The Shield

By Nicholas Snow

I will speak to you of war, battles, love, hatred, heroism, self-denial and betrayal, of a dead man who will save a living man.

Of a weapon, a gift from the gods, a shield, of a narrow pass and a plain where the fate of the world will be judged.

This is the prophecy revealed to the seer Megistias from Zeus. It will be fulfilled by the brave and noble Spartan, Teleutias, the genial and faint-hearted Athenian, Nausinous whose friends example will lead him to unparalleled heroism the Persian commander-in-chief Mardonius, the beautiful Spartan woman Helen and the slave from Miletus, Dianeira, who will fight for her freedom and whose heart is torn between two Greeks.

You will run with Teleutias in Olympia, you will attend the brilliant symposia of Mardonius and the sensual dance of Dianeira, you will hear Leonidas and Themistocles deliver speeches at the council of the Isthmus of Corinth, you will travel with the royal trireme of Xerxes to Tempe, you will sail with Nausinous and the Athenian fleet.

You will feel the fear and horror of battle with the weight of the shield in the left hand and the spear, slippery with perspiration and blood, in the right. You will fight in the phalanx at the battles of Thermopylae and Plataea, where the assault is a faceless beast with hundreds of heads but only one soul, where the earth trembles at its steps, where the sun shines on the bronze breastplates and helmets and the colourful crests made of horses manes and tails quiver, where the painted shields approach united and the well-polished metal tips of the spears are Death itself.

The Shield brings together the magic of the novel and a profound historical knowledge, making the reader feel what it meant to be a Greek during antiquity. It is a moving epic, but also a very human story, where the grandeur of the spirit freely chooses the ultimate sacrifice and clashes with hatred, passion, intrigue and betrayal.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Oct 19, 2005
• ISBN: 9781467004305

Nicholas Snow

Nicholas Snow is the pen name of Nicholas Kyriazis. He has a diploma and PhD in Economics from Bonn University in Germany. He has worked as a consultant for the European Parliaments Directorate for Research and Documentation, the National Bank of Greece, the Greek Ministers of National Economy and Defense and served as Secretary General for Public Administration during the period 1993-1994. He was a visiting scholar at the Economics Department at Harvard University and visiting professor at Trier University in Germany. He is currently associate professor at the Economics Department of the University of Thessaly, Central Greece, president of Alpha Trust Andromeda Investment Fund (listed on the Athens Stock Exchange) and vice president of Ergoman Telecommunications. He has contributed papers to academic journals and articles to the Greek press and he has published 11 novels and one book of poetry in Greek. In April 2005 the President of the French Republic ordained him a Knight of the Legion of Honourfor his contribution to European ideals, science and literature.

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

To my mother A. Kyriazis

Chapter 1

The Oracle

Ithomi, Messene, 494 B.C.

Megistias walked briskly along the footpath that snaked upward on Mt. Ithomi. Philocles, his assistant, followed him, struggling with a bag filled with whatever equipment did not fit in the bag that the seer carried across his own shoulders.

The footpath was steep, since the sides of the mountain rose almost vertically over the plain of Messene. It was not one of those mountains whose slopes rose softly, almost imperceptibly, inviting you to climb. It was like a huge rock, as if cast down by the hand of a god. If this was how it was created, then it could only have been done by Zeus, father of the gods. Who else would have the strength to do it, unless he was even more ancient, from the time, that is, when Kronos ruled in the palaces of the gods. Its grey-white stony slopes where bare rocks appeared suddenly made it look austere. It was a little less wild only in those places where there were a few thorny bushes, oak trees no taller than bushes, some grass, thistles, and here and there a scattering of stunted wild olive trees or cypresses or holm oaks. The green valley below stretched out serenely, joyful with silvery trees and pale green pines, plane trees with leaves as large as the open palms of one’s hands, slender black-green cypresses resembling superhuman spears driven into the earth, bushy, age-old oak trees, crops and vineyards. Scattered across the valley were small villages and flocks of sheep and oxen which shepherds took wherever the spring grass was rich and lush.

Here on the mountain, only a few goats scrambled among the rocks as though they were dancing. Birds twittered amongst the holm oaks. Suddenly, two partridges appeared on the footpath, looked at the two men with surprise and then disappeared with wobbly steps behind the low-lying growth. Perhaps they were the first people they had ever seen.

How are you bearing up, Philocles? Megistias asked.

I’m fine, teacher, the youth replied, not wanting to show any sign of fatigue, even though he had begun to pant. The seer, in spite of his forty-odd years and the silvery streaks in his beard and temples, did not seem tired. He had been climbing the mountains of his homeland, Acarnania, ever since he was a child, running and competing with wild goats and tumbling down the mountainsides like a stone thrown from above.

You’ve never been up to Ithomi before, Megistias said to him, slowing his pace a little to make it easier for the youth. At the summit, where we are going, there is an altar to Zeus Ithomatas. It is the oldest in the southern Peloponnesus. It existed long before the arrival of the Dorians in this area and has been there from the time that Nestor was king of Pelos. They say that Nestor himself came here to offer a sacrifice before taking off for Troy. Some say that it is even older.

A few swallows flew overhead. Higher up, a hawk strained against the wind currents, circling languidly with his outstretched wings. The seer pointed it out to his apprentice and they paused, gazing at it for a while. In the evening he would ask him what he had learned from the pattern made by the bird’s flight, as he had taught him how to interpret. They continued on their way.

Every spring I come here to make a sacrifice to Zeus of Ithomi. And to wait and see if he will grant me a prophecy, he thought to himself.

Have you ever asked yourself why we have to climb to such high places to make a sacrifice? Why the gods have chosen these places for their altars and sanctuaries?

To be far from people, the youth replied. The gods can return to mortals whenever they want, but mortals should not be able to approach the gods without difficulty.

You are right, Philocles. And for one other reason. The effort involved in climbing to the summits of the mountains is a symbol of the soul’s attempt to approach the divine. High up on the mountain peaks, it is easier to hear the whispers of the gods.

It was afternoon by the time they reached the top. The outdoor altar was simple: a square structure built of drystone whose height reached Philocles’ waist. It had an opening at its centre for the fire of the altar. It was protected on the northern side by the high rock whose tip was the highest point of Ithomi. The other three sides were open. Two sides faced the narrow mountain and the third fell abruptly after a few steps, facing the view of the plain below.

To the east, they could see the snow-covered peaks of the Taygetus. To the west, the sun was sinking towards the other mountains, which were lower and rose just before the sea. The atmosphere was clear and cool, redolent with the fragrance of thyme and wild flowers.

They lowered their bags to the ground to prepare their equipment.

Suddenly, a large eagle flew over the rock and made a low circle before disappearing toward Taygetus.

A good omen, the seer thought, gazing at the sacred bird of Zeus. Perhaps the father of the gods would grant him an important prophecy.

Today’s sacrifice would be bloodless. Megistias placed the first yields of spring on the altar: flowers, fruit and honey. He then lit a small fire in the centre of the altar and threw in it incense that had come from the far reaches of the East and had arrived at the port of Gytheon on a Phoenician ship.

In his mind, he invoked Zeus, thanked him and the other gods for the winter that had just passed and asked them to grant abundant crops in the spring, summer and fall. He asked Zeus to come to him in his sleep and grant him even a faint glimpse of the future, to make him a small communicant of wisdom.

Later, when the invocation and sacrifices were over, Megistias and Philocles shared their meagre meal of bread, cheese and dried figs.

Then, they wrapped themselves in their capes and lay down on the grassy ground, under the projecting rock next to the altar.

It was just dawning with a hazy, murky light when Megistias awakened suddenly, bathed in perspiration as if he had been running or fighting for hours. It was not yet day nor still night, the moment when darkness and light melt into each other, making everything appear strange, otherworldly, de-materialized. The hazy light shrouded the mountains and everything nearby. The seer’s eyelids fluttered slightly before opening and sleep was cast from his eyes. He looked upon the first hints of light.

His dream had been very vivid, more real than the world which he now faced wide-awake. So strong was it that he felt weak and shaky, barely able to wipe the perspiration from his brow.

He had found himself in a mysterious world, drowning in a reddish light or darkness, looking at everything as if through a veil of fire. He was standing in a narrow pass whose one side was washed by the sea while the other was bordered by the abrupt rise of a mountain. His feet were not touching the ground but rather, were sunk deep in a liquid that bubbled and swirled, viscous as blood. Around him he saw thousands of shadows whirling, interweaving, falling and rising. At first, not a single sound reached his ears. Then, suddenly, he heard an eerie voice, like a howl emerging from the bowels of the earth and vibrating in the air:

I will speak to you of war, struggles, love, hate, heroism, self-denial and betrayal…of a weapon, a gift from the gods, a shield which will unite the fate of three men and two women…of many nations and lands, plains and mountains, seas and cities and above all, of two places: A pass and a plain where the fate of the world will be decided.

The voice fell silent. From the edge of the sea and the top of the mountain a ray of light appeared and dispersed the reddish darkness.

Who are you? Who speaks to me? Megistias managed to whisper.

The spirit of freedom, the voice replied, just before the seer was fully awake.

Megistias did not doubt that he had received a prophecy from Zeus. He had never had such a dream in his entire life. He realised that significant events had been foretold, even though he could not as yet understand very much. The faces and places that the voice had referred to belonged to the shadows of the future. The seer was well aware that that was how the gods were. They often gave men only a few clues, testing them and leaving them ignorant of their fate. Or, as the seer had come to believe with greater conviction, they revealed different crossroads, letting men chose their own path, either toward good or toward evil. Experienced and wise, he had learned to distinguish between the choices of men and the will of the gods. The gods carved out roads and pathways but it was the will of men that led them to make their choices.

What they called fate was not a blind, chaotic power but the result of men’s will, their acts and the personal choices they made regarding following paths of virtue or evil. The gods assisted and provided help but the main pillar of support was the soul of each individual.

Chosen as he was by Zeus, the seer knew that he had seen something of the future that would be revealed to him in full at a later time. Perhaps he could even help to make it materialize, if he succeeded in understanding it.

Miletus, Asia Minor 493 B.C.

Let’s go, Aristarchos whispered, squeezing the hands of his wife and young daughter.

The walls of the city were dark, as was the camp of the besiegers. Only a few fires shone faintly in its centre.

Aristarchos opened the small door in the wall that led to a path lower down, far from the main gates. There had been no enemy attacks here and so there was no permanent guard at night, except for the patrols that made the rounds of the walls every few minutes. When the gates were checked in the morning, they would see that it had remained open and close it. They might even suspect that someone had escaped from the threatened city. But by then, Aristarchos hoped that he and his family would be far away.

Aristarchos was no coward. He had proved this when he had reached Sardis with the rebellious Ionians, fighting in the naval battle of Lades and also at the walls of Miletus. But now the battle had been lost. The rebellion was lost and so was Miletus.

Perhaps the revolt had been hopeless from the beginning. Perhaps they should not have listened to the call and promises of Aristagoras for an uprising and his rash words about freedom and the flourishing of a city freed from the Persian yoke. As everyone was saying now, even openly, Aristagoras had personal motives that were not at all altruistic. He spoke of the good of the city but he had his own interests and those of his cousin, Istiaios, a hostage in the court of the Great King Darius in the back of his mind. The revolution would have given him the chance to intervene for his return to the city, or if it was successful, to become its master. The Miletians and other Greeks of Ionia had been led astray and in spite of their heroism it seemed that now they would have to pay - in blood and tears. Perhaps they should have realised that the revolt had no hope for success when the Greeks of the mainland, for the most part, had not responded to the call of the Ionians. Only the Athenians had sent twenty ships. But they, too, turned back after the defeat at the naval battle of Lades. Now, Miletus had been left to its own to be besieged by the Persians and the soldiers from the subjugated nations of their extensive empire. In the city, the voices of those who demanded a forum to discuss the terms of surrender had increased. However, there were also others, fanatics, who preferred to go to extremes and die as heroes.

Aristarchos had disagreed. He believed that life was more valuable than a heroic death and his first duty was to save his family. For these reasons, he had decided to abandon the city, risk the Persian cordon at night and seek refuge in another Greek city.

As the door opened, Aristarchos listened attentively. There was no unusual sound.

Let’s go, he whispered.

He led the way carefully while his wife followed, holding young Dianeira’s hand.

During the day, Aristarchos had explored the area extensively from the wall. Before them stretched an open field of about three stadions¹ and then a small grove of pine trees. Behind him there was a plain with crops and olive trees as well as hillocks with pine trees and bushes, where they could hide during the day until they could distance themselves from the city. The most dangerous feat was to cross the three stadions before reaching the copse.

Walking as softly as shadows, they partly ran the first stadion. Suddenly, Aristarchos heard the clatter of a sword striking a shield.

Get down, he murmured, pulling his wife and daughter to the ground. Don’t move!

Dianeira was ready to cry from fear but she bit her lip and squeezed the hand of her mother who half covered her with her body. A blade of grass tickled her nose and a large rock pressed against her belly but the child, scarcely breathing, did not dare move.

Aristarchos placed his hand on the handle of his sword, searching the dark with his eyes. He discerned four shadows coming into view close by, like ghosts born of the night. It was an enemy patrol. He heard the same noise again and the sound of a soldier clearing his throat. The three fugitives remained motionless, at one with the earth, like a small mound. The god Hermes, guardian of fugitives, must have been watching over them for the patrol soon left, without noticing them.

Aristarchos rose, made sure that the way was clear and helped his wife and daughter to rise.

They proceeded silently and quickly to the grove where they found protection amongst the trees. They sat for a while to recover their breaths and quiet their pounding hearts.

It looks like we made it, Aristarchos murmured. The gods are guiding our footsteps.

The rest did not last long. Aristarchos was in a hurry. He wanted to distance themselves as much as possible from the city under the protection of night.

They emerged from the grove and began to walk rapidly in the plain toward the hills beyond. But the gods who often play with the fate of men - the goddess Tyche who likes sudden twists and the Fates who weave the paths of life - had other plans.

A dog’s bark was heard close by and almost immediately after, heavy foreign voices.

Near the grove, from the side that could not be seen from the walls of the city, a unit of Egyptians had set up camp.

Run, Aristarchos shouted, pointing toward the forested hills near by.

They began to run. Behind them they could hear voices giving orders, the sounds of weapons, trampling feet and barking dogs. Some Egyptians had awakened and were arming themselves. The barking dogs were getting closer and closer. The Egyptians had let them loose so that they could lead them to the fugitives.

Young Dianeira tripped and fell. Aristarchos bent down, swept her into his arms and ran as fast as he could with the weight of the child.

But the voices and the dogs’ barks became louder. Without slowing his pace, he stole a glance behind him. They had been seen and the dogs would not lose their smell. Aristarchos paused, put down the child and spoke to his wife.

Run to the hills! I’ll delay them! Go, quickly! I’ll find you in the morning.

Aristarchos, his wife cried, not wanting to leave him.

Go, he commanded abruptly so that she would not see the tears in his eyes. We don’t have time. Go!

He bent down and kissed the child who threw its arms around his neck. He freed himself almost violently, saying, Be brave Dianeira. Go with your mother! We’ll meet again in the morning. Go! He nearly shouted, pushing them away. Drawing his sword, Aristarchos changed course, running noisily, hoping to draw the attention of their pursuers away from the two women.

Without a further glance, the mother grasped the child’s hand and began to run with her.

They reached the hillock and started to climb. The night was torn apart by the sounds of dogs barking, the trampling of feet and voices. A few Egyptians had separated themselves from the others and were running towards them, following one of the dogs. The mother tripped over a tree root and collapsed. She got up and tried to continue running. A sharp pain made her cry out. She had sprained her ankle.

Go, Dianeira! Hide! she ordered. Go!

Mother! Where shall I go? the child cried tearfully.

Hide! Like we used to when we played during our outings, remember? Hide yourself well. They mustn’t find you.

The child started to run. Three Egyptian soldiers, one holding a dog’s leash, arrived and encircled the mother who ran with a limp. The dog began to growl and bared his teeth. Saliva dripped from his mouth.

What have we here? one of the soldiers cried out. In his hand was a lit torch.

He held the light close to the face of the trembling woman.

She’s not bad, Psamitichos, what do you think?

No, Rahotep. It looks like Ammon Ra has blessed us tonight. She’s a good catch. We should get something for her at the slave market.

I thought I saw two shadows, the third soldier, who held the dog, added.

Me, too. Give me the dog. We’ll continue the chase. You, go back with the woman, Psamitichos said. He took the dog’s leash, patted him on the head and turned him away from the woman, saying, Search, Horus! Search and if you find another prey, I’ll give you a nice bone with marrow, just the way you like it.

The dog growled as if he understood. He lowered his nose and sniffed the earth. He smelled new tracks, which he started to follow, pulling the Egyptian with the leash.

Day was beginning to break. Together with the two Egyptians, the dog began to clamber up the hill, barking occasionally to let them know that he was following a particular scent. He stopped in front of a bushy holm oak, sat on his hind legs and began to bark louder, baring his white teeth.

Psamitichos pulled the dog back a little, while Rahotep knelt and looked into the bush. In its depths, amidst the leaves and branches, he saw a little girl, curled like a wild animal in its nest.

It’s a little girl, he said to Psamitichos. Nechos was right.

He reached into the bush with his hand to grasp the girl and pull her out.

Suddenly, he screamed and pulled his hand away.

She bit me, he cried out.

Angrily, he extended the spear that he had left on the ground.

Psamitichos stopped him.

Calm down, Rahotep! You act as if a cobra had bitten you! She’s frightened, don’t you understand? Hold the dog and step back.

Rahotep obeyed and Psamitichos squatted in front of the bush, stretched out his hands, lowered his head and smiled at the girl, showing white teeth behind his bushy black beard.

Come out, little girl, he said softly. I’m not going to harm you. Come! I won’t touch you.

An idea came to him. He pulled an apple from the bag that hung on his belt, showed it to the girl and took a juicy bite before offering it to her.

You must be hungry, he said. I know that food was scarce in the city. Here, take it.

Slowly, hesitating, Dianeira conquered her fear. She stretched out her hand, took the apple and bit into it hungrily. The Egyptian looked at her with a smile on his face. When she finished eating, he stretched out his hand again. Feeling bolder, the girl came out of her hiding place.

Psamitichos lifted her in his arms.

Come, Rahotep. I’ve caught your wildcat. Look. She’s a beautiful little girl. How old do you think she is? Six, seven years old?

Rahotep agreed, patting the dog to quiet him.

All right, Horus! You’ve earned your bone! You’ll get it as soon as we return.

Psamitichos caressed Dianeira’s hair.

She reminds me of my daughter, he said somewhat apologetically to Rahotep.

Laconia and Messene, 486-485 B.C.

Derkylidas with his son Teleutias² walked toward the temple of Artemis Orthia and approached the bank of the Eurotas River where the workshops and huts of the helot technicians were located. A young helot from Derkylidas’ estate followed them with a sheep.

Aetios is the best shield-maker in Sparta, possibly in all Laconia, Derkylidas said. He’s a helot but he’s one of those upon whom the strength of this city lies. Without the shields and arms that they make for us, our strength would be nonexistent.

Unless we made them ourselves, Teleutias observed. I hear they do that in other cities.

Of course. Would you have liked that? His father smiled. Would you have preferred to exchange your life in your camp with a helot’s hut and your spear and shield for a hammer and anvil?

Certainly not, father, Teleutias smiled. I was born a warrior, not a craftsman.

Ah! The words of youth! Enthusiasm, passion! Derkylidas replied, satisfied and proud of his son’s answer. ‘I was born a warrior, not a craftsman.’ Do you think that someone is born a warrior or becomes one?"

Don’t origins or blood mean anything? I’m the son, grandson and great grandson of warriors, just as every citizen like me in Sparta. What else could I be?

Indeed, what? Dekrilidas echoed his question, before continuing.

Aetios is a helot, although from what I have heard, he will quickly win his freedom as compensation for what he has done for us. There has been some discussion about this among the ephors³ and the Senate and the kings will announce their confirmation within the month. You should behave with respect toward him, as befits one of your elders.

Aetios. That’s a strange name for a helot, Teleutias observed.

Indeed. They say that when he was born, on an estate at the foot of Taygetus, an eagle flew low over the hut. This was a sign from Zeus that the child would become something more than a simple estate slave or shepherd. And that’s what happened. He is now the master shield-maker of Sparta. Here we are, he said, pointing to a large structure with a wide courtyard from where the sounds of workmen could be heard.

As they passed through the entrance to the yard, Teleutias allowed his gaze to wander with interest over the different areas of the workshop. He saw helots sawing large tree trunks into smaller pieces, others who cut them into planks of even thickness, still others who planed and smoothed them, then plunged them into basins of water before taking them outside. His ears filled with the sounds of sawing and hammering, while his nostrils filled with sawdust and the smells of freshly cut wood, glue and smoke.

Call Aetios, Derkylidas ordered a young helot who immediately entered the dwelling.

A moment later, Aetios appeared at the doorway and came toward them. He had broad shoulders, naked arms with strong, clearly delineated muscles, a bushy, peppery beard which covered his lips, thick eyebrows that met, a wide nose, small eyes that shone with liveliness, and somewhat short legs. He wore a leather apron with sawdust clinging to it. In his lowered left hand he held a heavy hammer. Teleutias noticed that he limped slightly. This was exactly how he imagined the god of crafts, Hephaestos, to be.

Greetings, Aetios, Derkylidas addressed him. May the gods always keep you in their care.

Greetings, Derkylidas, the helot replied, without lowering his eyes, as if he were speaking to an equal.

Teleutias noticed that his proud father, one of the ephors of Sparta, accepted this as completely natural.

I have good news for you. The ephors have decided to grant you your freedom.

Oh, yes? Thank you, Aetios replied indifferently.

Aren’t you pleased? Derkylidas asked.

I am. I accept it as recognition for my work. But my life will not change. I will continue to make shields as long as I have strength in my hands and sight in my eyes. Always sturdy shields.

As they have been up to now. The shield that you made for me was excellent and this was confirmed at Sepeia. It survived being struck by three Argive spears. Thank you, Aetios.

Teleutias understood now. Aetios’ shield had saved the life of his father at the battle of Sepeia, years ago.

This is my son, Teleutias, Derkylidas said.

Teleutias greeted him.

He is the reason we are here today. Teleutias is going to run for Sparta in the warriors’ race⁴ in Olympia, at the next games. He needs a new shield, Derkylidas said. He needs a superb shield for the honour and glory of Sparta. Will you make it for us?

It was more a request than an order and Teleutias was left wondering for the second time that day.

Instead of replying, Aetios looked at the youth as if measuring him before making his decision. Embarrassed but proud, Teleutias held the examining gaze, looking straight into the eyes of the master craftsman. Aetios appeared satisfied with what he saw and made his decision.

I will make it, Derkylidas. I will make an excellent shield for the honour and glory of Sparta, your son and yourself.

Thank you, my friend, Derkylidas said slowly. I’ve brought a small gift for your wife, he added, showing him the sheep. I learned that you now have a son. You will, perhaps, need fresh milk that the sheep will provide. How are they?

They’re both well. The child’s cries are deafening when he’s hungry. He has strong lungs, Aetios laughed.

Like his father. Derkylidas smiled.

I’ll call for you when necessary, Aetios said. He bade them farewell and returned to the workshop. The young helot gave the sheep to one of the master shield-maker’s assistants and followed his two masters.

You were left wondering at my manner today, son, he said. "I know. That is why I wanted you to be present. My way with Aetios surprised you. I, a citizen and one of the ephors of Sparta, did not order the helot to make you a shield. I asked him and even offered a fee, even though it was disguised as a gift for his newborn son. Why? Think, Teleutias. If I had ordered him, you would certainly have acquired a fine shield. But with my manner I hope that you will acquire an excellent one, perhaps the best that has ever come out of the workshops of Sparta. A shield for glory and honour in athletic matches and battles. You would never have acquired such a shield if I had ordered him to make it. Do you understand, my son?"

Yes, father, Teleutias replied.

Never forget this. The helots are both the blessing and the curse of Sparta, Derkylidas added, as if speaking alone. "We are what we are thanks to them. They are the reason we are different from the other Greeks who fear and admire us for our military virtue. But most of them don’t know that this lies in fear. In fact, we are deeply afraid of the helots because they outnumber us. What would happen if they were to rise against us, if one day another Aristomenes were to emerge from within their ranks? For this reason, the goal of each omios⁵ is to excel at only one thing: Being a warrior and all that it entails."

Teleutias listened as his father spoke about issues that were obvious, about matters that every Spartan knew. However, his manner was different today, as if he wished to express other, deeper thoughts but for some reason, hesitated.

** ** **

Aetios travelled for many days, wandering through the plain of Laconia, even going as far north as the hills of Selasia. He also went south, following the flow of the river farther away from Amiklai, then westward, climbing up Taygetus and then down to the plain of Messene where he now found himself. He spent his days looking at trees, selecting some on which he left a mark that only he would be able to recognize. He had chosen a few, but had not yet found the one he was specifically seeking. He had made shields from many kinds of wood. Even now, for common shields he used whatever was available: walnut, beech, pine, fir, poplar, plane and cypress. He knew every wood, its advantages and flaws. With a single glance and by feeling the surface, he could sense the secrets of every tree trunk before cutting it. The trees could not keep their secrets from him. He recognized them just as he did people’s faces and perhaps even better than that, because faces change expression according to feelings and complex thoughts. The trees, too, changed. They were alive because in each one there dwelled a spirit. But they changed slowly and their existence was simple. Contrary to most people, Aetios knew that trees had feelings which they exteriorized throught their markings. Simple feelings such as joy at springtime when the sun warmed the earth again; relief and pleasure when the soft rain washed the dust from their leaves, letting them breath deeper; resignation in winter when the heavy snows made them suffer and the ice made their juices circulate with difficulty, like the blood of humans. Weren’t the new branches and leaves that sprouted in spring, with their bright colours, an expression of joy and gratitude to the goddess Demeter and her daughter Persephone who walked again on earth, scattering flowers and grass from her dress? Aetios knew how to recognize the markings on the trees and did not consider himself to be particularly wise, as perhaps others might think whenever he took the trouble to reveal the secrets of the trees to them. On the contrary, he felt blessed by the gods for the gift they had given him.

He had reached the valley below Mt. Ithomi. Here, among the grass, flowers, mastic trees, cypresses, olive trees, and pines there grew large solitary oak trees, at a considerable distance from each other. They were strong, with dense foliage that distinguished them from the pale green pines, the slender, graceful cypresses and the olive trees with their greyish fruit.

His gaze wandered around and settled on a tree. With pounding heart, Aetios approached and stood a few steps away. He let his eyes feel the darkened trunk, furrowed like the skin of a person who had been exposed for years to the elements of nature. Then, he let his eyes roam slowly up to the point where a shady dome was formed by the branches, which were weighed down by the sharp, bent leaves and smooth acorns with their thorny coverings. He closed his eyes. He now had an image of the tree in his mind and soul. He released his own spirit, letting it travel outwards to meet the spirit of the tree. It penetrated the trunk, passed through it’s exterior, which was not unlike the skin of an animal or a person, and encountered the real, living, wood with its juices flowing unobstructed. It then reached the heart and felt its texture. It was a mature tree, robust, with strong roots, but not aged. It had endured snows and ice. It had absorbed abundant water from the faraway snows that brought moisture and the earth’s nutrients and minerals to its roots, from the bowels of Ithomi and even farther, from the slopes of Taygetus, which added to its nourishment and strengthened its trunk and foliage. It had been tested by storms and wind; its branches had been weighed down by snow. But, it had survived and the hardships had toughened it even more. It had enjoyed the light breath of spring and the sweet rain of fall. It had offered hospitality to birds’ nests in its foliage and to squirrels in the