Infinite Sacrifice (8 page)

“Father!” I cry as I strain to move
more stones, then shout at the slaves, “Why aren’t you all digging
faster!”

Two other bodies are found before
we find my father’s. One is our helot, Delia, the household slave
who cared for me for all of my sixteen years. The other is her
daughter, Kharis, who had been raised with me. Father is found
last, under the collapsed timbers in the barn. All who meant home
to me were wiped away in a single moment. My house is in ruin, with
only one wall still standing.

I watch from a safer distance on
the hillside as our helots carry my parents to the supply wagon and
cover them with the linen my mother wove that morning. I split a
long piece of grass in two as I remember neither would be allowed a
marked grave, which were reserved only for battlefield deaths and
women who died in childbirth. They will be buried somewhere I can
never find them. A tear breaks free from my burning eye as flames
ignite in the cleared field beside the house. As the hungry
cremation flames reach to the sky, I realize Delia and Kharis
should be so lucky.

Where am I to go?

I can think of only one other
place. Leaving everything behind, I ride in haste to see how my
uncle’s estate has fared. From far away, his situation looks bleak.
Like all the other estates I pass, everything is reduced to dust.
However, as I ride closer, I hear the booming voice of my uncle,
Nereus, yelling at his helots. Relieved to see him well, I embrace
him.

“Alcina, you’ve survived! And how
so my brother?”

“Everyone’s dead.” My voice breaks.
“Mother, Father, Kharis, and Delia.”

“Oh Poseidon! What have you done?”
he says to the sky. “Alcina, you’ll stay with me for now. We’ll
have to forget all we’ve lost and regain our strength to build a
shelter before nightfall.”

We work alongside the helots all
day, building back up the walls to one room. We use the sails from
Nereus’s sailboat to provide a roof for us that night. Three of his
household helots sleep with us on straw, while the others go home
to their village outside Sparta. The next day, only some of his
helots return.

“A rebellion’s broken out in
Sparta,” one helot informs Nereus.

“I knew this day would come and may
Zeus strike them dead for taking advantage of this disaster!”
Nereus says through his teeth. “Where’s the other half of my
helots?”

Another helot says, “They’ve taken
up with the rebellion.”

“I hope the hoplites kill them
all,” he says, tight-lipped.

He marches into the shelter and
returns in his armor with sword and shield in hand. After a moment
of contemplation, he turns to me. “I have to go into the city to
make sure this is under control. Keep a close eye on these helots.”
Handing me his large army knife, he adds, “If you use it, use it
well.”

He straddles his horse and rides
down toward the city.

I slip the knife under the leather
straps of my sandals and sit under a tree to get a little shade. A
girl about my age catches my eye; she has the same misplaced look
as me. I walk over to her by the gardens. “My name is
Alcina.”

She glances up and away but
replies, “Ophira.”

We’re quiet for a few moments. I
notice she’s quite pretty—for a helot. By her fair skin, I deduce
she spends most of her time in the house weaving or doing chores.
Even though we are girls of similar age, I could pick her up and
carry her. Her frame is short and slight due to the deprivation in
which most non-Spartan girls are raised; nutritious food is saved
for the males of those households. She averts eye contact and plays
with the medallion around her neck as I look her up and
down.

She has large, honey-brown eyes,
and the only flaw on her well-formed face is a small scar on her
forehead. As she notices the knife tied to my calf, she pulls her
skin cloak up over her head, shrinking away from me. Many helots
fear Spartans and try to avoid them, but I’m so lonely I’m not
going to let her get away.

“Do you belong to my uncle’s
household?”

She looks down and says, “I came
here to talk to your uncle.”

“I’ve been left in control while
he’s away. You can speak to me.”

She seems hesitant. “My husband,
father, and mother were all killed in the revolt. It’s not safe in
the city. Seeing that your uncle has lost some of his helots, I’m
hoping to be reassigned out here in the country.”

Surprised she’s already married, I
wonder if I’ve misjudged her age but then remember Spartans marry
much later.

“What housework can you
do?”

“I can do anything: cook, clean,
care for children, fetch water, weave.”

“I’ve lost my parents in the
earthquake, and my house needs to be rebuilt. Once it’s standing,
I’ll need household help, since some of our helots
perished.”

She brightens at this. “There’s no
man in the household?”

I know her concern; household helot
women have other uses as well.

“Not now,” I say, and she breathes
easy. “It would be nice to have company.” I smile, and she cracks a
weak smile back.

By nightfall, Ophira and I dig
access to the supply house, from which we scrounge up jugs of wine,
bags of maza, dried fruit, and salted fish. In the distance, Nereus
screams at his horse. Nereus isn’t good with horses. He prefers the
water, even the roughest sea, over the most beautiful day on
land.

“No! Back home! Back home!” he
fumes while pulling hopelessly at the reins.

I sprint to help him walk his horse
back up.

“Ah, many thanks, Alcina,” he says
as he wipes the sweat from his brow. “I think Zale is much
improved, though; I didn’t have any problems on the way
there.”

Showing his age, he’s breathing
heavily now and stands back mid-step to catch his breath. Old age
is a rarity in Sparta, since most men don’t live long enough to
retire from military service. He still needs another moment to
catch his breath, and he reaches up to push his greying hair to the
side, flashing a long scar running down his forearm.

“Nereus, how did you get that
scar?”

Always willing to retell a tale, he
needs no encouragement. Rolling up his tunic sleeve slowly, in
large cuffs, he exposes the scar that extends to his
biceps.

“I’ve only reached this great age
by making one very wise choice.” He never begins with the answer to
your question but starts at the beginning of his whole tale. “While
Spartans are strongest on foot and earth, I’m a fish in Poseidon’s
shining seas. One day, in a great coastal battle, I was commanded
to bring my ship to shore and reinforce the footmen. I should have
known my place was the sea, but I rushed out like all young men do.
I was Heracles himself! As soon as my foot touched soil, I was
instantly sliced from shoulder to wrist by a Persian sword.” He
traces the thick white line and then looks out to the sea. “I never
left Poseidon again, no matter the command. I stayed behind to
watch the ships and let others die onshore.”

“So that is why you spend so little
time onshore now, Uncle?”

He laughs. “If I never had to step
foot on land again and could live off the seas indefinitely, you
would never see me again.” He lights up with one eye closed and one
eye widened and says, “The trick is to know all of Greece’s rocks,
shallow spots, and harbors like the insides of your eyelids. Once
you do that, there’s nothing to fear.” He pulls back like he
entrusted me with the secret of life.

Finally up the hill, I ask, “Has
the rebellion been extinguished?”

“The hoplites managed to contain
the helot rebels in the region of Mount Ithome, in Messenia, but
they lacked the strength to defeat them and their vast numbers. We
appealed to our allies for help; hopefully, they’ll assist
us.”

I worry about what would happen if
the slaves finally revolt and gain power.

“Did I ever tell you about the
time…” He begins his tales again, and I decide it’s a good time to
gallop Zale back to her makeshift stables.

When Nereus realizes he’s cut off
and sees the ease with which I control Zale, he calls up between
his hands around his mouth, “Hubris, I tell you,
hubris!”

His laughter carries through the
crumbled hills.

Chapter 2

Nereus allows Ophira to live with
us. It’s amusing, watching him tell her story after story, since
she can’t tell him to stop. I’ll find Nereus following around after
her, busy with chores, filling her head with tales. It’s hard to
leave once my family’s helots and freed skilled workers finish
rebuilding my house, since we’d found a little happiness in our
pulled-together family. Nevertheless, I need to be there daily to
keep the helots busy. I’d been trained by my mother to run the
farm, and I’m now going to have to take over earlier than I ever
thought.

Nereus lays his hands heavily on
Ophira’s and my head. “Come back whenever you need
company.”

I would have felt sorry for him to
be left, but Nereus is never distressed at being alone. He takes
off daily to go fishing in his little boat and can find a way to
talk with anyone who crosses his path. Nereus drives his chariot
back to my farm, since Ophira can’t ride, and I follow behind on
Proauga.

Ophira takes one look at the
rebuilt estate, with its columned terrace looking out on the
gardens, livestock, and the barley fields below, and asks, “This
all belongs to you?”

“My father was an accomplished
hoplite. Sparta gave him great rewards for his bravery.”

“They will allow a girl to run this
alone?”

“Women run
Sparta
while men are
away, fighting for more land to occupy and protecting the state. In
two years, I’ll most likely be married and will run
two
households. I’ve
been taught everything I need to know.”

She looks wary of my promise,
coming from a world where even their men aren’t given their own
households to run.

“Where do we begin?” She squints up
at the imposing size of the house.

“You’ll make dinner for us
tonight.” I clap at two helots leaning on a fence. “You boys!” I
offer up Proauga’s reins. “Feed and water my horse, then set her
out on the east pasture.”

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

A year drifts by, Ophira and I are
content in our little world and my mother would’ve been
proud.

Ophira asks one day while we’re
preparing dinner, “Why didn’t your parents have more
children?”

“They did. My mother gave birth to
two other sons.”

I strain the wheat grains and dump
them onto the stone to pound into gruel for bread.

She looks confused but keeps adding
wood to the fire below the three-legged clay oven.

I explain before she figures out
how to inquire. “Both times, my mother was forced to bathe the
babies in pure red wine to test their constitutions, but the strong
fumes only sickened the children and sent them into convulsions. My
father brought each one to the Lesche for the elders to inspect.
Both times my father came home empty-handed.”

She stands up quickly. “What did
they do with them?”

“The infants were left to die in a
chasm at the foot of Mount Taygetos.” I see her appalled look. “It
was the sadness of both of my parents. My mother could never go
near there. We would ride twice the distance to avoid the area on
our way into the city. Not having a son in a Spartan household is
an embarrassment. My mother didn’t want to go through the
experience ever again, so there were no others.” Wanting to leave
the thought behind, I ask, “Tell me of your family.”

She goes back to chopping cabbage
for relish as the water begins to boil. “They had to live in a
state-granted house in Laconia which had two other families living
in it. Each family occupied two small rooms. My mother had a
half-Spartan/half-helot—”

“A mothax,” I interrupt.