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The Argive -- Chapters 091-095

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Chapter 91: The Longer Blade Wins

The next morning, all the elements of Nicomedes' plan started to come together.

It was just after daybreak when Praxis, Lysandra, and Zenais moved their somewhat limited belongings from their modest home to the palace. The owner of the house had been upset to see them go, once again putting in a request to send any future renters his way. Praxis made sure he was paid generously for his accommodations but he couldn't help but feel a tiny bit bad at moving into the palace, especially at no cost to him.

Nicomedes, however, seemed to be grateful to have a semi-permanent visitor. So too did Phaedra who was so giddy that her cheeks probably hurt from smiling too much.

After they moved in, Nicomedes assembled part of his army on a hilltop just outside of the city. Like the Argive army, the Messenian one wasn't a professional force. These men were farmers and traders first, and warriors a distant second. They would need all the help they could get when the Spartans came calling.

"What they lack in martial prowess, they will have in spirit," said Nicomedes, no doubt reading Praxis' mind as they reviewed a squad of soldiers. "They will defend their homeland to their last breath. I have no doubt about that."

"They will need more than spirit to outlast the Spartans," replied Praxis grimly. As a confirmation of his words, his eyes drifted to one older soldier, who was ineffectually sparring with a wooden post. The man's weak and ill-timed thrusts weren't going to do him any favors on the battlefield.

"Sometimes, spirit is all that we have," said Nicomedes. "Spirit and training. I've ordered near daily training for most of the units in the army. They will be ready when the Spartans come."

"And if they're not?" asked Praxis. "What then?"

Nicomedes let out a deep sigh. "Then we will fall. But it is my hope that with your instruction, we will be ready to handle what is thrown at us."

Praxis wasn't so sure. He'd hoped that Nicomedes' army would be in better shape than what he found. The Spartan army was a formidable beast, and he knew how easily it cut the Argive army to shreds.

"Most of them are frightened," noted Praxis as the men sparred. "They seem more than just anxious at what's coming for them."

"They have every right to be," replied Nicomedes. "The Spartan reputation hasn't just been assigned to them. They've earned it with every ounce of blood they've spilled. Their long list of battle triumphs is enough to humble anyone--Arcadia, Cynuria, Argos, Corinth. Wouldn't you be nervous if you were in their place?"

"Nerves can be redirected toward something positive," answered Praxis. "Fear cannot. We have to remove their fear. Otherwise, they will break at the first sign of trouble."

Nicomedes started to nod. "I agree with you. If we can give them some confidence in their abilities, that would go a long way."

With the sudden mention of the other foreign lands, Praxis brought up a question that had been nagging him ever since he met Nicomedes. And now seemed to be the best time to ask it.

"Why have you clung so desperately to your neutrality?" asked Praxis. "Why did you not ally with the other lands when the Spartan threat arose?"

Nicomedes scoffed and shook his head. It took him a few moments to form an answer.

"Hubris," answered the king finally. "Or perhaps pride. Maybe a mix of both."

Praxis gave him a confused look. "I'm not following."

"Messenia has always been a neutral power, going back generations," explained Nicomedes. "We typically don't get involved with petty squabbles with our neighbors, and that has a lot to do with our well-defined borders. The only real power that has threatened us has been from the southeast, and we've fought the Spartans before and won. There are many in Messene who thought that they would never try to conquer us again, including myself, until only recently."

"What gave you the change in heart?" asked Praxis.

"Two things," answered the king. "One was the changing circumstances, especially with the fall of Corinth and Argos at the same time. The other was being forced to confront the circumstances of my life. When I was a young man about your age, I had the world at my fingertips. I was strong and proud and thought that the world would bend to my wins. A series of tragedies showed me that no matter how strong I was, I couldn't dictate the course of my own life. The last tragedy was the death of Phaedra's mother. I realized that the older I got, the worse things became. With the way my life has gone, I don't doubt that the Spartans will attack my city, especially when we've allowed ourselves to be backed into the corner, without any friends."

Nicomedes' statement provoked a tinge of interest on Praxis' part. He looked at the older king. "What other tragedies have you suffered from if you don't mind me asking?"

Nicomedes would only shake his head. "That's not a story for now, Praxis. I have my own demons that I've had to bury. I try not to bring them to the surface lest they consume me."

It didn't sound like such a bad thing until Praxis saw tears in the man's eyes. Whatever that pain was, it was still raw, no matter how long ago it was.

Praxis didn't know how to respond, but luckily, the king decided to move on.

"I'm determined that Messene will not pay the price of my mistakes," he said quietly. "Even if I have to pay the ultimate cost."

It was a dark direction for their conversation, and Praxis was thankful they didn't continue down that road. At the current moment, they were rounding the edge of one squad and coming up on another. This particular group of men caught Praxis' attention right from the start.

There were no more than twenty of them but they were fighting in a style that was half familiar to Praxis. The other half was completely foreign.

"What are those men doing right there?" asked Praxis. "Why are they fighting so closely?"

Indeed, the men were practically on top of each other. Their shoulders were all locked in so tight that they were touching, presenting a front that was ten men wide and two men deep. Most curiously about them was how they were all standing the exact same way, in the same pose. Their round shields (which were even synced in style and size) were all held in their left hands, just in front of them. They were crouched in a half-stance behind them, their eyes peering over the rim of their shields as they waited for an imaginary threat.

It got stranger still. The man that was on the far left of the line gave an order and at that instant, all ten men in the front rank roared together and thrust forward with their primary weapon, which wasn't the sword like the rest of the army, but the spear.

It was a style of fighting that Praxis had seen before, back in Arcadia when the confronted he head warrior-priest at the temple of Ares.

And now here it was again.

"Interesting fighting style, isn't it?" asked Nicomedes. "It's being developed by my man right here, the one on the left. Let me introduce you to him. Asterion!"

The man who'd been giving the orders promptly stopped and lowered his spear. He trotted over to the king quickly and removed his helmet, showing a long mane of blond hair that was cut in the Spartan style.

"Asterion, I want you to meet Praxis of Argos," introduced Nicomedes. "He's here to help us train our army. We were just watching your style of fighting."

Asterion looked friendly enough and he gave a nod toward Praxis. "Argos, was it? I'm sorry to hear about your city."

"Thank you," replied Praxis before he gestured back to the men. "I'm curious about your fighting style. Where does it come from? I've seen it once before."

"Was it in Arcadia?" asked Asterion.

"That's exactly where it was."

"I picked it up there. My father was from that part of Greece before he met my mother in Messene," replied Asterion. "He taught me and my brothers how to fight with the spear instead of a sword. When we were younger, we used to all line up together, locking shields and marching in formation. At the time, my father laughed at us, saying that we fought too closely. I believe now that he couldn't have been more wrong."

"Asterion believes that this style of fighting would give us a number of advantages," added Nicomedes. "This is only something that has come about in the last month. I'm letting him pick his team of men and drill with the others, but it remains untested to me. I'm unsure of their abilities."

Asterion didn't seem to take that well. His eyebrows drew in tightly. "It will work on the battlefield," he said quickly. "It has a number of advantages!"

Praxis studied the formation for a moment while Asterion and Nicomedes squabbled. Finally, he had to give his appraisal.

"This is indeed an interesting way to fight," noted Praxis. "And I like that you've taken steps to cover the natural weakness of the formation."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Nicomedes.

Praxis approached the group of ten men and used his sword to tap on one man's shield. "They are so tightly packed together that they can't help but protect the man next to them."

"I don't understand how that's a strength," grunted Nicomedes. "They have no room to fight. They'll be running into each other when they close with the enemy. Any wide movements with their weapons will just as likely hit the man next to them. They need to spread out."

Praxis grinned and shook his head. "Not with this formation. They only need one offensive movement--the overhead thrust with the spear. Their shield will take care of the defense, covering them from head to toe."

Praxis demonstrated by tapping the bottom and the top of their shields with his sword. "Ordinary, this man might be exposed on his right side, his thrusting side, but he is then covered by the next man. Each man protects the man to the left of him."

Asterion grinned proudly. "That's my hope. I only have twenty of these men, but can you imagine an entire battle line outfitted like this? It would be impenetrable. An entire line of spears sheltered by shields. They'd be invincible as long as they stuck together."

"That would probably be their biggest test too," noted Praxis. "Staying in formation. This design has serious potential."

"Are you really certain about this?" asked Nicomedes privately. "I've humored Asterion out of a desire to try out new things but I'm not convinced of their worth yet."

Praxis nodded. "This could be quite the breakthrough if we nurtured this. I've fought this style before, and it makes it difficult for any man to close in with just a sword."

Nicomedes blanched. "But it's so... rigid."

"And that's why it's strong," replied Praxis. "Let me show you something."

Praxis removed his sword and approached the formation from the front. He held his sword out in front of him, showing his reach.

"Now, thrust forward with your spears," instructed Praxis.

The ten men obeyed and performed the movement. Praxis shot a grin back at Nicomedes.

"If done right, these men can kill the enemy before the enemy can even reach them with their swords. Their reach is double what mine is. Even if I could reach them, I can't strike them because of how many shields there are. It's the perfect offensive and defensive weapon at the same time. The longer blade is going to win."

Asterion seemed pleased as well, mostly because someone else was now saying what he'd been saying all along. "Praxis is right, my king. This could give us an edge against the Spartans but only if we nurture it. It has to be all or nothing."

Nicomedes still didn't seem thoroughly convinced but at least he was willing to try. He shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose we can keep practicing this formation. For now."

Asterion looked like he'd never seen a happier day.

Chapter 92: Asterion's New Method

For the rest of the morning and afternoon, Praxis continued to oversee the training of Nicomedes' army. The king was certainly right about one thing--what the men lacked in formal training, they made up for in spirit. All of them seemed to have a sense that their homeland was in danger, and they fought all the harder to protect it.

If only Praxis could impart a few techniques on them, they just might be able to stand their own on the battlefield.

He spent most of his time with the regular soldiers but in the afternoon, he went to observe more of Asterion and his men. Quite honestly, the spear phalanx fascinated him. It was an entirely new method of fighting, taking each individual man and molding him into one unit that fought and died together. Praxis even thought about what the entire army would look like fighting in this fashion, and he had a hard time seeing how the Spartans could beat them if that was the case.

He even set up a mock battle using wooden swords and spears with no metal tips just to show the efficiency of the new method. Like he suspected, the men with swords couldn't close with the wall of spears and shields, and those few that did manage to get inside the killing zone were quickly dispatched.

It wasn't hard to see why Asterion was so hopeful about such a formation.

"So how did you come up with this?" asked Praxis once the two men took a water break. "Just from playing around with your brothers when you were younger?"

Asterion started to laugh and then nodded. "Comical, isn't it? Sometimes I think we don't give children enough credit. Simple minds often produce simple ideas, and simple ideas can oftentimes change the world. My desire to protect my younger brothers was what gave me the idea, and now, these soldiers are all protecting the man next to him."

"It's remarkable," replied Praxis. "But I don't think Nicomedes likes it too much."

Asterion scoffed. "No, he doesn't. Truthfully, most of the men don't like it either. They think it's a soft way of fighting."

"I'm not following that line of thinking," said Praxis. "What do you mean by soft?"

"The common way of fighting is about challenging your enemy. About taking him on one-on-one and defeating him. This formation doesn't allow that. It forces you to stand your ground and let your enemy come to you. They say it's the formation of a weak man, one who must cower behind his shield instead of going toward his enemy. The men don't like to be thought of as cowards and volunteers are few and far between."

"I can understand that," noted Praxis. "But at the end of the day, if this gives us a better chance of winning on the field, isn't that worth it?"

"Not just a better chance of winning, but a way to beat a larger enemy," said Asterion, turning his head to look at Praxis. "We fight as a unit so that numbers don't matter. If you can stand your ground against the weight of an undisciplined force, you can pick them off one by one with the support of your brothers. It's the perfect army for a smaller power like Messenia."

"I couldn't agree more," replied Praxis. "And for the first time since I arrived, I have hope that you just might be able to beat the Spartans. If the army adopts it entirely."

Asterion shook his head. "I've been trying to tell Nicomedes that but he won't listen. He's too stuck in the past, doing things the old way. Sometimes I'm surprised he even permits us to train like this. Even when the war comes to Messene, I can't see more than a hundred of us taking the field in this manner. We might give off a good showing before the rest of the army crumbles around us due to the sheer weight of Spartan numbers. Then we'll fall too. It's inevitable."

"Maybe not inevitable," said Praxis. "I'll talk to Nicomedes about it tonight."

Asterion raised an eyebrow. "You seem to have a lot of pull with the king even though you just met him. Why is that?"

Asterion brought up a good point, something that Praxis had been wondering about himself. He'd gotten along almost too well with Nicomedes, and he found his relationship with the Messenian king was building quickly.

Praxis shrugged. "I'm not sure why to be honest. But I think it's because we have the same goal--the defeat of the Spartans and the maintenance of Messenian independence."

"It's still curious," replied Asterion before finally breaking his stare. "Don't get me wrong, I like having someone here who understands what I'm saying. I won't turn away such a gift. I'm grateful to have met you today."

Praxis let out a smile. "You seem like a good one to me as well, Asterion. I'm looking forward to training with you more in the future."

Asterion smiled briefly before returning to his training. He was a stiff individual, one that didn't seem to let his guard down easily, but he was also the best chance Messenia had at winning this next fight.

One way or another, Praxis decided to continue to nurture that friendship.

By the end of the day, Praxis was just as tired as the men he'd been training. Sweat poured off him in the dry heat of this part of the country, and his stomach was rumbling in anticipation of dinner. Before dinner could happen though, he promised Nicomedes he would give his impressions of the army after that first day. Making his way back to the palace, he found Nicomedes in the central courtyard.

The king was wearing a black shawl around his head, leaving only his face exposed. He sat facing a burning flame, while at his side was a small table no larger in size than Praxis' waist.

Upon that table was a single ring. It was an old one by the looks of it, and the metal was tarnished and dull from many years of neglect. Praxis had to wonder what the story was behind the ring but it didn't feel right interrupting Nicomedes at this point. Not when he seemed so focused on the flame.

So Praxis kept his distance and watched the king from behind. It took a little over ten minutes before Nicomedes finally stood up, using a jug of water to extinguish the flames. Once the fire was nothing more than burning goals, he lowered his shawl and turned, finding Praxis behind him.

Praxis stumbled for a lack of words once the king looked at him with questioning eyes.

"I... didn't mean to intrude. I just got back from training."

The king had tears in his eyes and he nodded. "How long did you witness that?"

"Only a few minutes," replied Praxis. "I didn't think it right to interrupt you."

Nicomedes swallowed heavily. "It's quite all right. I was just mourning my wife. There are some days when I can't keep her memories at bay, and I find the need to speak with her spirit. I wasn't sure what time to expect you."

"I understand, and you don't need to explain yourself. Do you want me to give you more time?"

Nicomedes shook his head. "No, don't worry about it. It's fitting that you've arrived when you did anyway. I was going to save this for dinner tonight but I've just gotten word that King Nikandros of Sparta is only two days out from Messene. He is coming for peace negotiations."

"Peace negotiations," growled Praxis. "At least that's the pretense. He's coming for your surrender."

"He won't find it here if that's what he's thinking," replied the king. "Have you met this Spartan king before? When he came to Argos?"

Praxis shook his head. "No, I was out of the city. A little dispute with my stepfather had me in Corinth at the time."

For some reason, Nicomedes looked amused by that but he didn't say why. "That's a good thing then. Nikandros has no reason to know you personally. I was hoping that you might be present when I meet with him? Though you were not there, you still know what kind of demands were made of Argos. I think it would be valuable to have your opinion of the meeting."

"Of course," answered Praxis. "I'll be there."

Nicomedes smiled. "Good, thank you. How did things go today with the army? Do we stand a fighting chance or is this old man just fooling himself?"