Spartans at the Gates by Noble Smith Page A

upon didn’t surprise him. He’d known he was being watched back then. But to have Menesarkus, the great general of Plataea, offer him praise in such a manner—it disconcerted him.
    â€œMany thanks,” said Chusor softly.
    Menesarkus stroked his beard and said, “When the Athenian whisperer Timarkos told me you’d killed one of Kleon’s men in Athens … well … everything finally made sense. You came to my city to hide.”
    At the mention of Timarkos’s name Chusor’s heart sank. He knew Timarkos well from his days in Athens. He was one of the most dangerous spies who inhabited the viper pit of that vast citadel. And the skinny, goat-bearded whisperer had been partially responsible for Chusor losing the woman he loved.
    â€œI do not deny that I killed a man,” said Chusor at last. “But I did it in self-defense. I had to flee Athens because I would not have been given a fair trial. And Timarkos, who helped orchestrate my downfall, is a liar and not to be trusted.”
    â€œHe said the same of you,” replied Menesarkus. “On several occasions. He even suggested I have your throat slit.”
    The casual way in which Menesarkus had said this last sentence was chilling.
    â€œBut Timarkos does not concern me now,” continued Menesarkus, peering directly in Chusor’s eyes. “He has proved to be most unreliable. Now you , on the other hand, have proved your worth countless times over the last two weeks. Without your help this city might have fallen to its most hated and ancient enemy. This invention of yours, this sticking fire that you used against the Thebans … I think it is the key to defending Plataea from a Spartan siege.”
    Chusor thought back to the night of the sneak attack. The small army of Theban invaders, an advance force that had been let into the citadel by Nauklydes, had trapped the stunned Plataeans in their own city. The Thebans had built a wooden barricade in front of the gates using carts and timbers while mounted archers had patrolled the high walls. Anyone who had tried to get to the gates—the only entrance out of the citadel—was shot down by the archers on the walls. Nikias had been chosen to attempt a daring escape through an ancient and crumbling tunnel that led under the citadel. He was sent to round up all the warriors in the countryside as well as warn the border cavalry garrisons what had happened and bring them all back to Plataea.
    But the men in the citadel had not known if Nikias would succeed. They knew they had to attack the barricade. If the Theban reinforcements arrived at dawn, they were all dead men, and every woman and child in Plataea would be turned into a Theban slave. Fortunately for the Plataeans, Chusor had been taught the secret of the sticking fire. Using clay vases as containers for this powerful weapon, they attacked the barricade, hurling the “pandoras,” as he called them, using two-man slings. The makeshift fortification turned into an inferno. Many of the Theban invaders were burned alive.…
    â€œYou have been doing an excellent job as Master of the Walls,” said Menesarkus abruptly, pulling Chusor from his thoughts. “You did a remarkable job repairing the gates after the Thebans destroyed them. There is no doubt in my mind that we need you. And so I have asked you here today to make you a proposition.”
    This time it was Chusor’s turn to be flummoxed. “A proposition?” he asked with a catch in his throat. He tugged on his braided beard and stared into Menesarkus’s eyes.
    â€œYou were born a slave,” said Menesarkus.
    â€œYes,” said Chusor, blood rushing to his cheeks. “But my master gave me my freedom.”
    â€œFreedom, yes, but not citizenship . The most you can ever hope to be in any city in Greece is a metic . A foreign worker isn’t much better than a slave. You’re like a confused shade