suppressed a grin at the man’s unintended witticism. ‘You are most gracious,’ she acknowledged, with a tilt of her head. ‘I thank you for your words, Sextus Julius Frontinus.’
‘Sextus, please,’ he smiled disarmingly. ‘I find trinomen awfully stuffy, don’t you?’
‘They are a very Roman thing,’ she responded.
‘You have no love for Rome or Romans, I can tell.’ Frontinus led her to a section of couches arranged in a semi-circle. Had the governor’s intentions been anything other than what they were, this would be a place of extreme honour. ‘Your current situation would make that understandable,’ he added.
‘You are mistaken, Governor,’ she said, deliberately using his formal title. She would not cause a scene, for it was not the Spartan way to act without decorum, but she felt no desire to endear herself to the man. ‘I admire Rome and view her as a natural, if somewhat crass successor to the Hellenistic ideal.’ He raised his eyebrows and gestured for wine to be brought.
‘Crass? That could be called rich, coming from a Spartan, my dear. It is said of Sparta that she is the most uncultured city in all Hellas.’
Lysandra sipped her wine, regarding him over the rim of her cup. ‘If one thinks of culture as statues, droning rhetoric and the rule of the demos, then your observation would be correct. These are Athenian ‘qualities,’ so called. If one views the precepts of honour, virtue, forthright speech and prowess in war as culture, then you shall find no polis more sophisticated than my own.’
She was rather pleased with that answer, for Rome was, by nature, a martial society.
Evidently, Frontinus was pleased by it also; raising his cup, he smiled and drank. ‘ Ave, Victrix,’ he said. ‘I can see why you are so dangerous in the arena, for your tongue is as skilful as your blade.’
‘I find it somewhat offensive,’ a younger man broke in.
‘Gaius Minervinus Valerian,’ Frontinus introduced him. ‘Tribune of the Second Augusta.’
‘What do you find offensive, Tribune?’ Lysandra asked.
‘That a woman has opinions on things that are no concern of hers.’
Lysandra bristled. ‘The governor has invited me to his couch, Tribune, and engaged in discourse on matters upon which I have knowledge. I will not sit and bat my eyes, giggling like a fool in the pretence that I have no understanding.’ Her eyes flicked towards Frontinus momentarily, as she tried to judge his mood. The governor was watching them both and seemed to be revelling in their disagreement.
‘Anyone may be taught a few well-learned phrases, lady,’ Valerian sneered, ‘and Greek slaves are much valued for their retention of knowledge.’
‘It is true there are few Romans who possess our wisdom.’
Lysandra’s lips twisted in the slightest of smiles.
Valerian’s face flushed in anger. ‘I overheard you speak of Spartan battle prowess,’ he said. ‘If Sparta is so mighty, how then is she merely part of Rome’s Empire?’
‘Sparta is a client-state, Tribune,’ Lysandra corrected. ‘But, the answer to your question is Poseidon’s will and technology.’
‘How so?’ Frontinus raised a hand, cutting off further comment from Valerian.
‘Poseidon’s will, Governor, came in the form of an earthquake.
After the war with Athens, Sparta was pre-eminent in Hellas which, at the time, meant pre-eminence on the world stage. But Sparta was never a greatly numerous population and the loss of life by the Earth Shaker’s hand, coupled with the numerous wars she fought, was irreplaceable. It was impossible for Sparta to retain her position. Though, as all know, our warriors are the finest to ever grace a battlefield.’
‘And technology?’ Frontinus prompted. Lysandra had the feeling that to him her display of wisdom was akin to watching a dog speak.
‘Technology drives war, governor. The Hellene phalanx was becoming archaic as generals drew more upon the resources of manpower in the country. It was no longer enough to have merely men of landed status bearing arms. Lesser men became lighter infantry and cavalry became more widely used. Philip of Macedon took the phalanx to its next, and natural stage of development, producing the finest military machine the world has ever known. That his son carried his torch to the Persian barbarians is both testament to Alexander’s genius and the skill of his father in moulding the army.’ Despite herself, Lysandra too was enjoying the conversation. It had been a long time since she had been able to discuss such matters with anyone who would have the remotest chance of understanding her.
‘But,’ Valerian cut in once again. ‘How can you say that the Macedonian phalanx was the finest military machine, when it was consistently beaten by us Romans?’ His smile was triumphant; history was the final arbiter.
‘Technology, Tribune.’ She spoke as one would to a child. ‘The phalanx had been adapted continually, as it only had to face armies of similar disposition. Thus, the sarissa — or pike,’ she translated the Hellenic word to Latin, ‘was lengthened to ridiculous extremes. Indeed it became the primary weapon of the army, a task for which it had never been intended.’
Valerian waved this away. ‘A gap in your knowledge, lady. The Macedonian pike would grind the enemy before it. How then is this not the primary weapon?’
‘The task of the phalangite — the pike-man — was to engage the enemy. It was the task of the heavy cavalry to deliver the hammer-blow that ended the battle. Thus it was at Chaeronaea and indeed all of Alexander and Philip’s victories.’
‘This does not explain the pathetic failure of the phalanx against our Legions,’ Valerian declared hotly. ‘You evade the point, gladiatrix.’
Lysandra regarded him as though he was something she had trodden in. ‘I have already told you, the phalanx that faced Rome was a mere shadow of its former self. Had the fledgling Roman republic faced the army of Philip or Alexander, I think we might have found our roles reversed at this table.’
‘You insult me!’
‘No, your lack of military knowledge and persistence in pursuing the argument insults you… Tribune. Rome’s officers ought to know their history: Hannibal and Pyrrhus both brought Rome close to defeat using an inferior phalanx to Alexander’s.’
‘What an amazing slave you are.’ Valerian sneered, gesticu-lating for more to drink. ‘You are a tactician as well as a histo-rian then?’
‘Of course.’ Lysandra allowed herself to be smug. ‘In the Temple of Athene, we are well educated.’ She let the word hang, fixing Valerian with her gaze. She hoped she made it plain that she thought him anything but.
‘You were a priestess?’ Frontinus interrupted, evidently deciding to intervene before the argument degenerated to insult-hurling.
‘Yes, Governor.’ Lysandra turned her attention back to him.
‘Before I came to this, I lived all my life in the auspices of Athene.’
‘I have heard of your Order.’ Frontinus said, surprising her. ‘A very Spartan thing,’ he added. ‘They train you as they do their men. This then, would explain your knowledge of all things martial, as well your skill in the fight.’
‘That is so.’ Lysandra affirmed.
‘But your Sisterhood has made no effort to find you, to buy your freedom?’
‘They must think me dead, and to that life I suppose I am dead too.’ She was shocked as the words came from her mouth but realised instantly the truth of them. ‘I could not go back now to what I once was. There was a time when my current circumstance gave me a grave dilemma, but a wise man — a priest — told me that I honour Athene in what I do. I am a slave, yes. But what slave, what woman, may honour her goddess in blood and sit at discourse with the governor of all Asia Minor?
One of my companions once said that there is a liberation in the arena that no freewoman can know and there is truth in that.’
‘You compare yourself to a freewoman, slave?’ Valerian sniped from the sidelines.
‘I am at the beck and call of no man,’ she said pointedly, not taking her eyes from Frontinus. ‘I live by my skill and I am extremely good at what I do. My days are not taken with the raising of children or the care of a husband. Instead, they are filled perfecting what I have trained all my life to do. That, to me, is the will of my goddess. In serving her, I cannot consider myself slave.’
‘ At the beck and call of no man? That is not so. For you are a slave and I am a Roman. You will decorate my
