Sword of Apollo (45 page)

Boom!

His blow spun the enemy hoplite's helm halfway around, snapping his neck. The Syrakusan had taken a wrong turn in the labyrinth of the quarry and been cut off from his comrades. Nikias had leapt from a small cave entrance, surprising him. And now the warrior's life was bleeding into the gray limestone dust at Nikias's feet.

Nikias pounced on the corpse, stripping the man of helm, shield, and sword. There was no time to take the hoplite's armor, and it would only slow him down in the escape tunnel—the place that he had to get to before the seemingly endless stream of Syrakusan hoplites managed to seal off the entrance. He put on the helm, strapped the shield to his arm, and gripped the sword, running down the narrow passageway to an open space near the place below the cranes.

Everywhere naptha fires burned and prisoners fought for their lives in the grottos, arches, and narrow passageways of the quarry. The Syrakusan attack had not caught the quarrymen off guard—the foolish warriors had taken a long time to descend to the quarry on the cranes, guarded by archers from above. And they were overconfident in their armor. The prisoners had been secreting weapons for years—chisels attached to poles with animal sinews, iron hammers, slings made from hides, and stone clubs cut from the limestone itself. And the quarrymen knew every twist and turn of their prison—a maze that could not be mapped from above.

Demetrios had been preparing for a day like this. But he had been dismayed that it had come so close to the completion of the escape tunnel. The best diggers were sent into the passageway to attempt to break through the last few feet of the tunnel, while the rest fought the Syrakusans and defended the entrance to the Ear of Dionysus. They even hastily erected a low wall in front of the cave, guarded by peltasts.

Nikias ran past the honeycombs. Diokles had long since been freed from the wretched cells, and had shown his worth as a digger—he was in the escape tunnel right now. But Nikias stopped at the sight of two feet wriggling frantically. He grabbed the ankles and pulled hard, dragging a body from the stone tube. It was Thersites—the crazy little man he'd met when he was lowered into the quarry on that first day. Thersites had been accused of stealing someone's meat ration the day before and had been punished. He lay on the ground, twitching and blinking.

“What's going on?” he asked, smiling in his lunatic way.

“Syrakusan hoplites, in the quarry,” said Nikias.

“A festival of some sort?” asked Thersites.

“Follow me,” said Nikias.

He crept through a nearby archway where a score of prisoners lay dead and burned on the ground. The place reeked of naptha and charred flesh.

“A sacrifice,” said Thersites. “The Karthaginians slay their firstborn sons, you know?”

Nikias picked up a dead man's club and handed it to Thersites.

“What's this for?” Thersites asked.

“To slay men.”

“Oh, I can do that,” replied Thersites. “I fought with the rebel Doketios!” he added proudly. He swung the club, barely missing Nikias's head.

“Give me that!” said Nikias angrily. He snatched the club from him and threw it on the ground. Thersites's face fell and his eyes welled up with tears. Nikias handed him the shield and dagger, saying, “Here, take these.”

“Where are we going?” asked Thersites.

“We have to get back to the Ear.”

“I know a better way,” said Thersites, for just then a mass of Syrakusan hoplites came into view from around the corner of a wall. Thersites darted out the way they had come and led Nikias through a narrow opening cut in the outer wall of the quarry. They entered a dark passageway that Nikias had never been in before.

“Are you sure you know where this goes?” Nikias asked. Ever since he had escaped from the secret tunnel under Plataea, he had developed a profound fear of cramped spaces. Here his shoulders touched each side of the passage, and there were places where he had to turn sideways to squeeze through. He shuddered at the thought of Thersites coming to a dead end and having to turn around in this tight space. Nikias wanted to tear off the helm, but he couldn't move his hands up high enough to grasp it, and he started to feel as though he might suffocate.

“Thersites!” he cried.

“Follow!” said Thersites cheerfully. “Almost there. The last earthquake made this passage. It's tight up here. As tight as a sheep's cunny, if you know what I mean,” he added with a lascivious tone, and made a crude sound with his lips.

Finally Nikias started to see an orange glow up ahead, and soon enough they emerged into a cave that Nikias recognized as one of the places that contained a huge cistern—a chamber that was only a spear's throw from the Ear of Dionysus.

He went to the mouth of the cave and peered out to the left. A naptha fire raged at the entrance to the Ear. The Syrakusans had tried to burn out the quarrymen from their hiding place behind the limestone barricade. But the fire only created another impediment to the cave, forcing the Syrakusans to back up into the open space, where they had formed up a phalanx with their shields making a protective wall.

The area in front of the barricade was littered with dead prisoners and Syrakusans. Through the flames Nikias could see Demetrios wearing the stone mask and wielding a sling. He flung a pellet through the flames, straight into the helm of an enemy warrior in the phalanx—a killing shot that sent the man tumbling backward.

“Lovely aim,” said Thersites, who was now crouched by his side.

Many more stones flew from the cave, slamming into the Syrakusans, and they were forced to move even farther back.

Nikias looked to the right and saw prisoners cut off from the Ear like himself, fighting the Syrakusans in ones and twos. But they were quickly being overwhelmed by the armored hoplites. The enemy had them outnumbered now. Nikias wondered if Diokles and the others had broken through the final section of tunnel yet.

“We have to get into the Ear,” said Nikias.

Two Syrakusans stepped from the phalanx and hurled clay pots at the barricade. They burst into flames and the fire roared halfway up the height of the gash—almost fifty feet into the air.

“That will prove difficult now,” said Thersites, slipping into the shadows of the cave.

Nikias cursed and tried to think of what to do with armored Syrakusans on one side and a wall of flames on the other.

“Have a bath!” called out Thersites.

Nikias heard a splash. Thersites had jumped into one of the cisterns and submerged himself in the tank. He came up spitting water and laughing.

“What are you doing, you sheep-stuffing madman?”

“Making myself wet so I don't burn when we run through the fire,” replied Thersites. “I was a mariner before coming on vacation here. I know all about Poseidon's piss!”

Nikias smiled. “You mad genius!” he said, and plunged into the tank beside him. He took off the helm and soaked his head, then got out and put the helm back on.

“Quick, now!” shouted Thersites.

They bolted from the cave, screaming as they ran. A warrior tried to step in front of Nikias to block their way, but Nikias struck him down with a brutal blow and leapt into the flames. His skin sizzled as he plunged through the orange fire, and he ran blindly, slamming into the wall outside the cave and nearly knocking himself out. He reached up, grabbing onto the top of the wall, heaving himself up and over. The crudely built wall crumbled under his weight and he fell onto the floor of the cave, covered in debris, with flames rolling across him like a wave of fire.

“Nikias!”

Demetrios was on him, striking his body with an animal hide to put out the flames that clung to his body.

Nikias got to his feet and tore off the helm. His arms and thighs had been singed, but other than that he was unharmed. Thersites had not fared as well—his eyebrows and beard had been burned off his face, but the scraggly hair on the top of his head remained.

There were only twenty or so quarrymen left in the cave, and Demetrios ordered them all to head for the passage that led to the escape tunnel.

“Is the tunnel open?” Nikias shouted above the roar of the fire, and his voice echoed strangely.

“I don't know,” answered Demetrios. “We might all become trapped in the tunnel, but we have to risk it. Come on!”

The remaining quarrymen ducked into the passage and disappeared. Thersites went behind them, leaving Demetrios and Nikias. Nikias cast aside his weapons and they entered the narrow corridor, which was lit by oil lamps.

“Help me push these rocks,” said Demetrios after they had ducked under the low archway. Nikias saw that big stones had been stacked on either side. They pushed on them and they tumbled down, cutting off the passage from the Ear of Dionysus completely. This should buy them some time before the enemy burrowed through and discovered their secret escape path.

Nikias followed Demetrios down the dimly lit corridor to the low place where the escape tunnel began. But Demetrios stopped in front of it, blocking Nikias's way. He turned suddenly and held out his sword at arm's length, pointing it at Nikias's chest.

“What are you doing?” Nikias asked, unnerved by the strange look in Demetrios's eyes.

“Something doesn't add up,” said Demetrios quietly. “About what you told me. About my father.”

Nikias dropped his head. He should have known this was coming. Demetrios had been questioning him over the last few weeks, asking about the events of the sneak attack on Plataea over and over again. Asking about the tiniest details, like an armor maker going over an old breastplate, looking for cracks in the bronze, or places where the metal had grown thin.

“I've told you everything,” said Nikias.

“And now I want the
truth
,” replied Demetrios, and held the tip of the blade an inch from Nikias's heart. “I'll run the point of this blade through your heart, Nikias, I swear to Zeus I will.”

Nikias backed up against the wall of rubble. He could hear the muffled shouts of warriors on the other side. They had stormed the Ear. It would only be a matter of time before they started clearing the rubble away from this passageway.

He looked past Demetrios to the black entrance of the escape tunnel. There was no way to get past him in this narrow space. No way to fight him.

 

THIRTEEN

“This is madness!” said Nikias. “We have to move!”

Demetrios studied him with hooded eyes. “Do you remember when we were boys,” he said, “and we snuck into Thebes, just to have a look around?”

“Your stupid idea,” said Nikias.

Demetrios nodded. “But we learned a lot about the enemy. And I killed my first man. When we were making our way back home, we made a solemn vow never to betray one another.”

“I haven't betrayed you,” pleaded Nikias.

“Lying is betrayal,” said Demetrios. “You said that you saved my father in the undercroft of our house on the night of the sneak attack. Where they made him watch my sister getting raped. Where they cut off his fingers to get his signet ring.”

“That was true,” said Nikias. “I swear on the gods it was true.”

“I believe you,” said Demetrios. “But there are other things that don't hold water. Your story … you made small mistakes in the retelling. Crucial mistakes about the order of events. I have a mind for details, as you know. And the biggest mistake was the first time you told me the tale—the part about your grandfather being at my father's side after he died in the battle at the gates—”

“A slip of the tongue,” cut in Nikias.

“A slip of the
heart
!” shouted Demetrios insanely, his voice twisted with wrath.

Nikias could hear the Syrakusans directly behind him now. They were starting to pull the rocks away.

“I told you what I did because I love you,” said Nikias calmly. “Because you are my brother.”

“Brothers don't lie!”

Nikias grabbed the flat of the blade in one hand and pulled it suddenly toward his heart, piercing his skin. “You want to kill me?” he shouted. “Then be done with it! I would rather die then tell you the truth! I would rather die than break your heart!” The tears poured from his eyes and he turned away from Demetrios's startled face. He let his bleeding hand go from the sword.

“Speak,” said Demetrios. “I must know. Please. My friend.” He dropped the sword and it clattered on the stone floor.

Nikias sagged to the floor, his head drooping on his neck. There was nothing he could do. He had to tell Demetrios the truth, once and for all. “Your father was the traitor,” he said. “He made an alliance with Draco the Spartan and Eurymakus the Theban. He was given Persian gold. He signed a secret treaty. He opened the gates of Plataea to the enemy but they betrayed him. That's when I found him. They had raped and killed your sister in front of him to torment him. They had cut off his finger to take his ring as a prize. I saved him, thinking that he was just another victim of the sneak attack. But later, after the Thebans were defeated, an Athenian whisperer who had been spying in Plataea told me that your father was the traitor. The Persian gold and the treaty with the Spartans—signed in his own hand—all came to light in a trial that was led by my grandfather. Your family's own steward, Phakas, gave testimony against your father. And later your father, filled with remorse, admitted what he had done. The Assembly convicted him of treason.”

Nikias lifted his head and stared at Demetrios. His friend's face had gone white.

“What reason did he give?” Demetrios asked, in a voice full of outrage and shame. “What reason did my father give for this most heinous crime?”

“Because he thought he was the man to lead Plataea,” said Nikias. “He wanted us to break our oath with the Athenians and join the Spartans. He did not believe that the Athenians could beat the Spartans in a prolonged war, and he feared that Plataea would be crushed by our alliance with Athens. Before he was executed he told my grandfather that he did everything to save you from the Spartans. He had had a vision before he sent you here to Syrakuse—a vision that Plataea would be obliterated and that you would be enslaved.”