Spartans at the Gates by Noble Smith Page B

politely.
    â€œI’m nobody’s mother, you Oxland bumpkin!” sneered the prostitute. “And I’m not old enough to be yours either.”
    Nikias crossed the Cemetery Road to the other side and saw a marble signpost that read, I AM THE BOUNDARY OF THE TOMBS OF HEROES. This was where the war monuments stood—bronze statues of men fallen in battle for Athens with the names of the dead carved in the plinths.
    Nikias knelt in front of a base of black marble—Plataean marble—upon which stood a statue of a warrior holding a notched shield of the Oxlands. Nikias found the name carved on the base and ran his finger over the letters. ARISTO, SON OF MENESARKUS, NEMEAN TRIBE. Lichen had grown in some of the letters, obscuring them.
    â€œYour father?” asked Konon with a tone of reverence.
    Nikias nodded. “Killed by Thebans at a battle near Koronea.”
    Thebes had been the only Greek city that offered earth to the Persian king Xerxes when he invaded fifty years before. After the Persians had been defeated at Plataea, Thebes was punished severely by the Greek allies and put under the control of the Athenians. Fourteen years ago, the Thebans had revolted and thrown out the Athenians, defeating them and their Plataean allies at the Battle of Koronea. And that is where Nikias’s father had breathed out his life into the dust, speared in the guts after the Plataean shield wall had broken and the hoplites had run for their lives.
    Nikias picked the lichen out his father’s name with his fingernail. When he finished cleaning all the letters, he started working on the other Plataean names that had become obscured. Konon squatted down beside him and started rubbing the marble with his wet tunic. The dirt and lichen came off quickly, soiling Konon’s shirt black and green.
    â€œThere’s a fountain just over there,” said Konon. “Bring me some more water in your cupped hands and we’ll have this clean.”
    Nikias could not hold back his tears as he walked to the fountain. He knew there was no shame in crying for the dead. But he felt so raw, and Konon’s small act of kindness had put him over the edge. He dipped a hand into the fountain and wiped the tears from his face. Then he made a cup with his hands, filled it, and walked back to the monument, splashing the water onto the memorial stone. He got down beside Konon and rubbed the names with his tunic until his clothes were stained.
    â€œLooks like the day it was carved,” said Konon, smiling broadly.
    â€œThank you,” said Nikias.
    â€œI’m embarrassed for my fellow citizens,” said Konon with disgust. “Letting moss grow on the names of heroes who died for Athens.”
    They went back to the cart and found the mule was asleep and hadn’t budged an inch. Konon had to scratch the animal’s ears to wake it up. Soon they were back on the cart path and within minutes they’d arrived at the mighty Dipylon Gate—one of the fifteen entrances to the walled city, and the biggest.
    It was an awe-inspiring sight, Nikias thought. A vision to make any invaders turn on their heels and go away. Two square towers stood on either side of two open portals. Patrolling the flat tops of these massive towers and the walls directly beside them were Skythian bowmen and Athenian spearmen who kept a watchful eye on the road below. The foundations of the walls were made of huge rectangular blocks of limestone with bricks on top. The battlements were over four times the height of a tall man.
    The wall followed a curve to the north and Nikias could see more towers in that direction. To the south the wall went as far as the eye could see, curving and then connecting with the Long Walls—a protected corridor that linked Athens with the walled port city of Piraeus. All along the top of the wall he could see warriors.
    Konon left the mule and cart in a roped-off area outside the wall. An attendant