“Didn’t you hear the man?” said Autolycus. “Flesh market.”
“I know, but where?”
Autolycus laughed. “Athens, of course.”
Danae peeled her face away from the bars. She was going to Athens. She felt a ripple of hope. Athens was one of the largest cities in Greece—there must be people traveling to and from Delphi every day. If she could somehow escape at the other end, she could still reach the holy city.
12
The Flesh Market
As they left the wrought iron gates of Phalerum behind, the wagon swung round to enter a vast stretch of road. At either side of this giant highway were towering walls that looked designed to keep everything and everyone out. Or in. The ground had been worn smooth by thousands of hooves and wheels, and even at this early hour, the road was teeming with travelers. Wagons, riders and carts of all sizes bundled past.
Eventually, they approached another pair of vast iron gates, bearing the Athenian twelve-pointed sun. The wagon left the main road and the huge walls peeled away, to be replaced by buildings of the same bleached stone as the customs office in Port Phalerum. Danae caught glimpses of tall, pillared houses and men in richly dyed tunics sauntering along the street.
They came to a sudden stop, and a few moments later, the door opened. The flesh merchant’s enforcer stood, silhouetted, against the sunlight. He held a waterskin and a loaf of bread in his large hands.
“Kakos don’t want anyone fainting.” He smirked. “Share nicely.” Then tossed the victuals into the wagon, and slammed the door.
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Then they all lunged forward. Heads butted together, chains stretched, and Danae’s nails scratched painfully against someone’s cuff as she clawed for the waterskin. When the tangle of limbs unfurled, it was revealed the Spartan soldier held the loaf, and Autolycus clutched the waterskin.
Three sets of eyes darted between the men.
“Well now, look at this.” Autolycus grinned at the Spartan. “I’ll trade you half.”
The Spartan stared at him impassively. Then he ripped the loaf in two.
Danae’s heart sank. She was so thirsty, her mouth was like dust. Autolycus took a long swig from the waterskin, then licked his lips, eyeing the half loaf expectantly. He frowned as the soldier proceeded to tear the halves into quarters.
“I can chew it myself, I don’t need you to—”
He stopped speaking as the Spartan tossed the first piece into Lycon’s lap. The boy stared at the bread, then the Spartan, then shoved the entire hunk into his mouth before anyone could take it from him. The Spartan tossed the remaining pieces to each of the prisoners in turn. He left none for himself.
“Share,” the Spartan nodded at the waterskin.
“Will you look at that, it knows more than one word.” Autolycus held his piece of bread in one hand, the waterskin in the other.
The Spartan fixed him with a piercing stare. “If you do not share, you will die.”
There was a pause. Autolycus laughed, but he didn’t sound as confident as before. “You can take the soldier out of Sparta...”
He snuck a last swig before restoppering the skin and begrudgingly tossing it to the soldier. Again, the Spartan didn’t drink himself but passed it to the old woman. She hurriedly took a glug, then quickly handed it to the boy, muttering, “Thank you.”
Watching the skin being passed around was agonizing. When it finally reached Danae, she was relieved to find there was some water left and gulped it down. It wasn’t much, but thirsty as she was, it tasted like liquid life.
“What I want to know,” said Autolycus, “is what a man of your abilities is doing chained up with a ragged bunch of misfits. Surely you could have escaped by now?”
The Spartan was silent for a moment. Then he said, “There is no honor after being captured. Without honor, life is meaningless.”
Autolycus raised his eyebrows. “Sorry I asked.”
After what felt like hours, the wagon stopped for the second time. Then the large man turfed them out onto a graveled road.
To their right, sloping away from the wagon, was a dense forest. Far in the distance Danae could see the outline of the city walls. They funneled the wide road that linked Phalerum and Athens, then broke apart to expand around the whole city, which included its own woodland. To her left was a large theater, a semicircle of curved wooden benches staggering up from a raised platform.
Philemon had said the theater of Athens was where the citizens gathered to cry over tragic plays, laugh at comedies and take umbrage with the latest thinker’s enlightened philosophy.
He’d failed to mention it was also used to sell slaves.
