* * *
The warriors seldom spoke whilst their mares galloped away across the Hellenic hills. The warlord’s paranoia was still ablaze for thoughts of where the beasts of the night might have ventured.
“Will you do as he commands, warlord?” Arbephest did not look upon his captain, he had little interest in conversing.
“For now,” he grunted. His burning spheres stared onwards into the blackness.
The sound of Rhoma could be heard long before the view of fire blazing beyond its derelict walls. Hundreds of Athenian soldiers patrolled the town’s aged blockades, geared for battle, the warlord nodded to himself at the sight. His captains knew their warlord was a man who welcomed war, they knew he would expect his troops to be ready to march and lay down their lives for Greece on his command.
Warlord. The word echoed in the air as he trotted the steed amidst the walls of his home, Halos was not once acknowledged. Arbephest’s renown far exceeded his own.
Stood at the entrance of Rhoma’s armoury was a young troop captain. Phelan had celebrated his eighteenth harvest not long past, and was a warrior that shone in the warlord’s eyes. His short black hair and muscular physique did not separate him in appearance from his peers, but he fought with great ferocity and authority on the field of battle, traits that Arbephest looked for in a man who might one day succeed him.
“Arbephest,” his voice was still light from youth. The young male grasped arms with his warlord and nodded with respect, “have you heard news of the coasts?”
“Indeed, Phelan, though Peremes dismisses the word as rumour.”
“Many more ships have since been sighted off the Northern Pinnacle, warlord, they appear to be watching our shores. None of our fishermen have come in close contact with them yet they insist their vessels are getting closer. The coasts have been cleared of trade and fishing fleets for fear they might be hostile.” Arbephest cursed under his breath with frustration, resting a hand upon his head.
“Shouldn’t we send word to Panthea, warlord?” Halos’ aged face looked gravely upon Arbephest.
“The trireme have been launched, captain, Theleos sails to Egypt in search of answers.”
“The Egyptians know of this? Why don’t we?”
“The high priest of Sais who was murdered one moon past had news of an invasion from beyond the Pillars of Heracles, he said that Apep dismissed his scouts information, our own king is blinded in his insolence by the fact that the priest was slain on Athenian territory. He orders just five hundred men march to inspect the rumours of these vessels. I’m certain they’re hostile, they are the people Tuth spoke of.” Phelan and Halos shook their heads in disbelief before the young captain spoke up.
“Should we not just send a scout to confirm the whispers, warlord?”
“Scouts will watch the shores of the Northern Pinnacle over night, if the vessels keep their distance then we’ll march at first light tomorrow and make our presence known. If they encroach any further throughout the night however, we’ll march as soon as is necessary. If their numbers are truly overwhelming we need not engage, the rest of Greece can be alerted.” This time the men nodded at thought of the plan, though Halos knew of his leader’s madness, even in the face of certain doom. He had lead men to their deaths against overwhelming odds in times past, himself being dragged from a battlefield unconscious and long thought dead before miraculously recovering.
How the warlord was still alive the captain did not know, he simply believed him to be a gift to his people from the makers themselves. “Halos, lead a party to Cele and inform them that more ships have been seen along the coasts of Greece, that they’re to be prepared to march should it be necessary.”
“Warlord, I would be quicker to ride alone.” Arbephest shook his head.
“Upon this night, Halos, ride with a party, and be armed. Go.” The aged captain believed his warlord to be fearful that the boats upon the coasts of his country might already have deployed troops to scout the Athenian lands, he was unaware that the beasts amidst the wilderness were most prominent in his mind. “Phelan, assemble five hundred of Rhoma’s warriors to march at first light, tell them to get rest but be prepared to march at any moment this night. Before that make haste to my parents, inform them that before day breaks I’ll feast with them, for after I march to war. You won’t march yourself, Phelan. I have a task I wish you to pursue.” With a disappointed look upon his face the young male nodded at his warlord and went without objection.
The night was becoming late, the warlord sought rest and a moments calm for he knew not what tomorrow would bring. Making his way out of the blockades of Rhoma and up the stone steps towards his home, he felt the heavy press of his existence fall upon him. It had been a day like none the warlord had known, he felt grief for his brother, though never imagined he would go as far as taking his own life.
Inside his abode the rooms were empty, where Anna could have been confused him. In the past he laid with her each night before leaving his home to march, to see her now absent brought pain to his heart. In his strange state of paranoia he boarded his home’s entrance up for thoughts of the bloody cats leaping from the shadows still haunted him, despite Athenian soldiers patrolling the outskirts of his town.
Laying down, his mind and body burned with anxiety and excitement, he lusted for day break, the mere idea of upholding the virtues of his country once more enthralled his mind, clearing it of the thoughts of his lost love and the image of Arbicos hanging from the olive tree. The heavy strains of the day however kept his focus upon the idea from lasting. He could never have anticipated what tomorrow’s light would bring as darkness swept his conscience.
The Echoes of Solon Page 13