The Fire of Ares Read Online Free PDF Page A

old man if he had to?
    â€˜I’m not a thief,’ he heard himself shout out. ‘The amulet was a gift from my mother.’ He cursed himself.
I’ve already given too much away
.
    â€˜And nor am I,’ Sarpedon assured him. ‘I wish only to see it a little closer. I give you my word as a Spartan.’
    There was something in the old man’s voice that reassured Lysander. The weight of the day’s ordeals fell upon him. Weariness hung on his limbs, and he knew he could not face any more struggles. He dropped thependant into the warrior’s scarred hand.
    Sarpedon lifted the amulet to his face, and gazed at it for a long while with his head bowed. Would he take it, after all? thought Lysander. Lysander’s breath caught in his chest. What would his mother say? Would she believe him, or think he had lost it carelessly in the fields?
    With deliberate care, Sarpedon handed the jewel back. Lysander breathed again.
    â€˜And where did a Helot find an object of such beauty?’ he asked. There was no threat in his tone, but it was not a question Lysander could answer. He had already said too much. He started to edge along the wall in small shuffles, away from the Spartan warrior.
    â€˜I … I have to go now,’ said Lysander.
    â€˜Do not flee. I mean you no harm.’ Sarpedon took a step towards him, but that was enough. Lysander turned and ran.

CHAPTER 4
    Lysander tripped on the path, sprawling in the dirt. He picked himself up, ignoring the stinging pain, and plunged on through the darkness. Only when he reached the edge of the Helot settlement did he stop. His legs couldn’t carry him any further. Fear had kept him going, but as the knocking in his chest softened, the agony returned, and cramp seized his legs. Until it passed there was nothing he could do but bite his lip and massage the knotted muscles.
    Eventually, he threaded his way among the maze of low dwellings that his people called home. The settlement had hardly changed as he grew up; it was little more than a collection of low mud huts near the river. The air was heavy with the smell of animals and unwashed people. All was silent after the hard day in the fields.
    Now his panic had settled, Lysander was left with shifting clouds of worry:
Was I followed? Could that scarred old Spartan find out where I live?
Lysander rememberedthe jewel gripped firmly in his fist – the Fire of Ares. He uncurled his stiff fingers, gazing at the amulet in his palm.
I very nearly lost it
, he thought. The red stone looked almost black now, flecked white in the moon’s glare. He pushed it deep into the fold of his tunic. Placing his palm on the rough wood of the door, he gathered himself, and stepped inside.
    It was warm in the single room of the shack, and his skin tingled. The embers of a weak fire smouldered in the grate.
    â€˜Mother?’ he whispered, trying to control his heavy breathing. There was no answer. Lysander crept towards the fire, to where his mother’s bed nestled against the wall. He had built the frame himself from scraps of stolen wood. The doctor had said that such a sick woman should not be sleeping on the packed earth of the floor. The bed had been moved as near as possible to the fire in recent months, in the hope that the flames might purge the illness in her chest. As he stepped closer, Lysander’s pulse quickened – the bed did not look right. He patted the blankets, but the bed was empty. His eyes flashed around the room, straining against the gloom, but she was nowhere to be seen.
    Lysander ran outside. The night was like a black lake, and his thumping heartbeat was the loudest sound he could hear.
    â€˜Mother?’ he hissed. His only reply was the chattering of the cicadas that lived in the low scrub around the encampment. Then louder, ‘Mother!’ There was agrumble of protest from one of the nearby huts.
    His chest grew cold with panic, as he shouted as loud as he