’s how men measure themselves and others.
The games were still a few days away, though. So I walked around the promontory to exercise alone. I had a sword of my own, although nothing like what I wanted. It was short and heavy, a meat cleaver. I wanted a longer thrusting blade, because that’s what I’d learned with, but Ares had not seen fit to help me.
When I’d worked up a healthy sweat and swum it off in the ocean, I walked back. Slaves cooked for us, and that made me think, every time I took bread from a boy, that I was lucky – and free. Honey, once you’re a slave, you never forget it.
Anyway, Heraklides came and sat with me.
‘How many ships does Athens have?’ I asked my new friend.
‘Mmm,’ he said. ‘A hundred?’ he answered, before spotting a pretty Chian girl