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A gust of warm wind strummed the bowstring. A brittle note that I could hear and see from the corner of my eye.
My elbow was too high again. I relaxed my shoulder and adjusted my elbow, pulling it a bit further behind this time.
I was ready.
The strawboard nailed to a tree in front of me had six arrows sticking from it. None of them were close to the centre. A few flew past the tree into the thickets that surrounded the archery range.
I closed one eye and narrowed the other, focusing on a trajectory that was mostly wishful thinking and very little certainty. The sight of those poorly aimed arrows sticking from the board, some of them at a ridiculous angle, laughed back at me. Even the sun played games with my eyes, flickering through the leaves of tall plane trees above me.
I took a deep breath, forcing it through a constricted throat as if expanding my chest would break my posture.
Twigs snapped behind me. Footsteps.
My body went tenser than the bowstring.
I chose this spot on purpose, the remotest archery range I knew of, where I wouldn’t hear the snickering of other boys from the agoge at my futile attempts to hit the mark or the exasperated huffs of the trainers.
“You’re holding your elbow too high, Brasidas.”
His voice was as set as it could be, a clean-cut observance.
“What in Hades are you doing here, Salaithos?”
I lowered the bow and turned to face him, feeling my face grow hot in an instant.
He raised his eyebrows, clearly taken aback by my harsh tone. I was glad he was because Salaithos was the last person I expected or wanted to see.
He held his arms locked behind his back, like a senior inspecting a novice, his chin held high as always, showing signs of a light stubble that started to grow. His hair gleamed under the sunlight, a tusled mess of wavy locks of auburn red, woven with strands of gold.
“I guessed I might find you here,” he said.
He must’ve feigned taking offence because he smiled as if nothing was wrong.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Maybe I came here to see if you needed any help.”
He never overdid it. It was always like this, a carefully chosen word that he knew would vex me, his tone annoyingly calm but playful at the edges. If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t doubt their sincerity. But with him, I could never tell. It perplexed me why he was like that when he talked to me. I saw none of it when he spoke to other boys of our age, older ones or our trainers.
“Do I look like I need your help?”
I gritted my teeth when I blurted the words out. I was the worst archer in our group. He was the best. Of course he was. Those lean arms could pull the tightest string with effortless precision, relaxed and tense exactly where it was needed, with all the certainty that I lacked.
His eyes darted over to the board, where everything was plain as the sun. He could laugh, but he didn’t. His smile didn’t change as he looked back at me.
He gestured at a chopped trunk at the edge of the archery range. “May I sit?”
This time it was me who was taken aback. I felt a drop of sweat trickle down my brow.
“Why?”
I could’ve said no. I could’ve sent him away.
“It took me some time to reach this place,” he said, eyeing me under lowered eyebrows. “Can I at least rest for half an hour? I’ll be gone then if you still wish so.”
Heat rose to my cheeks.
“I didn’t invite you to come here,” I said, trying my best to keep my voice calm. “It was your own time to waste.”
A raised eyebrow. “You’re right.”
He sat down on the trunk, resting his forearms on his knees. “I won’t say a single word if that bothers you. Promise.”
It would be easier if he argued or gave me the slightest reason to punch him. He might’ve been a far better archer, but he wouldn’t find it that easy to stand in a fight with me. I proved that a week ago. We drew lots at the training ring before a sparring session and paired up for the first time in a long time. I had often observed him when he practised, not only with the bow but also with the spear, sword and shield. He chiselled the postures to perfection over the years, and as he grew from a boy to a young man, he became strong like a bull, despite his lean form. I was nervous when we faced each other that day, trying to recall the moves he preferred, how he lunged into an attack, how he parried and blocked. He was as surprised as I was when he failed to take me down as quickly as he used to with the other boys. We grappled in the dust, sweaty and coated in coarse sand, resorting to unpredictable moves as time passed and none of us showed any sign of tiring or gaining the upper edge. The other boys and trainers gathered in a circle around us, some of them shouting encouragement to him, some to me. He was faster, but I was stronger. His tactics to tire me didn’t work, and my tactics to grab hold of him and land him on the ground were equally useless. When I saw the first sign of his concentration dwindling, I surged to take advantage of it. He slid from my grip over his shoulders like a cat, but his eyes got more wary and more alert. The second time I saw a chance, I stole one of his prized moves and lunged into a slide towards his feet and hooked his leg. He lost his balance and stumbled on the ground. I leapt on top of him with my whole weight, pinning his arms down and squeezing him firmly between my thighs. He looked at me completely breathless, his chest heaving wildly under mine. Those blue eyes of his pierced through me and brought my strained breathing to a sudden stop.
“I yield,” he shouted. The match ended with a clamour of hooting and whistling from the entertained crowd.
I should’ve let him go as soon as he said that. He smiled in a way that I’d never seen before.
“We should do this again, don’t you think?”
Blood thumped like crazy in my temples. I scrambled up on my feet too quickly, scraping my knees on the ground worse than during the fight. The smile never left him as I straightened up. I offered him my hand and he took it, standing up with his face but an inch from mine. Anyone watching us would think there was a silent contest unfolding between us. Salaithos was rarely beaten in a sparring session, so it was natural to assume he would want to settle for a rematch.
“Good fight, Brasidas.”
That was all he said.
Maybe he changed his mind, so he followed me to the archery range. It wasn’t unheard of that boys would sometimes settle their grudges away from others, where there would be no seniors to reign in the fight under fair rules. Such things always ended in harsh punishment. Lack of discipline was not tolerated.
Salaithos wouldn’t be so stupid.
He watched me as I twisted my thoughts. If he came for a fight, he hid it well. I couldn’t read any sign of resentment from him. But then again, I never could glimpse what was beyond his veneer. It infuriated me.
When I gave him nothing but a cold stare, he lowered his back on the trunk, raised one leg on it and clasped his hands over his stomach. I could swear he smirked when he rested his head on the trunk and closed his eyes.
I turned to face the board again, feeling my jaw go stiff. I took a few deep breaths to clear my mind and shook my limbs to shed away the jitters.
Focus, Brasidas. Focus on the board and forget the bastard lying there.
I nodded to my own encouragement, grounded my feet and lifted the bow, feeling it wet in my sweaty palm. I gripped it tighter and drew the bowstring, sharpening my senses over every muscle of the arm and back. From the corner of my eye, I saw Salaithos turn his head towards me. I brought my index finger to my lip, smoothing the draw to a halt.
“Stop.”
His voice had no bite it in.
My body obeyed, to my utter confusion. I was ready to release the arrow, but my fingers turned to iron.
I saw him get up and then he disappeared from my range of vision, slipping silently behind my back.
I wasn’t breathing.
“The shoulder’s better.”
He was less than an arm’s length behind me.
“Your back, though... may I show you?”
Gods know what was going through my mind when I said “yes” without a second thought. I didn’t have the slightest idea what I was expecting to happen. I certainly didn’t expect to feel his palms on my back. They were warm, but I felt my skin prickle as if a cold wind blew past me. A breath escaped my lungs, and with it the arrow flew away, leaving behind it a dull twang on the bowstring. At the very least, it hit the board.
“Nock another one,” he said. His hands remained on my upper back, seeping warmth through my skin.
I swallowed dry and reached to the stump next to me, hip-height, with holes to stick the arrows in.
I drew again, filling my lungs as I brought the bow upward. My muscles stretched under his palms.
“There.” His thumb pressed a spot in my back. “You never fully engage your shoulder blades. Squeeze them harder together.”
I did as he said. He was right. As I pushed my shoulder blades closer, I felt a dull crack of bones.
“Good.”
His hands moved, sliding up my shoulder.
My mind went numb. I remembered the rumours we tossed around when we were still rowdy children with only a wild imagination to keep us entertained. Salaithos must have some divine blood in him, we whispered among each other.
How else would he be faster, stronger and keener than any of us?
How else could I explain the paralyzing effect he had on me, with nothing but a touch and a few words, warm and soothing as a hearth in cold winter?
“Another thing,” he said.
When I thought it couldn’t get any more maddening than it was, his hands travelled down the length of my back, fingers curving slightly as he raked soft trails over my skin.
The bowstring quivered.
His hands stopped at my lower back. He pressed both thumbs from each side.
“Flatten your back. It will help you keep your stance firmer.”
My body moulded under his touch, like clay in the hands of an artist.
When he moved away from me, the only thought I had was that I wished he didn’t.
The arrow flew. The twang was right. The path was straight. It didn’t hit the centre, but it was closer than the rest of the sorry bunch.
“Much better!”
There was heartfelt enthusiasm in the way he exclaimed this which made me even happier than the shot I made.
He went back to sit on the trunk. I spared him a glance and saw him smiling. I tried my best not to smile back.
I kept drawing and releasing, one arrow after the other, going back and forth to the straw board to pluck the arrows. He seemed pleased with the well-aimed streak that followed his instruction. When I felt my muscles strain with fatigue, I ignored it and kept shooting.
“You won’t take a break?” he said.
I furrowed my brow and drew again.
“I’m not tired,” I lied.
He patted his knees and rose to his feet. “Well then, I think I should be going back. It’s been more than half an hour that you’ve had to endure my presence.”
I released the arrow. “Don’t get lost on your way back.”
I didn’t look at him, but I heard something like a soft chuckle. He stood there for a few moments, shifting on his feet, and then walked away.
My stomach twisted as if I did something truly horrible.
No, let him go. You didn’t even want him here, remember?
“Wait.”
We turned and faced each other at the same moment. He considered me with a slightly raised eyebrow. My cheeks flushed with heat again.
“You can stay,” I muttered. “If you want, that is. I know I’m not much of a company.”
“I can’t argue with that. It’s a pity that you always wear such a sour face.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’ll stay, but only if you stop playing bow and arrow.”
“I’m not playing.”
“All right, practising.” He strode past me, brushing my shoulder with his. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
“What? Where?”
“There’s a place not far from here, at the river bank,” he said as he collected the arrows from the straw board into a leather quiver. “I usually go there when I want some peace. There’s also a lot of rabbits running around if you feel like honing your skill on a moving target.”
He grinned and turned on his heel, pushing his way through the thickets that surrounded the archery range.
He didn’t even look back to see if I went after him. He was that sure that I would. And I did.
--
We went straight to hunting. Salaithos was excited when I agreed to shoot first. He flushed the rabbits out of the bushes and whorls of grass that grew lush at the riverside. My arms and back were tired from the practice, and the furry animals were zig-zagging and jumping too fast. Two successful shots were a better score than I expected.
When I handed him the bow, he took it eagerly and shot three rabbits in the same amount of time it took me to track and shoot a single one. I watched him as he prepared to take his shot, with those sea-blue eyes of his full of whetted focus, his muscles curving under taut skin. In summer, his skin never browned as much as mine. It drank the sun until it reached a light, tawny shade. His hair became more golden, with just a hint of auburn.
He huffed after the last shot and said he had enough of it. I tied our catch by the legs and slung it over my shoulder.
“Let’s go,” he said and brushed his fingers over my wrist, beckoning me to follow. I didn’t ask where.
We walked side by side along the silvery stretch of the Eurotas, leaving imprints of our bare soles on the soft shoal, wading into the shallows when the path was blocked by jutting stones or twisted roots.
At first, we didn’t speak. He broke the silence, commenting this or that, pointing out a deer drinking in the distance or an eagle circling high in the air, picking up pebbles from the river bed and throwing them in front of us, or handing them to me to throw. We discussed the moves we practised and the tactics we learned about. We shared stories of battles and deeds of valour that we heard from older soldiers.
He had a brisk tongue, but the thoughts he bent into words were never careless. When I talked, he listened, shaking his head softly. I found myself talking about things I’d never shared with anyone, not even my few closest friends. When he peppered our conversation with quips and jokes, I found myself smiling at them, even laughing.
We walked and walked, until he stopped under a willow that branched as a dome. He sat down on a stone washed by the river, dipped his feet into the water and relaxed his back on the trunk of the willow. I sat down next to him, my shoulder but an inch away from his.
“This is the place you told me about?”
He didn’t meet my eyes. “What place?”
“The one where you seek peace?”
“Oh.” Now he looked at me. “We passed it a long time ago.”
We sat in silence, watching the sun trail over the cloudless sky. The burbling river flowed over our feet, numbing my muscles with its cold touch, soothing my mind filled with the buzz of bees and chirping of birds in the branches above us.
“How did you know I was at the archery range?”
I looked at him when I got no answer. His eyes were closed shut, but then he smiled.
“I saw you there some time ago.”
He tilted his head and opened his eyes right when I furrowed my brow.
“I didn’t stay to watch you, don’t worry. I know you like to be alone, so I went on to my own business.”
He took his time to observe how I reacted to his words. I could call it a habit by now.
I could gaze at those eyes the whole day. I’ve seen the sea twice in my life, and now I looked at it again. His pupils were surrounded by a foam that the waves made when they slapped the hull of a ship, and the edge of his eyes were dark, bottomless seas.
“When I saw you pick up your bow and arrows this morning, I guessed you would come this way.” He pursed his lips. “I don’t think you need to hide to practice with the bow. It’s not easy to master, everyone knows that. The rest struggle with it, too.”
I let out a puff of air. “Easy for you to say. You’re good at everything, even the bow.”
He laughed and pulled his legs out of the water. I think he moved a bit closer to me as he folded his arms around his knees.
“I’m not good at everything. There’s one thing that always gives me a headache.”
“What is that?”
“You.”
I felt my stomach drop.
“Is this about the sparring match?”
He rolled his eyes. “Is that why you think I followed you?”
“It crossed my mind, yes.”
“Well, it’s not. You were better than me. It was a fair match. I’d just like to know if there’s a chance we could do more than just be sparring partners once a year.”
My limbs went numb as if I was submerged in the ice of the water.
“What do you mean?”
“We could talk sometimes, like today. I enjoyed it. Did you?”
I wasn’t breathing. How could I say anything with the breath stuck in my lungs?
“I did. Yes.”
His smile widened.
“I tried talking to you before, but you were always so tight-lipped and sombre. You would walk past me without even saying hello as if I wasn’t there. I swear it’s easier to best you in a fight than get more than three words out of you.”
“You proved the opposite.”
His chuckle sent ripples through my chest.
“You see? I didn’t waste my time coming here after all.”
My nerves jittered to the point of fraying, but the raw boldness of his words was like a balm. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. My body grew roots, tangling with his roots in the damp earth under us.
“I also don’t think it was a waste.”
Gods know why I even said that, but I did, with a confidence that I didn’t know I could muster.
“You’re a strange one, Brasidas. I came after you today expecting you’d send me off with an arrow pointed to my face.”
He was right. I was sure he came to mock and taunt. I wouldn’t think twice before rolling his face in the dirt if he said or did a single thing to provoke me.
I could feel his gaze spill like warm liquid over the lines of my face.
“Sometimes I wonder what’s gotten in my head that I like you so much.”
I watched his lips form every word of that sentence.
“I can tell you why,” he continued. “You’re sharp as a tack. You’re patient and generous with others. I’ve seen it many times – you’ve never turned down someone who came to you for help or advice. On the training ground, you blend strength with grace like nothing I’ve seen before.”
“You’re exaggerating.”
“It’s what my eyes see. And you play the aulos like Apollo himself.”
“Not only exaggerating, but also deaf as a stone. I hope Apollo will forgive you for what you’ve just said.”
We both laughed. He dropped his gaze to the ground between us, spattered with tiny stones, water washed to a rounded white. Red rose from his neck to his face.
He met my eyes again. “I can also show you what I like about you.”
He stretched his hand to me, palm facing up. I thought my heart would burst to pieces if I touched him. He held my hand in the cup of his palm like a delicate thing. I felt a rush of calm swell over my body as if my skin drank it from his. His thumb closed over my fingers and he turned my hand so that he could slide his fingers between mine.
“This.” His voice was almost a whisper.
His fingers untangled from mine and slid down my arm, tips brushing tips over the bends and crooks of my muscles.
“And this.”
My breath came out broken when he touched the curve of my neck.
“This, too.”
His hand cupped my neck. A thumb traced the line of my jaw. When it reached my parted lips, I became aware of my breath slipping ragged through them.
This. He didn’t say it out loud. He poured the word in my mouth with a kiss, a soft touch of the lips that robbed me of all thoughts and feelings. His smell snaked its way into my lungs, carving its signature in my memory. Salt and earth. I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
I was sure he could hear my heart thumping furiously, brimming to a point where it would no longer fit in my chest.
His breath was the first thing that betrayed him: trembling in my dry mouth, just like my own. The hand cupping my neck, too.
We were breathless when he pulled away as if we ran for hours. He sifted through my eyes, searching and searching. His lips moved, forming words of silence. Lips that were pressed on mine a moment before, soft and slow and gentle.
He swallowed hard. “I…I don’t know why…”
I caught his fleeing boldness mid-air. My hand went around his neck and I pulled him towards me, landing my lips on his, crushing our noses and bashing our teeth. He was surprised. I was too. Surprised, shocked at my own strength as I drew him whole in my arms. Closer. I wanted him closer.
A raspy hum escaped his throat and slid between my lips, bidding me open my mouth. His tongue was hot when it brushed over mine. His mouth was a spring gushing sweet water that made me thirst for more, and more.
Hands went all over me. Mine went over him. Time got caught between our breaths and touches. We had such power.
The world seemed unchanged around us. The sun hung in the sky, baking the air. The river never stopped flowing. The birds and bees whirred and buzzed, minding their own business. The willow didn’t care our naked backs scratched and pushed on its bark. We should still be made of the same flesh and bones, too. I only half-believed that.
I dared not open my eyes. He was leaning at my side, head resting on my shoulder, one leg pulled over mine. My hand was sweaty in his, knotted in a tight lump over my chest. We stretched the silence sweet as honeyed wine.
“We should get back soon,” he murmured in my ear.
We should. I didn’t want to.
I cracked open my eyes and found him looking at me. He didn’t want it either.
“About what I said…” He licked his lips. “You think we could talk more often? Spend some time together?”
I lifted my eyebrow.
“We could give it a try,” he said. “Maybe you’ll consider me a friend after some time.”
I felt a blush creeping on my face as I smiled. “A friend?”
“I’d like that, yes.”
I don’t know if it was him who leaned on my lips or if I pulled him on mine.
“And how should I consider this?” I said.
“How do you want to consider it?”
He had the question ready to clash with my own.
“I don’t do this with friends.”
“But you’d do it with me?”
I found my answer in his eyes, on his lips, in the warm puff of his breath so close to me. Yes. A hundred times yes.
“Yes.”
Once was enough.
I made him smile. How I loved it.