Page 25 of Axios
His advice had been almost fatherly. In a way, that’s precisely what he was to me. I’d never known any other father figure than him. Although he pushed us to our limits, it was always to make us better men. To prepare us for the harsh reality of being a soldier.
Eryx watched something in the field behind me, refusing to meet my eyes. His hands were balled into fists and his jaw was clenched in the way I recognized from when he was inwardly struggling.
I stepped toward him, and he took a step back, his gaze finally landing on me. Instead of being angry, he looked disappointed.
“What have I done to anger you, Ery?” My voice cracked on his name.
I could endure lashings, beatings, starvation, and extreme weather, but losing him would be the one thing to destroy me.
“It is not what you have done to me, but what you’ve done to yourself,” he answered, looking as if he didn’t recognize me. “Why can you not grasp the truth that slaves are below us? That you mustfightor you will die. Your weakness, my friend, is caring too much. Your heart is kind, but this is no place to be of tender heart.”
So, hehadbeen angry with me the night before. But I wondered… was he angry that he’d had to kill the helot boy, or that I hadn’t the strength to do it myself?
“I thought you liked that about me,” I said, fighting the ache in my chest.
Eryx studied me a moment. Silent. Green eyes held my stare, and I couldn’t look away.
“That is why it hurts, Ax,” he admitted in a crestfallen tone. “Your soul is pure and your mind—although not strong in battle strategy—is keen in other areas. I admire the way you see the world with such compassion. With such light.” He averted his gaze. “However, one day the light you carry will be snuffed out by darkness. I dread the moment when the gentleness in your brown eyes becomes cold as you see, at last, that the world is unforgiving and cruel. And I fear that I will lose you, either to the god of death or to your inner demons.”
Just then, the sky opened up and the rain started again. It wasn’t heavy like before. Calmer. Softer.
I then understood why he’d tried so fiercely to provoke me during the fight, but the truth didn’t make me feel better. He believed me weak. Too fragile to live the life of a Spartan.
“You’re mistaken,” I said, shaking my head. The movement caused a ringing in my ear, and my sight momentarily blurred, but it quickly passed. I’d had worse beatings in my life, so that was nothing. “I already see the world for what it is. Only, I choose to rise above the flames and refuse to succumb to its bleakness.”
When he started walking from the arena, I kept pace beside him. Each step I took was easier than the one before it, although I still weighed with fatigue.
“You can only stay above the flames for so long before you fall back to earth and burn,” Eryx said as we passed two helots carrying baskets of vegetables.
They quickened their steps and hurried off in the other direction. I couldn’t blame them. They had nothing to fear from me or Eryx, but they didn’t know that. We were all the same in their eyes.
“Then I will be reborn from the ashes,” I responded after a moments consideration.
I wasn’t exactly sure what the statement meant, but it sounded nice. And I liked to believe that we lived on after death in one form or another. Perhaps in the Elysian Fields where all fallen warriors were believed to go.
As a Spartan, there was only one way out of this life. Most men didn’t live long enough to die of old age. It was battle and defending our homeland that took them.
We arrived at the barracks, but didn’t enter. Even though the day was dark and gloomy, I didn’t want to be tucked away inside. I craved the fresh air and the smell of the rain. The feel of freedom, even for just a moment.
So we sat beneath the awning and looked out over the field.
“You fancied him, didn’t you?” Eryx asked, looking from the willow tree before us to my inquisitive stare. There was an edge to his voice. One I couldn’t decipher. “The helot boy. I saw how you looked at him. He was quite intriguing… for a slave.”
The boy’s blue eyes and silver hair drifted through my memory—the way he had subtly smiled at me. Innocent. Cautious, yet hopeful. I recalled how he’d then been hurt and forced to drink the pitcher of wine, choking and desperate for air, right before being slain.
“Yes,” I answered, remembering my desire for him. The uniqueness of his being. “I did not see him as a slave. I do not see any of them as lower than you or I. He was beautiful, and now he is dead.”
Because of me.
Attraction between two men was not rare in Sparta. Boys grew up together and bonded. We were required to live with members of our group until age thirty, even if one of us married before then, so it wasn’t out of the ordinary for sexual relationships to develop. Although common, it was rarely discussed.
In some parts of the Greek world, older men took on younger boys as pupils and instructed them in the ways of sex. That was not customary in Sparta, however. Older men taught us youths many things, but were never to touch us sexually.
It wasn’t the same for soldiers. I’d heard tales of men who’d given into their passions with other men during wartime when there weren’t any women around to sate them.
“I was dishonest with you,” Eryx said in a soft, faraway manner.
My gaze fell upon him. “How so?”
