Atlantis Gate

CHAPTER 10

Leonidas entered his home to be greeted with the site of Cyra holding his daughter on her lap, bouncing the squealing girl up and down. His mind was swirling with all the preparations to be made for the march-out in the morning and for a moment he was taken aback at this strange site.

“Husband.” A hand was on the small of his back, just below where the armor ended.

Leonidas turned. His wife, Thetis, stood in the shadows of the entryway. Her hair was pinned up and she wore a white robe fringed with gold, a gift he had brought her from the sack of a neighboring town many years previously. He recognized it for more than that though — it was what she wore the night their son Amphion had been conceived. Or had been wearing, he realized as a flush spread across his tanned cheeks. Her hand was still on his back and he glanced at Cyra in embarrassment but the priestess was focused on Briseis.

Leonidas took her hand in his, removing it from his back. “Wife,” he acknowledged. He could see the smile on her face and the sadness in her eyes. Word of the assembly’s decision and the morning muster would have made it here, even though he had left the assembly and headed straight home. It was the way it always was and Leonidas had never figured out how the women knew such things as quickly as they did.

“Xarxon has prepared your equipment for travel.” Leonidas had not had time to tell his squire to get things ready, so he was grateful for his wife’s intervention.

“Greeting, King.” Cyra had finally acknowledged his presence. She stood, holding Briseis in her arms.

“Priestess.” Leonidas felt uncomfortable. He suddenly realized that if the Oracle’s prophecy were true, tonight would be his last with Thetis. He turned to her. “We march in the morning.”

“I know.” Thetis was a slight woman, her hair prematurely gray as befit one who had waited out so many campaigns. She reached down and picked up a wicker basket that Leonidas had not noticed. “I want to go up the mountain. To our meadow.”

Leonidas frowned. “It is late and—“

“I know it is late.” There was a sharp edge to Thetis’s voice. “Cyra will watch Briseis. Amphion is at his agoge and will see you in the morning on the field. Tonight, I want you to myself. Under the stars. On the mountain.” Her hands were on the clasps that held his armor, unfastening it.

Leonidas looked at Cyra and the priestess gave the slightest of nods and for some strange reason he stood still and allowed Thetis to remove the metal from his body until he was clad only in his short tunic.

“King?” Cyra seemed reluctant to interject herself between husband and wife.

“Yes?”

“What was the decision of the council?”

“We march on Antirhon to secure our west, then to Thermopylae.”

Cyra put Briseis down in her cradle. “How long will this campaign against Antirhon take?”

“That is something no one can predict.”

“How far away is this city?”

When Leonidas told her, Cyra shook her head. “There is not time. Xerxes is marching quickly. He has already crossed the Hellesponte. He will reach the Gates and be through them before you arrive.”

“We are sending three hundred troops directly to the Gates of Fire to prepare the defenses and hold the pass.”

“Three hundred? What can three hundred men do?”

“Three hundred Spartans,” Leonidas corrected her. He held up a weary hand as Cyra started to say something. “We may indeed be too late, but the council has spoken and it is law. I must obey.”

Thetis took his raised hand and led him to the door. “We will be back at dawn,” she called over her shoulder to Cyra as she pulled Leonidas through the door. Once outside, she continued to lead the way, heading toward the mountainside where they had spent the first night of their marriage so many years previously.

Cyra stood in the doorway, watching the couple disappear into the darkness.

King Xerxes looked down from the mountain at the glow of lights ahead. It was a small town, the eastern-most outpost of Macedonia, a kingdom that was in search of an identity. North of Greece proper, Macedonia was the invasion route for both the Persians from the east and the barbarians to the north. He thought so little of the small kingdom that Xerxes had not even bothered to send emissaries to the Macedonians to smooth his passage through this land.

“My Lord?” The commander of the Immortals waited for his orders.

“Destroy the town. Kill everyone.”

A female voice cut in. “That is not wise, King.”

Xerxes was tired. The army was marching hard and despite all the comforts he was provided, it was taking its toll on the King’s body. “Why?” he asked wearily.

“There is no need to destroy the town, King,” Pandora said.

“There is no need,” Xerxes acknowledged, “only my desire that it be so, which supersedes need.”

“Yes, lord.” Pandora remained quiet, which irritated Xerxes even more.

“You have a reason beyond it isn’t necessary, don’t you?” he demanded.

“Yes, lord.”

Just as Xerxes was about to explode in anger, Pandora continued.

“Time is like the ocean. It ebbs and flows. Much like kingdoms. Today one is powerful and can destroy. In a generation the power goes the other way.”

Xerxes nodded as if he understood. “True. But today—” he jabbed his finger down at his throne—“I am the one with the power.” He turned to the commander of the Immortals. “Do as I order.”

“May I go with him, Lord?” Pandora asked which surprised Xerxes.

The King waved his hand. He could care less.

Pandora followed the commander down a slope where a battalion of the Immortals waited. She was ignored as the troops moved forward. The rest of the Persian army had halted for the night, the glow of the thousands of campfires lighting up the eastern horizon like a false dawn.

The gates to the city were open, the inhabitants clearly aware of what approached. A cluster of men stood in the open gates, waiting. As the Immortals approached they held their hands up and called out entreaties. Pandora began moving her way up in the column of troops. There were screams as the Immortals cut down the men.

Belatedly the soldiers in the town jumped into action. They tried to shut the gates, but it was too late. The Immortals surged through, overpowering the defense. Men, women, children and animals were cut down wherever they were found. Pandora stepped over bodies, pushing her way toward the vanguard of the Immortals. She saw merchants, hands full of offered gold, have their heads lopped off.

Unerringly Pandora stalked through the streets. Immortals continued to ignore her, knowing her as the right hand of the King. Of course, none of them seemed concerned about her safety either.

Screams of agony and fear echoed through the air. Both human and animal. A red glow was lighting the sky as the town was being put to the torch. Near the center of town Pandora shoved open the door to an elegant house. She walked in, and then up a set of stairs. She threw open a door at the top of the stairs and entered a room where a woman huddled in the corner, a baby in her arms.

“Please,” the woman pleaded.

Pandora walked over and took the child out of the frightened woman’s arms. “His name?”

“Phillip.”

Pandora nodded. “Philip the First.”

“What?” The woman was confused.

Pandora heard footsteps thundering up the steps. Two Immortals stormed into the room, blades drawn. Pandora put the child under her cloak. The soldiers looked at her briefly, then one stepped forward and separated the woman’s head from her body with an expert stroke. Then they left.

Pandora went down the stairs, keeping the child hidden. The streets of the city ran with blood and the flames were spreading, leaping from building to building. Pandora kept her eyes straight ahead as she strode out of the gate and into the darkness. She turned to the left, heading toward a cluster of hills. She paused for a second and her head swiveled back and forth, almost

like an animal searching for prey, then she moved forward.

In front of the hills was a stream bed and she went down into it. “Come out,” she called.

Nothing moved.

Pandora removed the child from under her cloak and held it up. “Come out.”

Bushes moved, then a woman stepped out. She stood tall, her jaw set. “You took your time.”

Pandora ignored the comment and held the child out to the woman. “His name is Philip.”

The woman remained as still as a rock.

“He will be your King.”

“We have a King.”

“You saw what Xerxes did to your city?” Pandora didn’t wait for an answer. “What he does to your capital will be worse. Your King will die as will every member of his family. This—” she indicated the child she held—“is a relative. A distant one, but the only one who will survive Xerxes’ march. He will be your King.”

The woman finally moved, coming forward. She held out her arms and took the child into them. She looked down at the child’s face, then up at Pandora. “His name again?”

“Listen closely. He is Philip. Philip the First. He will have a son who will take the same name. Then his son will have a son. His name will be Alexander. To those who follow he will be known as Alexander the Great. He will conquer all the world.”

“How do you know this?”

Pandora reached out and grabbed the woman by the shoulders, her fingers sinking in. “Trust me that I do. You are brave. You came out while the men still cower in the bushes. You will raise him to be King.”

Pandora turned and walked off into the dark, leaving the woman holding the child.

Leonidas woke and the first thing he realized was that he wasn’t wearing his armor. Indeed, he became aware that he was naked as a warm breeze raked over his body. It did not bother him. He felt at peace, most strange for a man who was to march off to war shortly.

Turning his head, Leonidas saw the rising sun, highlighting Thetis’s left breast. Leonidas leaned over, kissing it lightly.

Thetis’s eyes opened and she smiled, her face relaxed. In less than a second the calm look was gone.

“No,” Leonidas placed his fingers on her lips. “Let us have now like we had last night.” He rolled over, placing his body on top of hers.

Later, the sun was clear of the horizon and the King held his wife tight in both his arms. He felt the pressure of duty. He could hear distant yells and knew his troops were marshalling.

“Thetis.”

His wife buried her head into his scarred chest. “Yes?”

“I know I have not been there for you as I should have been.”

“You were there as you should have been as King.”

“But not as a husband who loves you. For that I am sorry.”

The Persian army moved past the smoldering ruins of the city. Pandora walked alongside the Imperial litter, which was carried by a dozen burly slaves. Immortals surrounded the King, a moving wall of humanity.

“I understand you went into the city,” Xerxes’ voice carried through the curtains enclosing the litter.

“I told you I was, my lord,” Pandora answered.

“I also have been told you carried a child out of the city.”

Pandora remained quiet.

“My orders were that all should die. You heard them.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Yes, you carried a child out, or yes you heard my orders?”

“Both, my Lord.”

“Disobeying my orders is punishable by death.”

Pandora noted that two Immortals had edged closer to her, their hands on the pommels of their swords.

“Who was the child?” Xerxes asked. “I do not see you moved by pity, so there must be another reason for your actions.”

“No one who need concern you, my Lord.”

The curtain twitched open and Pandora could see Xerxes now. He had a goblet in one hand and was reclined on a pile of pillows. The slaves were specially chosen and trained as the litter moved smoothly despite the unevenness of the road.

“I decide what is my concern.”

“Yes, Lord. The grandson of the child I saved could be very important in his time, long after you and I are gone.”

“A prophecy?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Interesting.” Xerxes drank deeply, then stuck the goblet out of the litter. A slave grabbed it, quickly refilled it while keeping pace and handed it back to the King in one smooth motion. “I do not trust you.”

“I know, my Lord.”

“This important grandson,” Xerxes said. “Will what he does depend on what we do now?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“You did this in case I fail?”

Pandora hesitated, then told the truth. “Yes, Lord.”

“Fail in what, particularly?” Xerxes was holding out the cup for more wine. Pandora wondered if the wine or the smell of burning corpses accounted for his benign mood this morning.

“Defeating the Greeks.”

“I doubt that is your goal. I doubt also that you will tell me what you are really doing unless I let my master at arms loose on you. And that is something you might not recover from. If you violate another of my decrees, I will have your head decorate the front of my litter.” The curtain closed.

Leonidas’s heart felt as heavy as his shield. The six lochoi were lined up in battle formation in front of the Helenian, the squires and battle train already on the road before dawn and out of the city. Cyra had been gone when he and Thetis arrived home, a neighbor woman watching Briseis. The woman said the strange priestess had told her that she had gone off to consult with the gods and that she would meet the King on the march.

Wives and daughters were in the shade of the temple. The boys of the agoge were gathered in their own ranks to watch their fathers march off. A low sound, almost inaudible at first, came from the women. It grew in strength until the words of the hymn to the battle god could clearly be heard by all. The ranks stood still, their spear points aligned neatly.

When the hymn died out and silence covered the field, Leonidas turned to the western road. Without issuing a command, he strode forth. The first rank of the first lochoi turned in step and followed. Row after row of Spartans trod onto the dirt road and headed to the west, casting long shadows before them. When Leonidas reached a rise in the road where he knew he would disappear from view after crossing, he paused and stepped to the side. His eyes were on the men, noting their deportment. It was only after the last rank had filed past and he was covered in dust did he turn and look back at his city. Stepping out from the shadow of the temple he saw Thetis. He raised his shield. She raised Amphion in her arms.

Tears coursed down the King’s face cutting into the dust caked on it as he turned to the west and followed his army. It was a while before he sped up the pace to catch up with the column.