The Argive Ch. 041-045

The Argive -- Chapters 041-045

*****

Chapter 41: The Calm before the Storm

King Damian of Argos had his eyes fixed on the southern gate of the city.

From his vantage point on a watchtower that was part of the wall, he could see the long road that led south--the same road that the Spartan army was moving on. It had been three days since he heard the news of their northern punitive expedition, and the entire city was still waiting to see whether they would stop in Argos before moving to punish Corinth.

As apprehensive as he was about the Spartans, Damian was also waiting for other travelers from the south. More specifically, he was waiting for the sight of three of his guards, and he expected them at any time.

Those three guards were the final arbitrators of justice, having been sent on a mission to dispatch a certain troublemaker.

Now that Doris was dead, Damian didn't need to maintain the fiction that Praxis was a welcome and treasured member of the family. Without his mother's protection, he was allowed to dispose of him, and that's exactly what he did.

Damian considered it poetic justice for the many slights that Praxis had given him over the years.

It was nearly nightfall when he spotted them. The three guards traveled slowly across the dry and flat plain of Argolis, not stopping until they reached the city wall. Damian was the first to meet them as soon as they were inside, and he was barely able to contain his desire for knowledge.

"Well? I take it your mission was a success?" he asked the first guard through the gate, the man known as Nearchos.

"My king, we met with total success," informed Nearchos. "The deed was done about a day's walk out of the city, just to the south. He never saw it coming. The troublemaker will bother you no more."

Relief flooded Damian in that moment, but it was tinged with another emotion, one he didn't expect.

Guilt.

"You're sure of this?" pestered Damian. "He's dead? You have to be certain."

Nearchos nodded. "I left him in a pool of his own blood. There's no way anyone could have survived that, not in the wild. The poor fool seemed to have no idea what was in store for him either, not even a moment before my sword pierced his back."

Damian allowed himself to picture the thought of Praxis, a sword sticking through his body and blood dripping down his chiton. It wasn't a pleasant thought but it was one driven by necessity.

"Unfortunate business," said Damian, nodding his head. "Something that I didn't enjoy ordering but that still needed to be done."

"I enjoyed it all right," sneered Nearchos. "It was a chance to put that little shit in his place. For too long, he's polluted this city with his presence, acting like he was the best warrior in Argos. He got what he deserved."

"Praxis was a formidable warrior," said Damian quietly. "There are many things I disliked about him but his fighting skill wasn't one of them."

Nearchos spit on the ground. "That's what I think of his fighting skill. That's what I thought of it when I stabbed him and left him to die. The city is a better place now that he's dead."

Damian didn't reply to that directly. He nodded his head, and the three men soon followed him back to the palace. It was dark by the time they got back, and Damian dismissed them to their barracks while he went to his inner courtyard, seeking one thing in particular.

That thing turned out to be a small statue of Doris. Only about three feet high, it was given to them by one of the mercantile families of the city long ago, a short time after Damian wed her. Doris was never a fan of the statue which is why it occupied this quiet corner of the courtyard, away from most prying eyes.

After her death, it was the only part of Doris that still occupied a presence in his world. And for that reason, it was still important to him.

At that moment, Damian wanted to see it. He wanted to look upon the face of his wife and ask for forgiveness.

"You would never understand," he muttered aloud as stood in front of his dead wife. "But it had to be done. I only hope you will forgive me when we meet in the underworld. I waited until you'd passed before I made my move. I hope that counts for something."

That statue didn't answer him but he felt Doris' cold and foreboding eyes nevertheless. Her stone pupils seemed to know the extent of his crime, and Damian suspected that when he saw her again, she would be forever angry with him.

He just hoped the price he had to pay was worth the outcome.

*****

Xanthos was in a remarkably good mood despite the circumstances. He would normally be a nervous wreck right before the launch of his revolt, but he'd just heard the most promising news he could hear.

Praxis was dead.

His meddling, good-for-nothing stepbrother was now a subject of Hades, and he would be a pest no longer.

With such welcome news, he wasted no time in telling his wives. Melitta was just as excited as he was, but Astara was noticeably more muted in her response. She could barely meet his eyes when he told her, and she seemed almost distraught at the outcome. Xanthos suspected there was more to the story than met the eye, but he had no time for further investigation.

No, he was needed for one last meeting with Dorrusas, especially as the Spartan army grew closer.

He found the Spartan in the same base of operations as he was before, surrounded by a group of thirty Spartans that were all ready for action. The house was cramped but their spirits soared at the thought of the operation that was about to be launched.

All they were waiting on was the word to begin.

"There you are," said Dorrusas, seeing Xanthos lower his outer cloak. "You're late. I thought you'd be here half an hour ago."

"Tyche favors us," said Xanthos, not able to help the grin that spread out on his face. "The only person who might thwart our plan is now dead."

Dorrusas raised an eyebrow. "Your father?"

"No, I'm talking about my stepbrother, Praxis. I just got word that he was killed by my father's men. It's one less distraction that we have to deal with when we take over the city."

Dorrusas scoffed. "As if one Argive could stand in the way of thirty Spartans. He might have died on his feet but he would have died regardless. My men are merciless once they're unleashed."

"You underestimate his fighting ability," warned Xanthos. "You should be thankful that he's dead. I've watched him in action many times and he would have been a significant hurdle."

Dorrusas blew air out of his lips. "Whatever. How are our plans looking?"

"I could ask you the same thing. You're the one that's supposed to be organizing this."

Dorrusas shook his head. "Argives," he muttered under his breath. "I just got word from the army. King Nikandros will arrive in the city tomorrow afternoon. He has specifically requested that Argos be under your control by the time he gets here. He wants to save his fighting strength for the Corinthians. That means that we have less than twenty-four hours to launch our takeover before he gets here."

"A lot can happen in twenty-four hours," replied Xanthos.

"Which is why the sooner we do it, the better. I say we launch tonight. Once the sun rises, the city will be in our possession, and we don't have to tempt the fate of the king. Any movement after today runs the risk of delay. Let's make the wise decision."

Xanthos shook his head. "I don't want to launch tonight."

"Why not?" demanded Dorrusas. "My men are itching for a fight. What reason could you have for delaying the inevitable?"

"It should be in the morning," replied Xanthos. "It will be better that way. The whole city is still apprehensive about the approach of your army. They will find it hard to sleep tonight. When they finally go to sleep, they will sleep in longer than usual. That will be the time for us to make our move. We strike quickly and without mercy as the sun comes up. It'll be the best time for us to increase our odds of success."

"I don't like it," said Dorrusas, crossing his arms. "Too much could go wrong. Better to start off earlier. You know that King Nikandros doesn't have much patience for disappointment."

"I know my father," said Xanthos quietly. "Trust me, the morning is best, especially if we want this to be a clean takeover. No reason for unnecessary bloodshed, right?"

Dorrusas glared at him. Finally, he started to relent. "Fine, but you better be right about this."

"I am, trust me. I'll be here at first light, and then we'll take over the entire city."

"And kill your father," added Dorrusas. "Speaking of which, you might want to warn anyone you want to save tomorrow. I'm thinking about your wives or your younger brother. Once the violence starts at the palace, it's going to be hard to stop. Anyone that's important to you, you might want to tell them to be outside the palace when this goes down."

"I'll do that," replied Xanthos. "Are we done here?"

As it turned out, they were. The Spartans prepared to bed down for the night while Xanthos made his way back to the palace. He kept questioning the best way to alert his wives of what was going to happen in the morning. Melitta could be trusted to keep it quiet but Astara? Her trustworthiness was suspect since she was the newest member of the household. There was also the Praxis business that made him question how much he knew about his second wife.

And that still left out one major person as well.

"Xanthos?"

Xanthos turned quickly toward the sound of the familiar voice. He'd been walking so fast that he nearly rushed past his mother, Eulalia, without as much as a look in her direction.

"What has you in such a hurry tonight?" she asked, giving her son an appraising look.

"Nothing in particular," he answered, putting his hands behind his back. "I was just tired and thought I'd turn in for the night."

Her look of inquiry got even worse. Eulalia knew her son, and she also knew that he was prone to keeping late hours. He would never go to sleep so early.

Thankfully, she seemed to assume another reason for his odd behavior.

"This Spartan army has everyone acting so bizarre," she said, putting her hand against her face. "Even you. I wouldn't have expected this from you, Xanthos."

Xanthos tried hard to maintain eye contact with her. "It's a harrowing time, Mother. One never knows what to expect on the eve of war."

Eulalia grunted at that response. She took her son by the shoulders and searched his face.

"All will be well. We have to believe that. Your father has guided us through worse situations."

It was hard to meet her eyes after she said that. Xanthos did his best, knowing that if his plan succeeded, this would be the last night his father was alive.

She leaned in and placed a kiss on his forehead. "You heard the good news from earlier, right? That dog, Praxis, is dead. At least something good came out of this conflict."

"I heard," replied Xanthos. "This is only the beginning of the good things that are coming to Argos."

Eulalia smiled and stroked a lock of his hair. "That's the sort of optimism I like to see. If we think positively and honor the gods, we will have nothing to worry about, right?"

Xanthos nodded. "That's right, Mother. Nothing to worry about. Tomorrow will be the start of a brand new day for Argos."

Chapter 42: Strike at the Womb

The pain was indescribable.

It pulsed, sending waves of agony across his jilted and cold body. Breathing was incredibly difficult and his mind throbbed with pain but one thing was absolutely certain.

Praxis was still alive.

He had yet to figure out why but he was clinging to life as he coughed heavily, discharging flecks of blood in the process. He attempted to roll to his side, causing the wound to pulse with more fury. Praxis couldn't help but grasp at the incision, finding dried blood in the front and a trickle in the back. Though painful, it wasn't a killing blow.

And yet, he knew this attempted killing didn't happen without a good reason. These were Damian's men, and they only carried out his express orders.

Praxis was only surprised that he acted so swiftly after his mother's death. She really had been the only protection that was keeping him alive.

What did this mean for Argos? That was the question he kept trying to answer as he made it to his feet, the pain still shooting up his spine. Praxis was the biggest proponent of staying out of the Spartan alliance, and now that their army was on the way, it could only mean one thing.

Argos was about to be subjugated to Spartan rule.

It was something he couldn't allow to pass, not for the city that he loved so much. It was imperative that he got back to Argos to prevent what was surely to follow.

"Horn of Hades, how am I going to stand up?" he grumbled to himself.

If only his feet worked as well as they did before. With a great struggle, he managed to stand--an agonizing ordeal that nearly caused him to black out in pain. Praxis found that every step was excruciating, and several times he almost fell because the pain was too great. He needed help walking and that was why he searched for the closest fallen tree branch he could find. He stripped it of any twigs and used it as a walking staff, which helped to take the pressure off his side.

It was nearly dark by the time he was moving again, and Praxis resolved to walk all the way through the night. Moving with only his persistence and his adrenaline, he took small but dedicated steps on the road back to Argos.

He had to make it back in time. His city depended on him.

He just hoped he would make it before it was too late.

*****

Xanthos' heart was beating rapidly as he moved to the house that was being used by the Spartans. He'd barely had any sleep the night before as he continued to ponder every detail of his plan. As such, he was up before the sun rose and after taking some wine to calm his nerves, he made his way to see Dorrusas.

He found the Spartans ready for action. All of them had shed their cloaks and protective clothing for the day's operation. The entire city would know that it was soldiers of Sparta that had backed Xanthos, which Xanthos hoped would stem any kind of resistance, especially with the bulk of the Spartan army due to arrive this afternoon.

"Are you ready?" asked Dorrusas as he slipped his blade into its sheath. "The time has come and my men are ready. Tell me you're ready to execute."

Xanthos took a moment to respond but when he did, his answer was clear. "I'm ready. There's no turning back from this point."

Dorrusas sneered. "No, there's not. Not if you want to keep your head. Let's get moving."

Dorrusas gave the signal to his men and for the first time since they arrived, thirty Spartan soldiers headed for the door and stepped out onto the quiet streets.

By now, the sun was starting to rise, and the first Argives were making their way onto the streets for the day. Nearly all of them stopped to stare at Xanthos and the Spartans, no doubt figuring that something was afoot. Xanthos didn't care about that at the moment. The only thing that mattered was keeping the element of surprise before they got to the palace.

The group moved without incident to the palace near the center of the city. The first test would be the group of guards that were stationed at the entrance. Xanthos knew who was there, because it was usually the same men--Dymas and Halius. Both men had just returned from dispatching Praxis and were at their posts, although they both looked restless and tired to some degree.

Upon seeing Xanthos and his Spartans, they noticeably stiffened as their hands went to their swords.

"Drop them now," barked Xanthos to them. "It's the only way you come out of this alive!"

Both Dymas and Halius gave each other blank stares. They weren't the smartest of the bunch.

When they didn't move, Dorrusas took matters into his own hands. Four Spartans came forward, swords drawn, and they descended on the two hapless guards.

Neither of them offered any resistance. Xanthos suspected they were still too stunned about what was happening, or their fatigue dulled their senses. Either way, their corpses littered the entrance to the palace but they wouldn't be the last.

"Spread out and take over the entire palace," ordered Dorrusas to the rest of the Spartans before he looked over at Xanthos. "You, me and two others will find Damian."

With those fateful words, the Spartans poured into the Argive palace. It was only a matter of time until they ran into more guards. The next set wasn't as hapless as Dymas and Halius, and they actually put up a fight before they were gutted. One of them--a nasty creature named Nearchos--died with a sword to the back, severing his spinal cord. All around the palace, the sounds of screams could be heard. Many of them were male but a few were female, leaving no doubt as to what was happening.

Finally, Xanthos and his group found Damian. He wasn't in his study, as could usually be expected in the early morning. Instead, he was in their private temple to Zeus. His head was bowed and his chest was exposed but he soon sprung to his feet as the sounds of footsteps surrounded him.

"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded, looking at the Spartans first. His eyes centered on Dorrusas. "You? What are you doing here!"

Dorrusas could only sneer back at him. It wasn't long before Damian noticed Xanthos bringing up the rear.

"My son, what are you--"

At that moment, Damian caught himself. A look of profound sorrow and hopelessness took root on his face.

It wasn't hard to figure out why--he knew what was going on.

"So this is how it ends, is it?" he asked Xanthos. "You've come to take my place, haven't you?"

Xanthos raised his chin. "I have. I'm sorry that it has to be this way, Father, but your time as king of Argos is now over."

Damian looked over at Dorrusas briefly before looking back at Xanthos. "So you're throwing in with the Spartans? Why?"

"Why not?" retorted Xanthos. "They are the power brokers in this world, Father. The Spartans and their alliance are going to rule every state on the Peloponnese. I can't take the chance that Argos won't be a part of that alliance. We would be totally alone and easy pickings for anyone that desired us. I can't allow that to happen."

"There is still the hope for diplomacy," replied Damian quietly.

Dorrusas scoffed. "The time for diplomacy is over. We gave you a chance, Damian, and you rejected us."

"I rejected you for a good reason," snapped Damian. "The people of Argos will never accept a Spartan garrison."

"Then the people of Argos will get a new king," replied Dorrusas. "I promised you as much the last time we spoke. Do you remember? Spartans always uphold their promises."

Damian's panicked eyes locked on Xanthos. "Don't do this, Xanthos. You have no idea what you're doing. You won't be an ally of the Spartans. Only a subjugated territory. There are still options that we have. There is still a way to keep Argos free."

A tear fell down Xanthos' cheek. "There is no other way, Father. Argos will enter the Peloponnesian League with or without you."

Damian fell to his knees before Xanthos. "Do you really have it in your heart to kill your own father? I sired you, Xanthos. I raised you and taught you how to be a man. Is this how you'll repay me? By killing me in cold blood?"

"Hera's fiery ass," swore Dorrusas. "I've seen enough of this begging nonsense."

With those final words, Dorrusas moved quickly behind Damian. He grabbed the king's hair with one hand and placed his blade across his throat. With one firm tug, a spray of blood erupted from Damian's throat, coating the lower portions of Xanthos' chiton.

Damian fell to the ground as he tried to grab his throat. His hands became covered in blood as a thick, wheezing sound emerged from his body. In his final moments, Damian couldn't stop staring at his son, no doubt wondering if this was truly the end. His body fell silent moments later.