The Ten Thousand by Michael Curtis Ford Page A
Authors: Michael Curtis Ford
Tags: Fiction, Historical
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years of battle. The weapon was not beautifully crafted—it was, in fact, rather crude in its finish—but it was well balanced and had a pleasing heft. The otherwise smooth, plain grip bore a primitively carved Greek letter K. Aedon stared sullenly at the blade, his face reflecting the confusion he felt at this unexpected gift from his father. Gryllus remained silent for a moment as his son turned it over in his hands.
"It was given to me years ago, when I was a young officer accompanying an Athenian delegation to Sparta. All the Athenians and Spartans exchanged weapons as a gesture of good faith, and my counterpart gave me this piece."
Gryllus paused for a moment as his mind went back to the days before Aedon was born.
"I ran into that son of a whore many times over the years," he mused, "both on the battlefield and off. I learned the hard way that I couldn't trust him any farther than I could throw him in the pancration ring. That man's betrayals and broken agreements put ten years' worth of gray hairs on my head. Perhaps someday you'll be able to return the favor to a Spartan, by planting this sword in his gut. It's yours now; may you use it to good profit. I can't bear the sight of it."
After Gryllus left, Aedon and I lay in our cots, sleepless. "Thank the gods your father stopped the match when he did," I commented. "Boy might have killed you."
Aedon stiffened and raised himself up on his elbow, ignoring the pain that screwed his face into a wince. "Thank the gods, my ass!" he spat. "It was Father who insisted I learn pancration in the first place! Do you think he was ignorant of Antinous' grinding on me day after day? I'm sick of you always apologizing for my father, Theo, justifying his actions. You are a slave! What loyalty do you bear him?"
Shocked at this outburst, I said nothing for a long while, until I sensed his breath had returned to a more even rhythm, that he had cooled down.
"Aedon, you are your father's son, and he loves you as a father should. He simply is not a man to openly express such sentiments. Tenderness, to you or to anyone, is not an art that Gryllus values highly."
"If he valued it any less highly I would be dead."
Aedon again fell silent and I hoped that the matter was ended, but he was still restless, tossing and kicking at his blankets, his mind troubling him so much that it kept him from sleeping, even in his exhausted state.
"What in the name of the gods possessed you to continue fighting today?" I asked him, attempting to lift him out of his doldrums. "You looked like you wanted to kill Boy."
Aedon drew a deep breath, and paused for so long that I thought perhaps he had finally dropped off to sleep. When I peered at him, however, he was glaring fiercely at the ceiling, and even in the room's dim light I could see that his face was contorted in silent rage.
"You wouldn't understand, Theo," he finally mumbled dismissively.
"Understand? What's there to understand?"
Another long silence.
"Look, I just imagined Boy was someone else. It helped to focus my concentration."
I pondered this warily, but my curiosity finally overcame my caution. "Whom did you imagine you were attacking?" As soon as the question left my lips, however, I regretted it, for I knew the answer as well as Aedon.
He glanced at me with a look of disdain for my denseness, then turned his face to the wall.
"Better I'd been born a bastard," he grunted thickly through his split lips.
CHAPTER FOUR
ON AN OTHERWISE silent evening two years later, when Aedon was fourteen, he was awakened by a sound he knew was not proper to the house. As his personal servant, I was the only domestic allowed to spend the night in that wing of the house, and I had been snoring at the foot of his bed. Gryllus had left on a diplomatic mission several weeks before, resignedly charging his son with care of the household, and Aedon, hoping to please his father, felt this responsibility keenly. The sound had awakened
"It was given to me years ago, when I was a young officer accompanying an Athenian delegation to Sparta. All the Athenians and Spartans exchanged weapons as a gesture of good faith, and my counterpart gave me this piece."
Gryllus paused for a moment as his mind went back to the days before Aedon was born.
"I ran into that son of a whore many times over the years," he mused, "both on the battlefield and off. I learned the hard way that I couldn't trust him any farther than I could throw him in the pancration ring. That man's betrayals and broken agreements put ten years' worth of gray hairs on my head. Perhaps someday you'll be able to return the favor to a Spartan, by planting this sword in his gut. It's yours now; may you use it to good profit. I can't bear the sight of it."
After Gryllus left, Aedon and I lay in our cots, sleepless. "Thank the gods your father stopped the match when he did," I commented. "Boy might have killed you."
Aedon stiffened and raised himself up on his elbow, ignoring the pain that screwed his face into a wince. "Thank the gods, my ass!" he spat. "It was Father who insisted I learn pancration in the first place! Do you think he was ignorant of Antinous' grinding on me day after day? I'm sick of you always apologizing for my father, Theo, justifying his actions. You are a slave! What loyalty do you bear him?"
Shocked at this outburst, I said nothing for a long while, until I sensed his breath had returned to a more even rhythm, that he had cooled down.
"Aedon, you are your father's son, and he loves you as a father should. He simply is not a man to openly express such sentiments. Tenderness, to you or to anyone, is not an art that Gryllus values highly."
"If he valued it any less highly I would be dead."
Aedon again fell silent and I hoped that the matter was ended, but he was still restless, tossing and kicking at his blankets, his mind troubling him so much that it kept him from sleeping, even in his exhausted state.
"What in the name of the gods possessed you to continue fighting today?" I asked him, attempting to lift him out of his doldrums. "You looked like you wanted to kill Boy."
Aedon drew a deep breath, and paused for so long that I thought perhaps he had finally dropped off to sleep. When I peered at him, however, he was glaring fiercely at the ceiling, and even in the room's dim light I could see that his face was contorted in silent rage.
"You wouldn't understand, Theo," he finally mumbled dismissively.
"Understand? What's there to understand?"
Another long silence.
"Look, I just imagined Boy was someone else. It helped to focus my concentration."
I pondered this warily, but my curiosity finally overcame my caution. "Whom did you imagine you were attacking?" As soon as the question left my lips, however, I regretted it, for I knew the answer as well as Aedon.
He glanced at me with a look of disdain for my denseness, then turned his face to the wall.
"Better I'd been born a bastard," he grunted thickly through his split lips.
CHAPTER FOUR
ON AN OTHERWISE silent evening two years later, when Aedon was fourteen, he was awakened by a sound he knew was not proper to the house. As his personal servant, I was the only domestic allowed to spend the night in that wing of the house, and I had been snoring at the foot of his bed. Gryllus had left on a diplomatic mission several weeks before, resignedly charging his son with care of the household, and Aedon, hoping to please his father, felt this responsibility keenly. The sound had awakened
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