Chapter 74: Chapter 74: Triumph and Defeat

It was with a profound sense of triumph that King Nikandros brought his victorious army back to Sparta.

The Spartan king was truly on top of the world. All it took was one quick campaign and now he could count on Argos and Corinth as vetted members of the Peloponnesian League.

For Argos, it was their first time in such an alliance, and Nikandros had all the faith in his puppet king, Xanthos, to keep the city placated under Spartan domination.

For Corinth, the city’s streets had been bathed in blood as their people were reminded that they couldn’t just leave the Spartan alliance whenever they wanted.

Being in the Peloponnesian League was a life or death matter. You either lived under the Spartan thumb or you died. It was as simple as that. There was no room for changes of heart, no stomach for reevaluation.

Sparta pulled the strings at the very top and that was the way it was meant to stay.

For Nikandros, it was also a personal triumph as well. For far too long, Spartan kings had been short-sighted and pessimistic about their ambitions. Many of them had never left the lands around the city, preferring to dominate Laconia but not the rest of the Peloponnese.

Nikandros had always thought on a grander scale. Why shouldn’t he expand Spartan power throughout Greece? What kind of king cowered behind a throne of excuses?

The answer to that question was presented in the form of his co-king, Cleomenes. Nikandros found the older man in the royal mess hall where they traditionally dined. Cleomenes seemed interested in seeing his co-king on one hand but his interest was coupled with another expression.

An expression of embarrassment.

“You’re back much sooner than I expected,” said Cleomenes as Nikandros took his seat. “From what I’ve heard, your campaign was a success?”

“A total success,” boasted Nikandros. “I couldn’t have asked for it to go better. Both the Argives and the Corinthians are at my feet, ready to do our bidding. For one campaign to subdue two of the leading cities of the Peloponnese, I can’t tell you how pleased I am.”

“I’m happy for your success,” said a timid Cleomenes. “I know what kind of odds you faced when you departed. This is no small victory.”

Nikandros sneered. “You certainly don’t look as happy as you say you are. In fact, you look quite embarrassed. Embarrassed that it’s not you leading that army to victory, as I did.”

“I don’t profess to wanting such a command—”

“No, but you wished you’d had done it anyway,” interrupted Nikandros. “The glory of the last campaign falls squarely on my shoulders. It was my doing that created the League and now I revel in its glory. It’s quite funny, Cleomenes. Usually it’s the younger king that has to live in the shadow of the older one. Now our roles are quite reversed.”

For all his timidity, Cleomenes managed to look annoyed at that statement. “Fortunes have a way of turning just as quickly as they are made. You might want to remember that, my brother king.”

“I’ll remember it all right. I’ll keep it with the other pieces of advice you’ve given me over the years,” sneered Nikandros. “All the good they did. If I’d have listened to you, I’d be as irrelevant as you are now. It’s a good thing I’ve forged my own path, Cleomenes. Now Sparta can achieve a level of greatness not known to our ancestors.”

“You speak like a man who’s already tasted final victory,” shot Cleomenes. “You call your alliance the Peloponnesian League and yet you don’t rule the entire Peloponnese. Messenia still exists outside our orbit.”

Nikandros let out a great, big belly laugh. “Messenia? I could take Messenia within a fortnight. The Messenians are a joke, led by their cowardly leader Nicomedes. They won’t last long outside Spartan orbit.”

“And still, you can’t call yourself the true lord of the Peloponnese until you have Messenia.”

Nikandros waved his hand as he became more annoyed. “In due time. The Messenians are alone now and I know that Nicomedes knows that. No one will be coming to his aid. He is a fat chicken that I have yet to strike but his time will come. For now, I will enjoy the fruits of my victories.”

“There is one thing you should consider, brother king,” added Cleomenes, unprompted. “Though we may have domination over Argos, Corinth, Arcadia, and Achaea, another rebellion could happen. The Corinthians could rise again, and they might not be alone this time. What would we do if all our charges united under a common cause? Such an alliance would be a heavy test for our army.”

Nikandros shook his head disdainfully. “Are you always so fearful, Cleomenes? I have my foot on the throats of all of our allies. They won’t so much as cough without asking for permission. You worry about things that don’t need to be worried about.”

“I worry about things that could potentially happen,” replied Cleomenes. “Such is the nature of a king.”

“Is it the nature of a king to fret like an old woman?” shot Nikandros. “I’ll tell you this, Cleomenes. You worry about the small items that contain your attention every day. I’m talking about things like keeping the ephors happy and keeping your daughter out of trouble. Let the serious issues of the world be left in my very capable hands. Everyone will be much happier that way.”

Cleomenes didn’t reply directly to that statement. He finished his meal and moved to leave the mess hall. Before he could leave, he turned right at the door.

“I hope that it’s as easy as you make it sound,” said Cleomenes. “Something tells me even the best plans can be undone.”

Before Nikandros could answer, Cleomenes turned and left.

“Old fool,” muttered Nikandros as he kept eating. “Constantly scared of his own shadow.”

Cleomenes was right about one thing though. With Argos and Corinth subdued, the only major state on the Peloponnese that remained outside of Spartan control was Messenia. King Nicomedes was an older, shrewd leader—the kind that wouldn’t be so easy to manipulate like the new king of Argos. Nicomedes would be a more formidable foe but the Messenian king stood alone, without the benefit of allies.

“Maybe it’s time I pay Nicomedes a little visit,” mumbled Nikandros. “And in the process, truly unite the Peloponnese.

*****

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Back in Argos, Astara wasn’t in a great mood. In fact, she scarcely remembered a day when she wasn’t in a foul mood, especially since Xanthos took over as king.

Despite the fact that she was now one of the queens of Argos, she was perpetually unhappy. Argos just wasn’t the same as it used to be. The people were still frightened and upset about the Spartan garrison, and it was little wonder why when every morning there was news about uncouth and aggressive Spartan soldiers attacking people in the night, or worse. There was hardly a family left in the city who didn’t know someone who had been raped or killed indiscriminately, if only to entertain their soldiers.

And yet, no matter how many times the issue made it to Xanthos’ desk, his response never changed.

“The Spartans are untouchable,” he replied dismissively. “They are our firm allies, and I won’t do anything to jeopardize that partnership.”

Astara rolled her eyes as she thought about the last time he said that. He was such a weak king—exactly the kind of weakness that could destroy the city. He was even worse than Damian, if that was possible. At least Damian tried to preserve their autonomy because he knew what it would lead to.

Xanthos just didn’t care. As long as he could count on the Spartans to be his backbone, he would permit any atrocity like the good lapdog he was.

It turned Astara’s stomach, especially the thought of being his wife. At least their marriage was a political one. Xanthos must have suspected her utter disdain for him because he never came calling to exercise his marital privileges. That was left to Melitta, a woman whose temperament was a very close match to his.

For the most part, Astara was happy to play the role of palace recluse as long as it meant the safety of her family.

“Astara!”

She turned from toward the door quickly as she heard her name, her eyes going wide when she saw her little brother, Nico, making his way inside.

Astara’s eyes instantly went to the red mark on his cheek.

“What happened to you, Nico? Did someone hit you?”

The young boy nodded his head slowly. “It was nothing, I promise. I deserved it in all honesty.”

Astara planted her hands on her hips. “Nico, what happened? Who did this to you?”

“I don’t want to tell you,” he said, his voice no louder than a whimper.

“Was it the Spartans? Tell me honestly.”

His eyes gave it away. “Yes, but I deserved it. I ran into one of the soldiers by accident. I wasn’t watching where I was going in the marketplace and I stepped on his foot. He hit me but I deserved it.”

“Blessed Demeter, not you too,” muttered Astara as she rubbed his cheek gently with her hand. “Go see our mother. Maybe there’s something she can rub on it to make the red go away.”

“You’re not going to say anything to Xanthos, are you?” asked the boy fearfully. “The last time it happened, I didn’t care for the outcome.”

Truthfully, neither did Astara. Xanthos viewed Nico as little more than a pesky in-law, a boy that was determined to be a nuisance. Nico was no different than any other seven-year-old boy and he did find himself in his fair share of trouble, but all of it was harmless.

Even still, she wouldn’t expect Xanthos to lift a finger about this. There wasn’t even a point in trying when she already knew the answer.

“I won’t say anything for now,” said Astara with a sigh. “Not like it would do any good anyway. But you need to stay away from the Spartans. You’re lucky this was all you got. I’ve heard enough stories by now.”

“What kind of stories?” asked Nico.

“The kind that you don’t need to know about yet,” replied Astara quickly. “Now go run along to mother. Quickly.”

The boy let out an exaggerated breath as he left. “I miss how things used to be in Argos.”

That simple statement provoked a heartfelt sigh from Astara. She also missed the old Argos, which seemed more and more like a dream that was never coming back. She missed those simple days when she wasn’t the queen and she didn’t have to worry about the next atrocity.

More than anything, she almost missed someone who wasn’t in the city any longer.

There was hardly a day that went by when she didn’t think about Praxis. Though their relationship had ended badly, she still cared for him greatly. He hadn’t been seen since the city fell but there were rumors about the escape of many former citizens, making their way in all directions as refugees. Though she didn’t know what happened to him, she had hope that he was still alive and that they might be reunited one day.

Although, reunited for what purpose? She was now married to another man, a man who was Praxis’ stepbrother. And though she hated Xanthos with every fiber of her being, he was the reason her family stayed safe in Argos. She knew that any other boy that had an altercation with the Spartans would come away far worse than just a firm smack against the cheek.

Astara had never felt more thoroughly stuck.

She was living a life that she didn’t want with a man that she hated. How had things turned sour so quickly?

And was there any hope of turning it around?

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