With difficulty, Aristomenes raised his head. Blood from his forehead  trickled down, into his eyes. The wounds on his head were not dangerous, but he could not move his right arm. It was evidently fractured above the elbow. 

The memory of what had happened in the morning flashed through his head. He had been walking along a narrow path above the rocks. The Spartans were after him, almost stepping on his heels. When Aristomenes slackened his pace to rest a bit, the tip of a sword would be pushed against his back. He was agonisingly thirsty. Be- fore leaving their camp, the Spartans had eaten. He saw them eat and drink wine. The younger one, a little kinder, offered Aristomenes his vial. But the elder, a viciously spiteful man, tore it out of his hands. "You don't feed hens before killing them," he said with a leer. 
Along the way, his two guards argued. The sun was scorching, and the younger man did not want to go on: kill the captive on the spot and do back. But the elder would not be budged. Aristomenes heard him say, "This one does not deserve an easy death".
It was then clear to Aristomenes that he was being taken to Kaiados. The word alone inspired terror. You found no living soul near that gaping abyss. Even birds did not make their nests near the place. 
Aristomenes halted on the very edge of the abyss. Pebbles clattered down from under his feet. He could not help closing his eyes. The elder Spartan noticed it, and hissed maliciously, "Ah, you're frightened! People were wrong to call you Fearless." 
Aristomenes was about to tell him he was called Fearless for victories in honest battle, not because a traitor had betrayed him and he, a helpless captive, was now being put to death. But before he had time to say it, the younger Spartan exclaimed, "Finish him off!" Aristomenes was pushed in the back. The last thing he heard as he was dropping through space were the words, "Off to Hades with you."
With the palm of his hand, Aristomenes brushed away the blood on his fore- head and cheeks, then, slowly, opened his eyes. High above was a bit of blue sky, round like a shield. Here and there, he saw green twigs. It was one of these bushes growing on the edge of the abyss, that had saved his life. But he would rather have died, for no one had yet returned from Kaiados. Aristomenes saw himself on the bottom of a deep stone well that grew wider below. Even if his arm were well, he would not be able to climb out. 
And, oh, how thirsty he was. His lips had swollen. His throat was inflamed. If he could only have a drop to drink before dying. Aristomenes turned on his stomach and crawled, trying not to cause pain to his fractured arm. He groped about for water, though he realised there could be none hereabouts. Oh, if he had only a drop! 
Something rustled. He saw a lizard moving about on a rock. It fixed its little yellow eyes on Aristomenes and disappeared in a crack. 
"Why flee, lizard?" Aristomenes whispered. "I would do you no harm." 
But what was that? A pile of white human bones, and a man's skull. Aristome- nes felt a chill of fear. The hair moved on his head. "What were you called, mate?" he thought. "And did you die at once, or did you look for water like me? Did you shout for help? Did the echo double your voice? While the shepherds up above fled, as though chased by evil spirits." 
Aristomenes turned his head away. He did not want to look at the skull. He knew the same fate awaited him, and that his soul would wander about the Earth until an earthquake brough I down a rock to bury his bones. 
Aristomenes closed his eyes. He recalled Androclus. The sages were right: don't call a man lucky until you know how he ends. Androclus suffered countless troubles. The Spartans burned down his house, tortured his sister, and killed his mother. He was their prisoner for three years, and dug for ore far down under the surface of the Earth. But his death had been easy. He died from wounds amidst friends. Embracing Aristomenes, he had said, "a warrior must be a fox as well as a lion." Those were his last words. And he was certainly right. Courage alone was not enough. The Spartans had outwitted him by smuggling that lame helot into their midst. During the battle, the lame man had hit him with a rock from behind, thus enabling the Spartans to capture him. 
Aristomenes half opened his eyes. Something fiery red appeared a few steps away. A fox? How did it get there? It must be a death vision: he had thought of a fox, and there it was. Soon he would see water. He would be like Tantalus punished by the gods, standing up to his chin in water and suffering thirst. The water would recede each time he lowered his lips to drink. Then the sad shades of his friends would appear. What would he, Aristomenes, say to their silent rebuke? 
"No, my friends, you Androclus, and you, Thana, the swiftest of all Hellenes, I do not fear your judgement (Thana, the Messenian, had been winner in the long-distance running at the Olympic Games).  My conscience is clear. I took in everyone on Gyra whom Sparta had turned into slaves. You will say I was careless. But to be suspi- cious is a hundred times worse than being careless. It turns close friends into ene- mies. One wretched traitor there was. But all the other helots fought like lions." 
Aristomenes moved, and the fox ran away. Pebbles showered down. Beside a rock, the fox stopped and turned its head to look back. 
Aristomenes closed his eyes, wishing to be rid of the vision. But the fox did not disappear. And he realised it was a live fox. "What do you want? Are you hungry? Did you come here smelling my blood? But how did you come? You are no lizard, and could not have come down the wall of the abyss. Or did the Spartans catch you in the henhouse, and throw you down like me? Are you waiting for me to die?" 
Aristomenes found a stone and raised it. The fox wagged its tail and vanished behind the rock. He crawled after it. But there was no sign of the fox. And again Aristomenes thought it must have been a vision. 
The rock on which Aristomenes lay had reddish spots on it. Such blemishes were usually left by water. No, not rainwater, but water from a spring. It must have run dry or changed its direction. Yet it could still be here, beneath the rock. Aristomenes raised his hand to strike at the red spots. But the stone fell out of his weak hand and dropped into the bushes. 
Aristomenes followed its flight with his eyes and noticed a kind of hollow beyond the bushes. He crawled to it and pushed the prickly branches aside. No, it was not a fox's lair. He smelled moisture. "There must be water somewhere around," he thought, and licked his dry lips. Aristomenes stuck his head and shoulders into the hollow, but the pain in his arm was so agonising that he lost consciousness for a minute. 
He crawled on. Now his entire body was in the hollow. "If this is a dead end, I will not be able to back out of it," he thought, but kept crawling forward. 
The tunnel grew wider. Soon, 
Aristomenes could move on all fours. "How dark it is," he thought. "What if this is the descent to Hades, and I will find myself among the dead like Odysseus. But there are rivers in Hades —the Acheron and Lethe. I will drink, drink, drink". 
The tunnel grew wider and higher. Finally, Aristomenes was able to rise to his feet. Stumbling from exhaustion, brushing against the walls with his shoulders, he kept walking forward until the soles of his feet felt an icy cold. 
Water! Aristomenes lay down on the ground and took his first gulp. Water! It was better than the nectar the gods were said to be drinking on Mount Olympus. No, this was not the water of the Lethe, which made you forget everything that has happened to you. Aristomenes remembered his duty to the living. The Spartans were mistaken to celebrate victory. Their sacrifices to the gods were wasted. Their dream of turning Messenians into helots was in vain. 
Those besieged on Mount Gyra no longer waited for Aristomenes. They saw the Spartans lead him away. And no captive had ever escaped from the Spartans. Yet he would come back. And they would consider it a miracle. He would lead them into battle again. Now, he would be more careful. Caution is not the same as suspi- ciousness. And cunning is simply a knowledge of life, the skill to avert blows of fate. 
Aristomenes was walking with his feet in water. It was still too early to think of revenge. Did the cave have an exit? Or would he walk on and on until he died from hunger? 
But the fox — did it not come this way? Fox, dear little fox, where are you? 
Something white lay in front. Was it a dead man's bones again? Was it some- one who had also looked for an exit, and had failed to find one? 
No, it was not a skeleton. It was a ray of light. It reached him through an open- ing covered with greenery. Stretching his well arm forward, Aristomenes strode towards the light. To avoid hitting his head against the rock, he pulled it in and, brushing his shoulders against the walls, feeling no pain, he ran. 
Finally, the fingers of his hand reached for the branches. He pushed them aside, and the first thing he saw was the tail of the fox — fiery red like the sun. 

Alexander Nemirovsky, "Tales Of The Ancient World"

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