My Spartan Hellion (31 page)

She turned down the street towards Basha’s, her thoughts straying to Thanos. She wondered how he was faring. She knew her message had arrived with him and as soon as she was home she would send off another about the ridiculous actions of the council.

Lamia bit down on her cheek to keep the curse from forming as she thought of the stuffy old men who had nothing better to do than wreak havoc in Sparta because their egos had been wounded.

As if she could cast the thought from her mind, she shook her head. She refused to dwell on the actions of the
gerousia.
Like Thanos, she was not a politician. That was Cleomenes’ job and she would let him do it.

Lamia neared Basha’s home, looking forward to her visit, when a chill slithered down her spine and she stopped. She narrowed her gaze as she spun around, searching in all directions. Ever since Thanos had departed for Athens, she’d had the uneasy feeling that she was being stalked, but she’d pushed it aside, thinking it her own imagination, the result of her longing for Thanos. Now she wasn’t so sure. She glanced around again, but saw nothing except streets full of Spartans hurrying to get inside their dwellings and out of the heat, just like her. She turned back around and quickened her pace, wondering if missing Thanos was driving her mad.

* * * *

Lamia knew something was wrong as soon as she stepped through the columns of Basha’s home. She wandered into the courtyard, softly calling out Basha’s name, when a shrill cry pierced her ears.

Rushing in the direction from which the harsh sound had come, she ran into the inner courtyard, nearly bowling over a young
helot
girl who stood there frozen in shock. Lamia glanced over the girl’s shoulder, her heart tripping when she glimpsed Basha lying prostrate on the ground.

She turned to the girl, seized her shoulders and shook her hard.

“Send for a physician immediately. Say that it is an urgent matter concerning the king’s sister within the law.”

The girl nodded, quickly setting off.

Lamia rushed over to Basha and dropped to her knees, her hands brushing across her forehead.

She was warm—too
warm. Lamia dipped her head just above Basha’s face, her gaze fixed on her chest. Relief flooded her when Basha’s faint breaths tickled her cheek to the rhythm of her chest rising and falling. Lamia relaxed, wagering that Basha had probably fainted from the intensity of the heat.

She looked up from Basha and searched the courtyard until her gaze landed on the small fountain in the centre. Tearing at her garments, she hurried to the fountain, plunged the cloth into the water and ran back to Basha’s side. With gentle hands, she brushed the cool cloth against Basha’s face, her neck, her shoulders—across every bit of skin that was exposed.

A smile eased across her face when Basha began to stir, but she pressed her hand firmly against her shoulder to keep her from sitting up.

“Do not move, do not try to speak.” Lamia insisted. “The physician will be here shortly.”

Almost as soon as she’d said the words, the
helot
girl barrelled inside with the midwife on her heels.

As if reading her confusion, the girl blurted out, “I could not find the physician so I asked her to come.”

Lamia nodded. “You did well.” She stood and pulled the girl aside again, instructing her to now find Callisto.

In the meantime, Lamia waited, silently watching while the midwife attended to Basha.

* * * *

Later that eve, Lamia sat on the edge of the bed, with Callisto in a chair behind her, as Basha began to stir awake. She’d floated in and out of consciousness for most of the eve. The midwife had said that was normal for a woman in her condition.

Before she’d left, she’d instructed Lamia to make sure Basha imbibed plenty of fluids, food, and some putrid herbs she’d left for her to drink as a tea. At Lamia’s prodding, the midwife had agreed to return at dawn, although she’d sworn it really wasn’t necessary. She was certain Basha would be fine by then. At the time, Lamia hadn’t been convinced, but now, as she watched the colour return to Basha’s cheeks, she began to relax.

When Lamia was certain that Basha was fully awake, she reached for a cup of water and lifted it to her lips, holding it there until the contents were gone.

“Are you hungry?”

“A little,” she said quietly.

Lamia glanced over her shoulder to Callisto, who handed her a platter full of dates, bread and goat cheese, which she passed on to Basha.

“I know what you are going to say,” Basha said after swallowing a mouthful of food.

Only then did Lamia realise that she must have been frowning, her expression as anxious as she felt.

“I am sorry. I never meant to frighten you.”

“You have to take better care of yourself, Basha. The midwife said you fainted because of the heat and lack of food. What were you thinking? Do you not want this child?”

Basha’s face paled, and Lamia experienced a twinge of guilt for frightening her. That had not been her intent, but hopefully the gentle reprimand would force Basha to take better care of herself.

“Of course I do. I just became so busy with orders for my pottery that I forgot to stop for a meal—”

“Well, you will just have to work harder to remember or else you will have a difficult time,” she spoke quietly, voicing the concerns of the midwife.

Basha nodded. “I know.”

Having suffered two miscarriages over the past three
annos
, Basha had never carried this long before. If the midwife was to be believed, Basha had passed one of the early hurdles.

“I have just been so busy that I did not even realise what was happening until just a few dawns ago.”

Lamia figured that had been the case. The festival of Hera was a huge celebration and Basha’s pottery designs, with their matronly depictions of the goddess, had been in high demand for the past several moons leading up to the festival. Lamia wagered she’d probably gone for several moons without realising she was with child.

“Do you plan to send word to Ulysseus?”

Basha sighed. “I haven’t decided. I do not wish to disappoint him if…”

Her voice trailed off and Lamia reached out to clasp Basha’s hand when she saw tears shimmer in her silver eyes.

“It is going to be all right,” Lamia said soothingly, not wishing to upset her further. “Rest now. It will be all right.”

Basha seemed to accept her words because she relaxed against the bed and once again succumbed to sleep.

As soon as she heard the sound of Basha’s even breathing, she glanced over her shoulder to meet Callisto’s gaze, finding her worry mirrored in her expression.

They both knew it was more than just Basha’s fear of losing this child that kept her from telling Ulysseus. At the very mention of Ulysseus’ name there had been genuine alarm in Basha’s eyes, and it had not gone unnoticed by Callisto either. They were both aware of her desperation to have a child. She just hoped Basha had not done something so desperate, so foolish that Ulysseus would never be able to forgive her.

Chapter Twenty

Adonis returned the eve of the second dawn, his feet stirring up sand as he raced towards their camp.

Thanos, who’d been hunched over in the sand, outlining a number of strategies with Ulysseus and his commanders under him, shifted to his feet when he caught sight of Adonis.

It wasn’t until the young
hoplite
drew closer and Thanos glimpsed his anxious expression that he knew whatever news Adonis brought with him did not bode well for him and his men.

“What is it?” Thanos demanded as soon as Adonis stood before him.

“You told me to return if I learned something vital. Well, as you commanded, I sought out the governor, but with no success. I looked for Atallus everywhere, General, but he is gone. His home is empty, his servants haven’t seen him in several moons, not since around the time you were last here, they said.”

Thanos froze, the meaning of Adonis’ words chilling his blood. He’d received the summons for aid from Atallus and it had come from Athens…but, if his servants were to be believed, Atallus hadn’t been in Athens for almost six moons…

“Adonis, I have one last task for you. I need you to go at once and ask Euripydes, the Admiral of the Theban navy, one thing—who issued the directive for them to assemble?”

Adonis wasted no time in carrying out Thanos’ order.

Thanos was restless as he waited for Adonis to return. He had a gnawing feeling in his gut that Atallus had deceived them all, and when Adonis returned with an answer, Thanos discovered his instincts were right.

It was a trap.

* * * *

The eve before Lamia was to go before the
gerousia
, she was awakened from her sleep by the harsh sound of blaring horns.

Warning horns.

It took her a moment to stir because she thought she was dreaming—recounting that night so long ago when the Romans had come and destroyed all she’d ever known, all she’d ever loved…

The horn sounded again, forcing her fully awake.

This was no dream.

Her eyelids snapped open as she shot up from the couch at the foot of Basha’s bed, where she’d fallen asleep. She stumbled, nearly tripping over Callisto, who’d passed out on the floor after overindulging in too much wine. Basha and Callisto had been trying to ‘help’
her prepare for her meeting with the council by plying her with spirits. Lamia had resisted most of the drink—but not Callisto, who now emitted a series of ear-singing curses as she swayed to her feet.

The only one of them who’d not indulged in wine, Basha reacted quickly. Rushing over to the window, her gaze searched through the dark eve sky.

“What is happening?” Lamia demanded.

Basha spun away from the window, her eyes darkening with alarm. “Sparta is under attack.”

“What?” Lamia pushed past her to catch a glimpse outside, and the sight before her made her blood run cold. What seemed like hundreds of burning torches were moving steadily from the Taygetus in the west towards the valley that held the city of Sparta.

The Romans had never planned to attack Athens. It was Sparta they were after.

Spinning away from the window, she raced from Basha’s chambers to the vestibule where Ulysseus kept his weapons. She wished she were at home to gather her swords that were familiar to her, but she didn’t have time to go back.

She reached for a hunter’s bow and arrows, shrugging the harness and case over her head. She then fastened a heavy straight sword at her waist and grabbed one of Ulysseus’ shields.

From the corner of her eye she saw Callisto pull down a straight bow and a case full of arrows, along with a short sword. But when Basha moved to follow suit, she blocked her path.

“What are you doing?”

Basha’s grey eyes turned molten silver as they flashed with impatience.

“I am getting weapons so that I can help defend my city, same as you.”

“No, you’re not—”

“Yes. I. Am,” Basha gritted out impatiently.

Much like the first time they’d met, they locked angry gazes, neither one backing down. Lamia was not cowed—she simply worried how she was going to stop a woman with child if she could not touch her.

“We have no time for this,” Callisto snapped, and Lamia nearly jumped out of her skin at the gruff edge to her friend’s normally melodic voice.

“Basha, you are with child, and, unlike Lamia, I have no qualms about wrestling you to this ground to keep you here.”

Lamia nearly choked on the laughter lodged in her throat when Basha’s eyes widened and she stared down at Callisto as if she’d never seen her before. Lamia empathised with Basha wholeheartedly.

“If you want to help, go to Lamia’s home, get Armine and find somewhere safe to hide.”

Basha seemed to want to protest, but Callisto’s fierce expression must have been enough of a warning.

Instead of arguing, Basha nodded stiffly and led the way out of her home.

As Lamia trailed behind both women, she actually felt pity for Basha. If Callisto had looked at her the way she’d just looked at Basha, Lamia would have been out the door and on her way to do whatever the little Spartan had commanded.

She’d never glimpsed that side of Callisto, and, as much as she admired Callisto’s backbone in standing up to Basha, Lamia decided then that she would do whatever she could to make sure she never did again.

* * * *

Ten layers of the Spartan
phalanx
separated Sparta from its invaders, their iron shields reflecting the firelight from the torches of the advancing Roman army.

Joined by hundreds of
male
helots
, every able-bodied Spartan woman stood high above the battlefield upon one of the many hills that made up Sparta
.
Together, Cleomenes and Lamia had chosen this position because it would allow the women and slaves to mount an attack, while remaining out of harm’s way.

Lamia scanned the horizon, assessing the Roman forces. Much like the Spartan
phalanx
, the Roman legionnaires marched in the precise formation of the
tetsudo
, a name they’d earned because the protective formation was as impenetrable as the shell of a tortoise. They held their javelins in their hands, with their rectangular shields bearing the Roman seal fixed firmly in front of them, their footsteps steady as they descended the mountain.

As it stood, the Spartan army was grossly outnumbered. Still, from what she knew of the impressive size of the Roman army, they’d barely sent a quarter of their troops. This wasn’t an invasion, she surmised. This was a weakening. They would take down Sparta with as few casualties as possible then send reinforcements to sweep through the rest of Greece. And, if they didn’t succeed this time, they would keep sending soldiers until they did. Sparta was the key to securing Greece and everyone knew it.

She turned to signal the
helots
to load the bellies of the three catapults with the large stones weighing at least one hundred and fifty kilograms. Only in Sparta were catapults and artillery already assembled and ready to use. But then, war was their way of life.