Black Salt

Black Salt - Chapter 11

 He walked through the crowds in the gathering dusk. The farmers of Hellas would be readying to sleep, but the rich Alexandrian city dwellers had their slaves carry torches, and the poor ones carried cheap lanterns, and tried not to spill their oil. His visit to the house of the silk swan had both eased and burdened his heart. It had reminded him of the price he'd paid for safety, a price he paid again every day he woke up alone in his bed.

"Safety is life," he told himself, as he made his way along the wharf, teased by the salt spray. "A sailor doesn't rush back to shore when a storm hits. He goes out in a strong-hulled boat, and rides out Poseidon's fury. Safety in strength and good sense. I will not flee the thunder. I will ride out this storm."

He drew near to Lorcas's shop, when an eerie figure blocked his path, a robust man who waved at him with a grotesque stump of a hand. Apollophanos. "So good to see you here," said the maimed Spartan smiling like a starveling at a feast. "The gods, it would seem, prefer we Hellenes to band together."

He grunted. "Yes, yes. I'm busy, Halfhand. I'll talk to you later."

He made to walked by the Spartan, but Apollophanos held up his maimed hand, and set it on his shoulder. He'd seen many wounds, and taken more scratches and cuts than he could number, and aside from the pain, they failed to unsettle him. When the Spartan's single thumb touched his skin, his skin felt cold, and he felt the slightest squirm in his belly. He brushed away the hand. Apollophanos continued to smile, but his eyes narrowed. "Dear brother of Hellas, don't leave me so soon. Come tell me the day's tale."

He felt heat rise in his chest, and his hands itched to shove the man out of his way. He'd waited long enough for Lorcas to have opened the box. He wanted to know the secrets buried within that skull, and the Spartan's time wasting presence set his jaw on edge.

"You'll hear my tale soon enough, if you linger around the king. And what of Ptolemaios; has he tired of your heroic boasts already? Tell me what brings you down from the palace."

Apollophanos shrugged. "I come here every day at sunfall, and sing to the fishes."

Nikias stared at him. "This must be that famous laconic wit. I leave you to your jesting." He turned away, and walked towards Lorcas's shop.

"Wait," said Apollophanos. "Wait!"

He was almost at the door. He noticed it was ajar, and he caught a familiar scent, like sweet smoke.

"We broke your empire!"

He halted, his eyes wide, his jaw locked tight, lips peeling back from his teeth. He turned and glared at the Spartan, and rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. "Of all the stupid things you could say..."

Apollophanos gritted his teeth, and stood erect, chest thrown out. "The great Athenian empire. We crushed it. We beat your armies and burned your ships. We devastated your land, carried away your gold, and we took your women."

The people of the dock cleared a circle around them, and the air went silent, but for the lapping of the waves.

Nikias felt his heart jump and grow hot. The hair on his arms, back and head prickled and stood up. He forgot about the locksmith, and the box, and his duty to the king, as the age old rivalry between Athens and Sparta heated his blood. His face twisted into a mask of fury, and he walked forwards until he could feel the warmth of the other man's skin, and smell his sweat and the leather of his sword belt. "Our empire did not last," he said, in a low, menacing voice. "But neither did yours. Alexander conquered the world, and cast us both into shadow. Who fears Sparta today?"

Apollophanos's face writhed in some bitter inner struggle. "What happened after you lost the war? You Athenians pride yourselves on your freedom, your demos. What happened after the war? You gave yourselves up to tyrants! And what have you done, Nikias? For all your pride in your free city, you serve a king, just like a common slave."