As he made his way back home he fantasised about how his father would extract retribution on his aggressors and it made him feel better. He imagined their cries as Lysander beat them while Alexander looked on. He knew who they were and where they lived and consoled himself by looking forward to what was coming. The people in the village were scared of his father. He was a hoplite, a soldier, in the Athenian army. He was a veteran of many campaigns and he was tall and powerful, his body hard from marching, training and fighting. He kept his beard thick and bushy in the manner of the fighting men, instead of short and trimmed like the other men in the village separating him even further from them and making him stand out, if his size didn't already accomplish that. It was the intensity of his gaze that made people look away, and although Alexander didn't understand it, he could see the impact it had on people.
Would his father deal with his attackers all together or individually? Would he force their parents to deal with them? Would he allow Alexander to take his own revenge? That last thought lifted Alexander's spirits as he imagined exacting punishment, the other boys having to take a beating, unable to fight back through fear of his father. He created a romanticised image of how it would go, not taking into account how little impact he would be able to have on the bigger boys in the condition he was in now, but it distracted him from the pain he felt as he made his way home.
Lysander stood waiting in the yard of the smallholding where they lived, watching Alexander as he came down the track but making no move to go to him. Alexander couldn't read his expression and continued past him into the house, followed by Lysander, and flopped on the bench. He explained what had happened, leaving nothing out including the words he had used to trigger the attack as his parents listened without comment. He saw the hard look Lysander gave to Kallias but couldn't fathom any meaning from it, so he paid it no attention. Alexander was still thinking about his revenge but his pain receded when his father asked him if he knew where the boys would be, Alexander nodded his assent.
"Come on, we're going to see them all" said Lysander, striding out of the house paying no attention to Alexander's struggles to keep up. Although it wasn't far from the farm to the village, a ridge between them made it impossible to see the village from anywhere on the farm. They followed the track up the ridge which skirted the area where they kept the few dozen cattle and goats. Once they crested the ridge, they continued down the slope into the village. They could see the rough assembly of dwellings and buildings that surrounded the village square at the centre and from their position coming down from the ridge, they could see the Panathenaic stadium on the far side where the slope levelled. As they entered the village they followed the houses around, skirting the main square. His father knew where he was going.
They found the boys together and with their fathers. The three men were in the middle of a heated discussion as one of the boys spotted their approach and tugged on his father's tunic to alert him. The three adults stopped their discussion and looked over as one, fear etched on their faces. The three boys could not raise their eyes to meet them and Alexander noted that the ground at their feet seemed to be interesting at that moment.
One of the fathers started to stammer out a greeting but Lysander stopped him dead with a gesture of his hand. The man's mouth slammed shut, eyes wide. Beetle-Brow shuffled from foot to foot, still studying his sandals. Alexander tried to hide the smile that threatened to explode onto his face.
"Alexander, apologise to these boys and their parents," Lysander said, his voice hard and uncompromising. Alexander's head snapped up to look at his father staring at him in confusion, eyes wide and mouth agape.
"Wh, what?"
His father hit him with a single, back-handed slap. The blow was shocking, a whole beating in a single strike, much shorter but much worse than the first beating from the three boys. It was not a beating, but it had the impact of one and he would have rather taken a repeat of the first one than suffer this one.
"Do it now or you will learn the true meaning of remorse," he said in a cold voice, his expression still unreadable.
Alexander's face stung from the slap and the humiliation washed over him. His father had never hit before and to have it done to him in front of the three bullies shocked and disturbed him.
"I, I, I don't understand, father," he sputtered.
"Then let me explain it to you. These men are proud Greeks. They work the land and they look after their families. They are just like me, I am also Greek. We might fight against other cities or countries sometimes, but that does not make us better than them. It does not make them better than us either. If you cannot put up with a bit of name-calling then you have a lot of growing up to do. You are half Greek and by disowning that, you have disowned me. Do you think you are better than me? Now apologise to these men". Lysander stared into Alexander's eyes the whole time he was speaking. Alexander could see the white-hot anger just beneath the surface. The sheer weight of his father's gaze intimidated Alexander more than anything he had ever experienced and he forgot all thought of revenge on the boys.
Alexander needed to try to limit the damage, even though his mind was still reeling from this turn of events. He turned to the men "Please forgive me, I had forgotten myself. I meant no disrespect to you" He could barely recognise his own voice, strained and high pitched.
The men nodded their acceptance in obvious relief and with a quick glance at Lysander they backed away, dragging their boys with them. Lysander spun on his heel and marched away without a backward glance at a deflated Alexander who did not even attempt to keep up. He was in no hurry to hasten what would happen when he arrived home. His imagination ran wild, terrifying him. He meandered back, heading home but not attempting to make progress.
His cheeks still glowed with the humiliation. He scrubbed the tears from his face with his forearm and then ran his hand through his red hair, rubbing his head in frustration. How had it gone so wrong? Three bigger boys were bullying him and he'd ended up getting punished. How was that fair? He'd managed to survive the verbal taunts and physical abuse at the hands of the bullies over the years, his light skin and red hair marking him out as a target while his father was away with the army and then the first time he needed his father's support, he'd sided with boys who'd battered him. The tears welled again and he shook his head in anger at himself and at his father. Wait to see what his mother said!
As Alexander approached the house, he could hear low angry voices coming from the inside. When he arrived at the doorway his mother's face looked pinched and strained. All thoughts of his mother speaking for him disappeared with one look at them both. They turned to look at him as he entered and his father spun on his heel and walked out of the house without a further word, his mother gave him a strange look that he couldn't quite place and then followed, leaving Alexander alone.
Alexander collapsed at the kitchen table and allowed the tears to flow. He watched as a tear dripped from his nose and landed on the table with a splash, leaving a small dark mark on the smooth wood. He stared at it as the colour started to fade, the wood drawing the moisture into itself as if thirsty. He continued to gaze at the spot and realised the dark mark had gone. He didn't know how long he sat there but realised that he didn't want his parents to find him at the table crying, so he left the house again, ignoring the discomfort from the beating earlier.
He wandered along the ridge above the village. He stopped and stared down at Agryl. It was nothing more than a loose scattering of farms and buildings surrounding a small centre of a few hundred dwellings, clinging to the foothills of Mount Hymettus on the south side of Athens. Although it was only eight stadia from the city, it was outside of the city walls as well as being separated from the city by the River Illissos. These two barriers were physical, but the differences of the village to the metropolis of Athens were greater than just distance. He could saw all of this as he walked on, but noticed nothing. The familiarity of the place rendering it unnoticed.
Everything looked the same but the place felt different now. He was different now. He no longer felt part of this place. Maybe he never had been. His father had told him that the people here were different from the Athenians and had their own character. They were proud of their history and independence from Athens. The village had been named after Aglaurus who had sacrificed herself for the city in the war against Eleusis. Aglaurus had also had a daughter to Ares, the god of war. His father said this is what attracted him to settle here when he came back from the war with Thrace many years ago. When he was a young hoplite the idea of living somewhere with a direct link to Ares appealed to him. At other times he said that he settled here because this is where the Panathenaic games were held. Alexander preferred this reason. While the village and its outlying farms weren't much, the village owned the Panathenean Stadium and every four years held the games. Village life seemed to revolve around the games for the whole four years as far as Alexander could make out. The traders took the produce to the city and brought back the provisions for the village but the villagers for the most part kept to their own outside of the games, looking after each other. Alexander knew this but it now took on new meaning. His father had sided with the villagers over him, his own son!