The Isle of Stone

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The message pleased and puzzled him in equal measure. It was the first word he had heard of Andreia in months, and it was good. No Lacedaemonian could receive news that he had fathered a son and be displeased.

And yet-what did it mean? Were his superiors inviting him to return home, without prejudice, and raise his son? Or did they wish to imply that, with his legacy assured, he should see now to preserving the honor of his name?

The son of Antalcidas grows.

The Athenian generals watched as he stood there, reading the line again and again. Cleon immediately discerned the uncertainty on his adversary’s face. “Does the answer surprise you?” he asked.

Antalcidas ignored him. He had been too long away from Laconia-that Zeuxippos could expect anything else than the traditional sacrifice was unlikely. What proof did he have that Demosthenes was telling the truth, that the ephors had bargained hard for the garrison’s release? Nothing more than his word. And what was the word of an Athenian worth, when they dispensed so many of them, to such little effect?

He rolled up the message. “The answer is clear,” Antalcidas replied. “It is what we all expected. I bid you return to your men now, and ready your arms-for the Lacedaemonians choose to die.”