Spartan by Valerio Massimo Manfredi Page B

I don’t want that,’ protested Talos.
    ‘But this time misfortune has struck you harder than others. It is only right that we help each other in times of adversity. This is our law, you know that. But tell me, how did they kill
those poor animals? Many of them seem to be half devoured.’
    ‘A dog, an enormous hound with huge jaws, as black as night,’ answered Talos.
    ‘Ah, the Laconian Molossian. A terrible beast; they say that three of them can slaughter a lion.’
    Talos shivered, and the memory of Krios’ desperate howl rang in his ears.
    ‘My dog,’ he fixed the man with a questioning gaze, ‘is dead, isn’t he?’
    ‘Yes,’ answered the shepherd. ‘His throat was ripped open.’
    Little Krios, companion of childish games, would never come with him again to pasture, nor would he greet him wagging his tail in the evenings. Talos felt a knot close his throat.
    ‘Bury him next to Kritolaos, please,’ he said to Karas, and hid his head between his hands.

6
PERIALLA
    T ALOS, SHUT UP INDOORS for long days recuperating from the Spartan attack, often fell to thinking about his situation, about the violent changes that
had swept through his life in so short a time. With Kritolaos dead, the boy had inherited his moral authority over the people of Taygetus. And maybe not over them alone, as Karas, who had become
Talos’ inseparable companion, had hinted to him.
    Many things puzzled him. He knew very little about Karas: only that he had come from Messenia with his flock and had settled in a cabin near the high spring. He dwelled long and hard on the krypteia raid on his family; the men who took part in it had to have been the same ones that he had fought on the plain, defending Antinea. He was sure that he had heard one of them call out
Brithos’ name. He had no doubts that Brithos was his greatest enemy, and yet for some reason the Spartan youth didn’t consider him dangerous enough to have him killed; he could have
eliminated him a thousand times over, if he had wanted to, whatever Karas said.
    Talos tried to make sense of the confusion in his mind . . . so many different impressions, contrasting emotions. Something had stopped Brithos’ hand, down there in the plain, the same
something that had prevented him from letting Talos be massacred by his companions, or by that bloody beast that he’d brought with him that night. As much as Talos reflected, though, he could
not understand why he had been spared. It was true that the Spartiates instinctively admired anyone who showed valour, but that was no explanation for the fact that he, a Helot rebel who dared to
defend a woman and attack a Spartan, had been allowed to live.
    Something still attracted him to the city of the Spartiates; the same thing that had tempted him into the plain as a young boy. From time to time, the image of the warrior with the dragon
appeared in his mind. He knew, now, beyond the shadow of doubt, that the warrior was the father of his mortal enemy.
    What warmed Talos’ heart when he felt most alone was his love for Antinea. He would dream of her coming to visit him, even while realizing that it would endanger her life.
    Certain things, however, had become clear to him: he could not run away. He had a task to accomplish for his people, and he had made a promise to Kritolaos on his deathbed. He couldn’t
bear the thought of leaving Antinea, either, and he realized that it was a thousand times better to risk death by remaining than to flee to some distant place, pursued and hunted like an animal,
with no one to talk to, to lean on, to confide his fears in.
    And then Antinea did come to him, early one morning, and silently entered his room. ‘Talos, my poor Talos,’ she said, embracing him tightly. A wave of heat rose to his head, and his
heart began beating wildly. He held her close, and then, released her. ‘You shouldn’t have come,’ he lied. ‘You know that the forest is full of dangers, and so is the