Chapter 8.
Arbephest stood alone outside the gates of Rhoma, the air was dry, the sky engulfed in thick pink clouds, they dipped so low it seemed they would begin to consume the land. Not a sound disturbed the silence. He halted for a moment, taking a deep breath to enjoy the cool morning air. Looking upwards, clutching his shield, he noticed the canvas above and was stricken by a pang of anxiety deep within.
Beyond the northern walls of Rhoma Arbephest’s five hundred chosen troops stood, ready in formation they awaited him. Upon sight of the battle scarred warrior pacing into view they cheered aloud, raising their shields and spears high into the sky with great excitement.
As their cheers quelled another sound staggered the quiet. The sound of hooves. Arbephest turned about to be met by the steeled gaze of his kinsman. Arbicos rested upon Annabelle’s back armed for war, with him Halos and the party who accompanied him to Cele. Shocked, Arbephest approached the male and his horse, he extended a hand to Annabelle causing her to neigh lightly at his touch.
“Arbicos? You should be with your son.” The young male shook his head, he was alert, and though he had obviously made an effort to clear his mind of his deepest miseries, there was still a darkness in his eye that Arbephest could never understand.
“He sleeps more than he is awake, Arbephest, Emartes and the wet nurses keep him well. I cannot rest in my home, it’s too much.” The aged warlord sighed but nodded his head.
“Very well, how did she ride?” Arbicos nodded without his expression falling away from its emptiness.
“As if guided by Athena herself.” Arbephest laughed lightly through his nose dismissing the thought. His peer leapt down from her saddle before the mare’s owner lead her around the blockades of Rhoma, between its derelict entrance. Leading Annabelle he heard his men call out Arbicos’ name and applaud with great stimulation at sight of him. It brought great comfort to know the revered warrior would march by his side while they scoured the coasts of his home.
Ten miles north of Rhoma the shoreline of Greece extended steadily to a blunt pinnacle, which in this day heralded the northern most point of the country. The land was greatly elevated some hundreds of meters before the coastline at which point a slope lead steadily down to a grassy beach. The rich ocean was farmed in abundance by hordes of fishermen all year round, to even think that his countrymen were being denied access to their own waters fuelled Arbephest’s rage.
Before the descent to the coastline, the majority of the northern countryside was covered in patches of dense forests that were scarcely explored areas of wilderness, avoided by the likes of the Hellenic people. Many a manhunt Arbephest could recall in his past, in search of people who had gone missing in the night, or strayed too far away from society in the day, and succumbed to whatever lurked in the wilds.
Returning beyond the northern walls of Rhoma he looked once more upon his men, Arbicos had joined the ranks to stand as any other Athenian soldier attending to Arbephest’s command. “Prepare march!” He yelled and the united clatter of five hundred shields turning and colliding in unison staggered out bluntly in the dense air. The warlord of Rhoma walked ahead of his men and stared at them. They each knew that brutal glare. That ruined face that knew no mercy. He nodded slowly, gazing intently at one man, and then the next.
He knew all who stood before him had seen combat, he knew they were aware of what he expected of them, and hoped they each held the virtues of their nation as dearly as he did. “Warriors of Greece!” His men were riled up at his words. They clashed their spears against bronze shields and stamped their feet, yelling the warlord’s name. “A darkness from beyond the Pillars comes unprovoked to our shores, one that wishes to burn our towns to the ground and rape our wives and children. This nation believes it can simply sack our country as though we were any other, that they can walk over us upon the field of battle and take from us all that our forefathers fought for!” The men continued to howl, funnelling their disgust at such thoughts into the air. “These worthless bastards believe they can go unchallenged by any nation, but they’re unaware of what they’ll awake from its slumber. The united might of the Hellenes will meet this pestilence head on! We will not back down nor surrenders arms, our enemy will soon learn of the virtues of Greece as we lay waste to them, they will soon know the true meaning of war! Forward march!” His men roared with a wild vigour, stepping onwards to begin their trek towards the shores of their home. Before he turned Arbephest noticed that even Arbicos appeared alive at his words, his gaze was wide, and the scarred veteran hoped he had sparked a fire inside him that would burn long enough to see this enemy wiped from the lands of his home.
Despite the eeriness of the clouds above, the land was remarkably still, no winds stirred nor did nature disturb the quiet, the former displeased the warlord of Rhoma however, for a cool wind was most pleasant in the demanding heat of battle.
His men marched in two ranks, separated by some feet, twenty five men across and ten in depth, each with a captain at the front and rear of the troops, these men held no authority over their kinsmen, they were merely recognisable faces responsible for the assembly of their warlord’s army before marching to war.
Arbephest marched amidst the gap that separated his men, setting their pace of movement. From time to time he would smirk at the sounds of some ridiculous comment or yell out to reply to some irrelevant question. More often than not the anxiety of being war bound would grip him to silence.
“It’s been too long since we fought by one another’s side, Arbephest!” An Athenian yelled out to his leader above the commotion of a thousand marching feet, despite him being just a few meters away.
“Indeed, Vasilios, let us hope there is a fight ahead of us.”
“When was your first battle, warlord?” A young male this time yelled out, yet Arbephest did not recognise his voice.
“Not long past my fifteenth harvest, Athenian, longer ago than I care to remember.”
“Fifteenth?-”
“Tell the young troops how you were raped by your wet nurse before you first marched to war, Arbephest.” Vasilios turned his head as he yelled so that all of Arbephest’s troop could hear, his voice however was met only by Arbephest’s mocking laughter, he turned about to look upon his men, walking backwards.
“This man who speaks first marched to war when your warlord did, three harvests advanced on your warlord, and he is jealous for before I left I felt the warmth of a woman, while he was still suckling at his mother’s chest!” A momentary racket of laughter flooded through the ranks though each man’s concentration abruptly fixated upon something in the distance and the amusement of the moment vanished. Arbephest turned to see a lone rider galloping hard across the land far in the distance.
“Forward pace!” He yelled and his army’s marching speed doubled.
The morning was wearing on. The clouds above the Athenians were becoming thinner, though their deep pink appearance did not reside. The warlord of Rhoma knew his army was more than halfway to the Northern Pinnacle, and that soon he would have an un-obscured view of the shoreline from high above for many miles.
Deep inside he hungered for combat, he lusted after that most ecstatic feeling of taking a man’s life, the feeling of overcoming his enemy and standing victorious before an army of thousands each chanting Arbephest as if he were himself a maker.
The lone rider and the Athenian army enclosed upon one another, meters away the galloping steed was steadied up, it sweated and neighed aloud flustered by the relentless charge its owner had just forced upon it.
“Warlords!” Despite Arbicos being stood in line, the Athenian immediately recognised his unscathed face amidst the ranks of his kinsmen, and the heavy belt of his makers that enveloped his waist. Arbephest stepped out to greet him, excited by the man’s urgency.
“Men unlike any I have seen begin to line the coasts of Greece, warlord Arbephest, at the Northern Pinnacle, their numbers are small but more vessels come from the ocean, they grow with each
passing moment. Do more Athenians come?”
“For the moment we are alone, your king has ordered it so, if their numbers are still small we will continue our route north and make our presence known.”
“Should I return by horseback, warlord? In case their numbers grow beyond your men’s capability to combat them?” Arbephest smirked inside at thought of such a thing.
“No, ride to Athenia, inform king Peremes we are being invaded by a power from beyond the Pillars, that troops are to be assembled to march north and south. These rumours are no longer mere words, Athenian, ride to Rhoma and choose a fresh mount, then ride with haste to alert Greece. Go.” The scout nodded at his leader and with another cry urged his huge steed onwards around the five hundred men before him. Without a moments hesitance Arbephest yelled out to his troops. “Forward march!” They clattered their spears against shields and again their pounding feet staggered the silence of the morning air.
For the rest of their march the warlord’s army was quiet. The rider had confirmed to them they would see combat, and though none of them knew that regardless of their enemy’s numbers, their leader would order them to engage, they still each became anxious at thought of seeing this enemy whispered to come from beyond the Pillars.
Approaching the last green hills of their land before the descent to the shoreline, Arbephest raised his right arm and within moments all five hundred troops came to a rapid stand still. Slowly they trod towards the rim of the elevated land, allowing his vision to be cast out across the beaches of Greece. What he saw truly enraged the warlord.
“What’s this?” The scarred warrior’s nostrils flared and eye brows sank.
“The priest spoke the truth.” Arbicos appeared stricken in a daydream. He looked over the invaders through dreary eyes. Not Arbephest, Arbicos, nor any of the Athenian troops had ever seen living proof of men from beyond the Pillars before, nor did they know if a people even existed beyond them, yet here they were now, casually resting upon Hellenic mainland.
Those that could see stared for much time in silence down at the invaders who went about their business, unaware of the mass of Athenians who watched. Arbephest could look upon his enemy clearly. They were a tall race, slender, the majority unimpressive in muscular stature. Focusing upon their facial features an immediate shiver cut through him, he wiped a hand over his scarred mouth and chin. “They’ve walked among us.”
“Warlord?”
“Those skulls, they have the same skulls. One of their people was dead in the temple of Rhoma, the same light brown skin, the same etched features.” Arbephest began to huff through enraged breaths. “We’ll crush them where they sit! They’ll learn the penalty of stepping foot upon the lands of we Athenians. Prepare march.” How calm him voice was as he uttered those final words, steeled and relentless, he dropped his spear and withdrew his bronze sword, he wanted to bleed them dry and cut them limb from limb.
“Warlord? Their numbers far exceed our own, if we are all slain who will warn Greece?” A young male closest to Arbephest spoke out with desperation, the invaders numbers were no less than three men to a single Athenian, yet he was ignored, for the red haze had already ascended over his warlord’s vision.
“To the death in war!” The grizzled veteran bellowed furiously to his men, gesturing they lock regiments and advance upon their enemy. To the death in war, the words reverberated out amongst them. Their bronze shields enclosed and their spears became poised. Again their footsteps thudded away at the ground in unison as they began their descent towards the shores of their home and their enemy.
The Athenian ranks came together, advancing with great pace. Arbephest hastily noticed his encroaching army had been detected, his enemy began to scamper, clothed in bright gold sheets that reflected the dull rays of sunlight with far greater potency than the bronze shields his men carried. He could not make out a single metallic weapon amongst them, nor tell whether the garbs they donned was armour or merely for display.
His men charged forth to uphold the oaths of their country, presenting an unstoppable barrier of death that accelerated above all other things in wiping a battle field clear of life. As they hastened each man in the Athenian troop was suddenly stunted to a painstaking hobble. From beyond the ranks of their enemy some thundering bellow desecrated the sound barrier, piercing their ear drums, causing each warrior to hold ranks and grasp their heads in efforts to deter the horrendous sound.
As the haunting echo subdued them, some men screamed out in pain, others were fell to their knees grasping at their ears in vain to prevent the horrific pitch. Before the potent horns resided Arbephest looked up through strangulated eyes, he believed his ears deceived him for the devastating pitch was replaced by what he first mistook to be some giant drums, beating in unison from the enormous vessels floating steadily off shore.
“Arbephest –”
“Reform your lines! Onwards!” The scarred warlord stood straight, struggling to recuperate. The rest of his army made effort to imitate him. Stepping forward the heavy drums far in the distance each ceased. For a brief moment a layering development of confidence surged back through Arbephest’s veins before the weapons of his enemy were released in unison. An eerie sound like those hulking pawed beasts of the wild groaning in the night filled Arbephest’s ears but this was no animal. The cringing moan of woodwork filled the beaches of the Northern Pinnacle, yet the warlords could only watch in disbelief as gigantic boulders became air born from the looming vessels beyond the coast.
“Separate!” Arbicos yelled. Athenian troops began to scatter their ranks in hopes of escaping the immense chunks of granite that began hailing down from the skies. The colossal rocks crashed into the sands with earth shaking power causing waves of dust and earth to explode into the wind whipping and concussing the warriors caught in each wake of destruction. Men leapt in all directions for their lives, for some however their agility was not enough. Before the moans and screams of the injured could demoralize Arbephest’s army the air became filled with the sounds of the echoing drums once more, and the sound of the Athenians’ enemy yelling across the beach.
Arbephest strafed his movements, watching them begin to form ranks, he shouted with frustration continuing to lead his men towards the invaders. Before the sound of clunking resided the air was filled again with that most horrific pitch. He fell upon one knee bellowing in agony, watching the enormous wooden structures rise far in the distance. At their pinnacle the boulders were released, enormous lumps of grey stone travelling at such speeds he felt an overwhelming moment of confusion in his dismay.
The sounds of his surroundings became dull to his ears. He watched the giant fragments of rock loom across the skies and fall upon his men, paralyzed in awe he stared as a gigantic lump of granite hurtled towards him with ever growing pace. The corrosive sound of his enemy’s war horn fixed him in place, and as the shadow of death blocked out the sun he closed his eyes bracing himself for impact.
Pain shook through his abdomen just briefly before he gasped a mouthful of sand back into his throat, the giant stone structure exploded into the earth erupting debris into the air about its impact before a mighty grip grasped his arm. Arbicos heaved the aging veteran back up to his feet, pushing him onwards towards the shoreline and their enemy. “Reform your lines!” The young warlord called out to the men, un-phased by the desecration around him, “onwards!” Filling him with inspiration, Arbephest immediately dragged himself from his hindered state, he roared once more looking about at what was left of his men. Much of them still stood, advancing and reclosing their lines, their shields and spear tips prepared.
“For the Hellenes!” Arbephest broke into sprint and his men joined him. He could see the whites of his enemy’s eyes now, the looks of terror strewn upon their faces and constricted ability to act in the face of his bloodthirsty army.
One more moment of quiet filled the beach before the two forces abruptly collided shaking the calm. With the power of an almighty clap of thunder
smashing against the ocean’s surface the Athenian’s crashed into their enemy, wave after wave of soldiers pushing those ahead. Reinforcing their ranks they prepared for a massacre.
Arbephest’s movement was brutally stunted by the lines of his enemy, as though he had ran straight into an impenetrable wall his face collided at once with a lingering hammer causing a moment of darkness to overcome him. Pain splintered his forehead, held up only for being pinned between two armies, the deep scar upon it burst open drenching his face in blood. The wild man hollered at the feeling, fuelling his adrenaline he thrust away mercilessly through the gaps in the Athenian shields causing the blood of his enemy to spew covering friend and foe alike.
Their defences were crude. Skin shields and blunt weaponry. Pathetic. Whomever the warlord next aimed to slaughter his psychotic gaze would fall upon, bright white eyes burning through the crimson mask that covered him. The words of Arbephest’s oath drummed deep in his mind whilst the thick blood in his eardrum distorted the sounds of his surroundings. The echo of war was a great orchestral symphony to him. The clash of a shield beside him, the step of a foot to his left, a map of his surroundings reverberated through his mind’s eye so attuned to battle he was.
All across the Athenian ranks the men held strong together. The sound of bronze deflecting hammering blows and ghastly cries of men falling wounded choked the beach. The slaughter ensued. Athenian spear tips thrust infinitely through the walls of shields easily deflecting the opaque mallets of their enemy falling upon them.
Into the heart of the invading army they pushed, laying waste to those stood before them, unrelenting as too their own men were laid to rest. Men were cut to pieces or crushed under the wake of their opposition causing the smell of iron and human waste to stagnate the air. Above all other sounds the bloodthirsty howl of Arbephest reverberated across the Northern Pinnacle.
With the appalling whimpers of the dying enveloping the Hellenic earth, Arbephest glared about himself wildly. Sweat and blood poured profusely from gashes and wounds all upon his grizzled skin, his men were heavily outnumbered, and though he was beginning to tire from the relentless peril of combat he knew there was much bloodshed left.
“Hold your lines!” With a gory roar he leapt into the ranks of shields pushing his men onwards. There was little structure to the intruder’s regiments, nor did they demonstrate any plan of action in the face of the warlord’s army. The bronze Athenian wall stood fast against the invaders, and as the battle raged on for what seemed to the men an eternity, the skies began to darken with gathering crows, drawn by the stench of dying humans, they circled patiently above waiting their turn.
The warlord knew his men would be pushed to their greatest limits yet still might fail at the hands of these usurpers, though the grizzled warrior would never back down nor give in. To his death he would rip the life of his enemy from their throats.
The last hundred or so Athenians still breathing fought for their lives. They each became consumed by distress upon hearing the words they dreaded come bellowing out from Arbephest’s mouth. The command that meant death was as likely to take them to the darkness as life was to see them wake upon the dawns of a new day.
“Release!” The warlord of Rhoma yelled as loud as his starched voice would allow him, ordering his warriors to free their ranks and begin a mindless assault upon the overwhelming troops that were around and amongst them. The bloodshed took a turn into fast paced melee action for now, individually, the Athenians would demonstrate to their opposition why their nation was first in war.
Little more than a blur to Arbephest, a hurricane of blood and bone, screaming and last muttered breaths came to a climactic cacophony. All at once still overcame the sea of butchered wasting bodies strewn out endlessly before him. Heat waves poured up from the still warm blood of the deceased, joined by those foul stenches of battle, he glared with a wild bloodlust across the empty beach identifying just thirteen others still standing. Twelve of them were his company, one his enemy. Of the army that had outnumbered his men treble fold just one now stood, panting heavily the male looked exhausted from battle, he was unarmed and ravaged.
Arbicos watched the warlord of Rhoma advance upon his enemy with haste, the invader unaware of the raging butcher that approached. The ruined warrior swung his sword with massive force. Blood sprayed everywhere as the blunted Athenian blade became embedded deep in the male’s neck, he did not die immediately though, his bulging eyes locked upon Arbicos. Upon hands and knees the male gaped for breaths before Arbephest’s sandaled foot fell heavily upon his elongated skull, crushing his face into the blood bogged ground.
The aging warlord stood up straight withdrawing his blade with a great struggle from the depths of the invader’s neck. Blood poured from his split lip and forehead basking down his face, he looked over the plane until he found Arbicos’ drifting gaze. The young man looked as though he was yet to fight, breathing as though he had not yet exerted himself, his face untouched and bronze sword still sheathed. His shield however told a different story. Fresh blood dripped from its rim, and layer upon layer of drier, darker fluids covered and stained the dim bronze aegis.
The unrivalled warrior fought first with his primary source of defence, there was great reason why his people said he was half the wall of their nation, Arbephest nodded a number of times at the sight but he could see Arbicos took no pleasure in his own capabilities.
The scarred veteran stumbled towards him panting heavily, intently trying to regulate his breathing. Before any man in his company could rest the sounds of those great cranks once more ruptured the quiet beach.
“To the hills! Before we’re crushed!”
“Warlord –” a fraught cry came from the ground to Arbephest’s right, he turned to look upon a young Athenian whose skull had been half caved in, his face was scarcely distinguishable. “Help.” At his whimpering voice the veteran scrunched his face and exhaled heavily through his nose.
“Assist any who are still breathing, come!” With desperation he tried to heave the young male up. He was lost beneath a pile of corpses, each sinking into the bog of death beneath his feet. Arbephest’s frustration grew the faster and louder the sound of the drumming clunks became. Franticly he tried to release the young male’s body, though the moment the sounds of those wooden structures ceased so did his efforts. He sighed and looked upon the boy with the deepest regret before shaking his head. “You upheld the virtues of your country, lad, you’ve earned your death, you will not be forgotten.” As the cringing woodwork rattled off shore Arbephest did not take a moment to look at them. “To the hills!”
With his peers he ran for his life, assisting those who had successfully dragged some of the nearly deceased from the endless swamp of corpses. Not once did he glance back. He heard the sound of those gigantic boulders plummeting with unfathomable velocity down into the trough of dead. This time their impact did not cause the sound of heavy thudding however, but the squelching of human entrails and crunching of bones.
In a foul eruption waves of limbs and dismembered body parts became air born, fragments of bone and sheets of skin were torn from the decay, sealing the fate of those still dying. The moans did not take long to go quiet.
Arbephest stood dazed. A red and brown canvas covered him. Fresh blood still pulsed from the wounds on his face and body. What he saw was unbelievable. A fleet of at least fifteen further ships was approaching the coasts of Greece, they were enormous, unlike anything he had ever dreamed of. “These bastards dare walk upon our shores? Believing they can simply sack our country? They must know nothing of us Athenians!” It was not the thought of war with these usurpers that angered Arbephest most, it was the fact they knew nothing of his nation, and simply believed they could walk over it with as much ease as any other.
“Where do such numbers come from?” Arbicos appeared lost in a trance, his question was met only by Arbephest’s ferocity.
“More of their men come whilst ours lay dead on the ground! Curs
e Peremes for his stupidity! This was nothing but a slaughter!”
“Let’s return home, he’ll grant us the troops we need when he sees our scars of war.”
“We’re Athenians! We fight until we die!”
“And you think we can kill another army alone, Arbephest? They are not our battle! This was our battle, and we are victors! We must alert Greece, Peremes will allow us every Hellenic soldier that stands within our territory to march to war when he sees what’s become of us.”
“Flee from battle? It’s preposterous!” The bloodied warlord gazed at the shoreline through his psychotic glare.
“We’re not fleeing from battle… we’ve won our battle, now let us escape slaughter. What good are we to an army if we allow ourselves to be slain.” Arbephest still breathed heavily, he turned his face fixing upon Arbicos.
“What do you care for your own life, Arbicos?”
“The makers spared my life for a reason, Arbephest, this –”
“The makers!” He spat on the ground at the word, “I spared your life, Arbicos, look at me, you think the makers value the life of a warlord of Greece? There’s a reason why I stand where others don’t, it’s not because of some imaginary bollocks spewed at the mouths of men who’ve never taken up arms to stand for their country!”
“Believe what you will, brother, I know I stand here now for a reason. Our nation needs us both, and I won’t give up my life until I know this country is free.” Arbephest breathed heavily, no longer for exhaustion, but for frustration. He turned about to walk towards home though swiftly turned again, unleashing a mighty roar of anger he hurled his short sword towards the ocean then turned once more without speaking.
His men followed without comment, the atmosphere so tense they dared not speak. The few they had dragged from the field of battle had already passed away from loss of blood. Their bodies were too numerous to carry back home and bury.
Arbicos stood for some moments longer staring at the colossal vessels already deploying smaller boats full of garbed males to row to the shores of his home. After much time lost in disbelief he also turned his back on the oceans to follow his kinsmen back towards Rhoma and home.
The Echoes of Solon Page 15