The Argive Ch. 001-005

"To what, Mother?"

Doris gave him a sad smile. "To smooth over your mistakes."

Praxis stiffened. "I will defend my decision to fight if I must. I didn't realize I needed to seek permission to protect our people. The kings of old would have gone to war for lesser pretenses."

Doris nodded. "That may be true but Damian is the king we have. We have to always know our place."

Her words spoke volumes about the way she treated her relationship with her husband. Doris was the second wife of Damian. His first wife, Eulalia, was the mother of Xanthos. By all accounts, the match between Damian and Eulalia had been a love match, creating a true bond between them.

The marriage between Damian and Doris was political. At one time, Praxis' real father had ruled over Argos, taking Doris as a wife when they weren't much older than Praxis was now. When he fled the city shortly after Praxis was born, there was an opening in the city's leadership--an opening that Damian filled. He increased his legitimacy by marrying Doris, further cementing his power.

Doris always knew that their match was never about love. She was also careful to always stay in his good graces, lest he decide that he didn't need a second wife (and an errant stepson) after all.

"All I'm saying is to think harder before you make any rash decisions," she said, fussing over his hair like the good mother that she was.

"I promise you that I won't give him any further reasons to disown us," said Praxis, softening his tone. "I just did what I thought was right."

She hushed him and then pulled him in for an embrace. "I know you did, my son. You're the best thing about my life. The one person I'm the most proud of. You have big things destined for you. Of that I have no doubt."

"Mother," said Praxis, rolling his eyes playfully. "You're doing it again."

"What? Embarrassing you?"

Praxis nodded.

Doris smiled at him. "It's a mother's prerogative after all."

Praxis never got the chance to respond to that. Suddenly, the doors of his mother's chambers were thrown open with a deafening slam. Two of the household guards marched into the room--men that were owned by Damian.

Praxis' stomach dropped.

"Praxis, you are summoned to see King Damian at once," bellowed the closest guard. "You are to answer for your gross misconduct today!"

Doris gave him a fearful look. The grip on his arm tightened.

"Strength to you, my son. You're going to need it."

Chapter 3: King Damian

The walk to see King Damian was longer than it should have been. Praxis' footsteps echoed along the halls of the palace as the guards trailed just behind him, their hands on their swords as a precaution. Praxis suspected they'd been ordered to take him unwillingly if he refused to cooperate but part of him wondered whether he could take both of them down before they knew what was happening.

"Wait here," grunted one of the guards when they finally reached Damian's study.

Praxis took a moment to look around. His eyes locked on a small statue just outside Damian's study. It was a depiction of Damian in battle, his shield held against his body and his sword hoisted high. Praxis resisted the urge to smile.

Damian was no warrior. Like his son, he had more of a mind for politics. He typically let others do his fighting for him, which was why the tenuous truce between Damian and Praxis held.

It was a truce that would be sorely tested today.

"Enter!" called out a voice from inside the study.

Praxis dipped his head to go into the room, finding the King of Argos sitting before him. Damian was watching him upon entry, his tired and stressed eyes centering on Praxis. It was a stare that Praxis was used to. He knew that Damian merely tolerated him, mostly because of their shared link through Doris. Otherwise, he had no illusions at what might happen without having that shared connection.

King Damian was an older man, nearly fifty in age. His face was soft--not having the worn and wrinkled quality of someone who was used to hard labor or combat. His hair was thinning and graying, scarcely covering half of his head. His eyes--the same eyes that his son possessed--were cold and gray.

Praxis expected to be chastised right from the start but Damian managed to surprise him even now.

"I've heard that you saved my son's life today," said Damian with a reserved tone. "Xanthos tells me that you came to his aid when he was already on the ground. Is this true?"

Praxis nodded, wondering just how embellished the tale was coming from Xanthos' own mouth. In his version, he probably told Damian that he had the attacking Cynurian right where he wanted him, just about to deliver his own killing blow.

If nothing else, Damian had the good sense to see through his son's lies at least. He was remarkably good at sifting through Xanthos' words to find the nuggets of truth underneath.

"That is true," replied Praxis. "If I hadn't been there, I don't think he would have managed to return to the city."

The statement was shocking in its own right but not to Damian. He knew his son took after him, lacking the martial qualities of a true fighter. Praxis suspected it was one of the reasons why he was so reluctant to use the army.

Damian was the kind of man that despised the things he couldn't do for himself.

"Your actions today were rash and irresponsible," said Damian, his tone stiffening and dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea how much work you've created for me? The Cynurians are nothing but pests. Best to be swatted at until they go away."

"I believe I did enough swatting today to get the message across," replied Praxis, struggling to contain a grin.

Damian's nostrils flared. "Don't get cute with me, boy. Your mother is the only reason I don't exile you from the city right now. If not for her, I'd have you whipped in the public square so that all of Argos could see that no man is above the law."

"And whose law is it that permits our enemies to run freely over our lands?" challenged Praxis. "Was it Zeus himself that empowered you to look the other way as our villages burned? As our people were killed and our women raped? You do nothing like a drunken fool. You are no better than Dionysus drinking as his city burned around him."

"Enough!" yelled Damian, standing to his feet. "You will remember who you're talking to, boy! I'm the rightful king of this city, and it's within my prerogative to have you killed right now for your disobedience!"

Praxis opened his mouth to argue but he found the strength to close it instead. Egging him on was only going to make the situation worse. In the back of his mind, he could already hear the stern reproach from his mother.

Praxis started speaking again in a much more measured tone. "I did what I thought was right. The Cynurians haven't respected our borders for long enough. They are an errant dog that nips at the heels of a wolf, never expecting the wolf to put him in his place. What I did today, I did for the integrity of Argos."

"The integrity of Argos," repeated Damian, shaking his head. "No, what you've done is push us further into a dangerous situation. Since you're so knowledgeable of the political situation to make decisions on your own, I'll ask you this. Who is the primary ally of the Cynurians?"

That was an easy question to answer.

"The Spartans," replied Praxis.

"Ah, the Spartans," spat Damian, rising to his feet. "The main force behind the Cynurians. It's the Spartans that dictate what happens on the Peloponnese and no one else. Not us, not the Corinthians, and certainly not those catamite Achaeans. We might play at being a power in Greece but our power pales in comparison to theirs. And your actions today have only spit in their faces."

"I did not spit in their face," said Praxis quickly, only to be interrupted by Damian.

"You did," insisted the king. "The Spartans have earned the right to throw their weight around. Their army is powerful--three thousand warriors that far outnumber any other army in Greece. And what you've done is show them they don't have total control over the Peloponnese. You smacked their slaves like you had the right to discipline them but you don't. That right is only reserved for the master. And this new alliance they have further complicates things."

"Alliance," scoffed Praxis, shaking his head. "You've already spoken of slaves? That alliance is true slavery--slavery to Sparta! Corinth and Achaea are now nothing more than satellite cities to Spartan hegemony, as will be the rest of the Peloponnese if we don't stand up to them."

"You know nothing about the way the world works, boy," replied Damian. "Just because you're good with a sword, you think you know a thing or two about politics. Let me tell you this. The Cynurians can raid wherever they want. They can come right up to Aspida hill and take turns shitting in the fertile soil and I'll do nothing. Do you know why? Because the second we slap the Cynurians, we might as well be slapping the Spartans. And we won't stand a chance against the Spartans."

"So you say but we have a powerful army," replied Praxis. "Our men can fight and they will fight for their freedom. They won't be willingly enslaved by the Spartans."

"Not willingly, no. It's the unwilling part that I don't doubt. And when it comes to unwilling subservience or a war that will see the total subjugation of Argos, I know which I would pick."

Praxis found his blood close to boiling again. "You say such words as the king of this city and yet you would willingly give up our freedom to new masters. King Abas would be wailing in the afterlife if he saw what you were doing to our city. What kind of king are you?"

"I'myour king," said Damian with a sneer. "And you will obey my commands, or you'll be the second member of your family to be banned from the city."

"My father was not banned!"

"Enough!" yelled Damian again, resuming his seat. "I will hear no more of this! You are not to bring up your coward of a father again. His time in this city is done. As yours will be too if you keep up this foolish path. In the future, you are to leavemy army alone. I give the commands in Argos, not you. If you ever lead my army out of the city again without any kind of explicit orders, I will follow through on my threats to exile you. And I might include your precious mother with you."

Praxis held his tongue at that last statement, something that Damian jumped on immediately.

"Oh, yes," said the king, savoring each word. "Don't think that I wouldn't send her packing too. She was useful in the early part of my reign but her son keeps being a thorn in my side. I'm not above sending her out to teach you a lesson either. Maybe then you'll learn to think about how your actions affect us all. Now get out of my sight."

Praxis said nothing. He gave no goodbyes nor did he bow. He simply turned on his heel and marched out of the king's study, making his way back to his mother's quarters. He knew exactly what she was going to say when he arrived.

That he should have listened to her. That he should show Damian more respect. That the king knew what was best for the city.

But it was hard for him to keep a straight face. Damian would push Argos into submission to the Spartans. And they would lose their cherished independence, becoming just another faceless city of slaves ready to bark when their master called for it.

And Praxis swore he would never let his city come to that fate.

It was as he was walking back to his mother's chambers that he crossed the central courtyard of the palace--the only place where the commoners of the city could pass through the palace on their own business. It was here that Praxis noticed that a girl was staring at him as she wheeled a small cart of pottery behind her.

Not just any girl. She was a mischievous-looking redhead, the kind with long and shiny hair blessed by Hera herself. She was tiny in stature but her flawless figure and coy smile seemed to indicate a strength of character that went beyond her small size.

What was even more telling was that she was looking directly at Praxis.

"You fought well today, foreigner," she called out, giving him a smile with no teeth. "My brother tells me you fought off nearly the entire Cynurian army yourself."

"Your brother likes to exaggerate," replied Praxis, chuckling to himself. "I had a lot of help in the process."

"He said you would say that," she replied as she tugged on her cart once more. "Humble and a gifted warrior. The women will have to watch out for you."

Praxis said nothing to that. He smiled and looked at the ground but when he looked up at her again, she was already moving away from him. She paused briefly to look back at him.

"See you around, foreigner," she called out before she continued to walk, her lovely hips swaying from side to side.

"Yes, I will see you around too," replied Praxis quietly.

Chapter 4: Foreigner

Praxis was still thinking about the redhead as he arrived at his mother's chambers. It wasn't so much her beauty that he was thinking about (although that played a larger role than he was willing to admit) but more what she'd called him.

In fact, it was the name that many called him by in the city of Argos.

Foreigner.

It had all started because of his father, a man that wasn't native to the city of Argos. He became the king for a short while, marrying Doris and fathering Praxis before something happened to make him leave the city, but it was always this facet that was up for debate.

Damian liked to say that he was kicked out of the city--banned for all time but Praxis had never been able to get the truth out of his mother.

In her eyes, his real father had ceased to exist. And there was no power on earth that could make her speak of him.

That didn't mean that Praxis didn't yearn for the truth. He wanted to know more about his father and especially why he, as his son, was still called foreigner despite living in the city all his life.

Perhaps then he could figure out why he was never truly accepted by the Argives.

Like he expected, Praxis found his mother waiting by the door, her worry clear as day on her face. She let out a sigh of relief once she saw him, soon rushing in for an embrace.

"You're in one piece, thank the gods!" said Doris, hugging her son. "I was dreadfully worried about you!"

"Not for lack of trying," muttered Praxis, pulling back from his mother. "I don't know how you tolerate that man. Not one brave bone in his body. Cowardly."

Doris was quick to shake her head. "Damian provides for me. You don't know what might happen to us without his generosity."

"It's generosity that we don't need," said Praxis. "I can take care of the family."

Doris smiled at her son. "And how would you do that? You don't have a talent for farming and the last time I saw you with pottery, you made it all misshapen. You're a warrior, my son. And warriors don't get paid to fight and kill."

Praxis didn't respond to that directly. Instead, he moved to a bowl of water sitting nearby. He put his hands in the water and then splashed some on his face, rubbing his skin in the process.

He took a deep breath before the next words came out of his mouth.

"Mother, will you tell me about my father?" asked Praxis.

Doris stiffened as the smile dropped from her face. She looked at the ground as if her eyes were glued to it. "I do not have any information about your father, Praxis."

"You must know something. Who was he? What was he? Where is he now? Why does every person in this city call me foreigner? Why do they all seem to know what I do not?"

Doris made a pained face. She gave her son a wounded expression. "You ask me things that I do not speak about. Things that upset me greatly. I will not talk about them. The time I spent with your father was another lifetime ago. Our marriage was cursed by Apollo himself, which was the reason why he abandoned us. Why do you wish to know about a man that so willingly gave you up?"

It was a fair question. In Doris' eyes, Praxis' father left them of his own volition. He abandoned his responsibilities to his family and she rightfully cursed him for it.

By all accounts, Praxis should hate the very mention of him but he couldn't help the innate curiosity that stemmed from wanting to know where he came from.

There had to be more to it than that.

"I just have a feeling there's more to the story," he mumbled.

Doris shook her head. "That is the entire story. He's gone and he's never coming back. Why would he come back? He has nothing here in Argos. Not you or me. That's even if he is still alive, which I doubt."

Praxis swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded sullenly. Seeing his expression, Doris rushed to embrace him again, putting her hands against his cheeks.

"Don't be upset, my son," she urged. "You are a good man. You are nothing like that bastard that left us. I know you seek to understand your origins and maybe you will in time but there is nothing but pain when you look at the past. It's best for it to stay gone."

Praxis nodded. "Yes, Mother. Forgive me for asking."

She smiled and patted his cheek. "There is nothing to forgive. I'm so incredibly proud of the man you've become. Only twenty years of age and already a legend in your own city. I don't blame you for wanting to know about the past, but sometimes things are better left there instead of bringing them to the present."

That seemed to settle the matter for now, and Doris said nothing further about the question. It still gnawed at him though, even if he wouldn't admit it aloud. Later on that evening, Praxis was sharpening his sword when Theron paid a visit to his quarters.

"Already practicing for the next battle?" joked his friend. "How sharp does that thing need to be anyway?"

Praxis smiled as he checked the tip with his thumb. "The blade can never be too sharp. I'd be much less effective if I had to hack my opponents to death."

"Maybe less effective but no less famous," teased Theron as he made his way inside. Theron walked around the room, never once settling into a seat.

Seeing as Praxis had known Theron since they were boys, it became obvious that Theron was feeling antsy.

"Why do you keep pacing?" asked Praxis after a moment. "You're like a mother hen with too many chicks."

Theron shrugged. "I worry about what might come from the battle today."

"Not you as well," groaned Praxis. "I had a long rebuke about that today from my stepfather."

"And? What did he have to say?"

"Just the usual. That I'm a disappointment to him and that I may bring utter ruin on the city by the Spartans."

Theron shivered. "Do you think there's any truth to that? There were people by the city theater just a bit ago, many of them saying the same. They think the Cynurians will rush to tell the Spartans of what we did. They think that war is coming."

Praxis held up his sword. "Another reason why it's good to have a sharp blade."

"Come now, Praxis, be serious."

Theron gestured for him to lower the blade and gave him a long stare. "Will we incur the wrath of the Spartans for this? Is war coming?"

Praxis thought about his answer long before he gave it.

"I don't know," he finally admitted. "Maybe? Potentially? The Spartans have been very aggressive lately and our people have never gotten along with them. Could they have been using the Cynurians to test us? It's definitely possible but I think that one way or another, we're going to get the same result."

"What result is that?" asked Theron.

Praxis gave him a long look. "I think war is unavoidable. The Peloponnese is not big enough for two dominant powers. Sooner or later, the Spartans will come for us. And I believe in being as prepared as possible for that showdown."