Killer of Men by Christian Cameron

gone deer hunting alone, and once killed a deer. I’d taken Calchas wine. He ruffled my hair and said little. I left offerings at the shrine when he wasn’t there – or perhaps he was there, lying drunk on his pallet and waiting for me to go away.
    At any rate, Miltiades came and stayed the night, and Pater invited Epictetus, along with Myron’s son Dionysius and my brother. I was too young for the andron , but I served the wine.
    They spoke of politics, about Athens and Sparta and Thebes.
    ‘Our friend Draco has it wrong,’ Miltiades said. ‘Sparta is not going to make war on Thebes. Sparta is making an alliance with Thebes to isolate Athens.’
    I thought that the red-haired man was angry, but hiding it well.
    Dionysius was braver, or more foolish, than the older men. ‘What do you care, sir?’ he asked. ‘Athens has exiled you.’
    Miltiades leaned back on his kline. I was filling his cup and he put a hand on my hip. ‘You fill out well, boy,’ he said. ‘Who taught you to move like a gymnast? You make the other boys look like farm workers.’
    I froze. I knew that touch.
    Pater laughed. ‘He’s as much a farm worker as the rest,’ he said, and Miltiades laughed with them, aristocrat that he was. Then he shrugged. ‘City politics can’t be so different in Plataea and Athens,’ he said. ‘I’m an exile, but I will always be a man of the city. I have a settlement of my own, and colonists, every man of whom is a citizen somewhere else – by the gods, I have some of your own young men! And we are still loyal to our homes. Would you want me to convince your sons to be my citizens rather than Plataeans?’
    They nodded. We all understood him.
    ‘So I watch out for the good of Athens,’ he went on. ‘Athens needs Plataea. Plataea needs Athens. Sparta will take your alliance – and later he’ll shove it up your arse.’ His crudity hit them hard. He was a brilliant speaker, capable of using all words, big and small, rough and elegant, and he could modify his text to his audience, a wonderful talent. But most of all, he was a charismatic man. Later I saw him in an assembly of thousands, and his words carried an army. At close quarters, he was as deadly in argument as he was in combat.
    Epictetus frowned. ‘What do we do, lord? We did not seek to displease you.’
    Miltiades shook his head. ‘My fault for not voicing my desire openly. I shouldn’t have made you guess. I’m not usually so coy. I want this alliance. I want Plataea welded to Athens with bonds of bronze and iron.’ He grinned his infectious grin. ‘Well, we’ll see. Your embassy will be back soon enough. Doubtless the Spartans will accept and shaft you later, but perhaps I can speak sense into you before that.’ He laughed. ‘I’ll go and visit the old soldier on the hill. Calchas. Do you know him?’
    Pater glanced at me. ‘He was my son’s tutor,’ he said.
    Miltiades gave me an appraising glance. ‘Really? Old Calchas took you on? What did he teach you?’
    ‘Reading,’ Pater said quickly.
    ‘Hunting,’ I said, before I knew what I was saying.
    Pater frowned, but Miltiades smiled. ‘You hunt? Take me in the morning, lad. We’ll have a fine time.’
    ‘He is my son,’ my father said carefully.
    ‘I understand,’ Miltiades answered.

    We went up the mountain together. I rode his horse, my arms around his waist and a bundle of javelins in my fists. I showed him my prize spear and he looked it over carefully and admitted that it was a fine one for a lad my age. I realized that I was striving for his approbation with every breath. I never wondered why his slave had stayed on the farm, or why he didn’t lend me his slave’s horse, although, in truth, I probably couldn’t have ridden her.
    It took us less than an hour to cross the valley and mount the slopes to the shrine. We rode into the green meadow and dismounted. I ran to the door of the hut, but Calchas didn’t answer my knock. The sun was just rising, and