The Argive Ch 046 050

Chapter 46: City of Death

Things couldn't have looked any worse.

At this very moment, Praxis gripped his sword as he stalked forward, every footstep causing a surge of pain to jolt through his body. His chiton was ripped and stained with blood--the blood of Spartans as well as a good bit of his own. His head was weary and his muscles ached at the constant exertion.

And to make matters worse, two sneering Spartans were dragging Lysandra away, using her hair as the handle as she screamed and cried.

"Praxis, help me!"

"Yes, Praxis, help her," taunted one of the Spartans. "Come over to play."

"Last warning," said Praxis, brandishing his sword. "Let her go and I'll let you live."

The two Spartans howled with laughter. It was like they couldn't fathom someone who wasn't Spartan beating them in battle.

"We'd love to see you try, boy," growled the second Spartan. "Come on, let's dance!"

The two men pushed her into the arms of a third Spartan, who was destined to play spectator while he held onto the prize. That allowed the two Spartans to approach Praxis, spreading further apart as they walked until they covered both sides.

As Praxis gripped the handle on his sword, he said a silent vow to Apollo, promising him these men's souls if he could just rescue Lysandra. There was something about that promise that gave him the inner strength to move forward and the Spartans reacted when he made his first thrust.

Just like that, the three of them were locked in a bloody duel. Praxis moved like a man out of time, making one lunge just to parry a thrust from the other man. It was all he could do to stay on his feet as they pushed him back but Praxis managed to keep them from overwhelming him from either side.

His blade was the first to draw blood. He whipped it across his body, catching the second Spartan across the upper arms and chest. It wasn't a fatal cut but it would hinder his movements and give Praxis an advantage for the rest of the fight.

"You got some skill with that blade, do you, boy?" snarled the first Spartan, ducking to avoid another swing by Praxis. "Too bad you're not skilled enough!"

"What do you think of this skill?" growled Praxis.

With all his might, Praxis launched a thrust at the man's midsection after stepping to the side to avoid another attack. The Spartan didn't see it coming, which led to the first few inches of his sword piercing the man's side--coincidentally in the same spot that Praxis had been stabbed by Nearchos.

The Spartan gasped at the sudden reminder of his own mortality. Praxis yanked the blade from his body, causing the man to hobble backwards, stunned for the moment. In the process, Praxis turned his attention back to the other man, and he soon yelled in pain as the Spartan achieved a deep cut across his lower arm.

"What do you think you're going to achieve?" sneered the second Spartan as he shadowed Praxis. "The city is already ours. You can't undo it!"

"We'll see about that, won't we?" replied Praxis, making sure of his footing.

The Spartan shook his head. "Prideful until the very end? That will be your downfall. You don't know when to admit you're defeated."

The Spartan attacked just as the last words left his mouth. His move was blocked by Praxis, but the devastating barrage of attacks forced him backwards. What was even worse, the first Spartan had seemingly recovered from the initial shock of his wound and was rejoining the fight, even if he moved much more slowly than he did when it began.

Praxis needed a way to change the tide. He looked around for something to aid him in the fight. When he found a ceramic vase nearby, sitting on a ledge outside someone's house, he remembered a move he did in Corinth.

It was imperative the Spartans never saw the move coming, so Praxis backed himself as close to the vase as he could before he took his chance. Rolling backward, he grabbed the lip with his free hand and whipped it around at the second Spartan.

The Spartan reacted slowly, only using his blade to shatter the vase at the last second, but it threw him off guard for just long enough for Praxis to launch an attack of his own. Within a matter of moments, his sword was buried in the Spartan's chest.

The Spartan's eyes went wide as a trickle of blood erupted from his mouth. Praxis growled in the man's face.

"You should have known when to admit defeat."

The Spartan didn't answer. In fact, he never said another word for the rest of his life. His body hit the ground and stopped moving completely.

That just left the already wounded Spartan as the only man left. His confidence was noticeably dented at seeing the death of his fellow warrior and he started to move backward--a telltale sign of anxiety.

"Drop your sword now and I'll let you live," warned the Spartan but it was already too late for deals.

"Hold onto your sword so I can kill you with honor," roared Praxis as he launched into his last attack.

The Spartan was just too slow from his wounds to react quickly enough. No sooner had he blocked a last-minute thrust than he was too late to respond to the next. Praxis succeeded in cutting him many times, never landing a killing blow. In a way, he was toying with the man--a man who had all intentions of absconding with Lysandra to take his pleasure from her body.

That thought caused a renewed rage to take hold. Finally, Praxis was done playing with him. He attacked for the final time, striking low enough to sever the Spartan's leg almost completely from his body.

It only dangled by the ligaments, causing the Spartan to fall to the ground, clutching what remained of the stub. If it were any other man or any other situation, Praxis would have been tempted to show mercy. A quick death was preferable to one that was long and drawn out.

But Praxis wasn't merciful today. Not after everything that happened.

That was why he left the Spartan to die on the ground, screaming in pain as blood continued to gush from his stump. Praxis knew the last moments of his life would be agonizing but it was deserving for anyone who thought they could rob him of his city.

Before anything else could happen, he saw Lysandra rushing toward him, the third Spartan's courage having given out after watching two of his best countrymen fall. She clutched his arms as her eyes fell over his body.

"Praxis, you're so wounded," she cried, tears flowing down her cheeks. "We need to get you to safety!"

"Not while there's still Spartans in the city," replied Praxis weakly.

She could only shake her head at him. "Praxis, look around! The city has already fallen!"

Her words were devastating but they were truthful. Praxis had been so consumed by his quest to recover her that he hadn't noticed what had happened in the last half hour. The last defensive position was overrun completely. Argives were streaming out of the city's gates--both civilians and warriors alike. Somewhere, a fire had broken out and already a full block was aflame, giving off a ghostly specter as night fell.

The city was beyond lost.

"How can I just abandon Argos like this?" yelled Praxis in his rage. "Not after all we've done? Not after how hard we've fought?"

Lysandra grabbed his face between her hands. "We've done all we can do. We have to get out of the city now before it's too late!"

Praxis knew her words to be true even if he couldn't admit them. At this point, he looked down at the bloody mess in front of him, finding his legs weary from the loss of strength.

"I need your help," he whispered. "I don't know how much strength I have left."

"Come on, I'll help you," she promised.

Just like that, Lysandra helped take the weight off his wounded side. Together, they hobbled toward the last remaining gate, joining a stream of refugees as they attempted to make their way out of the city. Just behind them, the fire was spreading easily, driven from block to block by a strong nightly wind.

Praxis suspected that half of the city might only be rubble by morning. Perhaps it would be a blessing after all. Better it be rubble than left to the Spartans? At least then, today's sacrifice wouldn't be in vain.

Unfortunately for those that made their way outside the city, it was no refuge for them. Those that left by the eastern gate found that the Spartans were still chasing them. This time, it wasn't warriors that fell but women, children, and the old that bore the brunt of their fury.

"We have to get as far from this gate as we can," whispered Lysandra urgently, tugging Praxis toward the south. "You don't have the strength to keep fighting."

"I might find some if the Spartans happened upon us."

"I'd rather not take that chance. Not after how much we lost today. Come on this way."

Together, the two refugees made their way south, which was noticeably devoid of any Argives trying to escape. With Lysandra's help, Praxis hobbled through the thick weeds in the fields outside the city. In normal times, he would be able to smell the farms that existed out here.

Now, he could only smell smoke and fire. The fire inside the city was so vicious and the smoke was so thick that they inflamed his lungs. Both of them started to cough when they were trapped in a cloud of brimstone. For several tense minutes, Praxis thought about turning around to escape the smoke but he knew that was the path to certain death.

They continued on, finally escaping the smoke and emerging on the west side of the city, from where the Spartans entered. There were no enemy units still located outside the city, a blessing if Praxis ever found one.

They kept moving until the smoke was just a single, solitary pillar on the horizon. With heavy hearts, both Praxis and Lysandra turned to face their mother city.

"It's hard to believe it's gone," whispered Lysandra, her voice choked with tears. "Everyone we know. All my friends. Lysander."

That last name elicited a sob of great remorse. Praxis held her against him as he softly stroked her red mane of hair.

"There's nothing left for us in Argos now. We need to keep moving."

"W-where will we go now, Praxis? Where? We have nothing and no one!"

"We still have each other," he replied. "And as long as we have each other, all is not lost. But we can't stay here. It pains me to say this but Argos has fallen."

The sob that erupted from Lysandra came deep from her soul. At that moment, Praxis knew exactly how she felt.

Chapter 47: The Price of Submission

The next morning, Argos was a shell of its former self.

The rising of the sun found nearly a quarter of the city completely flattened, having been leveled by the flames that had broken out earlier in the night. To make matters even worse, a bulk of its citizenry had fled, streaming out of the gates ahead of the Spartans and making their way into the countryside, or to the other friendly Greek cities.

To put things into perspective, King Xanthos ruled over an empty and charred city.

But, he still ruled. The first day of his reign had been marred by complications but he was still the king, and now his throne was more secure than ever. He had the entire might of Sparta within the walls, guaranteeing that no Argive army would materialize to take back the city.

He also had streets full of blood. The Spartans had carried out a campaign of terror overnight, executing anyone left alive that had fought them earlier in the day. Such warriors like the members of the Elite, those that followed Praxis, were immediately beheaded if they were found in the city. Though Xanthos knew the bulk of them had escaped, he wanted no illusions of what would happen to them if they dared return to Argos.

The same went for his stepbrother. One of the first things that Xanthos did that morning was issue a proclamation that Praxis was exiled from Argos for all time, never to return to the city. It was met by a small crowd of disgruntled Argives, many of them still bewildered at how much had changed in the course of a day.

And now they found their best warrior exiled forever. Surely, Xanthos was presiding over the loss of hope.

Though his pronouncement assumed that Praxis was still alive, Xanthos didn't know if he was. There were still many bodies that had yet to be identified, and his stepbrother was wounded grievously when he challenged Xanthos for the palace. There was a chance that Praxis was already dead, and that was certainly a satisfying notion if there ever was one.

For now though, Xanthos had to focus on consolidating his control. Teams of citizens were put together to put out the last vestiges of the blaze, as well as to clean up what had been destroyed. The remaining men of the Argive army were ordered to take an oath of loyalty to him alone, and any that didn't were exiled from the city.

The last task that needed to be done was to set up the Spartan garrison. Xanthos allocated the grounds next to the Temple of Apollo, near the Aspida Hill, as the location of their permanent garrison. Xanthos found the location oddly satisfying, seeing as Praxis always claimed his family's personal god was Apollo. Now their family god could watch over their hated enemies, which made Xanthos grin.

The garrison was to be made up of seventy-five Spartans, and already it was being formed before the army left for Corinth. In having that garrison, Xanthos was assured of their support against any challenges from within the city as long as he continued to support the Spartan cause (which of course he was always going to do anyway).

With most of those items underway, Xanthos wasn't surprised to receive a visitor in the form of the Spartan king, Nikandros, that morning. There were few men in the world more imposing than Nikandros, with his broad shoulders, tall stature, and long beard. His most distinguished feature was his lifeless eyes. They held almost no warmth for anything or anyone.

He also had a penchant for getting right down to business. He stormed into the room like he owned the place.

"Xanthos of Argos, I'm here to discuss the terms of your entrance into the Peloponnesian League," said Nikandros with a booming voice.

"King Nikandros," replied Xanthos, bowing his head. "All the terms for the entry into the alliance have already been completed. At this very moment, your lieutenants are picking the seventy-five men that will make up the garrison of Argos. From what I can tell, we're set on all requirements--"

"Not all requirements," interrupted Nikandros. "I need something more. My men are hungry and they need to be fed."

Xanthos looked confused. "Did you not bring provisions with you from Sparta?"

"We did," said Nikandros as his lip curled into a sneer. "But only enough provisions to last us on a straight journey to Corinth and back. No one foresaw an interlude in Argos and as such, my men won't have enough food to get home."

"How can that be?" asked Xanthos. "Our plan was for you to stop here before you got to Corinth."

"My plan was to have you take over the city so I didn't have to send my warriors to do so," countered Nikandros with a thundering tone. "Nearly a hundred Spartans are dead because you couldn't take over Argos by yourself. And now, someone is going to have to pay that cost. I'm requiring from you enough food supplies to feed my three-thousand-men army for another two days."

Xanthos' jaw fell to the floor. "Two days? That's a good portion of the food in the city! Not to mention, crop yields are down this summer. You're asking a good portion of Argos to give up what little they have."

"They should be thankful for what they have left," growled Nikandros. "If not for you, I would have had to take the city completely, killing most of the people and taking

all

of their food. They should be thankful for such easy terms for joining the Peloponnesian League."

Xanthos swallowed hard. "The people won't see it that way. They'll think the Spartans are stealing from them now that they're on top."

Nikandros took a step closer, invading Xanthos' personal space. "I don't give two figs what your people think. You're their king.

You

explain it to them. All I care about is that my men get the rations they need, especially for this sojourn into your city that should have never happened. Now I need you to start working on getting that food."

"It's just that finding that amount of food will be hard in such short notice," said Xanthos nervously. "It will take some time. I fear we might delay you in getting to Corinth."

"Then to make it easier on you, I'll take half now and half on the way back to Sparta," replied Nikandros, like it was the most obvious solution. "Either way, I will get my food."

Xanthos didn't want to ask it but he had to know for sure. "And if we still need more time than that?"

Nikandros actually smiled which had the effect of making his cold eyes look more terrifying. "It's best that you do what I'm asking in the time frame that I'm giving you. The people of Argos have already undergone leadership change once. Let's not make them do it again so soon."

And there it was. For Xanthos, it was a stunning admission that he ruled Argos only because the Spartans allowed him to. As soon as the Spartans withdrew their support, he would lose his throne.

At that moment, it became more important than ever to stay in their good graces. Even if it meant Argos would starve.

"I will have the food that you need precisely when you need it," said Xanthos, his voice low and weak.

Nikandros scoffed. "I know you will, Xanthos. I never expect anything less than perfection. And in return, your city will benefit with the Spartan partnership but only if you're a loyal ally. Understand?"

So it was either the whip or the spear. Xanthos now perfectly understood his place in the world.

"I understand, King Nikandros. I will do all that you require."

*****

The morning after the Spartan takeover found Astara nauseous and full of anxiety.

Last night had been largely restless. From everywhere in the palace, she could hear the screams of the city as homes burned down around them and as women were raped by the Spartan soldiers. It was a screaming that didn't die down until the early morning, and Astara's eyes had deep bags under them from the lack of sleep and the constant worrying.

She was worried about so many things. Her family for one, especially considering they were alive now only because of her good behavior. She didn't put it past Xanthos to dispose of them, especially if she did something to upset him.

After all, any man who would kill his father willingly wouldn't hesitate when it came to anyone else. Xanthos was the most dangerous man in the city, and she had to keep him happy.

It was an awful thought, especially when all she wanted to do was run away. Astara had brief daydreams of action, where she would spirit her family away in the middle of the night, far away from Xanthos and his reach. Perhaps they would go to Corinth and perhaps they would go to Athens. Either way, she would be out from under his thumb and they would be safe.

Alas, she knew that wasn't possible. The Spartans were guarding every entrance into the city and they would never permit her to pass, especially when they already knew who she was.

Even despite knowing she was Xanthos' wife, it didn't stop them from making their comments.

"What I wouldn't give to take that cunny home with me," said one particular Spartan guard to another, as Astara was walking by. She turned to stare at him, not knowing if he meant to say that within earshot but it was then that she learned that they didn't care that she heard them.

"I bet she fucks really good," replied the other Spartan, who had no qualms about looking over her body brazenly. "Pity she's attached to the Argive king."

"You think he might loan her to us for the evening?" quipped the first Spartan. "After all, it's because of us that he has his throne?"