Breaking the Curse

Breaking the Curse

They came at night, nothing in their hearts. No remorse, no mercy. The land beneath our feet, the land we had slaved over for our own survival, was theirs in their cold hearts. They killed without thought, massacring my family, all except my grandmother. A beautiful woman she was. The invaders let her live, but not without a hundred years torture. She became their serf, their helot, their slave. They worked the wrinkles into her flawless face until her life was taken by her own hand.

My mother, her daughter, lived the same fate but killed herself much sooner. Neither had ever had a husband, but still bore a daughter to continue the torture of our family, the curse of our family. Although I had never really lived in my home, I knew it well, Laconia. I remembered every word my mother had told me in describing it. She was going off of everything my grandmother had told her. It sounded perfect to me; although it will never be again. It was conquered and claimed, resting under the name Sparta.

I was just as my mother and grandmother had been, a helot. I was traded between masters often, but the work was always the same. I came to know the Spartans as cruel and merciless. They all were. Their love for fighting, for killing, made them barbaric in my eyes. Every master, I have ever had was a soldier. I traveled with them to every battle. They longed to fight again, and although there was no reason to, they found one.

We had ridden endlessly across Sparta into Greece. We reached our destination of Thermopylae around sunset. The Spartans were itching for a fight, so they traveled to Greece to aid the Greek against the Persians. I walked off to the side of the phalanx formation, directly across from my ruler. He kept his eye on me constantly. I had tried to run from him once, but will never try again. I followed him faithfully, knowing there were far worse men in the world.

The formation broke for the night once we arrived in the empty agora of the city. The buildings around me were extravagant. They were built of stone bricks with statues of naked men and women surrounding them. Large pillars with gold string spiraled up to the high roof tops. I smiled at the beautiful city.

“Get moving, Azalea,” my holder called out. He shoved me in the direction of the horses, which was when my attention was first grabbed. I jumped and stuttering over a reply, approached the horses. They were hobbled next to a well, which was almost too convenient for me to believe. I pulled seven buckets of water from the well and served it to the horses. They whinnied hoarsely at me, no thanks in their large eyes and hoofs. Another soldier brought them grain and hay. He smiled at me largely. To be on the safe side, I didn’t smile nor look up at him. I scuttled to the direction I had seen my master go. I entered a building, which was obviously a bunk for many men. The beds rose high to the ceiling, the space between them minimal. I questioned the Spartans ability to get through, since I was struggling to slip past. I found him off to the side of the center of the room. He slept on the bottom of a stack of beds. He was asleep. In a sigh of relief, I laid down on the floor next to his bed. I slid underneath, never feeling so safe. The night was cold, but it was the warmest I had been in a while.

Morning broke, I had only slept a little, but running on little sleep was definitely something I was used to. I slid out from under the bed, my controller still passed out in sleep. I left the bunk and began my morning duties. I started with the horses, knowing if they weren’t done by the time master awoke there would be hell to pay.

Master was always trying to win favor with his superiors. They were always thankful when they didn’t have to care for their own horses, but I could tell they took advantage of his willingness to force me to do all the work. They were usually decent to me, often giving me an extra slice of bread when he wasn’t looking.

         One of the leaders rose early. He was dressed when he left his quarters. A lookout messenger left right behind him and ran back to his horse in a hurry. I could see something serious in his face but also excitement.

“Rise! Spartans! The enemy is on the move,” he called out over the vacant city. The echo rang through out into the bunkers where the hoplites were resting. I heard the soldiers fall over themselves inside the bunks to get up, out, and ready. I giggled, watching them fall over themselves to get out the single door.

“What you smilin’ for?” owner said suddenly standing beside me. He pushed me again, so hard this time I fell to my hands and knees. I looked back up at him. He grinned. “Better get goin’,” he said pointing to the armory. I jumped back to my feet and dodged the scattering soldiers. I helped pass out the weapons and armor, careful not to cut myself. Finally, the phalanx formation was formed and armed. The advanced soldiers mounted their steeds that now were covered in their own armor.

“Get out of the way,” a soldier called shoving me off to the side of the street. I fell backwards. I sat there a moment, watching, wondering where to go. The formation moved out, following the superiors to the north end of the city. I stood and followed behind them. They met with a group of Greek soldiers, and mixed the formations together.          

They marched out into the open plain surrounding the city. Every last soldier had reached the outside of the protective city, when an arrow whistled into the lead superior’s chest. He fell, his head hitting the ground first. Uproar broke through the Spartan formation. They drew their swords, and another superior, mounted on his steed, fell to the unforgiving ground. The formation broke, Spartans with their swords raised ran toward the arrows’ bows.

         Suddenly, the sky was darkened by a blanket of arrows. “That is good news. We will fight in the shade,” called out a Spartan. The Persians finally revealed themselves from a hidden mountain trail. Their arrows paraded the Spartan and Greek lines, breaking them of living soldiers. More and more fell. The Persians finally drew their swords and approached the remaining fighting soldiers. All of the mounted soldiers were dead. They hadn’t lasted long, but by the looks neither would anyone else. The Persians tore through the front line, until they were finishing off the last line.

         I stood, my feet just outside the city of Thermopylae. In horror, I watched them kill the last of the soldiers. They were heavily armored, their swords strong and bloody. A soldier drove his sword deep into the body of a dying Spartan soldier. He turned the sword, with a grin, and I choked on my own vomit. I swallowed hard and choked again when the killer looked up again.  His dark eyes met mine. He pulled his sword from the limp dead body. Blood dripped down its tip, and the giant man stepped forward. He stepped again in my direction, and I panicked. I turn around and bolted into the city, entering the nearest building. I entered another bunk, this one smaller than the one I’d slept in the night before, but there was much more room to move around here. The beds weren’t stacked, and were spaced out considerably. It seemed it was for higher ranked officials. I slipped underneath one of the beds, careful to make sure my hair and toes were completely hidden by the bed. I curled into a ball, my hands wrapped tightly around my knees.

A pair of sandal covered feet entered the room. My hands shook, fearfully. The pair of dirty, hair feet entered the room slowly, cautiously. He stopped after a couple steps, at the foot of the bed I was hiding under, and then continued. My teeth began to rattle in my mouth.

We had lost obviously, but what did that mean for me? With the fall of my master, the Spartans would kill me too. Am I to die? The Spartans always kept it that way; if you loose your master, you loose your life. I don’t want to die. These peoples could kill me, or worse, enslave me all over again. What would they be like? Would their chores include the same torture? No, I refuse. I won’t be taken again, not as a slave. I will break my family’s curse.

The sandals stopped, and a hand reached under the bed, grabbing a lock of my hair. I squealed in pain of being pulled out from under the bed and to my feet by my hair. He didn’t release me. He held me on my toes by my hair. He held his sword in his other hand, its tip pointed at me. I backed away from it as much as I could, but his large body restricted how far I would move.

“Please, let me go. I’ve done nothing to you, please,” I began to beg. The giant, sandaled man still held me by my hair without waving the tip of his sword. I gasped, somehow jumped within his grasp, when a deep voice rang though the bunk. It spoke an unfamiliar language. His voice was hoarse but was strong. He was heavily armored and carried a sheathed sword at his hip. It was only after this man spoke that the sandaled soldier dropped the tip of his sword. I struggled, still hoping for freedom, but his grip on me was strapping. The armored man spoke again, more demanding this time, and I was finally released. I scurried to the closest wall and glided along it, not knowing where to go. The armored man stood in the doorway; the sandaled man in the middle of the room. The bunk had one small window, but I could tell I couldn’t fit through. Their eyes were heavy upon me, watching my every move. My eyes teared up. What do they want from me? Do they want me to do a trick? I can’t get out. They are blocking my way. I must get out. They will make me work for them. I must run.

My mind made up, I gently wiped my eyes, and slyly approached the door. I neared the doorway, looking up at the tall armored man. He looked down at me gently with his dark brown eyes, half smiling, waiting to see what I would do next. I bolted just past the armed man, my eyes brightened by the sight of freedom. He grabbed my hair and pulled me backwards. I struggled trying to break free, but he pulled me back, harder this time. I stopped struggled with a squeal that died into a low whine.

The man chuckled deep in his throat and started walking. He dragged me by my hair behind him. He seemed to be being careful not to pull my hair, so I kept up with him so he didn’t have to. He led me back to the fields where they had triumphed.

A group of men rode horses, a total of five. Also, a man on foot stood with their group. He dressed like the Greeks from this area and the closer I got, the more I recognized him. He was a local to this city of Thermopylae. He had obviously been against the Spartan’s coming, but mostly about being forced to evacuate. Instead of heading the safest route, he escaped to the north, which was the direction the enemy had come. Now, he was here, standing next to them, watching the dead Spartans and Greeks littered on the ground. They took me to that group.

I stood, still held by my hair. The group of full grown men towered above me, those on their horses even higher than those standing beside me. The armored man holding my hair spoke first. Next spoke a man mounted on one of the stallions. He sat in the middle. I couldn’t understand his words, but his voice was gentle, smooth, and soothing. He finished speaking, then turned to the Greek local and spoke again. This time with more question.

My heart felt heavy. Was he putting my life in the hands of this man? This man whom had hated the party I was forced to come with. This man, who sold out his own nation to this group of brown eyed fighters, was to determine my fate. He obviously had some favor with them, but my favor depended on a traitor.

The man thought for a moment before shaking his head and speaking to them in their language. His voice was old and raspy, but I couldn’t tell anything else from the sound of his voice. The middle man, mounted on his horse, seemed satisfied with the answer and nodded to the armed soldier holding me back. I swallowed hard, praying the local would have mercy on me, on my family.

The armed man’s hand tensed, and then relaxed releasing the hair he had held me captive by. I looked back up to all of them. Everyone’s eyes were now upon me. I met everyone’s, ending with the local’s. He smiled. I half smiled and ran. I decided not to stick around for them to change their mind. I ran up to a man who was holding the Spartan official’s horses. I tore a set of reins from his hand, mounted, and raced off. I could hear him starting a pursuit when a voice called out. He stopped, and I smiled. The powerful beast tore across the open plain, kicking dirt up in the faces of the fallen Spartans.

I had broken it. The torture of my family had finally come to an end. The curse was broken. My children would never have to live under the animals they cared for. The curse was finally broken.

I looked down, letting the horse run almost freely. I gently placed my hand over my stomach. “I’ve done it. I’ve done it all for you.”