Spartans at the Gates by Noble Smith Read Free Book Online Page B

tried to dissuade him, but it was no good.”
    Menesarkus cocked his head to the side and squinted at him, dumbfounded. “Eh?” he asked, as if he hadn’t heard Chusor’s reply. “Gone where?”
    â€œHe’s gone to Athens. To recruit mercenaries to come back to Plataea.”
    â€œGone to Athens?” repeated Menesarkus with a laugh. “To recruit mercenaries?”
    â€œYes, Arkon.”
    â€œ Mercenaries? ” Menesarkus asked again with an astonished expression, as if Chusor had just told him that his grandson had gone to fetch water from the moon.
    â€œArchers and peltasts, Arkon,” explained Chusor.
    Menesarkus’s smile faded and he scratched his beard with the end of his stylus. “Archers and peltasts,” he repeated under his breath.
    â€œTo defend the walls, Arkon,” offered Chusor. “During a siege.”
    Menesarkus shot Chusor a look that said, “I know what purpose archers and peltasts serve.” And then he asked, “How did my grandson expect to entice these mercenaries? With his good looks alone?” he added with biting sarcasm.
    â€œA bag of Persian gold darics,” said Chusor, a hangdog expression on his face.
    The ironic smile on Menesarkus’s face disappeared to be replaced by a thin-lipped scowl. He crossed his big arms on his chest, leaned back in his chair, and bore into Chusor’s eyes. He raised his eyebrows slightly, a sign for Chusor to continue.
    â€œThere’s a story to tell,” offered Chusor lamely.
    â€œIndeed,” said Menesarkus. “The plot of this play grows ever more intriguing.” Menesarkus gestured for Chusor to sit in the chair opposite the desk.
    Chusor sat down, considering how much of the tale to actually tell.
    â€œThe gold came from the traitor Nauklydes’s storeroom,” he said at last.
    Menesarkus chewed on the end of the stylus for a few seconds, his eyebrows raised in wonder. “And you found this gold?” he asked.
    â€œNot I, young Leo.”
    â€œThat scab-faced lad? Nikias’s friend? How did he find it?”
    â€œHe was searching in Nauklydes’s office,” said Chusor. “On the morning before the traitor’s trial when he and Nikias were searching for evidence to help convict Nauklydes of treachery. The lad found it and gave it to me for safekeeping.”
    Nauklydes had been one of the most prominent and respected members of Plataean society: a factory owner and magistrate who, in his youth, had served as Menesarkus’s battlefield protégé and Olympic herald. But Nauklydes had been terrified at the prospect of a Spartan invasion of the Oxlands, and so he had forged a secret alliance with the Thebans—allies of the Spartans. Over the years Nauklydes had been bought off with a fortune in Persian gold, paid to him by the Theban spy Eurymakus, and he had used this wealth to expand his business to as far away as Syrakuse, falling deeper and deeper into collusion with Plataea’s enemies. Nauklydes had bribed the men guarding Plataea’s gates on the night of the sneak attack, allowing Eurymakus and his invasion force to enter the citadel. After the Thebans had been defeated, Nikias had exposed Nauklydes as the traitor, and Menesarkus had prosecuted the man in court. Nauklydes had been found unanimously guilty and sentenced to the “tunic of stones” as a punishment: buried up to his waist in the marketplace and stoned to death by citizens of Plataea.
    â€œHow much gold are we talking about?” asked Menesarkus.
    â€œFifty darics or more.”
    Menesarkus let forth a scoff that could have been taken as a sign of either amazement or exasperation.
    â€œAnd you gave it all to my grandson?” he asked. “This fortune in gold? Enough gold, I might add,” he said, slapping down the stylus and peering at Chusor, “to build a very fine little temple to the goddess of fucking