Legacy of Blood Read Free

from?’ he asked the Helot.
    â€˜I’m from Messenia,’ said Idas. ‘My people were shepherds west of the mountains. We came here after my father died, and worked on a settlement.’
    â€˜Which one?’
    â€˜Near Amikles,’ said Idas. ‘It belonged to an old Ephor, but he’s dead now.’
    Lysander took a sharp breath. The boy was talking about Lysander’s own grandfather.
    â€˜My family came from Messenia too,’ he said, forcing himself to ignore the stab of loss that returned with the mention of Sarpedon. The Helot boy didn’t reply; he was staring at Lysander’s red cloak, his jaw tensing.
    â€˜I’ll be back later,’ Lysander told his new slave. ‘Keep yourself to yourself, and no one will bother you.’
    Idas gave a small bow. Then Lysander strode out of the barracks again.
    Demaratos was waiting for him by the track that led into the villages. With no tutor to give them orders, they were free to make their own way to River’s Rush. Lysander’s stomach growled. He’d managed only a fewscraps of food after watching his grandfather’s body consumed by the funeral pyre the previous night.
    â€˜Let’s hurry,’ he said. ‘I’m starving.’
    They strode through the outskirts of the city, past the remains of the previous day’s feasting: spitted carcasses of roasted sheep and pigs, stripped to the bone, wine jars toppled in the dust. Lysander saw a few Helots sweeping, or chopping wood, but for the most part it was quiet – none of the free-dwellers would be working today.
    Lysander spotted a servant carrying a water skin. Unusually for a Helot, the muscles rippled across the man’s broad back and he didn’t look as starved as many who worked the fields. He noticed Lysander watching him and gave him a suspicious look. Even a day after the city had been spared, the old distrust between Spartans and Helots was growing back, like a mould infecting the city.
    Roars of laughter and shouting carried across the river. Lysander crossed the bridge with Demaratos and inspected the massive barracks building. It looked like it had once been a two-storey stable block.
    â€˜Are you sure they’re expecting us?’ he asked Demaratos.
    â€˜Stop worrying,’ said his friend. ‘We’re the toast of Sparta now.’
    Outside, shields were resting against the walls, and eight-foot spears bristled in a rack.
    Suddenly the door flew open and a Spartan soldier stumbled out. He pushed past Lysander and ran to the railings, before vomiting over the side. Demaratos pulled a disgusted face.
    Once the man had emptied his stomach, he turned and wiped his mouth with a thick forearm.
    â€˜Greetings, young ones,’ he slurred. ‘Forgive me – Peleus mixes the wine too strong for my stomach.’
    Demaratos stepped forward. ‘We’ve been summoned for the feast,’ he said.
    The Spartan raised his eyebrows in a look of mock surprise.
    â€˜Have you now? This is River’s Rush, you know. What makes you two boys think this is a place for you?’
    Lysander was annoyed at the tone in the Spartan’s voice.
    â€˜I took Vaumisa’s life with my spear,’ he said.
    The smile dropped from the man’s face, and he seemed suddenly sober.
    â€˜It was you? Yes, I recognise you now. You initiated Sarpedon’s funeral rites. Lysander, isn’t it?’
    Lysander nodded, and then gestured to Demaratos.
    â€˜This is Demaratos; he rescued the granddaughter of the Ephor Sarpedon from the Persian ship.’
    â€˜I am Phalerius,’ said the man. ‘Peleus is expecting you. Follow me.’ The words were spoken as an order, not an invitation.
    The Spartan led them to the double doors of thedining hall.
    â€˜If Peleus is expecting us,’ Lysander hissed to Demaratos, ‘why all the questions?’
    â€˜It’s the Spartan way,’ said Demaratos, hurrying