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looked at the runners. Good boys, strong and proud, but Leonidas had many tunics and a warm cloak against the winter wind. And Hermias spent most of his evenings at home with his parents, eating good food and drinking watered wine. Young Learchus had a gold-embossed dagger made by a craftsman in Thebes, while lazy Pausias filled his belly with honey cakes and ran with all the speed of a sick pig. These boys did not survive on a bowl of soup a day.
    Transferring his gaze to Leonidas, he saw that the youth had moved up into second place and was loping along behind Gryllus. The Athenian was a fine runner, but Lepidus knew that Leonidas would accelerate into the last bend and leave him gasping. Only the boy Parmenion could live with the pace Leonidas could set, but never over twenty-five laps, when Leonidas’ greater strength would count.
    Using Sciritai alongside real men! Lepidus shook his head. That morning he had been summoned to the senior over the move.
    “It was none of my doing, sir,” he said to the grim-eyed old man.
    “Then it should have been,” snapped the aging general. “The king was displeased, and one of our finest young men was shamed. Are you saying the boy had never attempted such a move in practice?”
    “Never, sir,” answered Lepidus, his unease growing. This man had been his commanding officer in seven campaigns, and although both were now past forty years from manhood, the general still inspired awe in Lepidus.
    “Put him right, Lepidus. Where will we be if we allow Spartan men to develop such appalling methods?”
    “He is a half-blood, sir. He will never be Spartiate.”
    “His father was a fine warrior,” answered the general, “and the mother bore herself well. But I hear what you say. Blood will out. Send the boy to me.”
    “He is with Xenophon, sir. His mother’s burial is today, and the Athenian has him as a houseguest.”
    The general’s fist slammed down on the table. “I don’t want one of my boys as that man’s catamite!”
    “I will see he is back tomorrow.”
    “Do so,” grunted the old man. “And Lepidus, there will be no presentation of the victory rod.”
    “Sir?”
    “No presentation this year.”
    Lepidus looked into the old man’s eyes and swallowed hard. “I do not much like the boy, sir, but he won. How can we refuse him the rod?”
    “An example must be set. Do you know that my helots are talking of his win, that it is common knowledge among the Sciritai?”
    Lepidus had said no more. Now he sat, grateful for the shade from the tall cypress tree, and watched the boys run. He had little time for Parmenion, whom he saw as a sly, cunning youth, but he had earned the rod, and it was unfair to deprive him. He wondered how the other boys would take the decision. Parmenion was not popular, but the award night was usually a riotous affair and much looked forward to.
    The race was entering its final stages: Lepidus stood and walked to the center of the field.
    Gryllus still held the lead, but Hermias was now alongside Leonidas and vying for second place, blocking the talleryouth’s chances of an outside run at Gryllus. Leonidas cut to his right, barging Hermias aside. The slender youth staggered and lost ground, but Leonidas surged forward, catching Gryllus just before the line and breasting home ahead. Hermias came in fifth.
    Lepidus waited while the youngsters regained their breath, then called them to him.
    “A fine run—save for you, Pausias. Five more laps, if you please.” The boys jeered at the fat youth as he set off on his lonely run. “Now, gentlemen, the notices. First, the Olympiad trials. Leonidas and Parmenion will represent this barracks in the middle and long races. Leonidas will also compete in the javelin with Nestus. Hermias and Asiron will represent us in the short race. I will speak to the athletes when you are dismissed. Second, four boys were late for muster yesterday. This is not showing a good example to the younger members of the