Page 40 of Eryx

“True,” Nikias agreed and held up a finger. “The prophecy explains the king’s actions, but what of the others? Why did they stay?”

“It is Spartan law,” Haden answered. “A Spartan does not run from battle like a mutt with its tail between its legs. He stands and faces death with a sword in hand.”

I nodded to Haden. He possessed the values I held dear to me too. We were warriors above all else.

“They stood together and fought as one,” Nikias said, his expression grave as he stared at the flames in the fire pit. “Then, the Persians surrounded the army and rained down their arrows until every one of them was dead.”

Silence followed as each boy in the courtyard processed the meaning of his words.

“You wonder why I told you this story. Let me explain.” Nikias stood and pinned each one of us with a stare. “One day, you all will leave boyhood behind and grow into men. You have experienced what it means to be a Spartan—enduring pain and starvation, learning obedience and group solidarity. But sacrificing yourself for your home is something you also may face, and that is something that cannot be taught but must be instilled into each of you.”

He placed another log on the fire, causing the flames to strengthen a moment before dying down once more.

He continued, “Sparta is strong because of those who have died protecting it. For those who put home above self. We are at war, and some of you will be of age soon to fight. When that day comes, you must find your courage and give your life if necessary.”

I’d give my life for Sparta, and as I looked at my brothers and their intense stares, I knew they would as well.

Axios stilled beside me, and I pressed my hand to his. Did he feel the same? Would he give his life for Sparta?

Even more so… did I want him to?

I stared at the fire but the warmth of the flames didn’t reach me right then. The thought of a world without Axios in it made me cold, as if a thousand winters swirled in my chest, freezing my heart and lungs.

“The hour is late,” Nikias said. “Off to the barracks, all of you.”

Once we were in our beds, I stared at Axios. His eyes were closed and his breathing slow. Sleep had him in its clutches. The chill from earlier refused to leave me, and I shifted closer, drawing him to my chest. The soft sigh that reached my ears, followed by the gentle nuzzle of his face against my neck, finally thawed the cold snaking through my veins.

Sparta wasn’t the only one I’d give my life for.

Chapter Eight

390 BC – Two Years Later

“You! Son of Damos,” a familiar gruff voice rang out. Belos strode toward the doorway and slapped a hand on the frame.

“Eryx,” I corrected him. I was no longer the boy I’d been when I’d first met him years ago at the dining mess. I met his gaze easily as I stood in the hall outside the room where he and his men shared drinks that evening. I had been on my way back to the barracks after running an errand for Nikias.

“Still a defiant one, aren’t you?” Belos stepped aside and flung his hand toward the table. “Come. Share a drink with me.”

I knew better than to decline his request. Nine other men stared at me as I entered the room, their expressions clouded with interest. And maybe some were clouded from the wine in their goblets. Spartans drank sparingly, and so the reason for their drinking this night must’ve been a grim one.

“What brings you here?” Belos asked, pouring wine into a cup and handing it to me. “Or shall I flog you for you being out of the barracks this late?”

“You can flog me if you wish, but I must say it will serve no purpose,” I answered, before taking a sip. It was both sweet and tart. And so very potent. “I delivered news to Gaius concerning our training for the morrow. Nikias insisted that we train with real weapons.”

“Nikias is right,” Belos responded, scratching at his bearded jaw. “The war continues outside our walls and we need men, not boys. Your herd has progressed in your training and has surpassed all expectations. Gaius tells us of your skill, son of Damos. He speaks highly of you, and he isn’t one to speak highly of any man.”

Gaius had made us stronger over the past two summers. He’d flogged us, beaten us with blunt weapons, and burned us with metal from the forge. Not once was he met with complaint, not from me nor any other boy in the herd.

Axios had become stronger, too, both in mind and body. He excelled in training and fought back when challenged by another youth. But even with his fighting spirit, I still saw signs of the boy I cared for deeply beneath it all. He hadn’t lost his curiosity or compassion. He was still my raven.

“Here’s to the men we lost,” a man said, lifting his goblet into the air. “They fought for our home and gave their lives to do so. May their souls forever live in Elysium.”

The other men held up their glasses before taking a drink. I drank too. Though I didn’t know the details, I’d heard soldiers speak of a recent battle at Lechaeum that had taken many Spartiates.

“And may Iphicrates burn in a fiery pit,” Belos added before throwing his glass back, downing the contents, and then slamming it on the wooden table. “Athenian scum.”

I recognized another man at the table. His brown hair was longer than when I’d last seen him, but the dagger he slowly turned in his hands was unmistakable. I’d used it to slit the helot’s throat. Paris glanced up and met my stare. Another man sat beside him, sitting closer than most men would sit to another. He looked at me, too, before regarding Paris with a curious tilt of his head.