The Argive Ch. 036-040

"I hope he leaves shortly," said Xanthos finally. "If my father gets word of what's happening, or someone discovers us, thirty men are not going to capture the city."

"Maybe not thirty ordinary men," said Dorrusas with a sneer. "But thirty Spartans? You'll be just fine. If need be, we can secure an exit out of Argos if it comes down to a fight."

"I'd rather not do that," snapped Xanthos. "This is to be a peaceful takeover, not a hostile one. If the city goes up against me, we'll never be able to assert my rulership without creating a river of blood."

"Sometimes a river of blood is what's needed," quipped Dorrusas. "Besides, you worry too much. Like I said, you have thirty Spartans to aid your takeover of Argos. For a man that just took a new queen, you're awfully jumpy."

"I took a new wife," corrected Xanthos. "She's not a queen."

Dorrusas sneered. "I said the right thing. In a few days' time, she'll be the queen. And you'll be king. And all of Argos will answer to you. And the only person you'll answer to is King Nikandros. You'll have secured prosperity and safety for Argos for decades to come."

"Hopefully, it's at a little cost," grumbled Xanthos, reflecting on what still needed to be done to secure his reign. If this whole plan went the right way, only one person would have to die.

But it was who that person was that made Xanthos profoundly uncomfortable.

Dorrusas seemed to sense his apprehension. "Don't worry about Damian of Argos. He ruled for nearly twenty years but his time is now over. It's time for a new generation of leaders. You will be a greater king than he ever was."

"Yes, I will," mumbled Xanthos. "The greatest king that Argos has ever had."

Chapter 38: Welcome Home, Spartan

It was good to be home.

Those were the words on King Nikandros' mind as he entered the small city of Sparta that evening.

Truthfully, calling Sparta a city was a bit of a stretch. She was more like a collection of small villages, four in total, that combined made some semblance of a city. But it wasn't a city like Corinth, Argos, or even Athens. Sparta was rustic and unadorned with sites of grandeur.

It just wasn't in their custom to enjoy anything beyond cold practicality. Sparta was a place where the Spartans met, ate, and slept, and it was to be nothing more than that.

His reason for visiting was simple. He would have to secure a favorable omen before marching north to wage war on Corinth, and it was only within Sparta that this omen could be taken. Nikandros allowed his men the chance to see their wives as he summoned a goat for his sacrifice. As he did so, he took up residence in his house while awaiting the animal's arrival.

The return of a Spartan army was usually greeted with muted enthusiasm and indeed, it was no different today. Various groups approached the victorious army to extend their affirmation but there was no cheering or yelling amongst the people.

Besides, what was there to cheer about? There was never any doubt about a Spartan army coming home victorious. Spartan armies were never defeated so there was never the worry that the army would lose or come home in bad shape. Those reunifications that happened were brief and without emotion, as was the Spartan custom.

Outpourings of emotion were not the Spartan way.

Indeed, it was more a matter of finding out who died and what that meant to the rest of the city. Whether their land would have to be doled out to someone else, or their wife given to another Spartan.

Today's return was a good one because not a single Spartan warrior had been lost to combat during the fight against Pellana, mostly because of Nikandros' cunning and guile in getting them to drop their weapons before the fighting started.

Nikandros was barely back in his house for very long before he had a visitor. It wasn't his wife or his son but rather his fellow king, Cleomenes, who was the first to arrive.

Sparta was unique amongst all the Greek city-states for having not one king, but two. Each king was from a different family line, and had been with the Spartan people longer than anyone could remember. Cleomenes was the elder king, having already served more than thirty years as king of Sparta before Nikandros took the throne. To that end, Cleomenes was wrinkled and gray but even in his old age, he was still a formidable warrior.

If only that formidability had been extended to Sparta's enemies, Nikandros might not have so much to do when he became king.

As fate would have it, Cleomenes was not a warrior king. Though he would respond to aggression when called for it, Cleomenes did not go out looking for wars, which earned him a reputation as being a weak king. There were many in Sparta who were just waiting for Cleomenes to die, as his son, Eurypon, was much more aggressive and king-like than his father.

Indeed, Nikandros was one of those waiting for Cleomenes to pass. Ever since taking the throne, he'd found Cleomenes difficult to work with. The man just had no fight left in him, preferring to solve problems with diplomacy over war.

Such weakness should never be tolerated in Sparta.

"Welcome home," said Cleomenes as he eyed Nikandros from the doorway. "I take it your campaign went well?"

Nikandros sneered. "Do campaigns ever go badly for Spartans?"

"Sometimes they do."

"Well, for me they don't," said Nikandros, shrugging. "Those wild Arcadians aren't a serious challenge anyway. I didn't lose a single man, which should tell you all you need to know about their fighting prowess."

"Or perhaps it was the fact they were disarmed," said Cleomenes, crossing his arms. "It's hard to kill a man when you don't have any weapons."

Nikandros started to laugh. "You heard already, did you? I fooled those rural bumpkins. I got them to lay down their weapons before I launched my war."

Cleomenes started to shake his head. "That's not the honorable way of fighting. Why would you do that?"

"You have much to learn about fighting a war," quipped Nikandros. "The easier you can make the war on yourself, the better. I don't care if my enemies are armed or disarmed. An enemy is an enemy and they need to be crushed."

"Says the man who would hope to see Sparta as the dominant power on the Peloponnese," mocked Cleomenes. "I hardly doubt our neighbors will think much of our formidability when they see us slaughtering harmless goat herders."

That was one slight too many. Nikandros grabbed his sword and approached the old man, positioning it between them.

"And what would you know about power?" growled Nikandros. "You're nothing but an old man. Under your rule, Sparta has languished. Our neighbors grow more powerful while we get weaker. Spartan armies should be on the march every year, conquering more land and killing off the previous inhabitants. If you hadn't wasted your rule, we might have the entire Peloponnese by now."

"So you will make war with all of our neighbors then? And what will you do when they all band together as one against Sparta? Will you be able to withstand their might then?"

Nikandros chuckled. "You know I will. The entire world could band together against Sparta and we would still win. Such is the strength of Spartan arms."

"You're young and naive if you really think that," said Cleomenes, shaking his head. "At one point, I was young and brash just like you are."

"I highly doubt you were ever like me," scoffed Nikandros.

"But I was. I believed in the power of my people and in my own fighting ability. And then I became king and I saw war for what it was--a tool. One of many that we can use. But when your answer to any diplomatic problem becomes war, you're not using all the tools at your disposal."

"Why isn't war the answer to most problems? The strong should dominate the weak, Cleomenes. It's the law of nature. Only the strongest survive. When we have our issues with our neighbors, then we'll fight it out. The one that wins in combat is the right one and the one that loses is the wrong. What could be more right or natural than that?"

"One day you will start a war that you can't finish," said Cleomenes. "And then you will see that war isn't always the answer. The truth of the matter is that Sparta can't take on the entire world. She can't even take on the entire Peloponnese. There will always be those that stand in her way. That's why I supported this alliance of yours, this Peloponnesian League, as a way to unite the peninsula without war. We don't have to conquer our neighbors to subdue them."

"Then why do you keep blathering about this to me?" said Nikandros, waving his hand. "My next fight will be with Corinth, who thought to exit from our alliance unscrupulously. My armies will now go to punish them."

"I worry not about Corinth but more about Argos," thundered Cleomenes. "I've heard of what you're planning to do to the city. You're playing a dangerous game."

"I would have hoped that you would have approved of that plan," replied Nikandros. "Seeing as it doesn't involve conquering the city. We'll subvert it from the inside and put a puppet on the throne, answerable only to Sparta. I have to say, it's one of my better ideas."

"And you think everyone else on the Peloponnese is simply going to sit by while we take over Argos and Corinth in one shot? What do you think is going to happen with the Messenians?"

Nikandros scoffed. "The Messenians can do whatever they like. Their time is coming soon, and they won't be able to stand up to the combined might of Sparta, Argos, and Corinth. Who else is left in the Peloponnese that might harm us? Elis? Arcadia? Each of them will fall in a matter of time."

"I'm not just talking about the rest of the states on the Peloponnese. What about Athenians? Or the Boeotians? There's always just another power on the horizon."

"Spoken like an old man," said Nikandros with a sneer. "Always afraid of his next steps. You worry too much, Cleomenes. Why be afraid of threats that haven't materialized yet?"

"It's for precisely that reason why you're not a good king, Nikandros. You can't think beyond today."

Nikandros reached out with his hand and gripped Cleomenes by the throat. The old man's eyes went wide.

"Careful, Cleomenes. If I'm really as shortsighted as you say, I might just kill you right now. You and I both know that the murder of another Spartan, let alone a king of Sparta, is punishable by death. And yet, if I don't care about the consequences, what's to stop my sword from slipping between your ribs?"

Cleomenes didn't answer that. All of a sudden, the old windbag had nothing to say. His point aptly demonstrated, Nikandros released his grip on the other man's neck and walked away. Cleomenes said nothing apart from rubbing the spot that had just been held.

It was at that moment that Nikandros received another visitor.

"My king, here is the goat you wanted," informed one of the soldiers.

"Excellent, tie him up outside," said Nikandros. "I'll take the sacrifice out there."

The soldier did as he was asked, and Nikandros stepped out moments later bearing his knife in his right hand.

Cleomenes came out just behind him, where he suddenly found his voice once more.

"Nikandros, I'm asking you not to do this," pleaded the older king. "Don't lead the army out of the city. Something about this next fight doesn't feel right to me."

Nikandros rolled his eyes as he knelt next to the goat. "Is that right? Are you a seer now, Cleomenes? Can you see the future?"

"It's not about that, but it's my gut feeling. I feel like you'll be leading Sparta into a cauldron of death, the likes of which won't be easy to escape."

"Sounds chilling," mocked Nikandros. He used a hand to pet the soft coat of the animal. What a gentle creature. And it certainly didn't deserve what was coming to it.

Nikandros placed his knife against the goat's throat and pressed in tight, ripping the blade across the animal's flesh. Blood erupted from the wound as the goat made a squeal of pain. Its anguish didn't last very long, as it lost its footing and fell to its side, its neck still erupting with blood.

No more than a minute later, the creature was dead.

Nikandros took his knife and opened up the animal's stomach, looking for the entrails that would give his omen for war. All the while, Cleomenes kept pleading.

"Let me talk with the Argives. Let's make sure we're on firm ground with them before we take the war to Corinth. If things go wrong here, we could easily find both cities against us, and that's not even mentioning what the Messenians might do. You know they would join any war that turned against us."

"You're an old woman, Cleomenes, do you know that?"

Nikandros was wrist deep inside the goat's stomach, pulling out the beast's entrails and performing the ritual he'd done more than a thousand times. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and once he found it, he cheerfully yanked it from the goat's body and knifed the end.

"Now you can stop your whining," said Nikandros, showing off the entrails. "The omens are favorable. The gods want us to go to war to punish the Corinthians and to take over Argos. Look at the entrails now. Do you deny what I see?"

Cleomenes looked at the bloody organs only reluctantly. Once he was done, he had to admit the truth.

"The entrails look favorable to me," whispered Cleomenes.

Nikandros grinned and threw them at Cleomenes, who was soon splattered in blood. He tried to wipe it from his face.

"You should leave the blood," said Nikandros. "It just might remind you of your true purpose. Until it does, I'm going to lead this army out of the city. And I'm not coming back until I have the submission of Argos and Corinth. It's a new day, Cleomenes. A glorious day for Sparta."

Cleomenes swallowed. "I only hope you're right, Nikandros."

Chapter 39: Standing Alone

Only three days after Doris' funeral, the awful news came to Argos.

Praxis was training again, having resumed his morning ritual with the cream of the city's warriors. Praxis found that only through aggression was he able to channel the pain of his mother's passing, and it had made him all the more formidable in the process.

"Horn of Hades, Praxis, take it easy!"

Praxis found himself blinking as he stared down at his friend, Theron, who was now on his back and practically hiding behind his shield. His sword, which had been stripped away moments earlier, was lying helplessly in the grass.

"What's gotten into you?" asked Theron, backing up slowly. "You're fighting like a possessed man!"

Had he been? Praxis wasn't entirely sure. Somewhere between the time the fight started and Theron ended up on his back, he'd gone into some kind of trance. It was like a momentary parting of body and mind where his instincts took over. How had he so easily lost control?

"I'm sorry, my friend," said Praxis, tossing his sword down in order to extend a hand to Theron. "I'm not sure what came over me just now."

Theron took his hand and jolted to his feet. A look of pain appeared on his face.

"You've been like this all morning," said Theron. "You've never fought that hard before, even in battle against the Cynurians. Leandros still has a bloody nose from where you hit him with your shield. You know this is just practice, right?"

"I know, I know," replied Praxis. "I shouldn't go so hard. It's just fighting is the only thing that can take my mind off my situation right now."

"I grieve with you," said Theron, putting his hand on Praxis' shoulder. "But remember that we're friends. If you keep trying to whoop my ass, I might have to make an example of you in front of everyone."

That brought a smile to Praxis' lips. He shrugged off his friend's hand. "You'll certainly try, but whether you'll be successful? I doubt that."

Theron was opening his mouth with another retort when the news came in the form of a runner from the city. Every warrior in Praxis' group stopped what they were doing to listen to the news.

"The Spartan army is on the march! They are heading north to Corinth! War is here!"

The runner had no sooner belted out the news before heading back to the center of the city, telling anyone within hearing distance. Within an hour, the whole city would know.

"It's finally here," said Theron quietly. "This war that's been developing for so long. The Spartans are on the march."

The statement made Praxis' stomach churn. "And now the only question is what will they do when they get to Argos? They need to pass by the city to reach Corinth. How will they treat our rejection of their alliance?"

"Not well, I'm guessing," said Theron. "What do you want to do? Should we ready the entire army just in case?"

Praxis shook his head. "I think that's the prudent move but let me talk with my stepfather. No doubt he'll choose extreme caution in the face of danger. We won't do anything until we have his word this time."

As it turned out, the reaction Praxis received from Damian was exactly what he expected.

"Have you gone mad, boy?" scoffed Damian once Praxis made the request. "Ready the entire army? For what reason? Do you want to give the Spartans further reason to attack?"

"I want Argos to be prepared for the worst," argued Praxis. "If the Spartans set up camp on the plain outside the city, there will be nothing to stop them from taking all of Argos. No doubt they're probably still steaming about our refusal to join their alliance."

"This is a further example of why you're not ready to lead," seethed Damian. "We need to show them no aggression at all. If they march to Argos and find our army ready to defend our city, they'll think that we have hostile intent. It's an invitation to attack for people like the Spartans! The only thing we can do is not to arm a single man. Let the Spartans see that Argos doesn't desire a conflict with them. That we can resolve our issues peacefully."

"The Spartans arenot a peaceful people!" countered Praxis. "Diplomacy means nothing to them. Only force and subjugation do. When will you be able to see this?"

"Careful, boy," warned Damian. "You've already been exiled once for this foolishness. And now your mother isn't here to protect you. I'd choose my words wisely if I were you."

Praxis raged on the inside. He found his fists tightening involuntarily, wanting to pummel Damian for his stupidity. As a leader, he'd gotten the character of the Spartans entirely wrong, and they would all pay the price for it.

Damian seemed to realize he'd crossed a fragile line and he recomposed himself a moment later.

"You are not to mobilize the army," he said in a calm voice. "We will assume no hostile intent on behalf of the Spartans. They will pass by Argos on their way north to Corinth, where the war will be fought. Until then, there will be no repeat of the Cynurian affair. If I get one hint that you're assembling the men for war, you'll be exiled for life. Do we understand each other?"

"Perfectly," growled Praxis.What a coward.

"Good. Now leave me, I have business to attend to."

Praxis stalked out of the room wanting to upturn every table on the way out. He could only think about what his mother had said before she died. Argos under Damian and Xanthos wasn't going to be a proper home for him. And less than a week after her passing, her words were already bearing fruit.

But if he couldn't count Argos as home, then where could he go?

*****

"Hera's fiery ass, get those shields up, men! Look like the proud warriors of Corinth, why don't you? Where's your pride?"

Agemon of Corinth resisted the urge to sigh as he walked along the front ranks of the Corinthian army assembled right in front of him. More than fifteen hundred men had gathered on the grassy plain outside the city, mobilized to respond to the Spartan threat that was on the way north.