Read Online Spartans at the Gates by Noble Smith - Free Book Online Page A

across the river Styx. After that his father had been wrapped in his best robe, and then burned on a bier. The ashes and bits of bones were collected and stored in a funeral jar painted with Aristo’s image: a beautiful man with long limbs holding a tortoiseshell harp and staring into space with sad eyes. He had been a poet and a runner, one of the fastest in the Oxlands. “Not meant for the battlefield,” his grandfather had said several times over the years. Not with disgust or anger. Just regret. But Nikias had always bristled at this description of his father. Who was meant for the battlefield? It seemed, in Nikias’s opinion, that whether or not you survived was based almost solely on pure luck.
    His grandfather had an answer for that too. “Some men are born lucky, others seize luck by the balls and take it. Others can’t buy luck even if they have a cartload of gold.”
    Nikias had kept his father’s funeral jar and tortoiseshell harp in his bedroom. Both had been destroyed in the fire. His mother’s remains were mingled in the cinders of the abandoned farmhouse as well. There was nothing left of her body. No hand in which to place a silver Plataean coin for the journey to the Underworld.
    â€œThe Athenians put the Ferryman’s coin in the mouths of the dead,” he mumbled aloud. Nikias also knew that the poor kept money in their mouths when they went to market.
    His mother had told him this when he was a child. She’d come from Athens. She’d been poor, but so very beguiling. His parents’ marriage had been arranged, but Aristo had fallen in love with her the moment he’d seen his bride. At least that’s what his mother had told him.
    He hoped his mother had found her way to the Underworld. Perhaps the Ferryman would give her passage for free, enraptured by her beauty. And then she would search the Land of the Dead, drawn by the sound of her husband’s playing and singing. Would his parents still love one another if they were reunited? Could the dead hold each other? Make love as shades? How terrible to be nothing more solid than a fog. A mere vapor craving life.…
    The sound of laughter startled him from his grim reverie. He glanced to the left of the road and saw a small olive grove. Some boys were beating the trees with long sticks to shake out the last of the harvest. A pair of toddlers, barely able to walk, were picking up the fallen olives and gleefully tossing them into a basket.
    â€œStop,” said Nikias, pulling back on the reins and coming to a halt. Kolax stopped, too, trotting back to him.
    â€œWhat is it?” asked Kolax.
    â€œThere’s a road marker,” Nikias said, sliding off his horse’s back. When his feet hit the ground his brain exploded in a blinding flash of pain. Bending over, he took several ragged breaths to compose himself, and then clutched the horse’s reins, walking the animal over to a statue by the road: a stone head with long curling beard and hair stuck onto a rectangular column. A phallus protruded from the center of the block of marble, pointing the way to Athens like a fat finger.
    Kolax walked his horse over and looked the strange statue up and down. His lips curled in an expression of haughty disdain. “What’s he so happy about?” he asked, pointing at the stone erection with his bow.
    â€œIt’s a herm statue,” said Nikias.
    Hearing a high-pitched screech, he looked up: an eagle soared high in the sky overhead. The messenger of Zeus! This was a good sign.
    â€œWhat does the stone say?” asked Kolax, pointing at the words etched on the marker.
    â€œTen miles to Athens,” said Nikias. He couldn’t hide the weariness in his voice. He could barely speak.
    â€œThen let’s go! Let’s go! To Athens!” cried Kolax enthusiastically.
    â€œI have to rest,” said Nikias softly. “And my horse is going lame.” He looped his