The Fire of Ares by Michael Ford

down to the river and pick a few rushes to sleep on. Itchy, but at least you will keep yourself warm with scratching. Be back before the lunch bell.’ He stalked away.
    Lysander looked at Timeon. What had he come to?

CHAPTER 12
    â€˜I swear by the Gods that the ground shakes when Diokles walks,’ said Timeon.
    â€˜I wouldn’t want to cross him,’ said Lysander. ‘He makes Agestes look like a puppy.’ Lysander and his friend stood up to their knees in the waters of the Eurotas, gathering the tops of the bulrushes. Without a knife it was difficult to break the stems, but working together they managed to steadily fill Lysander’s cloak. The water was icy cold and Lysander could not feel his feet any more. But he was glad to be out of the barracks. Being confined with so many Spartans frightened him. Half his mind wondered whether or not to simply run back to the fields and his old life. But the other half was on the Fire of Ares. He did not know how he would ever find the jewel – perhaps it was not in the barracks at all. One thing was for certain, he needed as much help as he could get. It was time to tell his friend.
    â€˜Timeon,’ he said. ‘There is something I have beenkeeping from you.’
    Timeon looked up and grinned. But the smile melted away as he looked in Lysander’s eyes.
    â€˜A secret?’ he said seriously.
    Lysander told Timeon about the Fire of Ares, about its past, and the theft. By the time he had finished, Timeon stood with his arms hanging limp by his side.
    â€˜I thought we were friends,’ he said.
    Lysander waded over to him, and placed a hand on his shoulder.
    â€˜We are. I’m sorry I never told you before,’ said Lysander. ‘But I made a promise to my mother. I did not know how important the pendant was until last night.’
    â€˜And you think it might be in the barracks?’ said Timeon.
    â€˜It’s possible, but I think the thief might have been dressed as a Helot. The knife was made of flint. I need you to keep your eyes and ears open for me. You are the only one I can trust.’
    â€˜I’ll do what I can,’Timeon said.
    In the distance they heard the clanging of the lunch bell.
    â€˜Quick,’ said Lysander, scrambling to the bank, and gathering the four corners of his cloak into a knot. ‘If we don’t get back it could be us hanging from that pillar.’
    Timeon went to arrange Lysander’s bed. The diningmess was in the back section of the barracks, and long trestle tables occupied the length of the room. Spartan boys sat along the wooden benches tucking into their food. Huge loaves of bread and shallow dishes of olives were spread out along the table, while bowls held half-melted animal fat. Not so different from a Helot’s diet. The other boys tore off chunks of bread, and ate without plates. They scooped cups of water from buckets along the table. The sound of their shouting and raucous laughter filled the room. It seemed like a free-for-all.
    Lysander saw a place to sit, but as he drew nearer two boys shuffled along to close the gap. No one looked at him, but he heard someone mutter, ‘No room here for you, Athandros.’ He walked further up the table, towards another gap. He was about to sit, when a boy placed his hand firmly in the space. ‘Sorry, Athandros, this place is taken.’ A few chuckles spread along the table and Lysander’s face burned. Someone shouted out: ‘Nowhere to sit, Athandros?’ The message was clear, but why were they calling him by that name? He could not let them get to him. If there was nowhere to sit, he would eat standing up. Lysander reached on to the table to claim a piece of bread. But before he could take it, the person in front grabbed it. When the boy turned, Lysander saw that it was Demaratos.
    â€˜Sorry, Helot, you have to train to earn your food. Not splash around all morning in the river.’
    Lysander made a