The Isle of Stone

5.

The attendants of the Spartiates lacked the status of soldiers but bore some of the same responsibilities. After sleeping in cold, craggy holes beside their masters, they stood watches on windswept rocks. Their standard ration was one half a soldier’s dole, which corresponded to expending half their effort to find berries and insects for the Equals. Although all helots were, by law, considered as much enemies of the Spartan state as the Athenians, their loyalty was expected. To discourage any possibility of revolt, their social intercourse was regulated, with congregations of more than two helots in any one place forbidden on pain of flogging.

Doulos had come to Antalcidas with no training as a shieldbearer. His tender hands and feet testified to a relatively soft existence on kitchen duty or prone on his master’s bed-Antalcidas had never asked which. He was ignorant of how to handle the panoply. Antalcidas had to show him how to use the cords pegged to the reverse of the shield to sling it across his back. Doulos responded by clapping his hands in childish delight and exclaiming, “At last I appreciate the scenes on certain red-figure wares! Especially kraters and cups by masters like Psiax, Makron, Euphronios. Recall Menelaus and Hector fighting over the fallen body of Euphorbos-Achilles and Ajax taking their ease over the gaming table, the shields slung over their shoulders! The leave-taking of armed Memnon. Yes, thank you for teaching me this, my lord!”

“I showed you to save your strength on the march, you fool.”

“Oh that-well of course. But a cramped arm is worth learning something about the noble arts of war, is it not?”

Antalcidas turned away with the requisite scorn. Inwardly, he was amused by the boy’s combination of uselessness and expertise. Since the day he left the Rearing he had had trouble finding the will to put the lash to Doulos’ back. The thought of how he had tormented helots in his youth caused Antalcidas to flush with regret.

Epitadas came to him after watching the discussion about the proper way to haul a shield. “The way your slave disputes with you,” he said, “sets a bad example.”

“He’s my business,” replied Antalcidas.

“Wrong, Brother. It’s all my business now.”

The next day was overcast, with a solid dome of clouds stretching from Mount Mathion in the east to the slate gray edge of the western horizon. The respite from the sun made the twin aches of hunger and thirst seem more manageable; the prospect of rainfall filled the garrison with a subtle excitement. Meanwhile, a storm far out at sea sent high swells barreling into the island’s flank. To escape taking the waves broadside as they proceeded along the coast, the Athenians were forced to tack east and west. The pitching and rolling of their hulls was harrowing just to watch. When the Athenians tacked inshore, sentries standing downwind of them could detect the faint odor of vomit.

During daylight the Lacedaemonians did their best to keep hidden. Overt maneuvers were restricted to dawn and day’s end, when the twilight hid their movements. On the ninth day of the blockade Antalcidas made his way at dusk to check their positions at the south end of the island. There he found the guard in that area, an under-thirty named Namertes, lying on his belly as he peered over the cliff’s edge. Antalcidas crept around: the boy was looking straight down on an Athenian trireme resting in the calm water of a deep rift in the rock. Hacking up a gob of phlegm-the lack of fresh water made spitting a challenge-Namertes let the wad gather on his lower lip for a long moment, then let it drop on the deck below. It hit an Athenian bowman in the back of his neck. Reaching back to wipe it, the man gazed at the sky as if checking for rain.

Antalcidas cleared his throat. The young man leapt to attention.

“Excuse me, elder. I didn’t hear you.”

“Of course you didn’t. You were busy.”

Namertes blushed. “I was watching the enemy.”

“Speak plainly, boy! You were insulting him, though without much effect. And what if their archers reply by putting a bolt through your eye?”

The other tossed his head as if to deny he could ever fall to something as womanly as an arrow. He was a handsome lad, with a firm, straight brow over deep-set eyes. The coating of dirt on the front of his tunic made him seem more the rambunctious schoolboy than a soldier.

“I wanted to use something heavier, but I couldn’t manage it alone,” he said. He indicated a small boulder at his side. It was roughly spherical, about three feet in diameter, resting in a notch less than two yards from the edge of the precipice. Antalcidas looked from the boulder to the ship and back again. The thing probably weighed as much as five men, and if it were pushed over the side would drop something like a hundred feet to the sea. The idea intrigued him.

“Who’s your platoon leader, son?”

“Arcesus, son of Sphodrias.”

“Of Amyclae?”

“Of Limnae.”

“I see.” Antalcidas dropped his shield and spear and threw the front of his cloak over his left shoulder. “Well, what are you waiting for? Are you going to help me?”

Namertes smiled. By rocking the boulder back and forth they muscled it out of its notch, but because of its irregular shape they had to struggle to get it to roll farther. Once they forced it free, the partners had to reverse themselves to keep it from going over the side. When the rock was finally in position, Antalcidas wedged a flat stone behind it to stop it rolling backward. The trap was set now, a rude Sword of Damocles. Antalcidas peeked over the ledge at their target; the Athenian ship was backing water now, ready to resume its patrol. From the disposition of the figures on the top deck it seemed that they had neither seen nor heard the Lacedaemonians above them.

“Looks like we’ve lost our chance for now.”

“They’ll be back,” said Namertes. “I’ve been here five straight days and they come here every morning-one ship or another.”

“Then I will see you this time tomorrow.”

Antalcidas retrieved his equipment and walked away. Namertes gazed after him with admiration, but wiped it off his face when the other suddenly turned.

“Do I have to remind you to keep this between us?”

Antalcidas, whose enemies needed little encouragement to call him “Stone” to his face, stared into the younger man’s eyes.

“I’ll say nothing,” pledged Namertes.