Chapter 41: 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?”

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“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.”

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