Read Online Roma Victrix by Russell Whitfield - Free Book Online Page B

Telemachus, I am ashamed.’
    She told him of the aftermath, of how she had made an exhibi-tion of herself. When he probed deeper, he determined that drink had owned her for nearly two years now. No wonder she was in such a state, he thought.
    â€˜And there you have it,’ she finished. She was half drunk by now, but seemed to be controlling herself. ‘I tell myself each time that I will never drink to excess again, and yet when the krater is before me I forget my remorse, my good intentions and the shame of what has transpired before. Telemachus, you must understand,’ her eyes implored him, ‘I do not acknowledge or even ignore what I have promised myself. It just does not occur to me. I cannot understand why this is so but, as soon as I see the drink, it is as though I have no memory of the bad things that always happen when I have too much…’ she trailed off. ‘Sometimes I just want to die, the shame of it is too much to bear. But then it passes, life goes on and all is well. I do not drink to excess each time the wine cup touches my lips. But, sooner or later, Dionysus curses me and,’ she spread her hands, ‘you can see the result.’
    Telemachus was touched by her words. Lysandra’s seal had always been her pride, her refusal to seek help when she needed it. It was this self-reliance that had made her a supreme fighter, her iron will that had cast her into the invincible Gladiatrix Prima . But, like a shield wall, if that will was broken, she was all too vulnerable. He cursed himself that he had not found time to see more of her: perhaps he could have averted her fall, saved her from herself. But it was not too late. Lysandra was a Spartan. All Spartans were unimaginative and, thankfully, easily led. ‘I can see the result,’ he said at length. ‘But it is not your doing that things have come to this.’
    â€˜I should have more self-control,’ she sighed, and he realised that, though she was not totally inebriated, the melancholy of the drunk was descending upon her.
    â€˜Athene has spoken to you,’ he said gently. ‘But Dionysus screams so loudly in your ears that you have not heard. I think I can understand most of your vision. Drowning in a wine dark sea , I am afraid, is all too obvious. The god with a thousand faces and voices – Lysandra, this is the arena that you once ruled. It hungers for you, as you hunger for it. The bloody fist raised in victory – your fist. The horses and birds of prey… that is unclear,’ he admitted. ‘Maybe your soul is being trampled… or it could be nothing. That’s the trouble with visions sent by the gods – they’re never that straightforward.’
    â€˜I do not know what to do, though. I cannot carry on like this.’
    â€˜That is one thing we can agree on, Lysandra. The goddess Athene walks by your side as ever,’ he said. ‘Though it may not seem like it. For her own reasons she has a hand in your life, but you are but mortal and cannot always see clearly. It helps to have another person’s perspective from time to time. Like before, when we first met.
    Athene had her purpose then, and I believe she has it now.’
    â€˜I fail to see it.’
    â€˜Your mind is dulled. I am sorry to say it, but it is true. And no wonder – the Spartans’ greatest strength is also their greatest weakness. You don’t need me to tell you that, our jokes aside. Remember that Sparta hated sending men away from the embrace of the city.
    Too long spent away from Sparta would lead to corruption, would it not?’
    â€˜That is so,’ Lysandra agreed. ‘The debauchery of inferior societies is an affront to Spartan eyes.’
    â€˜An affront?’ Telemachus raised an eyebrow. ‘Perhaps. But also a seducer. Lysandra, you have lived your whole life under the savage rod of discipline. From your agoge to the ludus your life had rules,