Short Stories From the Mind of Brite

Historical Fiction (SPARTA!!!)

Author's Note- Um... Well, I actually liked this one. :3 Gotta love dat Sparta.

-------------------------

Honor and power- that was what Sparta stood for. At least, everything Aaron had learned had been built off that belief. Yet helots that had once been known as the Messenians were abused Spartan-owned servants, and part of Spartan training was learning to steal and lie without being caught.

Aaron, of course, had never questioned those aspects of the Spartan life. Except for one time five years ago, when he’d first arrived at the agoge same as every healthy, seven-year-old male Spartan. He had tried asking the tutor, a well-muscled man named Leon, how there was honor in cheating. After the punch in the jaw Aaron received as an answer, he never questioned the Spartan ethics again. Not out loud, anyway.

The voice of Aaron’s helot, Erik, jolted the young warrior out of his thoughts. “Master, it’s time for javelin practice,” the slave informed Aaron, his voice timid. Erik’s grey eyes darted from Aaron to the ground in a cycle, like lost, fearful minnows.

There may have been a social chain in the city-state of Sparta, but if there was one thing Aaron couldn’t stand, it was being looked at- or rather, not looked at- as though he was murderer. Though there was a kill squad that murdered helots in cold blood (known as the krypteia) and if Erik did something wrong it would be legal to kill him, all the Spartan longed for was to be accepted. It might make his fellow trainees sneer, but the apprehensive looks that helots gave him were close to unbearable, even after dealing with it for practically his whole life.

With a sigh, Aaron pushed himself off the ‘bed’ he’d made from river rushes when he first began training. It wasn’t something Aaron had been singled out to do- making their own beds was standard procedure for all Spartan trainees. He straightened his blood-red cloak that he wore over an off-white tunic, gave Erik a nod of acknowledgment, then made his way out of the dormitories and outside the agoge.

The massive square of wooden barracks that made up the agoge certainly wasn’t very appealing to the eye. This had occurred to Aaron several times, though so long as it had both an indoor and outdoor arena, he supposed it didn’t matter. After all, the agoge’s sole purpose was to train Spartan soldiers.

The indoor arena was for spear throwing, swordplay, wrestling, and other types of fighting- that wasn’t where Aaron was headed. Outside, however, was for marches, discus, and javelin. So, Aaron made his way across the outdoor training grounds, his bare feet so calloused from not wearing any shoes for five years that he felt no pain.

As he walked towards the rack that held the javelins, a breeze blew towards him, ruffling his short, brown hair slightly in addition to carrying a loud, boasting voice: “Yesterday I went into Amikles after curfew. ‘Bout seven free-dwellers tried to pick a fight with me, and I killed off every one of ‘em.”

Marco. Aaron didn’t even have to look to recognize the low, easy tone of the Spartan trainee. With a scoff, Aaron turned to see Marco’s dark eyes gleaming with cold pride and his arms sporting several new bruises. Rolling his hazel eyes, Aaron plucked a lightweight javelin off the rack.

Free-dwellers were neither at the top of the social chains like pureblooded Spartans, nor were they at the bottom like helots. Therefore, they could do as they wished, and it wouldn’t technically be legal for a Spartan to kill one. Not only that, but Aaron knew that although Marco was a laudable fighter, there was no way he could take on seven armed free-dwellers. This thought prompted a question in Aaron’s mind. “Did they have weapons?” he inquired suddenly.

Marco whipped around, his onyx eyes flashing annoyance at someone interrupting his story time. “Of course the were armed. No one walks around that late without some sort of weapon. Not when the krypteia wander the streets,” Marco reminded Aaron with a sly smirk.