Bulis smiled — not the reaction I’d expected — and raised his eyes to the gods — and his hands. ‘Ares’ balls, sir. My apology.’
The helot was trying not to whimper.
The man missing the teeth knelt by his side, felt his shoulder and then — without any hesitation, and as fast as the strike of a snake — cut his throat, the draw from the scabbard flawless, the blade pulled across the helot’s throat as if he were a human sacrifice, and just like that, the man was dead.
‘He was a brave one,’ he said, as he carefully wiped the blood off with the dead man’s chiton. Then he poured oil from a flask — an arybollos, an exercise flask — and cleaned the blade and oiled it.
Spartans.
Gorgo put her hand on my arm. I think that she — as a woman — understood non-Spartans better than the men, and had — because she so often accompanied Leonidas — got an idea of what the rest of Greece thought about Sparta.
‘He was badly injured,’ she said calmly. ‘And might never have been able to work again.’
‘And you declare war on them every spring,’ I said. I knew a few things about Sparta. Every spring, the ephors reminded Spartans to shave their moustaches — and to remember the war against the helots. The Spartans have a secret military organisation — like our religious bodies — to track and kill any helot whom they deem ready to revolt. They act quite regularly. They killed helots. In the night, in secret.
‘Every man is at war with his slave,’ she said. ‘In Sparta, we tell the truth about it.’
I nodded. ‘That, I understand, Despoina.’
She smiled. ‘This is Bulis, son of Nicalaos. This brute without teeth is Sparthius, the son of Aneristus. Both front-rank men.’ She nodded, and both men stepped forward. ‘Spartiates, this is Arimnestos of Plataea. He is the man we have asked to transport you to the Great King.’
Sparthius had the good grace to groan and turn his head. Bulis smiled again. His eyes were a little mad. He reminded me of Idomeneaus in many ways.
‘Well, now that they’ve tried to threaten me, I suppose we can all be friends.’ I smiled at Bulis.
He didn’t move. ‘I never threaten,’ he said. ‘Threats are for the weak. There is only fight and not-fight.’
And again, there we were.
Gorgo sighed. ‘It is a wonder women agree to mate with you,’ she said. ‘Bulis. .’
He bowed, elaborately. And backed up three steps. ‘I make the Plataean uncomfortable,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak to him from a safe range.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘I can’t hear you.’
Sparthius laughed, a great booming laugh. ‘We’re going to be together on a ship? Delightful. I will learn so much. Bulis — heel, boy!’ He mimed jerking a leash.
Bulis shook his head at me. ‘No.’
‘No what?’ Sparthius asked.
Bulis came for me.
He came from three paces away, which is a long way in a fight. He was naked, and wearing a sword. I was wearing a chiton, but no sword. I think he was so contemptuous of my skills that he gave me three steps.
I was ready. He hadn’t ever given a sign that he was turning off the fight — hence, I hadn’t stopped being aware of him.
I don’t usually kick, but he had long arms like an African ape and I didn’t want to try him in a grapple — at least, not right away. I snapped a kick at his shin and pivoted and he reached with both hands.
My kick caught some of his shin and changed his balance, and his reaching hands caught my chiton at the pins but his balance was already compromised and I punched and he blocked and then we were circling. He had mostly ripped my chiton away.
Sparthius was swearing.
Gorgo just stepped back. I didn’t see her, but I suspect that she had the look on her face that women wear when men behave like children.
I was aware that all the Spartans were now watching.
He had long arms, and he was quite content to box. He threw a flurry and I backed away. He threw another flurry — four punches in each. I turned. He threw another flurry. .
I tried to catch his left fist as it came towards me — the last punch in the third flurry. I missed, but my weight was committed, and we were locked in a grapple. His right hand went for my eyes.
They do that, in Sparta.
I passed my hands inside his and pushed his right elbow up and went for the throw, and he pivoted — Hades, he was fast — and tried to pass an arm around my waist. I raised my knee as if to strike his balls and my right fist backhanded him across the nose and I was away.
His smile didn’t falter, and he didn’t back up a step. His nose gushed blood.
I feinted a punch and kicked again. Again, I caught a piece of his shin — this time it was a better kick, and he had to back away, and I rotated, stepped forward and punched hard, forcing him back another step and then. .
I went for him. It was my best flurry — punch, punch, kick. The kick was a point-blank kick I got from Polymarchos, and unless you are a titan, you back away from a flurry.
He took one more step. .
. . and went down over the cooling body of the helot.
I had planned it, so the moment he went backwards I leaped like a predator and was atop him. I caught his attempt to get a knee between my legs but the blow to my parts still stunned me — but my arm was across his throat and I had his right wrist.
He punched me with his left. It was like being hit with an axe.
I have been hit by an axe.
I pushed my right thumb up under his jaw.
Like the helot, he did not submit. He slammed his left into me — again.
I saw stars.
I really didn’t want to kill him. It seemed. . unwise.
But I didn’t really have another choice, and I didn’t need another blow to my temple, so I shoved my thumb. .
His whole body went limp.
I waited perhaps ten heartbeats and then staggered to my feet.
I swayed.
And sat heavily. The world was swimming all around me.
Bulis hit hard — and that was his left hand.
No one applauded, but then, no one gutted me while I sat and breathed. My chiton was ruined — ripped from me early and now a rag on the ground. I picked it up and began to wipe myself down.
Bulis stirred.
I had hoped he was merely unconscious, but unlike many other things I’ve learned from fighting masters over the years, I had never actually used the thumb to the throat to put a man out. There’s learning and then doing.
He coughed, rolled over, and threw up.
All the Spartans laughed.
While they were laughing, I tried to get up again, and I did better. My head hurt, but not with that feverish feeling that goes with concussion.
‘Well fought,’ Gorgo said.
‘He’s hardly our best,’ Sparthius said. ‘But Bulis is not bad. I’d say you were his match.’
‘An even match,’ Calliteles said. He stepped forward from the ring of onlookers — Spartans and helots. ‘An even match in skill, but not in cunning.’ He looked at the gathered Spartiates. ‘How often do I tell you that a fight is what it is? There is no “unfair”. Arimnestos saw the body and used it. Bulis should have known it was there.’
He had been an Olympian — the best wrestler in the world. I assumed he taught them.
Gorgo narrowed her eyes. ‘You knew he was coming for you,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ I said.
‘You might have tried to dissuade him,’ she said.
I managed to raise an eyebrow. ‘Dissuade a Spartan from violence?’ I asked.
‘We’re not Ares mad,’ she said. ‘We are a race of warriors, not a race of murderers. You might have. . smiled.’
‘Backed up a step or two?’ I asked. ‘Perhaps I might have sent him a couple of heralds.’
She sighed.
I bowed politely to her and to Calliteles. ‘If you’ll pardon me, Spartans — I thank you for my morning’s exercise.’
A helot produced a strigil. And an oil bottle.