Funeral Games Read Online Free PDF

laughed. ‘Their father studied with Plato until he died. I’m afraid that his tales of his former teacher have left an indelible impression. ’ The Spartan smiled. ‘I prefer Simonides or Heraklitus!’
    ‘That posturer? He only worked for money!’ Theron sounded outraged.
    Satyrus and Melitta grinned at each other, because Philokles said that their father had said that Plato was a pompous ass , which was an image so droll as to evoke giggles even here.
    Theron looked at the children. ‘They’re both quite intelligent,’ he said. It didn’t sound like a question.
    Philokles nodded. ‘Is breeding people any different from breeding horses?’ he asked. ‘Their sire was a brilliant soldier and an educated man - a decent athlete as well, third or fourth in the hundred-and-ninth Olympiad.’
    ‘Really?’ Theron asked. ‘What event?’
    ‘Boxing,’ the Spartan replied. ‘Boys’ boxing. He never competed as a man.’
    ‘Why not?’ Theron asked. Any boy who could make the top tier would have been a front-runner as a man.
    ‘War,’ Philokles said. ‘We had quite a bit of it, back then.’
    ‘No shortage now,’ Theron said.
    ‘At any rate, the mother’s no different. You’ll see when she’s back from Pantecapaeum. She’s not the beauty she used to be, but she’s a first-rate tactician, she gives a fine speech for a barbarian and she’s a brilliant athlete.’ Philokles looked out over the fields and smiled to himself.
    ‘She’s a runner?’ Theron asked. Running was virtually the only sport open to Greek women.
    Philokles’ smile became a grin. ‘She’s an archer - a mounted archer. Perhaps the finest on the sea of grass. And a pretty fair swordswoman.’
    Theron nodded. ‘I see. Hence the daughter.’ He glanced at Melitta. Satyrus watched his eyes.
    The Spartan nodded. ‘Just so,’ he said.
     
    It took them an hour to ride to the fishing spot, a small bluff at a curve in the Tanais where rushing water from the Spring of Niobe (a local nymph) tumbled down the hillside to swell the river. The spring water ran all year, clear and cold, and small trout congregated in the deep pools just above the confluence.
    The twins dismounted immediately, tethered their horses amidst the lush grass, hung their bows on their saddlecloths and went upstream, bronze knives in hand, to cut rods. When they were satisfied with what they had, they came back. Philokles was laying the horsehair lines out in the goat-cropped grass at the edge of the stream. Then the Spartan deftly attached bronze hooks decorated with red thread and hackles the colour of a bay horse.
    ‘I’ve never seen anyone fish like this,’ Theron said.
    ‘Come!’ Melitta said, taking his hand. He seemed shy of the contact, but he went with her willingly.
    ‘Don’t scare the fish,’ she said in a whisper, and went down on all fours to crawl up the big rock that separated them from the stream. She was up the rock in a moment, just her head showing to the fish. She raised an arm carefully, and when the Corinthian was in place beside her, she pointed. ‘See the trout?’ she asked.
    Theron watched for the time it would take him to fight a bout, following her pointing finger, breathing carefully. ‘I see it,’ he said.
    She was conscious of the warmth of a grown man next to her on the rock. Something to be aware of , she thought. ‘Watch,’ she said. Different from lying next to my brother .
    Time passed. She was conscious that he must be bored, annoyed at the passing insects for failing at their duties. But at last a fly slowly came down, one of the big brown flies that the fish loved. It trailed across the water, its abdomen brushing the surface from time to time. Melitta assumed that it was laying eggs - eggs so tiny she couldn’t see them, although she had watched this dance many times.
    Her brother crawled up the rock on her left side. ‘Any luck? Oh!’ he exclaimed, as one of the pool’s residents powered up from the dark at the