Spartan Women and Spartan Men - part three of the story

This is the third part of the story about men and women in ancient Sparta. Parts one and two are earlier in the blog - sign up as a follower and catch each new part as it comes out!

A Spartan boy is swapped at birth for a Helot slave boy. This is his story.

Ancient Sparta

Part Three

-Have you been making sacrifices to Artemis every ninth day? I did that through all my pregnancies, and I have never had such misfortune as you

Cleitagora’s hand rests with satisfaction on her own flat stomach. Her latest child, a girl, is not two months old.

Hagesichora lies in bed. Her face is pale and beaded with the sweat of a postpartum fever, but Cynisca does not trouble to soften her irritation.

-To have three feeble babies at your age, it doesn’t make sense. Our family has not even had one infant consigned to the pit before you. It will make it harder for our daughters to get good husbands. It reflects badly on us

Hagesichora groans. Her sisters look impatient, and it is Nanno who holds a cup of bitter herbs to her lips, that will help the fever to abate. Cleitagora says sourly

-I think we all know where the problem lies, and it’s not in our bloodline

-It’s Pausanius. Look what happened to his first wife! She kept producing dead infants, and then she died herself. People said it was her, and Pausanius’s sisters came to us, asking for you for their brother –a fresh young wife for him. And now – exactly the same thing

-One healthy baby out of four. To be honest, I don’t know how he sired Anaxilus

-If you continue to bear his babies, Hagesichora, it will kill you too

Hagesichora groans again. Her sisters’ words are a stream of sound, the room is spinning. Nanno sees the fresh beads of sweat spring to her brow and wants to wipe them away with a cloth dipped in cool water. But she is afraid of appearing too attentive, knows it is best to appear dull and stupid in front of her mistress’s sisters

-Look at you! It’s ridiculous

Cynisca, who has never had a day’s illness in her life. Cleitagora is, on the surface, more sympathetic.

-It’s not your fault. But you must promise us you won’t visit your husband again. When you’re better, we’ll find you a lover, the more virile the better.

Cynisca laughs

-That’ll get you back on your feet! Better than any tonic!

-And Pausanius will agree. He’s bound to see the sense of it. He can’t let you waste yourself on him, you’ve a half a dozen good children in you yet

Neither of them approach their sister, they take their leave from a distance. As they pass through the door Nanno takes up the cloth and dips it in the pitcher of water by the bed. Cynisca and Cleitagora are still talking.

-Who shall we pick for her, sister?

- I have my eye on my husband’s nephew, Lucianus. He’s twenty-one and built like a titan

-It’s essential she starts to breed properly soon. We have lost so many men. Since the earthquake..

-And those cursed Helots, breeding like rats, in their misery. What of that maid – a child every year!

-We should cull her family of its men, as the Gods have culled us of ours

-When they are grown, sister, we will

*                                            *                                               *                                        *

Hagesichora has disobeyed her sisters’ instructions. She has made her way to the barracks in secret and is waiting in her husband’s room. The guards, accustomed to her, have let her in and privately let Pausanius know she is there.

She lies waiting on his straw pallet, the only furniture in the room, just as she did on their wedding night six years before. Then, her head was shaved and she was dressed in a boy’s tunic.

Her hair has grown back now and she wears her own tunic although without the clasp. But still she feels as she did on that night, feels the same thrill of excitement as the door opens and she sees him silhouetted in its frame.

He does not waste words. He falls on her with the hunger of a greedy child who does not know where his next meal is coming from.

Hagesichora, as always, responds without restraint. From the first night they spent together, their mutual passion has astonished them both, and this has never abated. No matter that the fruit of their union - barring Anaxilus – has been weak and sickly, three infants consigned to the pit by the ephors. They do not speak of that; it pains them both but as far as Pausanius is concerned it is none of his business. He does not blame his wife for her failure to bear children, and he has no intention of ceasing to lie with her for that reason.

Yet for other reasons, this is likely to be their last time together. Twined in the spent, tender exhaustion that follows on from their act, Pausanius tells her of his latest posting.

- 300 Spartiates are taking an army to Boeotia, to punish the Thebans for expelling our garrison.

That he would not return unvictorious went without saying. Pausanius had returned from several campaigns already and Hagesichora was not unduly disturbed.

-They are sending only the older men, who have grown sons to take their place, or who are too old to sire more children

At that, she stiffens. His garrison might have to fight to death.

-When do you leave?

-Tomorrow at dawn

Hagesichora says nothing, but hot, shameless tears run down her face. His fingers find their tracks in the darkness, and convey the gentleness his words lack. She presses her body against him, and their cycle of passion begins anew.

By Sabreena

Story about Spartan Boy Swapped at Birth for Helot Slave Boy - Part Two

This story about a Spartan boy swapped at birth for a Helot slave boy is part two of a story posted earlier in the blog. Become a follower to make sure you don't miss the next instalments!

                                                             Demeter, Goddess of Fertility and Agriculture

The cicadas sing and the scent of hibiscus perfumes the night air. Hagesichora, cloaked, slips through a doorway to where Nanno sits on a wooden stool, nursing her son.

-Here

She draws strips of meat, honey cakes and a stoppered flagon of wine from under her cloak, placing them in the goatskin bag at Nanno’s feet. Nanno will take them home to eat, it is too risky to consume them at the villa. Perhaps she does not eat them at all, perhaps she shares them with her husband and children. To Hagesichora, it hardly matters.

-How is he?

-Well, Mistress. He’s feeding well. And his breath comes easier now.

Nanno eases the drowsy baby off her breast and passes him to her mistress. Hagesichora takes him gently. She lays him over her shoulder, where he nestles to sleep.

-He feels heavier

-Yes. He’s doing well

-What do you call him?

-Aeson, if it pleases you Mistress

Hagesichora frowns.

-What possessed you to call him that? A name like that will draw attention to him, and that’s dangerous

-Yes Mistress

Hagesichora strokes the baby as she talks.

-My sisters call him Ouo, the runt. That will be his name, it’s safest. A runt may be annoying but it’s no threat, and once he stops milking they’ll have no reason to hate him.

-Yes Mistress

Moments pass. The sound of the cicadas seems louder, and Hagesichora has said all there is to say. It’s time for Nanno to leave, to spend an hour with her husband and children before being back for Anaxilus’s next feed. Suddenly

-Leave him with me

-Mistress?

-No-one will come. It’s only for an hour. Be back in one hour

-Mistress! It’s so dangerous! If we are found out, I will be killed, and my whole family too

-Go. I have told you

-I did this for you Mistress. I gave you my child so yours might live. Is this how you repay me, with this mad recklessness?

-One hour. One hour only. I have to hold this child once. You know I am not allowed to hold Anaxilus. I have to hold my child for one hour, just this hour

With great swiftness, Nanno leaves the room. Hagesichora is alone with her baby. Only the moonlight shadows decorate the plain walls. She stands, holding him, looking out at the night, breathing the scented air.

-This is madness. I’m completely in Nanno’s power. But if she gives the game away, she and her family will all die. I’m safe there.

-Why am I taking this risk? My son, I’m doing it for you, and for the love I bear your father. You may live to curse me every day for what I have done, but I never wished to destroy you. And I will protect you, I will do all I can to keep you from harm. This is the first time I have held you in my arms for more than a few moments, and it will be the last. I can never take such a risk again. In the future, Nanno will be your mother and I will be the mother of Anaxilus, such as I am. I will never acknowledge you. Nor will Nanno or I acknowledge you to each other, for all that leads to danger.

-But I will be watching over you. Your family will have all the food it needs, and I will keep the Krypteia away, if it is at all within my power.

-And I will make sacrifices for you, to Helen daughter of Zeus, special protector of Spartan women, and to Demeter, who makes the earth winter when her child is gone.

-That they will love you and be kind to you. And to them I will call you by your true name, I will call you Aeson.

Sabreena

World of Warcraft Original Fiction - Part Two of Hari's Story

This original World of Warcraft fiction story is part two of the adventures of Hari, set in a WoW scenario of the future. Hari is stowing away in the engine room of a spacecraft, and needs to survive.

Can Hari get food from the goblin?

Part Two - the Kill?

Hari had identified a possibility – a gap between a massive silver pipe against the wall to his left. He watched, now, as the bots patrolled back and forth, waiting to see if he could make a dash for it without being sensed. He watched for some time, forging their mechanical routes into his brain so that the timings of the gangway would become clear. Bot One (as he called it) walked away to the right. Hari could advance on its fifth step to a point some eight paces away, then would have to make an immediate left to avoid Bot Two. He would then need to wait for Bot Three to swivel away in its turn before dashing straight for the pipe and scrambling over it. Behind the pipe, he hoped there would be gap enough to stretch out fully. More than that, he hoped the pipe would be warm.

Hari was beginning to get dangerously chilled. He had been frozen on his spot for some time now, long minutes passing as he watched the bots’ threatening dance with calculating intensity. Once he moved, he was committed – one wrong turn, one mis-timing, and he would be dead. Over and over again he watched his opening arise and let it pass, rehearsing his route mentally. And the time was coming when it would be now or never. The cold was starting to seep into his bones. Soon it would cause him to stiffen and slow; his movements would become awkward, unacceptably increasing his risk factor.

Now! It passed in a gut-wrenching minute, his heightened senses making everything stand out with a solid clarity rare to experience. Then he was rolling belly down over the pipe, relieved beyond belief that the pipe was not freezing to the touch but oh-so-faintly, warm. Behind it, hari fell into a darkened, dusty space. The gap between the pipe and the wall was wide enough for Hari to slide through, and then it widened under the curve of the pipe to offer space enough to sit and lie comfortably. The space was bounded on both sides by steel girders that held the pipe in place and reached right to the ceiling of the engine house. It was about eight feet long, and there was no access to it except between the pipe and wall; a space too small for any of the bots, and beyond the reach of any sensors. The floor was covered with thick dust and small bits of debris. With this to cover him, and the faint warmth of the pipe, Hari might even survive another day.

He had not slept properly for fifty hours. First, he collected as much dust and debris as he could and made it into a pile. Then he wedged himself half under the pipe. Debris already under the pipe blocked the narrow gap between it and the floor. Hari pulled the pile towards him, covering his body with it but taking care not to cover his face. He then lay very still, feeling his mind relax for the first time in days. He was pretty sure the pipe and his insulation would raise his temperature to something bearable, and after a few minutes he began to feel a most agreeable physical sensation, a warming relaxation that led to sleep.

Hari slept for a long time. When he awoke, he swallowed the last of the water in his waterskin and ate the last of his cheese. Where on earth was he to get more food and water? There would hardly be a vendor down here (though stranger things had been known). Nor would the bots carry food since they ran on oil and petrol, and...water. Also, water ran through some of the heating and cooling pipes, although some carried gases. So there must be a water source, or ways to get water, down here. But Hari would need to move, to search, to investigate.

But moving was dangerous. Every inch of the floor space was a hazard. Hari pulled himself up so his head poked over the top of the pipe. Everywhere he could see pipes, boilers, engine consoles and other parts of machinery he could not identify. Black bots patrolled, whirring busily, in complicated patterns. Worker bots stood still at the consoles, busy inputting information. And then he saw it – a small, white-jacketed figure – a humanoid. It was some kind of goblin, an engineer or a scientist, but what made his heart leap was its level. It was level 6, just one higher than himself.

A possible kill. Better still, a possible drop. What might it be carrying – food, water, gold, perhaps some potions or a magical necklace? Hari watched closely, feeling the saliva race into his mouth as he anticipated his first kill for weeks. He was fed up of scavenging. And despite his lowly equipment, he felt sure he could take on the little goblin scientist and win. He hadn’t forgotten his fighting skills, had he?

He pulled himself up onto the top of the pipe and crouched there. Now, with prey in his sights he no longer felt scared and vulnerable. He was the hunter now. He rocked on his haunches, feeling the tension in his thighs. He pulled his rusty dagger out of his backpack. Rusty or not, it would do.

The goblin was walking around busily, stopping to tak to groups of bots and then moving on. Hari could hardly believe his luck as it moved closer and closer to him until it was directly below his section of the pipe! He dropped. The goblin never saw him coming. Hari was on its back and the knife sliding into its neck in one swift movement. The strike was critical. The goblin was dispatched, dying with a bubbling cry as green blood spurted from its wound. Hari quickly pulled its backpack from its back and took it with him over the pipe into his safe space, where he could inspect his loot at leisure.

By Sabreena

Read Part One of this WoW story earlier on in my blog posts, and watch out for Part Three - what's in the bag? Follow the blog to be sure you don't miss it.