A few days after Miltiades left with the Endoxos, the dusty shop received a complete transformation. The freshly whitewashed walls, inside and out, gave the shop a crisp, revitalized appearance. The sign had been repainted to read “Melita, Scribe.”
Inside, the blankets of gray dust had been folded and put away. Once disordered, the stacks of books were now neatly arranged on diamond-patterned shelves. A warm, nutty aroma of palm oil now filled the once stuffy air. Suspended above the table, Melita's first magical creation—a glowing sphere—cast a soft light over the room lighting a large map of Olympia lay unfurled. Work desks strained under stacks of scrolls or opened books. The most welcoming of similar shops in Scribe Alley.
To her surprise, most of Melita's clients, primarily women, requested simple tasks such as copying, reading, or writing letters. Tasks she could complete while they waited. A few asked for minor magic help. Money came in. The shop earned just enough to keep everyone fed and focused on their research.
Most mornings, Melita took Aree to the agora, where they played together before it filled with merchants, shoppers, philosophers, and visitors from across Olympia. They returned home before noon when the heat chased away most people, Melita having paid for their daily needs while Aree disappeared for the rest of the day to play with the other boys. Then the afternoons, Melita and Kore went through the collection of obscure tomes to decipher content and handwriting. Of which the latter was more difficult. When the calligraphy could be understood, dirt and fading inks obscured their secrets. Kore spent more time at the store than her house and had become Melita’s apprentice.
* * *
One day, Aree returned shortly before sundown, hungry, dirty, and covered in scrapes and bruises. He refused to talk about how he got them. “You wouldn’t understand,” was all he said.
“Aree, come here this instant,” Melita commanded, snapping a finger.
The frowning boy came to see her. “What?” He had a few scraped on his face and arms. Nothing serious.
“Where do these come from?” She passed a hand over his scrapes.
“Don’t worry, mom.” Aree tried to turn away but she held him in place. He squirmed but when his mother would not let him go, he sighed. “Three boys said my father was a wimp. I showed them. Our honor is safe.”
“Aree, you can’t go on fighting everyone.”
“They can’t insult father or you. Or I will hurt them.” He held up his scraped fist.
Melita felt proud that her son was willing to defend her, but didn’t want to encourage him getting into fights. He had such an affinity for it. “Aree,” she brushed his hair with her fingers. “Next time, they say something bad, come and tell me.”
Aree frowned. “That’s what girls do. I’m no girl.”
“Excuse me, young man? I told you what to do. And you will do it. Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” His eyes evaded hers.
“You will not fight unless you ask me first.” She ground her teeth as she spoke, digging her fingers in his arms. “Understood?”
“Fine.” His body said no.
* * *
Melita squinted to read the lettering on the vellum, cursing at the cheap ink used. It smudged and blotted, making it impossible to read. “Potassos? Belassos? It ends in –ssos, but the first part… What do you make of it?”
Kore looked at the map and failed as well. “Why are we looking at these tiny places? So many of these islands have nothing more than a monster on them. Wouldn’t it be better to seek an item, like the chain of Aphrodite or an immovable nail to pin it in place?” Kore said.
Melita dropped on a chair with a long sigh. “I’m afraid you’re right. This is not leading us anywhere… I’m not too sure which way to go. By the way… what are the chains of Aphrodite? Where did you learn of things like that?”
Kore chuckled and rearranged her hair behind her ear. A coy smile on her face. “I imagine Aphrodite chains men to order them to do as she wants. Wouldn’t that be great to have?”
“Be careful what you wish for. Untamed men are exciting, but once tamed, their appeal dims. Like a trained horse, they perform admirably but never regain the wild streak that drew us to them in the first place.”
“Was Ptolos like that?”
Melita could not hide a shiver of disgust. “Ptolos? Oh! No. He was not a wild horse, more like a nag. I knew other men before him. And they… They had that aura of excitement, that raw power about them.” She grabbed her upper arm, and bit her lower lip as Arakos filled her thoughts.
Kore said nothing, silently asking for more details, details Melita was not willing to provide.
* * *
“Mom, why am I not called Ptolos like my father?” Aree poked Melita. “If he died before I was born, shouldn’t I bear his name?”
Melita bolted up from her chair where she had been dreaming of the open road. Traveling again. Kore had just left, and the boy should have been asleep now.
Melita poked his nose. “Because Arakos is the perfect name for you. He was a great hero I knew long ago. Your father would agree.”
“Someone told me that my real father was a barbarian and that you are lying about being married to my father. Lying’s bad.”
Melita was incensed. “Who told you that? He’s the one lying. Your father was a respected scribe.”
“A man at the market.”
Melita rolled her eyes. That’s not useful. “Next time you see him, call him a big fat liar. And if he keeps spreading lies, you punch him. In his nose.”
The boy punched the air with a smile, happy to receive permission to hit someone.
She had to limit his enthusiasm for fighting. He loved it too much for her own taste. “You can’t do that to anyone else, understand?” Melita had been so engrossed in her concerns: studying charts, practicing new magic, and teaching Kore. Did she neglected her son? He had too much of his father in him to become a scribe or a lettered man. Too much energy. He needed a master-at-arms to train him and make him into a warrior, like his father. Make him into a man.
“Aree, do you want to become a scribe?” She asked him.
He looked at her surprised, his face curling in disgust. “I want to fight the Spartians. Punch their ugly faces. Burn their stinking towns.” He play-fought, going around the kitchen mimicking swords clashing against shields.
“What if I got a master warrior to train you? You could become a general! Lead armies against the Spartians or the Titans. Would you like that?”
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She knew his answer before he replied: the boy posed as a victorious general. “Yes.” A man of few words, like his father. He would never be happy working out of this shop. Aree paid her no heed; he fought the entire Spartian army by himself and threw them into the sea.
Melita spoke the magical words to ask Iris, the messenger, to deliver her message safely. With a simple swish of air, Aree’s fate was sealed.
He would become a warrior.
* * *
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Heavy banging on the door drew Melita and Kore’s attention to the shop door. They looked at each other, wondering who it might be at this late hour.
“Come back tomorrow. We are closed.” Melita called.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The door rattled with the heavy thuds. Kore stepped back toward the back store, her eyes wide in terror while Melita pulled a short blade she kept hidden under their work table, hiding it along her forearm. She skulked closer to the door with spry steps, motioning to Kore to hide.
“We’re closed,” she repeated.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Melita moved to the side in case a man broke through the door. She held no hope that whoever it was would just turn around and leave. Not after the ruckus they were making.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Fine, I’m coming.” Melita shook her arms and legs to increase the circulation before closed the distance before opening the door.
The vague outline of a massive man appeared in the dull light of the moon. “We’re clos-” she said, interrupting herself. The light hit his face revealing a chiseled face, dark beard, and red cloak wrapping a large frame. Could it be? How could he be here so soon? “Icarius! You came! Why didn’t you respond before?”
“Where’s the fun in that?”
She threw her arms around the massive Spartian unable to hold him all the way. “I missed you, you old lug.”
Icarius the Spartian chuckled before returning the hug, holding up Melita without effort. “I missed you, too. If you are busy, I can come back tomorrow…”
“The door is always open for you. Don’t stay outside. Come in. You’re always welcome in my house.” Melita took his hand and pulled him inside, with a wide grin on her face. Her breath came in short, excited bursts caused by the unexpected arrival of her old friend. “How did you make it so quickly? I didn’t expect you for at least a week.”
“Your message reached me as I was making my way to Athenion.” Without saying a word, Melita asked for more. “I came to buy horses and other things for the farm.”
Melita gave him another hug, closing the door behind him. “Kore, meet Icarius, an old friend of mine. Come out. There’s nothing to fear.”
Icarius bowed his head to enter, having to stoop in the small shop. He fit the stereotype of the Spartian: tall, muscular, black hair and trimmed beard. Spartians believed themselves bred for war and we blessed with a physique like those found on the statues of the gods. He placed his shield behind the door, and dropped his small pack over the large map on the table. His eyes danced appreciatively over the girl as Kore appeared. “Icarius, son of Kaunos.”
“K… Kore.” She extended a hand forward with something of a curtsy, “I’ve never met a Spartian before… Not this close…”
Melita offered him a seat as she gathered up documents on the table. “Don’t worry Kore, he doesn’t bite too much. Barks a lot. Or worse, he sings! Kore, can you get him something to eat? Something to drink?”
Kore gave a slow nod as she walked backward to the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with my singing? You used to like it. I have a very nice singing voice.”
“Your bawdy songs about wine and breasts are no longer appropriate around a mother, widow, and shop owner.” Melita replaced the books on the shelves, clearing the table for Kore to return with a bowl of lamb stew and a cup of wine.
Icarius began scooping down the stew into his mouth, eating with gusto. “Did she prepare it? Is it edible?” He asked Kore, pointing to Melita.
“You know her well.” Kore could not hold back a chuckle. “No, I did.”
Melita pretended to take offense. “This is my house! Both of you stop it.”
They all laughed.
Icarius finished his wine when a tiny fist landed on his left cheek. “Get out, Spartian.” Aree followed the punch with a left hand Icarius blocked with ease.
The Spartian grabbed the boy by the neck, moving him back, flailing in the air. Icarius held the boy at bay as he looked him over. The boy changed his strategy, clawing and kicking while sending out a steady stream of curses and insults.
“Aree! Stop! He’s a guest in our house!” Melita moved to separate the two. Icarius let go of the boy.
Freed, the boy tried to go around his mother to strike at Icarius. “He’s a filthy Spartian! He’s gonna kill you and Kore!”
Icarius laughed. “He’s his father’s son, all right. Same fire, same dedication. I love it. I surrender, boy. You win.”
“Spartians don’t surrender. They lie, or they die.” Aree spat.
“Aree. Stop. Now.” Melita admonished, but Aree remained defiant, glaring at the still-laughing Spartian. His fists clenched tight, and his whole body was coiled to strike at the first opportunity. At the first sign of weakness. “Aree, go back to bed!” Melita commanded.
“Not while he’s here.” Aree pointed at Icarius.
“Arakos! Bed!” Melita raised her voice without effect. Using his full name, she hoped he would obey, but the boy stood his ground, waiting for an opening against the Spartian.
Reclining on the chair, Icarius came to Melita’s help. “Aree… I’ll make a deal with you. If you can land a blow on me. Just one. I’ll leave your house, never to return.”
Aree took a step back. “No trick?”
“No trick. You hit me my face or torso once, and I leave. May Zeus strike me dead if I don’t.” Icarius swore. The oath before the king of the gods was a serious affair. Aree relaxed his stance with an angry smile.
“Icarius, don’t.”Melita pleaded with the Spartian. But the Spartian waved her aside, silently asking for her trust as he got down on his knees to stand face to face with Aree, beyond the boy’s reach.
“Ready?”
The boy nodded.
“Begin.”Icarius said. The boy came at him, screaming in rage. Aree barely took a step when a backhand slap sent him flying to the ground. Undeterred, the boy stood and charged at the Spartian again.
He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand, his face an animalistic snarl. Only to be hit and fall to the floor with a thud.
His next charge landed him on the floor.
And again.
And again.
Melita grabbed her son, whose cheek already sported a darkening bruise. “Enough. Aree, go to bed. Now!” The boy’s glare never strayed from Icarius despite the tears and the obvious pain. He withdrew, unwilling to defy both his mother and the unbeatable Spartian.
Melita accompanied him to his bed, speaking comforting words and kissed him goodnight. At once her burst into tears and the tension drained from him. Aree grabbed her hand, sobbing. “Sorry he beat me. He’s too strong. Take me to your weapon master. I must beat that Spartian.”
She hugged him and kissed him on the head. Holding him that way hid her own tears. “You did wonderful, Aree. You defended my honor and that of Athenion. He won’t try anything now that he knows you are here protecting me. I’m safe because of you. And Kore too. Thank you, Aree.” The boy sobbed to himself as she left him.
Melita returned to the store to find Icarius alone. She came at the Spartian, her hand coiled and ready to strike. “How dare you hurt my son?”
Icarius stood still, unflinching as the woman approached, threatening to slap him across the face. “You could have stopped it anytime. The boy’s got Arakos’ stubbornness. That’s good. You contacted me to train him. And by Ares, I will make him into a man to make his father, my friend, proud. A man to make you proud.” He spoke slowly.
“Did you have to strike him like that? So hard?”
“Yes. He has to learn. From now on, he will hate me.”
“He hated you before because you are a Spartian.”
“No. When he first saw me, he hated the Spartian. From now on, he will hate me. This lesson will play in his mind over and over until he solves it. Until he finds a way to beat me.”
“That’s cruel!”
“Adversity forms the man. And if he’s anything like his father, the clump of metal he is will require a lot of work to make him into a usable, unbreakable blade. I can promise he will be one of the greatest warriors in Olympia. Arakos’ determination and Spartian training, some will believe him the son of Ares!”
“Why not treat him with kindness?” Melita said.
“There will be time for that. But not now. I don’t want to hurt Aree, but I must. And I will hurt it again. Make him understand that he must obey and that others can be stronger than he is.”
“But, he’s just a little boy. Can’t you give him a chance?”
“He needs to learn to fight through the pain and humiliation. That a frontal assault does not win every fight. Not just to fight but to triumph through pain and adjust his strategy. I’ll train him like my father trained me. Like Spartian boys have been raised for centuries. I will train him with my own sons.”
Melita wanted him to be wrong, wanted him to lie. Icarius seemed so detached, so uncaring about it. He took her in his arms, and she put her head on his chest and cried. He was right, she did not interfere as her son took slap after slap and came for more. Each slap made her flinch, not just from the pain, but the shame. She felt every blow as if she struck the boy herself.
Rationalizing made no difference. She allowed her son to get beaten.
Before her eyes.
With her consent.
She had beaten Aree. Not Icarius, but her.
Every slap. And to make things worse, she found solace in the man whose hands delivered the blows on her son.
Icarius held her as she cried, his arms comforting. He said nothing. When her tears stopped, Icarius kissed her forehead and let her go. “Go to bed. I’ll sleep here.”
Melita held onto Icarius, the one man who remained in her life, a brother. It had been so long since she touched anyone but Aree. He felt like a rock, a pillar of safety. Long minutes passed before she let go and retired without a word.
Her bed felt colder and emptier than ever. She did not sleep that night. First, her love was taken from her. Now she was giving her son to a man who would beat him.
She may be past the tears, but not beyond the guilt.
