Read Online The Ten Thousand by Michael Curtis Ford - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Curtis Ford
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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raucous chirping and now solemnly watched the proceedings, not without, it seemed, a certain clinical interest. Not a sound came from Aedon, apart from his labored breathing. He closed his eyes, and through his pain managed a half smile.
Because of Gryllus' position, though not without some misgivings, the family was able to secure the services of the city's most respected physicians. They soon had the blade removed from his ribs and prescribed a regime of poultices consisting of a concoction of ashes, spurge, and sour wine. For days afterward he was given to drink a beverage of bitter herbs that made him lightheaded and sleepy. I sent his father a hurried message by military courier, fearing that Aedon might die any day, and Gryllus returned home within two weeks, riding confiscated horses and navy vessels the entire way to speed his journey. Still wearing the dusty and sweat-begrimed clothes in which he had been dressed for the past week, he strode into the house without ceremony, pausing briefly to compose himself and to straighten his shoulders. With tears in his eyes, he entered the room where his son was recovering.
"Son, you truly are a man," he said, clasping Aedon's forearm in both his hands. "You have acted to the glory of the gods and our ancestors. Athens will be proud to see you serve her one day, as will I."
Aedon's face was expressionless, even wary, at this rare sign of his father's approval, but his eyes sparkled in a way I had not seen since he was a young boy. Gryllus was quick to allow the news of his son's bravery to be spread among his colleagues, and within days Aedon was swamped with offers for the services of the most renowned athletic trainers. His friends treated him as a god, or at least as a war hero, though he himself refused to discuss the affair, and shrank from all mention of it except by his father.
Why such reticence to accept glory? During those months lying in bed recovering from his wound, and particularly after Gryllus returned to his duties a few days later, Aedon had all too much time to reflect on the fact that the intruder he had killed was not, in fact, a vicious murderer. The thief, as it happened, was Boy, who in a moment of greater stupidity than usual, or at Antinous' urging, had sought to take advantage of his knowledge of the house to expropriate a few trifles for his own use, and who had died still wearing his habitual foolish grin. Though Aedon bore no love for his wrestling opponent, still the lad was an acquaintance of sorts, one whose skin and hair he had gripped with his own hands, and a messy death had never been a consideration. Aedon had at first been in despair at this revelation. His only recourse was to harden his heart, telling himself that the simpleton had received fair sanction, convincing himself of the wisdom of placing glory and his family's safety over mere sentiment.
I, too, had occasion during those months to reflect deeply on the event, and came to the conclusion that not one boy, but two had died by the knife that night; for in fact, young Aedon had not been revived by the splashing of cold water on his face after the stabbing. His cheerful soprano was never heard again in the courtyard after dinner, nor was his joking and flirting with the slave girls as they went about their tasks. His childhood toys and books were put safely away in a box. For in killing Boy, my master had also killed something in himself, something precious and innocent, a boy who in some ways was more orphan than myself. That boy was the only person my master ever killed who did not truly deserve to die, and for whose life of art and music he never ceased to despair in his moments of regret. Even his name was discarded by everyone, seemingly unanimously and simultaneously, as if a blood oath had been sworn, as if the deceased were not to be mentioned.
Aedon was dead, and Xenophon was born.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FIRE BURNED hot and bright, enough to make those
Because of Gryllus' position, though not without some misgivings, the family was able to secure the services of the city's most respected physicians. They soon had the blade removed from his ribs and prescribed a regime of poultices consisting of a concoction of ashes, spurge, and sour wine. For days afterward he was given to drink a beverage of bitter herbs that made him lightheaded and sleepy. I sent his father a hurried message by military courier, fearing that Aedon might die any day, and Gryllus returned home within two weeks, riding confiscated horses and navy vessels the entire way to speed his journey. Still wearing the dusty and sweat-begrimed clothes in which he had been dressed for the past week, he strode into the house without ceremony, pausing briefly to compose himself and to straighten his shoulders. With tears in his eyes, he entered the room where his son was recovering.
"Son, you truly are a man," he said, clasping Aedon's forearm in both his hands. "You have acted to the glory of the gods and our ancestors. Athens will be proud to see you serve her one day, as will I."
Aedon's face was expressionless, even wary, at this rare sign of his father's approval, but his eyes sparkled in a way I had not seen since he was a young boy. Gryllus was quick to allow the news of his son's bravery to be spread among his colleagues, and within days Aedon was swamped with offers for the services of the most renowned athletic trainers. His friends treated him as a god, or at least as a war hero, though he himself refused to discuss the affair, and shrank from all mention of it except by his father.
Why such reticence to accept glory? During those months lying in bed recovering from his wound, and particularly after Gryllus returned to his duties a few days later, Aedon had all too much time to reflect on the fact that the intruder he had killed was not, in fact, a vicious murderer. The thief, as it happened, was Boy, who in a moment of greater stupidity than usual, or at Antinous' urging, had sought to take advantage of his knowledge of the house to expropriate a few trifles for his own use, and who had died still wearing his habitual foolish grin. Though Aedon bore no love for his wrestling opponent, still the lad was an acquaintance of sorts, one whose skin and hair he had gripped with his own hands, and a messy death had never been a consideration. Aedon had at first been in despair at this revelation. His only recourse was to harden his heart, telling himself that the simpleton had received fair sanction, convincing himself of the wisdom of placing glory and his family's safety over mere sentiment.
I, too, had occasion during those months to reflect deeply on the event, and came to the conclusion that not one boy, but two had died by the knife that night; for in fact, young Aedon had not been revived by the splashing of cold water on his face after the stabbing. His cheerful soprano was never heard again in the courtyard after dinner, nor was his joking and flirting with the slave girls as they went about their tasks. His childhood toys and books were put safely away in a box. For in killing Boy, my master had also killed something in himself, something precious and innocent, a boy who in some ways was more orphan than myself. That boy was the only person my master ever killed who did not truly deserve to die, and for whose life of art and music he never ceased to despair in his moments of regret. Even his name was discarded by everyone, seemingly unanimously and simultaneously, as if a blood oath had been sworn, as if the deceased were not to be mentioned.
Aedon was dead, and Xenophon was born.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE FIRE BURNED hot and bright, enough to make those
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