Philokles pushed his jaw at the boy while chewing. ‘He cut that man’s hand off. One blow. And then the poor bastard lived and you had to put him down. See? A lot for a boy to think about.’ He took a bite of his bread and chewed, some of the stew clung to his beard.
‘You’re the fucking philosopher, Spartan. You talk to him.’
Philokles nodded a few times, silently. He took another bite of bread and wiped his beard clean with his fingers. And he looked at Kineas while he chewed. Kineas held his gaze, irritated at being badgered but not really angry.
Philokles kept chewing, swallowed. ‘You’re not as tough as you act, are you?’
Kineas shook his head. ‘He’s a nice kid. You want me to go tell him what everyone else around this fire knows. Yes? Except that once he knows, he’ll never be a nice kid again, will he?’
Philokles rolled over so that he was lying on his stomach and staring at the fire, or maybe the contents of his bowl. ‘If that’s what you tell him. Me, I’d tell him in the terms he understands. Honour. Virtue. Why not?’
‘Is that really honour and virtue in Sparta? Killing prisoners because they’re too much trouble to save?’
‘If killing those two is eating your liver, why did you do it? I wasn’t close, but it looked to me like they should have wanted a quick end.’ Philokles slurped some soup from his bowl. ‘Ares and Aphrodite, Kineas. The boy isn’t suffering because you put those two down. That’s just what he’ll tell himself. It’s because he knows that he’s responsible. He did it — he cut the hand off, he fought, in effect he killed. How many fights have you seen?’
‘Twenty. Or fifty. More than enough.’ Kineas shrugged. ‘I see where you are leading the donkey, though. Fair enough, philosopher. I’m old enough to ignore the men I kill and I still feel it — so it follows that the boy will feel it worse and blame me. Why not? His blame lies lightly enough on me.’
‘You think so? He worshipped you this morning.’ The Spartan rolled back to look at Kineas. ‘I think you’d both be happier if you talked. Happier and wiser. And he’ll be a better man for it.’
Kineas nodded slowly. ‘Why are you with us?’
Philokles smiled widely. ‘I’m running out of places to go where they speak Greek.’
‘Angry husbands?’ Kineas smiled, getting to his feet. Best to get this over with.
‘I think that I ask too many questions.’ Philokles smiled back.
‘Honour and virtue…’ Kineas began, and looked at Ajax across the fire.
‘Admit it, Kineas. You still believe in both of them. You want what is good. You strive for what is virtuous. Go tell it to the boy.’ Philokles waved him away. ‘Get going. I intend to eat your stew while you are gone.’
Kineas snatched his bowl from the other man and refilled it at the common cauldron as he passed. By tradition, the captain ate last, but everyone had eaten, most men twice, even the slaves. Kineas scraped the side of the bronze with his wooden bowl. While he filled his bowl, Antigonus came up and refilled his own. ‘Fair haul, for barbarians. Twelve horses, some gold and silver, a few good weapons.’
‘I’ll divide it after dinner.’
Antigonus nodded. ‘It will make the men feel better,’ he said.
Diodorus, listening in, nodded. ‘Graccus lived through all those years with the boy king just to die on the plains in a gang fight with stupid barbarians. Sticks in our throats.’
Kineas nodded. ‘I’ll keep it in mind,’ he said, and went and sat by Ajax. He did it so suddenly that the boy didn’t have time to bolt. He was just rising when Kineas put out a hand. ‘Stay where you are. How’s your arm?’
‘Fine.’
‘Long gash. Does it sting?’
‘No.’
‘Yes, it does. But if you keep honey on it and don’t go mad from the flies, it’ll heal in a week. It won’t hurt in two weeks. And by then, you’ll have forgotten his face.’
Ajax took a quick breath.
‘I’m sorry I killed him without asking you. Perhaps you would have kept him. But he was a man of my age, and he had never been a slave. Missing a hand, like a criminal? No way for him to live as a crippled slave.’
‘Does that make it right?’ Ajax asked. His voice was steady, even light, as if the question had no consequence.
‘Right? They attacked us, Ajax. We were crossing this land on the plain, below their hills. They came for our heads and our horses. Next time, we may be the ones in their territory — going right up to their huts in the hills and putting fire to their thatch. That’s what soldiers do. That’s a different kind of right — the right of strength, of one polis against another, where you trust that the men who voted for war had their reasons and you do your duty. This was a simpler right — the right to resist aggression. Like killing a thief.’
‘You killed both of them. And then you said… you said that that’s all there was, the strong killing the weak.’ Less steady.
‘Let me tell you the truth. It’s a rotten truth, but if you can handle it, maybe you’ll make a soldier. Ready?’
‘Try me.’
‘I’m the captain. Yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Rank means you do what is hard. Killing unarmed men is rotten work. Sometimes we all do it. But usually, I do it. so that other men don’t have to.’
Ajax watched the fire for a while. ‘You make it sound like a virtue.’
‘I’m not done yet.’
‘Go on, then.’ Ajax turned and looked at him.
‘Mostly, when the polis makes war, or all of Greece, or the whole Hellenic world goes to war — think about it. Do all the men go to war?’
‘No.’
‘Do all of the warriors go? All the men trained to war?’
Ajax laughed without happiness. ‘No.’
‘No. A few men go. Sometimes more than a few. And the only thing that makes their profession noble is that they do it so that the others don’t have to.’
‘You’re a mercenary!’ spat Ajax.
‘You knew that before you came.’
‘I know. Why do you think I find myself so craven now? I knew just what happened here and I came anyway, and now I have no stomach for it.’ Ajax had tears running down his cheeks.
‘I fight for other men. And for my own profit. It is a hard life, full of hard men. I don’t recommend you become one of them, Ajax. If you wish to leave, I’ll send someone back to the ferry with you. On the other hand, if you wish to stay, you have to answer for yourself if you can do this and be a good man.’ Kineas rose to his feet, felt the age in his knees and thighs. ‘You won’t like the next part. The ugliest part, after the killing. But you should watch.’ He rubbed at his unshaven chin. ‘Besides, the division of spoils is part of war. And it’s in the Iliad, so it can’t be wrong.’
Kineas put a hand on his shoulder and Ajax didn’t shrug it off. Then he walked off, dropping his bowl by a slave, washing his hands in a leather bucket, and then stood by Diodorus and the string of captured horses. Crax had the sum of all the valuables from the bodies on a bloody tunic at his feet. His face betrayed no emotion, but Kineas could see tension in his stance and in his shoulders — recognition, perhaps, of the origin of the brooches and pins on the blanket at his feet.
Kineas didn’t have to speak to gather the attention of the men. He raised a hand for attention. ‘Gentlemen. As is our custom, we will divide the spoils of our enemies by share, in turns. For the good of the company, I take these.’ Kineas reached among the brooches and took both of the large gold ones. They were worth twenty owls apiece and would feed the horses for several days in a city. No one demurred, although they were easily the most valuable objects in the pile.
Then he pointed to the Scyth. ‘Ataelus discovered their war party and gave us warning. He also slew four of them. I say he gets the first share.’
It was uncommon for a new man, or a barbarian, to be given the first share. There was a buzz of talk, but not an ugly one. On the one hand, there wasn’t much spoil to divide, and first choice wasn’t a matter of heaps of gold. On the other hand, the buzz seemed to say, the Scyth had probably saved all of them, or at least saved them from a harder fight.
