The Town Mouse and the Spartan House (4 page)

“What happened to the boy?”

“At the end of the morning, he fell over. He was dead.”

“They killed him?”

“No. He had hidden the fox cub under his tunic and he kept quiet … even though the fox was eating his guts. That is Spartan bravery.”

“That's not bravery … it's madness! And I don't believe it's true.” Brasidas looked at me. “What if it
had
been true? Could you have used your doctor skills to bring that boy back to life?”

“No … but…”

“Then you're worthless. You may as well have been left to die in the mountains.”

He stood up and was about to leave when we heard shouts on deck.

“General Alcmaeon is sick … he is dying!”

Chapter Four

Brasidas groaned. “Alcmaeon is our greatest general. We need him if we are going to defeat Athens.”

“I thought you said a Spartan's life is worthless?” I sniffed.

He turned on me furiously with his stick and lashed at my arm. I'd been beaten so much recently, I was used to it and it hardly hurt. Maybe I was starting to become Spartan after all.

“
Some
lives are worthless. A helot like
you
is worthless!”

“So what will you do?” I asked.

“I don't know – our doctors are on one of the other ships. If we wait for them, it may be too late. Alcmaeon would not want to die like this. He would want to die in battle.”

“Or maybe he wouldn't want to die at all!” I argued.

Brasidas struck me again. I didn't show the pain.

“Maybe we should offer a sacrifice to the gods!” he called down the deck of the ship. “Kill the Athenian boy and scatter his blood on the water!”

The soldiers looked towards me. A few began to nod.

“Wait!” I cried. “The gods are for Sparta. If they want Alcmaeon to die, they will let him die. If they want him to live, they will send him a doctor.”

A tall soldier pulled a knife from his belt and waved it under my nose. “Then let's pray to the gods for a doctor. If one doesn't arrive, we'll scatter your blood on the waters!”

The others agreed with a shout. “You are right, Solon!”

Suddenly, I had an idea. “I am a doctor!” I called out.

They turned and looked at me. I pulled my father's scroll from my belt. “My father was a doctor. He taught me to read his cures. He took me with him to visit the sick. I can cure my uncle Alcmaeon. That's why the gods put me on this ship!”

The soldiers looked uncertain. They muttered among themselves, then the tall one, Solon, said, “You are wise, young Darius.”

“Thank you,” I said, with a bow of my head.

“We will let you care for Alcmaeon. You will cure him.”

“I'll try,” I said brightly.

“No,” Solon said. “You will not
try
. You will
succeed
. If you cure Alcmaeon, you will be a hero of Sparta. You will never serve as a helot again.”

“That sounds fair,” I smiled, and unrolled my scroll.

“It
is
fair,” Brasidas said. “But of course if Alcmaeon dies … then
you
will die, too, Darius.”

I stopped smiling.

Chapter Five

I hurried to the cabin at the end of the ship. My uncle lay there, moaning softly. His body was covered in sweat and he had thrown off his tunic. A soldier was holding a wooden bowl at his head.

“Is it the plague?” Brasidas asked.

“It looks like it,” I said.

“Then you brought it from Athens!” he raged. “You killed him and you will kill us all. We may as well throw you overboard now.”

Solon grabbed Brasidas's arm and stopped him lashing me again.

“I haven't got the plague,” I said. “If I had, I would be dead by now. But my father
did
have a cure for it.”

I was lying to save my life. I had seen my father at work. One thing he had done to find out why a patient was sick was to look at their vomit. I picked up the bowl. I sniffed it carefully. It smelled of sour dough – of pastry that had turned rotten.

“Has Alcmaeon been eating cakes?” I asked.