It smelt as I remembered in my childhood, and I thought, “The olives have gone.” Then we came round the side of the hill and saw that they were not only fired but felled. The raw stumps stood up among the burning boughs. They had not had time to finish cutting them down, so had fired them afterwards. I fancy they had meant to spare the sacred grove again; but with the changing wind the fire had caught it. We rode on towards the house. The straw was smouldering under the roof-tiles; the smoke came out in puffs under the eaves, and trickled out of the cracks between the tiles. Just as we got there, the beams gave and the roof fell in.
The household stuff had been piled up in the farmyard and set alight. At the top was my bed, burning brightly still. I could see the letters of my name, that I had carved on the frame as a boy. On the far side of the fire, a dog was eating something. The bailiff was there, with his head knocked in and his brains spilled on the cobbles. Nothing else human was in sight. Wherever the slaves had run to, it was a certainty we should never see them again.
It was a good bit of land, the best in the valley. We had been there as long as the grasshoppers, father and son, throwing the stones out of the fields and building terraces with them. I myself had made a new one on the hillside, and planted vines. They had ridden their horses over them, across and across; the young green was all mashed down into the earth. I might as well have pleased my uncle Strymon by training them his way. Of all the livestock, not a hair or a feather was left.
I could hear a murmur running along the troop, as they told each other whose place it was. They looked at me with solemn respect, as people do at a man in calamity. Lysis rode up to me and put his hand on mine. “They are thieves from their birth,” he said, “but this, by Herakles, they shall buy.” I answered as cheerfully as an actor in a play, “Never mind, Lysis, it’s not the only one.” They all thought I showed great fortitude; the truth is that I did not feel it yet. When a supper-table is overturned there is a great mess; then the wine is wiped up, a clean cloth set with fresh cups and plates, and all is as before. So, it seemed, I should find it here when I came again.
There was nothing to stay for. At last from high ground we saw a whole roof, from which the smoke came up while we looked. Lysis said, “Good,” and gave the word to ride on.
We passed two more burned farms. It was rare to see as much as a pullet that had got away. As Lysis had said, Spartans are the best thieves in the world. They keep their boys always half-fed, so that they can never have a belly-full without stealing; this is so that they will learn to live off the country. They get a thrashing if anyone sees them at it. There is a well-known story about this, not the least remarkable part of which, to my mind, is that the boy was hungry enough to have intended eating a fox.
We overtook the Spartans in a little valley between Thria and Phyle. They had not burned the farm yet, for it was now evening, and they had camped there for the night. The scout reported that they had lit a fire in the farmyard and were having supper. They had no infantry with them, only a few Helots who were unarmed. One of our troop came from this part of the country, and showed Lysis a narrow ride above the olives, where we could avoid the scout they had posted by the stream.
We came out into the farm and rode in among the pens, shouting the paean. The Spartans scattered from their fire, calling to arms and running for their horses. Some we rode down between the fire and their picket-lines. But the rest of the troop, who had got to their mounts, spurred up and met us hand to hand.
I had wondered to myself whether, when it came to the moment, I should believe it was really war, and not another bout at Demeas’. I need not have been in doubt. As you may know, the Spartan knights’ class is not made up of those who can buy horse and armour, but is a privilege given for merit. Xenophon (who was certainly safe of his entry either way) had often said to me how excellent this custom was. I daresay it is, except that any commoner who wants to get in is urged to watch the knights, and report any fault he sees; if he can prove it he may get the other man’s place. You may suppose that a few years of this leave some mark on a man. I will not say they looked as if they never laughed; but they had certainly taken good care what they laughed at. They had on their plain round helmets and the scarlet tunic that does not show blood; their long hair (which they had oiled and combed and dressed, because they were at war) reached to their shoulders. I saw one of them coming for me and needed no prompting to think, “This man will kill me, if he lives to do it.”
But, as often happens in war, something swerved his horse aside, and I found myself facing a different man who seemed to have sprung out of the earth, but who glared at me as if I had done him some injury. Throwing as Lysis had taught me, I got him with my javelin, deep in the neck. He fell with it in him. As I reached for another, I saw Lysis fighting some way off. He looked round for a moment; I thought, “He doesn’t know where I am.” So I yelled out the paean, and dashed into the mêlée where he could see what I was up to.
How it all ended I don’t well remember. It was like a score of skirmishes I fought in, that year and other years. But I remember we killed four or five of them, and they only got a couple of ours, because they were outnumbered and surprised. We also killed one of their Helots, who took up arms to fight for them. He was a brave man; so if he had stayed in Lakonia, the Krypteia (which is a corps of youths trained to attend to such people) would probably have killed him in any case.
After the remnant made off (for they were only raiders, and had no orders to stand and die) Lysis told us to take up their weapons and armour to make our trophy. So I came to the man I had struck with my javelin, lying on his back with the shaft sticking in him. I put my hand on it, and then saw he was still alive.
I recognised his face by his beard, which was quite soft and young; I suppose he was not much over twenty years old. Both his hands were clutching the ground beside him, digging down into the dirt; his teeth were clenched, and his lips drawn backward; the whites of his eyes showed and his back was lifted in an arch. He was trying to breathe, or not to breathe because of the pain, and a bubbling came from his throat. As I looked he put up one of his hands, which was covered with ordure from the earth, and felt at the javelin where it stood in his neck. I had sent it downward within the collar-bone, as Demeas had recommended. No one had told me what happened afterwards.
As I stood gazing in the dusk, his eyes moved and looked me in the face. I thought, as one can in a short time, of many things; of the pains he had suffered in Sparta, first to be a man and then to be a knight, and now so soon to end. His hand fell back and scraped at the ground and he stared at me grinning; whether defying me, or braving out his death, or in the convulsion of his pain, I could not tell. Someone had come up beside me; I turned and saw Lysis looking down. He said, “Pull out the javelin; then he will die.”
I put out my hand, and saw the man’s eyes still on mine. I wondered if he had heard Lysis’ words. My hand touched the shaft, and drew back again. Lysis said, “Pull it out.” His voice had changed; it was the Phylarch giving an order. I had thought that he would help me; but he stood there waiting.
So I put my foot on the Spartan’s breastplate, and pulled. I could feel the javelin-head tearing out through the sinews and grating on the bone, and heard the breath hissing in the man’s throat, either of itself or as he tried not to scream. He gave a great cough, and blood splashed out of his mouth on my arms and on my knees; then he died, as Lysis had told me he would. Lysis said nothing; he nodded at me and went away. I stripped the arms from the body and threw them down on the pile; then I went off and vomited behind a wall. It was getting dark, and when I came back I don’t think anyone noticed I was pale. Someone said to me, “How many did we get?” I looked at the bodies, and the man I had killed was one body among them, and I said, “Five.”