There could be only one answer.

It would be my duty to kill him, were I a member of the krypteia.

The lady absorbed this, her expression still betraying nothing. Now answer: if you were yourself, a friend to this helot boy, Rooster, what would you do?

I stammered something about exculpatory circumstances, that Rooster was a hothead, he often spoke without thinking, much of what he said was bluster and everyone knew it.

The lady turned toward the shadows.

Is this boy lying?

Yes, Mother!

I spun in startlement. Both older daughters were wide awake, in their shared bed, glued to every word.

I will answer the question for you, young man, the lady said, rescuing me from my predicament. I think you would do this. I think you would warn this boy, Rooster, to speak no more of such things within your hearing and to take no action, however slight-or you yourself would dispatch him.

I was now utterly discomfited. The lady smiled. You are a poor liar. It is not one of your gifts. I admire that. But you tread dangerous ground. Sparta may be the greatest city in Hellas, but it is still a small town. A mouse cannot sneeze without every cat saying God bless you. The servants and helots hear everything, and their tongues can be set a-wag for the price of a honey cake.

I considered this.

And will mine, I asked, be loosened for the cost of a bowl of wine?

The boy disrespects you, Mother! This from Alexa, who was nine. You must have him striped!

To my relief the lady Arete regarded me in the lamplight with neither anger nor indignation, but calmly, studying me. A boy in your position should rightly stand in fear of the wife of a Peer of my husband's stature. Tell me: why aren't you afraid of me?

I hadn't realized until that moment that in fact I wasn't.

I'm not sure, lady. Perhaps because you remind me of someone.

For several moments the lady did not speak, but continued regarding me with that same intense scrutiny.

Tell me about her, she commanded.

Who?

Your mother.

I flushed again. It made me squirm to think this lady divined the contents of my heart before I even spoke them. Go ahead, take some wine. You don't have to play tough in front of me.

What the hell. I took it. It helped. I told the lady briefly of Astakos, of its sack and of my mother and father's murder at the hands of the night-skulking warriors of Argos.

The Argives have always been cowards, she observed, dismissing them with a snort of contempt that endeared her, more than she realized, to me. Clearly her long ears had learned my poor story already, yet she listened attentively, seeming to respond with empathy to hearing the tale from my own lips.

You have had an unhappy life, Xeo, she said, speaking my name for the first time. To my surprise this moved me profoundly; I had to fight not to let it show.

For my part, I was summoning every ounce of self-composure I possessed, to speak correctly, in proper Greek worthy of a freeborn, and to hold myself with respect not only for her but for my own country and my own line.

And why, the lady asked, does a boy of no city display so much loyalty to this alien country of Lakedaemon, of which he is not, and can never be, a part?

I knew the answer but could not judge how much I dared entrust to her. I responded obliquely, speaking briefly of Bruxieus. My tutor instructed me that a boy must have a city or he cannot grow to be fully a man. Since I no longer possessed a city of my own, I felt free to choose any I liked.

This was a novel point of view, but I could see the lady approved of it. Why not, then, a polis of riches or opportunity? Thebes or Corinth or Athens? All that can come to you here is coarse bread and a striped back.

I replied with a proverb that Bruxieus had once quoted to Diomache and me: that other cities produce monuments and poetry, Sparta produces men.

And is this true? the lady inquired. In your most candid judgment, now that you have had opportunity to study our city, its worst as well as its best?

It is, lady.

To my surprise these words seemed to move the lady profoundly. She averted her gaze, blinking several times. Her voice, when she summoned herself again to speak, was hoarse with affect.

What you have heard of the Peer Idotychides is true. He was the father of your friend Rooster.

He was something other as well. He was my brother.

She could see me react with surprise.

You didn't know this?

No, lady.

She mastered the emotion, the grief, I now saw, that had threatened to discompose her.

So you see, she said with a smile brought forth with effort, that makes this young Rooster something of a nephew to me. And I an aunt to him.

I took more wine. The lady smiled.

May I ask why the lady's family has not sponsored the boy Rooster and put him forward as a mothax?

This is a special dispensation in Lakedaemon, a stepbrother category of youth, available to the lesser-born or bastard sons of Spartiate fathers primarily, who could despite their mean birth be sponsored and elevated, enrolled in the agoge. They would train alongside the sons of Peers.

They could even, if they showed sufficient merit and courage in battle, become citizens.

I have asked your friend Rooster more than once, the lady answered. He rebuffs me.

She could see the disbelief on my face.

With respect, she added. Most courtly respect. But with finality.

She considered this for a moment.

There is another curiosity of mind which one may observe among slaves, particularly those who spring from a conquered people, as this boy Rooster does, being of a Messenian mother. Those men of pride will often identify with the meaner half of their line, out of spite perhaps, or the wish not to seem to curry favor by seeking to ingratiate themselves on the better side.

This was indeed true of Rooster. He saw himself as Messenian, and fiercely so.

I tell you this, my young friend, for your sake as well as my nephew's: the krypteia knows. They have watched him since he was five. They watch you too. You speak well, you have courage, you are resourceful. None of this goes unobserved and unremarked. And I will tell you something more. There is one among the krypteia who is not unknown to you. This is the Captain of Knights, Polynikes. He will not hesitate to slit a treasonous helot's throat, nor do I think that your friend Rooster, for all his strength and spirit, will outrun a champion of Olympia.

The girls by now had all succumbed to slumber. The house itself and the darkness beyond its walls seemed at last entirely, eerily still.

War with the Persian is coming, the lady declared. The city will need every man. Greece will need every man. But just as important, this war, which all agree will be the gravest in history, will afford a mighty stage and arena for greatness. A field upon which a man may display by his deeds the nobility denied him by his birth.

The lady's eyes met mine and held them.

I want this boy Rooster alive when war comes. I want you to protect him. If your ear detects any hint of danger, the slightest rumor, you must come straightaway to me. Will you do this?

I promised I would.

You care for this boy, Xeo. Though he has scourged you, I see the friendship you share. I implore you in the name of my brother and his blood which flows in this boy Rooster's veins.

Will you watch over him? Will you do this for me?

I promised that what I could do, I would.

Swear it.

I complied, by all the gods.

It seemed preposterous. How could I stand against the krypteia or any other force that sought to murder Rooster? Still somehow my boy's promise seemed to ease the lady's distress. She studied my face for a long moment.

Tell me, Xeo, she said softly. Do you ever… have you ever asked anything just for yourself?