Chapter 131: Brothers
For the next two days, Praxis rarely left the training grounds outside the city.
There was an incredible amount of work to be done and almost no time to do it. At any moment, Praxis could get the word that the Spartan army was on the march, and that would spell doom for the city with their current state of readiness.
He needed more men. Only a pitiful hundred Argives had responded to the call on the first day. A few more trickled in here and there, but there was no shortage of those coming from the city to watch their training, no doubt trying to figure out if they stood a chance against the Spartans.
For most of them, they took one look at the spear phalanx and went home.
Not that Praxis could blame them. The Messenians were the only ones competent enough to run the phalanx, and so far the Argives were making a royal mess of copying it.
"Horn of Hades, stay on your damn feet!" barked Asterion to one Argive in particular, a fresh-faced youth not much older than eighteen. He'd been marching with his unit when he missed the order to halt. The youth tripped over his own feet and landed on the ground.
To make matters even worse, his fellow Argives didn't try to help him up. Instead, they were content to taunt the poor youth.
"Never should have let Thorax into this army," remarked one warrior, who was positioned next to Thorax in line. "He's better off selling bread in the market than being out here."
"He'll get gutted by the first Spartan he comes across," commented another.
It got even worse from there. Another man broke out of his formation and grabbed Thorax by the back of his armor.
"Get on your feet, Thorax!" urged the man, who Praxis guessed to be his brother judging by his similar physical attributes. "Can't you hear them taunting you?"
Thorax gave the other man a look of daggers. "I don't need your help, Hippias! I can do this on my own!"
"From where I'm standing, you look like you need all the help you can get!"
The two men looked about ready to come to blows before Asterion sidelined them both, making them sit in the shade of an olive tree to cool off. They were still grumbling to each other when Praxis approached.
"Something tells me you two are brothers," said Praxis, watching as both young men instantly stiffened and stared at him with wide eyes. "Either that or cousins. Which one is it?"
"Brothers, my king," said the younger one. "My name is Thorax, and this is my older brother, Hippias. There's only a year between us in age."
"I can tell," said Praxis. "You could probably pass for twins if you really wanted to. Either way, I'm glad you two are in my army."
Hippias huffed. "I'm not sure why."
"Hippias! That's the king! Watch what you say!"
"It's the truth, Thorax. We suck. We're not catching onto this spear phalanx thing, this formation. We're dragging everyone down."
That statement appeared to be right on target. Hippias was hardly any better than his younger brother, and the two seemed like they had a long way to go if they were going to stand toe-to-toe with the Spartans.
If anything, they seemed like they would benefit from some guidance.
"How long have you two been fighting?" asked Praxis. "Not just with the spear phalanx but in general?"
Thorax looked at Hippias, who answered for both of them. "On and off for the past year or so. You see, our father was old when we came along. He never had the ability to teach us, and he really didn't want to since our mother died young. He died recently and once he did, we started learning on our own."
"But it was obvious we didn't have a natural talent for it," finished Thorax. "As you can see today."
"We're all beginners at some point," said Praxis. "And what I'm asking you to learn isn't easy. I'm sure it feels pretty unnatural compared to fighting one-on-one."
"Unnatural is an understatement," replied Hippias sourly. "It's just downright awkward."
"It gets easier," said Praxis. "But you have to practice and keep practicing. It wasn't all that long ago that I couldn't even do it but I learned. I know you both can too. You still want to be here, don't you?"
Thorax looked at Hippias, who answered for them both again (a pattern that Praxis was starting to detect). "We do. We just want to be useful though. I want to know that I'm making a difference on the battlefield. That the army won't be better off if I just stayed home."
"Trust me, that's not the case," said Praxis, chuckling. "I'd take a hundred more of each of you right now. We'll never defeat the Spartans with our current numbers."
"My king? Then what are we doing here?" asked Hippias, cutting to the heart of the matter. "If we can't stop this, then why are we here? What's the point?"
Hippias wasn't wrong in his assumptions, and Praxis feared he spoke too brazenly. He shook his head quickly.
"We
can
defeat the Spartans. And we have to lead by example. The more men that learn the phalanx, the more confident we become. The more confident we become, the more we inspire others to join. That's how we defeat Sparta. If there's any words of wisdom that I can give you both today, it's stick it out. Practice. This is within your grasp, even if you think it's not. Argos needs you, and I need you too."
"We're with you, my king," promised Thorax.
Praxis wasn't sure how solid his commitment was, especially since Hippias gave his brother an odd look right after he uttered it. But it was certainly better than nothing.
"You better get back to training," said Praxis. "It was good to meet you both."
With those last words, Praxis left the brothers behind, wondering what would become of them. Could the army still win if it were filled with men like Thorax and Hippias?
Or was Praxis just fooling himself in the long run?
*****
It wasn't much longer after the king departed that Thorax felt a hard nudge in his side.
"What are you doing?" hissed Hippias.
"What do you mean?"
"'We're with you, my king?' Why would you promise him that?"
Thorax blinked. "Why wouldn't I? We're here, aren't we?"
"But we suck!" exclaimed Hippias, quickly cutting to the heart of the matter. "We could either be here or not be here and it wouldn't change a thing."
Hippias had a point. There were many times throughout the course of the last two days where Thorax thought he would just be in the way of any battle. And while his brother was just a tiny bit more fluid on his feet, they were still leagues away from being competent fighters.
"You might be right but I want to be here," said Thorax before nodding his head in Praxis' direction. "He needs us. Our city needs us. No one wants to see the Spartans come back, and if we don't stop them, that's exactly what's going to happen."
Hippias grunted and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Maybe they'll have better use for us when we die. At least they can stack our bodies to slow the Spartans down, right?"
Thorax started to laugh and sprung to his feet before giving a hand to his brother. True to form, Hippias growled at his extended hand and pushed up on his own, ignoring the help. Such was typical for Thorax, who had always had a turbulent relationship with his elder brother, stemming from when they were kids.
He thought that perhaps joining the army and learning to fight might just be the thing that brought them together, but even now, it just seemed to push them further apart.
"Come on, let's go to that formation right there," said Hippias, pointing to a group of new arrivals who were just doing their first moves. "Those men only showed up this morning. They won't know how badly we suck yet."
"But what about our old groups?" started Thorax before he looked behind him for the rest of Asterion's group. His heart sank when he saw how easily they were getting along. Someone had even slid into his old slot, and they were doing a much better job than he could have done.
"Never mind," added Thorax moments later. "Let's go to the new arrivals."
As it turned out, there were even problems with this group. As Thorax was corrected for perhaps the hundredth time that afternoon, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he should have just stayed at home. Maybe Ares didn't bless him with fighting spirit after all? Maybe he was just fooling himself to think that he belonged here?
Either way, he was tired of being made to look the fool. Hippias didn't have much of a showing either, and when the men were dismissed for a water break later that afternoon, they found themselves the target of attention from the commander of the group.
At least Cilix was a familiar face.
"You boys are really struggling with this formation," noted Cilix between sips of water. "And you don't seem to be getting any better."
Thorax didn't know what hurt more--the idea that they were doomed to ineptitude, or the fact that someone like Cilix could see it so easily.
While his statement upset Thorax, it only served to make Hippias angry.
"It's this stupid formation," growled Hippias. "It's completely unnatural! It's just downright strange! Asking all of us to fight so closely and coordinate our movements, it's just not what men do. We're not sheep!"
"No, no, we're not," replied Cilix, chuckling to himself. "Nevertheless, it's what we must do."
"But why though?" pressed Hippias. "Can't we make an argument for fighting in the traditional style? As we're all accustomed to?"
Cilix shook his head vigorously, dismissing the thought. "No, we cannot. This is the formation that King Praxis wants, and more importantly, it's the style that's allowed him a considerable amount of success already. We need to use it, especially if we are to be outnumbered by the Spartans, which is almost a certainty at this point."
Hippias kicked a clump of dirt with his feet. "Then I guess we're just doomed."
"You know, there are other roles that might be better suited for you men," noted Cilix. "Non-combat roles. The army always needs to eat. I could put in a good word with the king if you think it would be a better use of your... skills."
Thorax knew immediately what he was trying to do. It was a subtle suggestion to do something else. That they didn't belong on the field, said in a manner that wouldn't upset them.
Cilix was trying to give them a way out to preserve their dignity.
