The Argive Ch. 111-115

"We can't change the past, Father," said Praxis. "Only the future. Maybe this day will allow us the chance to avenge some of these ghosts of the past."

Nicomedes looked like he wanted to agree to that, but doing so would be acknowledging that he thought victory was a possibility. And that was something he just wouldn't do.

"Fight well," said the king finally. "I love you, son."

"I love you too," replied Praxis, patting the older man on the back.

Nicomedes said his goodbye to Zenais as well and then with one final wave, he took off for the southern road to join the rest of the army. As he left, a lump started to grow in Praxis' throat.

"Praxis, are you okay?" asked Zenais, slipping her arm through his.

"I don't know if I'll ever see him again," said Praxis. "I spent all this time trying to find him, and he could be ripped away from me at any time today. I wouldn't be nearly as concerned with that if I felt like he wasn't so comfortable with the idea of dying."

"Then we're just going to have to prove him wrong," said Zenais. "On multiple accounts. The spear phalanx will hold today, and we will get our victory. Any thoughts of dying on his part are premature."

"You really believe that?" asked Praxis, shooting her a sideways glance.

"Yes, I do," said Zenais, nodding firmly. "Now come on. Our comrades are waiting for us. We're going to make Nikandros regret that he ever left Sparta in the first place."

"This is exactly what I love about you. Do you know that?" asked Praxis, unable to contain his grin.

Zenais looked over at him and smiled. "I know. I was hoping that when this is all over, you might want to fuck me?"

"When all this is over, I think I'll need to," said Praxis with a laugh.

"But one request? Keep your cuirass on when you do? It makes you look so sexy, Praxis."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind."

Chapter 113: The Battle Begins

A short while later, Praxis and Zenais arrived at the camp of the spear phalanx. It was still early enough in the morning to find the men enjoying a meager breakfast but most had put on their armor and were awaiting word of deployment.

At least they would be fighting on secure ground. Praxis and Asterion had positioned the spear phalanx to take advantage of a pass through a rocky defile that had nearly vertical rock walls on two sides. The pass was the narrowest at this part, and it would funnel any would-be attackers into their prepared position, without an easy way to bypass it.

It was the perfect spot to put the phalanx to the ultimate test, when they didn't need to worry about their flanks.

Not a short while after Praxis arrived, their scouts came running into the main camp to inform them that the main battle had already started, and the bulk of the Messenian army was being engaged by Nikandros. But while that news had been expected, it was the report from the next scout that caused some tension.

"Praxis! Asterion! The Spartans have been sighted in the pass!" yelled one scout, out of breath from running too hard and too fast.

"Take a breath," cautioned Praxis once he ran over to the young man. "How many Spartans did you see? They are coming up this pass toward our position?"

The scout nodded quickly before splashing some water on his face. "A great host is coming this way. Several hundred Spartans, if not more. Maybe even a thousand. I couldn't count them all. They saw me and chased me halfway up the pass but they are coming. They are right behind me."

"A thousand Spartans?" asked Asterion. "That seems a little too high, don't you think?"

The scout shook his head vehemently. "You should have seen all of them. I let a couple hundred pass me while I waited in the surrounding woods but then I started moving to keep up with them. More than five hundred but less than a thousand. That's how many I counted before they spotted me and I had to run for my life."

"How long do we have?" pressed Praxis.

"No more than fifteen minutes before the first group arrives."

Praxis gulped hard and shot a glance at Asterion. "We need to get the men in formation. We don't have much time!"

"No, we do not," agreed Asterion before blowing a small horn that hung around his neck. "Everyone in formation now! The Spartans are coming!"

It was testament to their skill with how fast the phalanx dropped whatever they were doing and assembled in the rocky defile. Many of them were still putting on their helmets or strapping on their swords but they all came, taking position next to the same partner they'd been training beside for weeks.

"This is it," called out Praxis once they'd assembled. "This is our chance. We have a large group of Spartans coming up this pass, and today we will show them the strength of our new formation. I don't need to remind you that we are the only thing between this Spartan force and our loved ones back in Messene. We have to hold, or die. Let's show the Spartans what we can do!"

A mighty roar came out of the phalanx as they raised their spears together. It warmed Praxis' heart to see so many motivated and passionate warriors just before battle. They would need to give their all today, and he had no doubt that they would give a good showing when it was all said and done.

Praxis took his spot on the side of the phalanx, where he would monitor this flank. Asterion was doing the same on the other side, and their main goal was to make sure the formation stayed intact, without reverting back to traditional tactics.

Just as the first Spartans were sighted on the other side of the pass, Praxis pulled out the ring his father gave him and slipped it over his finger. If there was one time that he wanted Nicomedes with him, it was in this battle.

"I'll make you proud today," vowed Praxis as his grip tightened on his spear.

As Praxis and the rest of the force readied for battle, they couldn't help but stare across the field at their new enemies. It wasn't hard to see why the Spartans were so feared. They marched together like they had done this a thousand times before, always holding a tight formation and never with so much as one man out of sync. They all looked formidable in their polished shields and flowing red capes, and when they started to spread out on their approach, Praxis could feel the fear and anxiety emanating from his warriors.

"They are just men like you or I," said Praxis aloud. "They bleed too, I promise you that. Today will make Sparta bleed. Remember your training, and stay close to your neighbor. Let's show them how we fight."

The words helped some, a few warriors in the front stood up a little straighter. It wasn't until the Spartans were about twenty feet away that Asterion blew the horn on the other side, which made them raise their shields and lower their spears.

Praxis could see some confusion on the Spartan side as they appraised the formation but it didn't stop them from pushing forward. If anything, their confusion amounted to some amusement at the Messenian lines, and quite a few of them seemed not to be taking the formation seriously.

"Hold steady," yelled Praxis as the two groups closed the distance. "Brace for contact!"

The Spartans were close enough now that Praxis could see the color of their eyes. They were leading with their shields too, but their formation wasn't as tight as theirs.

A loud noise erupted from the middle of both groups as shield landed on shield. As if the noise wasn't enough, the sudden pressure of hundreds of men pushing together was enough to knock almost any man off his feet. That feeling was worse for the men of the phalanx, since they had received most of that pressure from the engaging Spartans. Their feet dug into the ground but the formation held.

It was at this point that the spear phalanx's biggest test started. After pushing in with the charge and seeing that the Messenians wouldn't break, the Spartans started to spread out, trying to pick an opponent from the opposing line. Usually, this also involved issuing a taunt as well, so their target would know which man was trying to kill him.

"I want that short, little shit right there," growled one Spartan, pointing his sword directly at the man next to Praxis. "Time to die, little man!"

"Stay in formation," advised Praxis next to the man, who looked about ready to answer the charge with one-on-one combat. "Kill him when he gets close."

The Spartan heard Praxis' comment and pointed his sword at Praxis. "You're next after I kill him."

Praxis could only grin at him. With that last taunt, the Spartan rushed in to make his kill, trying to find a way past the phalanx's defenses. He couldn't find one so easily, and his sword crashed against their shields more than enough times for him to get frustrated.

"Come on!" growled the Spartan. "Quit hiding behind your damn shield and fight me!"

His patience dwindling, the Spartan attacked once more, unleashing the full fury of his attack on the phalanx. It was this attack that showed several weaknesses in his form, either from exhaustion or frustration, but they were weaknesses that were pressed home quickly. The short man next to Praxis thrust forward with his spear, catching the Spartan off guard and penetrating his arm.

The Spartan shrieked in pain at the injury but it was testament to his skill that he didn't immediately lose his composure. He yanked his arm away, which only caused more damage as the blade exited his flesh. It was at this critical juncture that the short man managed one more thrust, this time directly at the Spartan's now exposed abdomen.

"No!" yelled the Spartan as his mouth filled up with blood. It was the last word he would ever utter before he fell to the ground, never to move again.

Scenes like this were soon playing out all the way down the line. The Spartans turned from confusion to anger at their inability to penetrate the phalanx, and it was that anger that allowed the Messenians their chance to strike back. Praxis realized that for the first time in his fighting career, the phalanx forced the initiative to go back to the defender.

As long as the phalanx held, any position could be held indefinitely. And that was certainly a heartening realization.

The battle kept progressing for the next hour as Praxis lost count of how many Spartans he'd killed. They just seemed to keep coming, and even as he looked out on the Spartan position, he could see no shortage of men waiting to attack them.

The scout's prediction of nearly a thousand men coming up the pass seemed true enough at this point.

And yet, it was just when things were looking like they might hold that events started to spin out from the Messenians' control. Though the line was formidable, it wasn't invincible, and the Messenians started to take casualties of their own as exhaustion set in. The problem with that was the line was so rigid that it opened gaps amongst the defenders, which allowed the Spartans a toehold to attack at the flanks of those men on either side.

Praxis had to march down several rows to find a serious situation that had developed, where the Spartans had now figured out how to hack away at these defenders and create miniature flanks, whereupon they could destroy entire ranks at a time. The situation was getting so serious that the Messenian line was starting to waver, with the men at the very back of the formation now looking like they might run at any second.

"Fill the gap!" yelled Praxis, urging several men to step forward to fill the place of their fallen comrades. "Step forward and lock shields! We must be united!"

Even with his encouragement, the formation was starting to falter. It was here that the men showed just how inexperienced they really were, not being able to think under fire.

And they were crumbling for it.

With no other option, Praxis grabbed several of the men from the back and forced his way to the front, squeezing between ranks until he was able to plug one of the holes that had developed. But in doing so, he found himself hard-pressed by Spartans on nearly three sides.

"Get up here next to me!" he admonished his own people. "Protect my flank or we're all going to die right here and now!"

The Spartans hacked away at another man on the other side, widening the gap. Now only a handful of ranks stood between them and the rest of the Messenian army. All it would take was one concentrated push and they would be in Messene in the next hour.

And their chances would be lost.

"Horn of Hades, I need you men to give it everything you've got!" yelled Praxis. "Get up here and support me! I need you!"

As he looked back into their faces briefly, all he saw was fear.

It was at that moment that Praxis knew the line just might break after all.

Chapter 114: Embrace the Fury

"You four!" yelled Praxis. "Get up here now while we still have time!"

Even though the situation was desperate and the Spartans were about to break through, the bravery of the Messenians and their determination to protect their homes shone through. Praxis soon felt the protection on either flank as his comrades plugged the gap, preventing the Spartans from crippling the line. In their fury at losing the momentum, individual Spartan warriors threw themselves at the line with every ounce of energy they had left.

But it wasn't enough. Their swords crashed on the shields of the Messenians harmlessly while the defenders pierced them with their spears.

For the first time, Praxis could see something new in the eyes of the Spartans.

Fear.

"Everyone keep together!" shouted Asterion. "Remember to protect the man next to you!"

That was easy for Praxis to do, as the man standing to the left of him was now Agemon. The bulky Corinthian had just stabbed the face of a Spartan, causing the man to unleash a terrible shriek before he died. That awful fate wasn't just for one Spartan either. Praxis watched as he managed to stab three more successive Spartans in the face before Agemon made eye contact with him.

"That's for Corinth," he shouted as justification. "That's for taking my city!"

Praxis couldn't help but grin. Together, the two men fought side by side, a reminder of how they'd met all those months ago. Meanwhile, the Spartans were starting to lose their nerve. Their dead were piling up in front of the Messenian line, making getting to their enemy that much harder. No sooner did the Spartans step over their fallen brothers than they were joining them, going down for good.

Though they still had greater numbers, their confidence had been shattered. They were now pulling back, and pressure was lessening across the entire line.

Praxis dispatched one more Spartan before he was able to take a breath. His helmet was stifling and he wanted nothing more than to splash some water on his face. He got his chance moments later once the last Spartan disengaged, and the bulk of their force retreated across the field to regroup.

"You think they're done?" asked Agemon as soon as Praxis' helmet was off. "Are they going home?"

Praxis shook his head. "If I know Spartans, they will have at least one more in them. They won't give up that quickly."

Not surprisingly, Agemon grinned. "I hope so. I didn't want them to get off that easily."

Praxis started to laugh. "I'm sure you'll get plenty of more chances. They looked confused about what they faced. Let's hope they stay that way."

"I never thought I'd see the day when Spartans are confused on the battlefield," joked Agemon. "I can only hope the rest of the army is fairing this well."

At that moment, Praxis' mind drifted toward his father. With so many Spartans here in front of them, surely that had to mean less of them were facing Nicomedes. If anything, it increased his odds of victory, and that was a heartening thought.

They just might win the day after all.

Unfortunately, that thought was shattered moments later, when a runner came through from the king's section of the battlefield. His armor was stained with blood, and Praxis couldn't tell if it was his or the enemy's.

"Praxis, I bring you word from your father," said the runner. "We are being hard-pressed across our entire front line. Our men are holding but we don't know for how much longer. The king asked that you bring any men that you can spare. Otherwise, we might be forced to make some hard decisions."

Praxis looked at his own men and then across the field at the Spartans, mentally calculating their remaining numbers. He then called for Asterion, and he quickly relayed the message to the general from the runner.

"I'd say we release about half of our strength," said Praxis. "We can hold off what remains of the Spartans in this pass with just a hundred of us in this defile."

Asterion's eyes went wide. "Only a hundred? Praxis are you sure about this? They nearly broke us the first time, and if they see half of us leaving, that might renew their spirits."

Praxis turned toward the runner. "How badly does he need men?"

"The situation is critical," replied the runner. "We won't be able to hold much longer without reinforcements."

"Then you can have half my men," said Praxis. "We will hold them here with everything we have left. Your need is more dire than ours."

Asterion quickly closed the distance between them and pulled Praxis to the side. "Are you sure about this? We need to protect this pass and we'll be no good if they push aside what's left of us and attack the rest of the army in the rear."

"From the sounds of it, we won't have the rest of the army if we don't take action," said Praxis. "I don't know if a hundred men can turn the tide of battle but it's a risk we're going to have to take. We can spare the men."

"Maybe right now we can. But what happens when we develop another gap and have no reserve to pull them from?"

It was a valid question but one that Praxis didn't have an answer for.

"Do you have a better idea?" he asked finally.

Now the sandal was on the other foot. Asterion looked to be deep in thought for several moments but ultimately, he gave Praxis a knowing look, signaling no other option.

"I still don't like it," grunted Asterion. "This is foolhardy.

"Foolhardy is about the only thing we have left," replied Praxis. "Give the order to the men and let's reform the line. If we position ourselves deeper into the defile, our lesser numbers won't matter."

Asterion nodded and quickly set about picking who would go join the rest of the army. Those men were soon marching away, leaving only a cadre of one hundred warriors to take up new positions just about thirty feet back from the front line.

"Everyone grab some of the bodies of the dead!" yelled Praxis while pointing to the fallen Spartans. "Put them in front of our lines to slow the Spartans!"

By this point, the Spartans had noticed the change in the Messenian numbers and they were starting to push forward again to resume the attack. Praxis was able to make two runs to grab dead Spartans, making an impromptu wall in front of their line, before awaiting the next charge.

This collision of men and metal wasn't nearly as loud as the first one, but with lesser numbers to absorb the weight of the Spartan charge, all the Messenians felt their feet digging into the dirt beneath them. Praxis quickly scanned the line to make sure no gaps had formed, and he was once again thankful that the formation held at such a critical time.

"Send them all to Hades," roared Asterion from the other side of the line. "Push them back!"

The Messenians needed the encouragement. One look at many of their faces showed their exhaustion. Even Zenais seemed to be struggling, though she was holding her own against Spartan warriors nearly twice her size.

As exhausted as the Messenians were, the Spartans seemed to be in worse shape. Their fatigue had morphed into sloppiness, and they were making thrusts that left them open to counterattack. One too many times, Praxis just needed to wait for the Spartans in front of him to make his first thrust before putting a well-timed thrust of his own spear into their side. The Spartan crumbled to the ground, soon to be replaced by the man behind it.