Spartan by Valerio Massimo Manfredi Read Free Book Online

he’d like to see a ship. He’d heard that there were some so big that all the people of a whole village could fit inside, but that couldn’t
be true. Anyway, there was something strange going on: squads of warriors were departing almost every day, both along the north road and the sea road. Many of the Helot shepherds and farmers were
afraid that a great war was about to break out; if so, they would have to accompany the warriors to serve them and carry their weapons.
    As Talos was absorbed in his thoughts, his gaze lost over the plain, it seemed to him that he could see something moving far off, on the road that came from the north. Slightly bigger than a
black speck in a cloud of dust. He strained to see: yes, someone was arriving on the road from Argos. Someone running alone under the sun in the direction of Sparta.
    Talos stood up, anxious to see better, and began to make his way down the side of the mountain towards a small spring that flowed near the road. The man seemed to be carrying nothing but a small
bundle, tied behind his shoulders: the short chiton that came just to his groin and the dagger hanging from his belt meant that the runner was a warrior.
    He was quite close now and Talos could see him very well. When he reached the spring, the man stopped. He was covered with dust and sweat and breathing strangely, blowing air loudly out of his
mouth, and swelling up his huge torso rhythmically. With the water he washed his face, his arms, his legs. Then, removing his chiton, he gradually washed the rest of his body, gasping at the
freezing mountain water.
    Talos smiled. ‘Cold, isn’t it?’
    ‘Ah, yes, boy, it’s cold but it’s good for me. It strengthens the muscles and awakens the energy in these weary limbs.’
    The man, nearly naked, had an extraordinary build: thick arms, a wide chest, long, nervous legs. Talos looked at him closely: he had to be a warrior, but what country did he come from? He had a
curious, sing-song way of speaking, and a manner of doing things that inspired confidence. In fact, Talos was amazed at himself for having spoken so spontaneously to a man who was obviously a
warrior. The stranger got dressed again.
    ‘Is Sparta far from here?’ he asked.
    ‘Not very. If you keep running like you were just now, you’ll be there in no time. There, see: the city is behind that curve in the road, you can’t miss it. But what are you
going to do at Sparta? You’re not Spartan. You must come from far away,’ he added, ‘I’ve never heard anyone speak like you, not even the Messenian shepherds or the fishermen
who come to the market from Gytheum.’
    ‘So, then, you were watching me. Spying on me?’
    ‘Oh, no, I was just up there tending my sheep and I happened to see you running from such a long way. Won’t you tell me who you are and where you come from?’
    ‘Of course, boy, I’m Philippides of Athens, winner of the last Olympics. And you?’
    ‘I’m Talos,’ replied the boy gazing straight into the stranger’s eyes.
    ‘Just Talos?’
    ‘Talos the cripple.’
    The stranger was struck silent for a moment. ‘What happened to your foot? Did you fall on the mountain?’
    ‘No,’ replied the boy calmly. ‘My grandfather Kritolaos says that the midwife who pulled me from my mother’s womb was too rough. But I’m wasting your time;
don’t you have to go?’
    ‘Yes, Talos, I should go, but if I don’t rest a bit, my heart will burst: I left my city three days ago at dawn.’
    Talos looked at him, astonished. ‘That’s impossible! I know for sure that Athens is beyond the sea. You couldn’t have got here on foot!’
    ‘That’s just how I got here. Philippides doesn’t tell stories, boy. Yesterday before dawn I was at Argos.’
    ‘It’s not that I don’t believe you, but my grandfather Kritolaos told me that it takes nearly a week to get to Athens from here.’
    ‘Your grandfather Kritolaos must know a lot of things. Maybe he even knows who Philippides