Page 10 of Axios
I got to my feet and looked up at the sky. Clouds now obscured most of the sun’s blinding rays, but a stream of golden light found its way out one end. Eryx was right, it would be dark before too long.
As we walked down the dirt path toward home, I studied Mount Taygetus in the distance, which dominated most of the western skyline.
At birth, all Spartan males were brought before the council and were examined for deficiencies. If the council found the infant to be unfit for his future duty as a soldier, they would toss him into a chasm in the mountain. Criminals and enemies of Sparta were thrown into the chasm as well, their remains littering the gorge along with the newborns.
Even at birth, we were tested for strength. As if that was all we were—expendable soldiers who held no other purpose in life but to kill and be killed.
Eryx liked to say how sometimes infant’s wails could be heard coming from Mount Taygetus when the moon was highest in the sky, their souls unable to depart from the world. But like I’d come to know about him, he liked to weave tales, and I did not believe a single word of it.
Screams broke through my musings, and I quickly turned to the left to see three Spartan youths surrounding a helot boy.
Helots were slaves and were instantly recognized by their clothing. They were obligated to wear animal skins and a leather cap on their head. Years before my birth, the gods must have been angry at mankind because they sent a devastating quake all through Sparta, killing many citizens, including most of the youths going throughagoge. The helots, who had been enslaved for many, many years saw it as an opportunity to revolt.
King Archidamus had called upon our allies to help stop the rebellion. Athenians answered the call and had sent four thousand soldiers to Sparta to assist. Tensions then arose between Spartans and Athenians, and they withdrew from our alliance, the filth. War then broke out amongst us before a treaty of peace was signed, putting an end to it.
I’d only heard the stories of what occurred, but supposedly the surviving helot rebels fled to Athens and settled in to the town of Naupactus.
In order to remind them of their place, the helots were annually beaten. And on occasion, Spartan patrols would round up a few of the slaves and kill them. Just for sport.
From the scene before me, I knew the helot boy had done no wrong, and that the Spartan youths were being cruel just for the sake of being cruel.
The slave covered his head with both arms as he lay huddled on the ground, crying out as the boys kicked him.
“Axios. Stop.”
I hadn’t realized I’d been approaching them until Eryx grabbed my arm and halted me.
“This is barbaric,” I said through clenched teeth, turning to look at him.
His blond hair had begun to grow again as the weeks had passed, and a few strands held the curl I was fond of. The sun had darkened his skin, giving him a beautiful golden tint and causing the light freckles around his nose to become more apparent.
Even while angry, I noticed this about him—held onto it and stored it in memory.
“And what do you intend to do?” Eryx closed the small distance between us and searched my face. “Go and save the helot? Dishonor your brothers by taking the side of a slave? It matters not if you believe it to be wrong. It is the way of our people and you must accept it.”
I tore my gaze from his and looked back at the slave, who still tried to protect himself from the blows.
“He will die,” I whispered, trying to fight the wave of pity I felt for the boy whom I didn’t even know.
“Yes. He will.” Eryx touched the side of my face and tilted my head back toward him. “But you will not.”
“Not this day,” I spoke, gently brushing his hand away from my cheek and continuing to walk. “But perhaps soon.”
Eryx did not speak for many heartbeats, walking quietly at my side. When he broke his silence, his tone took on a serious edge.
“You are speaking of thediamastigosis.”
Upon hearing the name aloud, I cringed.
Thediamastigosiswas a contest of endurance amongst the trainees. It was an annual ritual that was designed to test our bravery, stealth, and pain resistance, and it took place at the altar of Artemis Orthia. Younger boys attempted to steal cheese off the altar while older boys whipped and flogged them. The splattered blood acted as a human sacrifice for the goddess. The ritual was brutal and excruciating, and the younger boys who participated never made it out unscathed. Some of them were even beaten to death.
I had seen the contest many times, but had never participated. Eryx and I were of age now and would be partaking in the practice, which was occurring in a few days’ time.
“Yes,” I finally answered him.
“You are afraid?”
Only Eryx would dare ask the question. For a Spartan to admit his fear was to also admit his cowardice, but my truest friend asked it out of concern. I knew I could confide in him with my worries.
