Death of The Olympian

By D. E. Loxwood

This is the third novel in the series, Sunset on Sparta. Set in Southern Greece in the middle of the fifth century BCE, a blind obsidian miner finds himself part of an Olympics betting scam, a 24 year old virgin plots to win her man, and a twelve-year-old girl, in a desperate search for her father, finds herself.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. E. Loxwood
• Release date: Feb 4, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463401316

Book preview

DEATH OF THE OLYMPIAN

Book Three of Sunset on Sparta

Copyright 2019 D. E. Loxwood

Published by D. E. Loxwood at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition Licence Notes

An original novel under the pseudonym D. E. Loxwood. Author and copyright holder details can be obtained from [e-mail] . This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people except under the terms set out by the publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

IN THE SUNSET ON SPARTA SERIES

Heart of The Messenian

Dagger of the Slave

Death of the Olympian

The Wounded Amazon

DEATH OF THE OLYMPIAN

TABLE OF CONTENTS

MAP

1. THE BLESSED ISLES

2. THE SUITOR

3. THE GOOD MEGARAN

4. THE WISDOM OF SOLON

5. A BROTHER’S LOVE

6. A SUBTLE PLAN

7. AN OBSERVANT EYE

8. JOURNEY IN HOPE

9. A PRAYER TO APHRODITE

10. A DEBT OF HONOUR

11. THE WITNESS

12. A SON’S DUTY

13. THE SHADOW COMES

14. THE SPOILS OF VICTORY

15. THE KISS OF DEATH

16. THE TEST

17. A GRATEFUL FRIEND

18. A PRECIOUS GIFT

HISTORICAL NOTES

MAP

Diotima of Mantinea (from Plato’s Symposium)

Love is a great spirit, intermediate between the divine and the mortal. He interprets between gods and men, conveying and taking across to the gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and to men the commands and replies of the gods.

1. THE BLESSED ISLES

It was just after dawn, a clear spring morning, but already warm. A group of thirty Messenian hoplite soldiers, carrying shield and spear and sweating under their body armour, followed a dusty road from the city of Oeniadae in Arcarnania on the western coast of Greece on their way back to Naupactus. They marched briskly, expecting to arrive home not long after dark. At the head of the column was a wide and powerfully built man, Amiantos, twenty nine years old, and next to him his second in command, Steselaus, thirty one years old, half a head shorter, of much lighter build, his bronze helmet partially concealing his refined, handsome features.

Amiantos, conscious of his duty in bringing home his small troop of soldiers safely, was intent and serious, but Steselaus was in much higher spirits.

What will the Athenians say when we bring word of our victory? Steselaus asked.

Amiantos smiled slightly at Steselaus’s enthusiasm. They’ll be pleased, I’m sure.

The might of Sparta couldn’t dislodge us on Mount Ithome after years of trying, and yet with the campaign season hardly started, we’ve already forced the surrender of a city they said was impregnable.

We have the advantage of having withstood a siege, Amiantos replied. We understand the weaknesses of a position.

I envy you, Amiantos. You’ll return a hero.

Amiantos glanced down at the smaller man in surprise. We all will. All of us here, and every soldier who stayed behind in Oeniadae.

And your beautiful wife, Melantha, her eyes will shine in adulation when she sees you tonight.

Amiantos laughed. So that’s the real reason you envy me. I’ve been married for eight years now. She’ll be pleased to see me safe, I hope, but I’m not so much a fool as to expect to see adulation in her eyes.

You’re too modest. Her love shines out every time she looks at you.

It’s time for you to marry again, Steselaus. You have a good property and business. You need an heir.

I’ll marry as soon as I find a suitable choice. But yes, that’s also why I envy you. Of all the men in the world, you must be the happiest. The heir of Aristomenes, the hero of Messenia, married to the most beautiful woman in Greece, four charming children already and another on the way. And now you’re returning home after accepting the surrender of Oeniadae. What’s left for you except glory at Olympia?

Amiantos laughed again. What did Solon, the Athenian sage, say? Count no man happy until he’s dead. Until you know how a man leaves it, you can’t make a full judgement on the balance of happiness in his life. Amiantos paused for a moment. I’ve always wanted to compete at Olympia. When I was young I injured myself only days before I was due to go. Since then I’ve missed the games twice through our rebellion against Sparta. This year, finally, I should get my chance, but there are many great wrestlers standing between me and the olive crown.

You’ll beat them all. I’ll wager all I have on it.

Keep your money. You’ll need it for your future wife. Anyway, the winner for the last games, Leontiskas, will be there. Everyone’s saying he’s unbeatable. If I come up against him in the first bout, my games will be over on the first day.

He has one trick only. You’re far more skilful. The gods have looked down on you with favour. They’ve chosen you for greatness. They’ll reward you. I know this in the core of my being.

Amiantos shook his head, laughing, but was suddenly alert to the appearance of a rider approaching them at a gallop on the road ahead.

After the rider pulled his horse to a skidding halt in front of the column, it emerged that the rider was an Aetolian, through whose country the Messenians were marching. The Aetolians were friends to the Messenians in Naupaktus and the man was riding to Oeniadae seeking help from the Messenian army when he had fortuitously encountered Amiantos and his small force of soldiers. The people of his coastal village were under attack from sea going brigands. The men who had resisted had been killed and this man had taken to his horse to ride for help. Even as he rode away, the brigands were setting the homes on fire and attempting to round up and enslave the survivors.

Amiantos ordered his detachment to follow the Aetolian. They followed him in military order at a jog and before long they saw the sea ahead of them and a trireme with its prow pushed into the sand. Milling around the trireme were terrified villagers, mostly women and children, herded like animals by a large force of men, in the process of loading them onto their ship.

There were well over a hundred brigands and Amiantos marched his much smaller force onto the further end of the beach, hoping that the sudden appearance of a disciplined group of fully armoured men would frighten the brigands into boarding their ship and fleeing. His men formed a double line from the low cliff to the sea and commenced marching steadily towards the brigands, their spears lowered.

Their enemy, however, was not to be frightened so easily, and although they wore no armour, their shields and spears lay around them on the sand. They took these up, abandoning their captives. Quickly forming their dispositions, they began running towards the Messenians in very loose order. Meanwhile, the Aetolian captives, now unguarded, scattered, running in the opposite direction to make their escape.

Amiantos was on the right of the line, actually advancing through the sea with water up to his knees. At the first clash of shields and spears, badly outnumbered, the Messenian line was broken and the men began defending themselves as best they could, standing together with others in groups and fighting hand to hand with spears or swords. Most of those on the other end of the line, including Steselaus, were able to scale the low cliff to safety. With the enemy clambering up the cliff after them in force, they tried their best to stay together and hold their position. They were able to see below them on the beach, the rest of their comrades. They were surrounded, laying down their swords and surrendering. Amiantos was separated from the others and fought to the end. Standing in the sea and with several enemy forming a circle surrounding him wielding their swords, he had no chance. Struck first from behind across the side of his helmet, his cheekbone was crushed. Another violent blow to the back of his head rendered him helpless. His legs went limp under him. As his men on the clifftop were forced into flight, the last thing they saw was Amiantos, weighed down by his armour, sinking below the waves, the blood from the side of his head colouring the sea red around him.

* * * *

The light went from Amiantos’s eyes, and time passed At length, by slow degrees, awareness returned. He could see, hear and feel nothing. His eyes and his body were gone. He was in a dark void, weightless, senseless and silent. How long? Was it brief moments, or was it months and years? He had no reference point to tell.

His thoughts were slow, and realisation came gradually. Was this death?

The darkness and a dim awareness persisted for ages, and finally, in the centre of the darkness, there was a point of light distinguishing itself from the formlessness. The light slowly became brighter and larger, as if he were moving towards it. But this could not be, as he had no legs to carry him. And yet it continued to grow and grow.

The brightness that formed his only focus became all embracing. There was only light, and now his whole universe was light, and still, time continued to pass.

A shadow formed in the centre of his awareness, a shadow with the passage of time, moments or years, slowly starting to take human shape. The outlines were blurred, but steadily they sharpened. It was a warrior.

Amiantos had no way of knowing how, but now he was a child again, four years old, his mother standing beside him. He could feel his left ankle, uncomfortable, tightly bound. He could see himself, his mother and all those around him, as if he were a bird in the sky. He was above it all, seeing everything, and yet at the same time he was also the child seeing the warrior through the child’s eyes. The warrior was King Leonidas, and with him, three hundred of Sparta’s best in crimson cloaks, their shields held to their breasts, their spears held vertically, taking their leave of Sparta for Thermopylae, from whence they would never return.

But now the scene, (memory or dream?) began to fade, as also did the four year old Amiantos and his mother, Melissa, and the crowd of which they were a part. Amiantos, it seemed, was moving again, towards Leonidas who, along with the warriors around him grew larger and larger so Amiantos was aware only of the helmeted faces. Still moving, he passed through their midst, and now another dark shape began to form. If Amiantos was really moving, it was as if now he had stopped. The shape in front of him was another man, but this time unarmed, wearing a simple uncoloured tunic and cloak.

The face sharpened. It was Elias, Amiantos’s father. So Amiantos indeed was dead. But where was he? Elias’s mouth began to move slowly, but at first there were no words. However, there was an awareness in Amiantos’s soul. He could hear no sounds, but he could understand the meaning. Not only did Amiantos’s own thoughts fly to this vision of Elias, or whatever it was, but also Elias’s thoughts flew back.

Where am I, Father? Amiantos’s thought went out.

Amiantos had never called Elias ‘Father’ while he lived. As if responding to this, the mouth smiled and the lips moved, but the words came back to Amiantos as thoughts, in no sense of coordination with the movements of the mouth.

You are where you belong, Amiantos.

Am I dead? Amiantos felt himself ask.

Elias nodded. Look behind me.

As if they had been there all the time, he could now see a line of figures behind Elias, each some distance behind the other, receding into the distance. Some wore armour, others wore cloaks.

Amiantos, these are the oath-keepers, my own father, Amyntas, and his father, and other heroes, and you have joined us here in the Blessed Isles.

Now Amiantos could tell that they were indeed on an island. Without seeing behind him, he was aware of the bluest sea the mind could imagine, with other lush islands, and around him on this one, green fields with trees bearing olives and figs, and every manner of fruit he had never even seen before. Men and women wandered together in quiet conversation.

There are women here, too? he asked.

Elias smiled again. Here are all who lived true lives, men and women, and children whose lives were cut short before they knew how to be bad. I hope that one day Melissa will be able to join me here.

And my wife, Melantha?

Who can know? She will be tested, and her love for you now you are gone will be tested too. If her life is true, and her love for you, she and you will be together here again.

And will I one day see all those I knew in life?

Only the good come here. The others are damned to the darkness of Tartarus forever, or until the gods relent.

Then Leandros and Aethon are not here?

Elias shook his head and smiled. Here you are truly blessed.

Amiantos had no sense of his own form or body, and yet it was as if tears came to his eyes.

Do not weep, Amiantos, for now all cares are past. On this isle, all your needs are met. We are on the further side of the great stream of Ocean separating the living from the dead. Here, the sun wheels his journey, never rising to his zenith to burn us with his rays, nor ever dropping below the horizon to chill our bones. Here, it is always Spring and it is always Autumn. Here the trees and crops drop their seed and it is sown without our effort, and in the same season is the harvest, and we have only to reach out and pick what we need. Here, there is no rancour and tribulation. Here, there is perpetual peace and ease. Welcome home at last, my son.

2. THE SUITOR

Four years later, three people stood on the boundary of a furrowed field, watching as several men and women with bags strapped to them walked slowly side by side, scattering barley grain with their hands.

Melantha was thirty-five years old, tall, her long hair jet black, although mostly covered by a hood, her features a little sharper and more weathered, but her beauty essentially undiminished. On one side of her was her twelve year old daughter, Kallia. Named Kalliope at birth, her father, Amiantos, had almost from the start used a shortened version for her, Kallia, meaning beautiful. After the loss of Amiantos, her sisters started calling her the same name, followed in time by Melantha, so for all of them, Kalliope was now Kallia. She was tall for her age, almost as tall as her mother, with a slender athletic body, still boyish in shape, and with wide shoulders inherited from her father. Her straight black hair could also have been that of a boy, trimmed functionally so it barely reached her shoulders.

On the other side of Melantha was the well dressed Steselaus. The same age as Melantha, he was handsome, his features well defined, his nose straight, his beard and moustache neatly trimmed. He was lean of build, of medium height, his eyes on a level just slightly lower than Melantha’s.

Without your help, Steselaus, I wouldn’t have been able to afford to lay down this crop.

Steselaus nodded. I was pleased to be able to help.

When Amiantos was here, we had his stipend as a General, and we had no difficulty borrowing money for the start of the season. People offered their labour without even asking payment. All that help dried up when he didn’t return. It’s not easy for a woman on her own.

Kallia glanced sharply at her mother. You’re not alone. I’m old enough to help.

Melantha frowned at her daughter. It’s not a world designed for women. We can only make the best of it.

Steselaus looked closely at Melantha. It wouldn’t make Amiantos happy to see you this way.

But Steselaus, thanks to your help, I’m sure he’d be very happy.

It’s four years since he died. It’s time you accept what happened.

Melantha turned her head to Steselaus, frowning. You’re sounding like my father, Elpenor.

He’s giving you good advice.

I’m tired of it. Less than a year passed before he was telling me I should remarry. And what if Amiantos returned to find me so quickly with another man?

And now it’s four years. He won’t return. He can’t. I saw him die.

But you never saw his body.

I’ve explained this to you so many times. The sea washed it away. When we came back, the tide had turned. There were breakers. His body must have washed out to sea.

But only if it was a body. You can’t say for sure he died.

Melantha, I saw him struck mortally, we all saw it, first to the left side of his face, the second a crushing blow to the back of the head. No man could have survived either blow on its own. We saw him fall. Even if he was still alive, he would have drowned at once. He’s dead. You’re the only one who denies it.

And I will until it’s proved.

It is already. In any case, if he survived, why isn’t he here?

He can’t get back. I’m sure of it.

Then he would have sent a message.

If he can’t get back, how could he possibly send a message?

You have to accept it. I saw him die. I know he’s dead.

Melantha was quiet for some time. Kallia looked at her and saw the glistening in the corner of her eyes and took hold of her hand. Melantha shrugged away her hand in annoyance.

Steselaus, I’ve never told you this before, Melantha said very quietly. He talks to me at night.

Steselaus glanced at her oddly. Who talks to you?

Amiantos talks to me, in my heart. I hear his voice.

We all imagine he talks to us. I talk to him sometimes, Steselaus said gently. He was my closest friend.

He still is. I know in the depths of me that he still lives. We talk to each other. He tells me to stay true to him.

I know that he wouldn’t want you to struggle in hardship. He’s been dead four years.

But that’s the very point, how can he be dead when he still talks to me?

Steselaus looked at Melantha and frowned.

He’s living on an island, she continued. He’s told me that. He says he can’t get back to me, but one day we’ll be together again, if only I stay true to him.

I knew him. That’s not how he’d talk.

Melantha glanced sharply at Steselaus. I think I knew him better than you.

You’re fooling yourself. It’s not his voice you’re hearing in your heart. It’s your own. You can’t live the rest of your life as a widow.

Melantha glanced at Kallia. It was unfortunate that we never had a son.

Kallia scowled at her mother.

And so you need a husband, Steselaus said. Then you wouldn’t have to struggle.

Melantha took hold of Steselaus’s hand. But I have you, Steselaus, my husband’s best friend. Nothing needs to change. We can survive.

Steselaus remained silent.

She continued. I could never marry without love. I was already twenty-two when I married Amiantos. Do you think I couldn’t have married years earlier if I’d wanted? I waited for love.

There won’t be another Amiantos, but isn’t it enough to find a man who truly loves you?

In sudden understanding of the hidden meaning in his words, Melantha paused a moment before replying. Elpenor said those same words to me.

And how did you reply?

Melantha was quiet for a moment, and then answered very carefully. I was tired of his nagging, so I didn’t answer him, but you I will answer. If Elpenor knew of someone who loves me, but hasn’t told his love, then I would tell this man, whoever he was, that I was deeply flattered that he felt that way, but for me, unless I loved him back, it would never be enough.

Steselaus paused for a few more moments before he answered. But surely love between a man and a woman can develop, even if it wasn’t there before. Once together, perhaps she’d start to see him differently, and knowing the sincerity of his feelings, step by step begin to love him also?

Melantha took his hand up to her lips and kissed the back of his fingers. Steselaus, She said quietly and almost pleadingly, you were my husband’s truest friend. I beg you to be my truest friend too.

* * * *

That evening with the three younger daughters asleep inside the house, Melantha sat outside with her older two and Elissa, Elpenor’s twenty-seven year old daughter.

A lamp was burning on the table, illuminating a tablet that the ten year old Melaina was studying.

Tell me about the text before you, Lena, Melantha said quietly to the ten year old, using the diminutive form of her name. I wrote it out for you from memory.

Mother, these are the words of Penelope. She’s talking to her husband, Odysseus, who’s returned to her in disguise after twenty years, but she doesn’t know it is he.

The twelve year old Kallia frowned in annoyance. She must have been stupid. How could she not recognise him?

Lena looked at her older sister and replied seriously, The goddess, Athena, disguised him as an old man. No one could recognise him. Only his old dog, Argus. And also Euryklea, his wet nurse when he was a baby. She recognised him by a scar on his ankle that he got from a wild boar when he was a boy hunting.

Then that proves Penelope was stupid, if even a dog could recognise him, and a dumb old servant.

Read her words, Lena, Melantha said, frowning at Kallia.

Lena examined the words carefully. She’s telling her husband how she used to speak to her suitors so they wouldn’t force her to choose one.

Kallia, remembering the conversation between her mother and Steselaus, looked at her sister with sudden interest, while Melantha nodded approvingly. What did she say to them?

Lena began reading.

"‘Well-born Suitors, yes the royal Odysseus is dead,

but don’t insist I marry again straightaway.

I don’t want my skill in needlework to be forgotten.

Wait until I weave a worthy funeral shroud

for Odysseus’ father Laertes, ready for when he dies.

What would the women think if a man so rich and noble

should be laid down without a funeral shroud?’

I said this to them and they had no choice but to agree,

and so I set to work weaving the great shroud all day long,

but at night by lamplight I would unpick the stitches again.

And for three years they never guessed my cunning trick.’"

Melantha nodded approvingly.

Those men must have been incredibly stupid to be fooled so easily, Kallia said earnestly. That’s a stupid story.

Melantha looked sharply at Kallia and the younger daughter frowned.

Elissa listened intently to the conversation.

If I was there, Kallia continued, I wouldn’t have waited for Odysseus to return. I would have taken his bow and arrows myself and driven them from the house.

Melantha looked at Kallia in irritation. You’re not Telemachus, the son of Odysseus. You’re a girl.

Lena grinned cheekily at Kallia who responded by snatching up the tablet and waving it in front of her face. Well, how is studying this going to help? From what I remember, Telemachus wasn’t much use to anyone.

Yes he was, Lena fought back angrily. He helped his father fight the suitors. Give me the tablet back.

Kallia held it out of her reach, and Lena turned to her mother for help. Melantha reached across and took the tablet from Kallia and returned it to Lena.

Seeing the angry expression on Kallia’s face, Elissa hastily intervened, putting her hand on Lena’s shoulder. Your sisters are asleep. It’s your turn now.

Scowling at Kallia, Lena still rose to her feet obediently, kissed her mother and went indoors. Elissa took the tablet from the place at the table where Lena had been sitting and began looking at it without understanding.

Melantha looked at Kallia and sighed in frustration. Kallia, she said with an effort, real life isn’t that simple. In the story they were all evil men who wanted Odysseus’s realm for themselves. But what if those trying to make you marry are good men who think they have your interests at heart?

Mother, does Steselaus love you? Kallia asked abruptly.

Elissa looked up in surprise.

That isn’t a question for you to ask, Melantha replied.

Was it true what you said to him? Kallia continued, undeterred.

What did I say to him?

Does father really talk to you at night?

Melantha glanced at Elissa before replying to her daughter. I had to tell Steselaus something. Of course Amiantos doesn’t talk to me. She paused nervously. He’s dead.

Then you’re being like Penelope, Kallia said with sudden inspiration, telling Steselaus a lie just to put him off.

I’m not Penelope, Melantha replied. Penelope waited twenty years for Odysseus to return. But she was the queen of the whole island with many servants to feed her. It’s not easy for me, with five daughters to look after. And Steselaus has been such a good friend to me.

Did he say he wants to be more than a friend? Elissa asked, catching the other two by surprise.

While to an outsider Elissa might have appeared like a servant to the older Melantha, in fact it was Melantha who had been orphaned at an early age and had grown up with Elissa’s family. Hence there was no impertinence in the question, and Melantha answered her with complete openness. He hasn’t said it in so many words, but he has hinted strongly.

Kallia jumped in rudely. And that’s the reason you have to tell him not to come here any more.

I won’t do that. I value his friendship, and I need him.

No you don’t. You have me, Kallia rejoined.

You’re just a girl.

Kallia’s eyes, as dark as her mother’s, narrowed angrily. That’s it, isn’t it. You wanted a son. I’ve always been a disappointment to you.

I have five daughters, are you saying I’m disappointed with you all?

No, you saved it all for me, Kallia replied, now with open defiance. Lena has always been your favourite with her reading and her head full of ideas. You never praised me for my intelligence or my penmanship.

Lena is exceptionally clever for her age, and anyway, your writing really is untidy. But you have many other attributes.

Oh do I? And can you name them?

I don’t need to, Melantha replied after an awkward pause. I’m always praising you.

Oh are you? But when I asked you now to name one, you couldn’t think of any.

Your eyes are so beautiful, Melantha replied quickly. I’ve always thought it.

Oh, my beautiful eyes, Kallia said sarcastically. And you’ve never said it until now. But if I asked my father, he wouldn’t be able to stop talking about me.

Yes, about your archery and tree climbing, Melantha replied, for a moment moved to anger herself. You think it was any different with your father? Why do you think he won’t let you touch his cloak from the Agoge? He’s storing that for his son.

Kallia was silent for a moment, and Melantha regretted her words, reaching her hand out to touch Kallia’s arm.

Don’t touch me, Kallia shouted, jumping up from her seat. As she ran off into the dark, she called out, You don’t know me. You never have.

When Melantha rose to her feet to follow, Elissa held her arm in restraint.

She’s angry now. You’ll only make her worse.

But it’s dark. I can’t have her running around the streets on her own, Melantha replied, tears springing into her eyes.

She’ll be all right. Give her time. She’ll calm down.

Do you think so?

I’m sure she will.

It’s just she aggravates me so much.

You mustn’t let yourself be annoyed. You have to try to understand her.

I try all the time, Melantha replied.

Elissa looked at her for a moment. She’s almost a woman, Melantha.

Melantha looked sharply at Elissa. She’s still a child.

Of all of your daughters, it was hardest for her losing him.

Why was it any worse for her? Melantha asked, a little more mildly.

She was the oldest. They were always together. She was like his shadow.

He treated her like the son he never had, Melantha said sarcastically.

No Melantha. You don’t know her.

Anyway, Melantha rejoined, it couldn’t have been any worse for her than it was for me.

Elissa paused thoughtfully. You’ve never really accepted that he’s gone, have you?

Melantha was some time in replying. "Elissa, deep inside me I still feel him in my heart. But that doesn’t mean he still lives. It may be his memory that I feel, or his soul in the Blessed Isles. I have the barest hope that he still lives, but that hope fades day by day and year by year. I talk to him, and I make up stories of how he still lives, and about where he could be so he can’t return to us or even send a