The Argive Ch. 096-100

The Argive -- Chapters 096-100

*****

Chapter 96: Conjuring a Storm

Agemon had only entered Arcadia a day prior but he was already tired of this part of the country.

For one, the terrain was mountainous and hard to travel through. That went for most of Greece but doubly so in the rugged Arcadian countryside, where every time they summited one mountain, they found the next one on the horizon waiting for them.

The other part he hated was that it was too damn dusty. Agemon was constantly hacking up his lungs from the remains of other travelers on this road, always leaving a thick, yellowish cloud that he couldn't escape from. At least it didn't seem to bother Cora as much. She didn't cough as much as he did, and she climbed the mountains without so much as a complaint.

"Come on now," she urged him, pulling his hand forward. "Just a little bit further and we'll be out of this dust cloud."

"Horn of Hades, we'll never be out of this damned cloud," scoffed Agemon. "I swear the gods themselves put it in our path just to make us turn around."

Cora started to laugh. "You think the gods want to prevent us from getting to Messenia?"

"Maybe. Perhaps it's their way of telling us we're wasting our time?"

"You don't really believe that, do you, Agemon?"

Agemon didn't know what to believe anymore. He also didn't know what was going to be waiting for them when they arrived in Messene. Would Praxis even be there? Was he even still alive? What if the city had already surrendered to the Spartans?

Agemon shook those thoughts from his head. If the city had already surrendered, one of the many caravans heading east would have surely given them the news. He did know that the Spartan king was paying a call on Messenia, but not the outcome.

As far as he knew, there was still a tentative peace on the Peloponnese.

There was also finally some peace for his lungs. Cora was right about them emerging out of the latest dust cloud, which just so happened to coincide with them summiting another small mountain pass. This particular pass afforded them a view of a good portion of western Arcadia, and Agemon groaned when he saw just how much more territory they still had yet to cross.

It was in moments like this one that he was most thankful for Cora. Because yet again, she caught what his eyes missed.

"Something is coming this way," she said, using her finger to point at a fast-moving cloud of dust at the lower end of the next valley. "That is no trade caravan."

Agemon squinted his eyes to get a better look but it was still hard to see what it was. There were no armies of any size in Arcadia, being a mostly rustic and primitive land without a king of its own.

Then why did this fast-moving cloud give him the sudden impression of an army.

"Let's get off the road," said Agemon as he gestured to several wild bushes that lined the northern side of the path. "I don't like the looks of this."

That was all he was willing to say at that moment because he didn't want to frighten Cora. The truth was the closer this group got, the more it looked like some kind of army. And there was only one army that was allowed to operate in Arcadia with impunity.

The Spartan army.

Agemon dashed behind one of the thicker bushes, kneeling in the grass and finding the one spot where he could peer through to watch the road. Cora moved right beside him but she stayed lower to the ground out of fear. Perhaps she could already sense that he knew more than what he'd said aloud.

"Who are they, Agemon?" she whispered as they got closer. "Are we in danger?"

"We need to be quiet," he replied. "They can't know we're here. Especially if they are who I think they are."

He was still looking for that telltale sign of the Spartan warrior--the red cloak that blew off their backs. He was still too far to see it (and there was still too much dust) but he could feel the hair on the back of his neck standing up.

Who else could it be?

Sure enough, Agemon's worst fears were confirmed when he saw not one but several scarlet cloaks flapping behind the warriors, all of them running at a quick pace. There were no more than twenty of them, and those small numbers meant they could cover ground quickly. Wherever they were going, speed was of the essence.

"They're Spartans," he whispered to Cora. "Keep your head down."

She didn't need to be told twice. Her eyes went wide with fear, and she hugged the ground like a beetle who'd been crushed under a foot.

At first, Agemon thought they might be a simple military detachment but it became obvious that someone in the middle of the column was being protected. Someone with a much higher status than the others. Agemon studied that man in the middle, with his long, dark beard--sweat visible on his brow from all the running.

That was when he realized that he'd seen him before. Across the battlefield outside of Corinth.

"It's the Spartan king," he whispered to Cora.

At that moment, she closed her eyes, no doubt wishing the moment would pass by all the more quickly. Agemon was tempted to join her. He slumped down as they finally passed their position, thankful that they were moving so quickly that they didn't study their surroundings with much intensity. In a matter of moments they'd passed by, leaving only another thick, yellow cloud as evidence of their passing.

Agemon and Cora remained hidden under they summited the same mountain they did and then disappeared on the other side.

"This isn't good," said Agemon, raising his head to make sure they were really gone. "Why is the Spartan king rushing through Arcadia?"

"Maybe he's going home?" suggested Cora. "Maybe he's in a rush to get back to his city?"

"Then he's on the wrong road. Sparta is far to the south of here, and this road goes east to west. He's heading in the direction of Argos," said Agemon. "But why?"

All the explanations that Agemon could think of were not good. Most of them pertained to war in some fashion. If the king was moving this quickly through Arcadia after his journey to Messene, something had to be developing.

And Agemon suspected he was going to rally his allies.

"We have to get to Messenia quickly," said Agemon. "And let them know what we witnessed. I'm not positive but I think the next time Nikandros comes this way, he's going to have many more warriors at his disposal. We need to warn them."

*****

"Hold your damn shield up! You look like a bunch of lumps, I'm telling you! My grandmother can hold a shield up for longer than you bastards!"

Praxis' voice was hoarse at this point in the training but he still managed enough volume to get the men in front of them to snap their shields upward. Though they'd been training for most of the morning, they couldn't afford to start slacking now.

"Some of these battles can go on for hours!" bellowed Praxis. "Don't be the man who gets killed at the end just because his arm got tired!"

"Praxis, take it easy on them," said Nicomedes, who was just behind him. "We've been out here all day and it's extraordinarily hot. The men are exhausted."

"Their exhaustion will be what kills them on the battlefield," warned Praxis. "Nikandros isn't going to stop his attack just because they're hot."

"Point taken but they need some water," said the Messenian king. He then gestured to the officer in charge of this section. "Take a break for a little. Get the men water and some food."

As the warriors broke in all directions to take their rest, Praxis and Nicomedes continued onward, moving to another group.

"You have to be easier on them, Praxis," urged the king. "They're men, not goats. If driven too hard, we will not get the best out of them."

"I'm just hoping we can get mediocre out of them," grumbled Praxis. "Their training is coming along quickly but they still won't be able to stand in the field against Spartan warriors. We need to keep pushing them."

"We can't push them too hard," replied Nicomedes. "Part of being a leader is knowing when you've reached their limit. Those men were put at their limit twenty minutes ago."

Praxis opened his mouth to argue but he closed it just as quickly. It would do either of them no good. They both wanted the same goal, but there were competing visions of how it was best achieved. It was after that moment of reflection that he realized Nicomedes had a point.

"I apologize if I'm pushing them too hard," said Praxis in a quiet tone of voice. "I just want the best out of them. I want them to protect this city."

Nicomedes managed a smile. He put his hand on Praxis' shoulder. "I'm not angry with you. You have a good heart, Praxis. I just want to use my experience to continue to guide you. The gods know I have had enough bad experiences in my life that I can use it to teach the next generation."

Teach was exactly what he did. It had been two days since the Spartans had left, and just about a week since Praxis had met the Messenian king. And yet, he couldn't stop himself from enjoying the older man's company. Despite his flaws, Nicomedes was wise beyond his years in many subjects, and they'd already spent many nights locked in conversation. He was already proving to be the mentor that Damian could never be, and it gave Praxis a personal motivation to see Messenia triumph over the Spartans.

"It never fails that every time I'm with you, I find out just how much I don't know about the world," joked Praxis as the tension lessened. "You have a way of making me feel like I'm still a kid again."

Nicomedes started to laugh. "My father used to make me feel the same way. Even when I felt I mastered something, he would still manage to teach me something I didn't know. It used to drive me nuts. So much so that I had to leave Messene when I was your age. I had to experience the world on my own terms and not through his lenses."

"How did that work out for you?" asked Praxis.

He should have known better. Nicomedes started to shake his head as he'd done many times before.

"Nice try, Praxis, but that's not a story I'm willing to tell," replied Nicomedes. "At least not yet."

There were still many mysteries about the king's early life, pieces that Praxis couldn't put together even with the help of Phaedra. It did little to soothe his suspicions about Nicomedes. In fact, it only made him more curious.

The two men continued moving until they came to Asterion's group. The warriors under his personal command had now swelled to over a hundred, all of them fighting in the formation of the spear phalanx (even though most of them came unwillingly). Asterion stood in front of them, drilling them in movements that were designed to get them to work together, but Praxis could see that several of them were still tempted to break out of that tight formation and fight as individuals.

At least one person in particular was following Asterion's commands to the letter. Praxis could see where Zenais was standing in line, thrusting her spear forward in perfect timing with the rest of the front line. She'd proven to be a quick learner of the spear phalanx, although Praxis still wondered what Nicomedes would think if he knew she was there.

For now, only Praxis and Asterion knew because her long hair was hidden in her helmet and her breasts were covered in a man's cuirass. Still, Praxis suspected the secret would get out before long.

The two men continued moving without Nicomedes giving his judgment about the phalanx. For now, he was content to ignore them, even though they were making rapid progress.

After spending another long day out in the Messenian heat, both Praxis and Nicomedes were as tired of the warriors by the end of the day. They ate dinner together at the palace before Praxis received a surprising offer.

"I just got a few more jugs of wine in today," said the king offhandedly. "The good stuff too, all the way from Athens. It wasn't cheap and I'm usually not the kind to drink it but I'm willing to make an exception tonight. What do you say we stay up and make it disappear?"

Praxis was only too willing to accept. Not only did it mean more quality time with the king, but he wondered if he could get Nicomedes to spill more details about his early life with his tongue pried with wine.

"Count me in," said Praxis. "There's nothing I'd enjoy more than good wine and good company."

Chapter 97: Drinking Buddies

That evening, Praxis left his quarters in the palace to find Nicomedes. His curiosity was stoked by the king's offer of wine and socialization. Not that Praxis hadn't spent one-on-one time with Nicomedes before but there would be copious amounts of wine there tonight. Nicomedes wasn't much of a drinker and Praxis wondered how much he could get out of him.

He found the king not in his study or quarters but behind the palace. There was another piece of green space back there, not quite as large as the central courtyard but large enough to ensure a modicum of privacy.

Surprisingly enough, he found Nicomedes with a spear in one hand and a cup in the other--he'd already started drinking.

"There you are, Praxis," said Nicomedes as he finished a sip and put the cup down. "I hope you don't mind that I started already."

Praxis smirked. "Not when it's good wine from Athens. I think proper protocol is to start drinking as soon as your hand wraps around the jug."

Nicomedes nodded his head and began to pour into a separate cup for Praxis before refilling his own. He offered his cup to him.

"Cheers," replied Praxis, taking a sip. Sure enough, it was delicious. Athenian wine was more on the dry side but the fragrance of it made Praxis take another drink quickly.

"I don't do this very often," said Nicomedes after a few moments. "I suspect if my daughter saw me with wine, she might not know what to say, but there are times when I enjoy a stiff drink like this one. Especially in troubling times such as these."

"Is that what the spear is about?" joked Praxis. "You don't want me to train you, do you?"

Nicomedes started to laugh. "Gods, no. I'm just reliving my past glory here. At one time, I used to be able to throw a spear quite far. Usually on target too. I almost went to the Olympic Games in my youth, that's how good I was."

"Care to demonstrate?" asked Praxis. "I wouldn't mind seeing that."

Nicomedes set his cup down. "I thought you'd never ask!"

With those words, the Messenian king used the tip of the spear to point to a tree some distance away. "If I'm still able, I'll be able to embed this right in the center."

He didn't have to say anything further. Nicomedes balanced himself by throwing out his non-throwing hand and then winding back the spear. He stepped forward, throwing all his weight toward the target and releasing the spear. Praxis watched it dart through the air before hitting the tree with a suddenthwack!

Sure enough, it was embedded just in the middle like he expected.

"Horn of Hades, that's a good shot!" exclaimed Praxis. "It seems you haven't lost your touch."

Nicomedes squinted at the target. "It's a bit too far to the right for my liking. Not quite dead center."

"I think we need to make sure you're on the battlefield when the Spartans come," said Praxis. "If you can put one of those spears through Nikandros' eyes, we might be able to end the war prematurely."

Nicomedes scoffed. "Now there's a thought. What I wouldn't give to see that bastard dying at my feet, especially after how he came to my city to make demands."

"He'll get his before the end," replied Praxis. "They always do."

"Maybe you're right. By the way, would you like to try?"

"Throwing a spear?" asked Praxis. "Sure, why not? I don't have as much practice as you do though. I might make a fool of myself."

Nicomedes gave him a fatherly grin. "Everyone was a beginner once, even myself. We all have to start somewhere."

"I wouldn't say I'm a beginner," joked Praxis. "But I'll be lucky just to hit the tree at this distance."

"Well, have at it and let's see."

Praxis wrapped his fingers around another spear, getting a feel for the weight in his hand. He spread his legs and used his other hand to balance himself. Looking at the target, he visualized the sight of Nikandros in his flowing red cape and let the spear loose.

It sailed right past the tree, off by about a foot to the right.

"Not bad," replied Nicomedes. "Not bad at all."

"I'm a little rusty," said Praxis. "I used to be able to throw it well enough but too much time without doing it combined with having a few injuries hasn't made for much accuracy."

"That's okay, you just need a little practice. Here, try to grip it this way. Move your thumb forward just slightly."

Praxis did as he suggested, and this time he managed to hit the tree. He still was pretty off from dead center but at least he heard the satisfying sound of the metal tip embedding in the bark.

"Exhilarating, isn't it?" asked Nicomedes. "I always enjoyed it more when I was younger. I could pretend I was in the middle of a battle, mowing down my enemies. As an older man, it doesn't have the same thrill as it did back then, but I still enjoy it after all these years."

"It is quite fun," said Praxis, taking another sip from his cup. "But did you call me out here to throw spears with you? Or something else?"

Nicomedes didn't answer that question right away. Perhaps he didn't know how to respond, but Praxis watched the king over the rim of his cup as he seemed to struggle with his answer.

"It's... nice to have another man around," said Nicomedes. "I can't do this with Phaedra, for obvious reasons."

"She doesn't seem like the spear-throwing type," joked Praxis.

"No, but it didn't stop me from asking her one time. And I still remember the look she gave me. It made me feel very old," said Nicomedes with a chuckle. "But I knew another man might see the value in it."

"Perhaps you needed to have a son?" suggested Praxis. "Did you ever think about having another after Phaedra?"

"No, no, I didn't," said Nicomedes. "Phaedra's mother was... fragile. Having Phaedra nearly killed her, and we didn't think it was worth the risk to have another, much to my disappointment. I always wanted to have more children but I've had to make do with what I have."

"That must have been a disappointment for you. Not having a son to call your own."

Nicomedes swallowed the lump in his throat. At that moment, there looked to be so many things he wanted to say, even if none of them actually came out.

"I'm used to it," said the king quietly, turning away from Praxis. "Like I've mentioned before, I've made a lot of decisions in my life that I regret. Like the others, that one was on me."

Praxis noticed that Nicomedes' cup had run empty. Picking up the jug, he topped it off for him. "There are many men who would think that sharing wine together is a good enough excuse to share stories. You've mentioned this to me several times but never the story behind it. Why don't you tell me? What troubles you so much?"

Nicomedes scoffed and quickly shook his head. "You wouldn't want to hear about it. You're a young man with your whole life ahead of you. You don't want to hear about the troubled one of an old man."

"Actually, I do. Tell me, Nicomedes. You make yourself sound like some kind of monster from the stories my mother used to tell me. Surely it can't be that bad?"

Nicomedes took a heavy gulp and started to pace about. It was interesting how quickly the king went from an alcohol-induced wellness to anxiety.

"I don't like to open that door much," admitted Nicomedes. "Sometimes I fear the gods will punish me if I look too deeply in the past. It's best left back there, buried in deep soil. This is one event I wish I could take back. That haunts me even today. But I do not speak of it."

"Have you told anyone about it?" asked Praxis. "Does Phaedra know?"