The Echoes of Solon

by D S S Atkinson

Chapter 11.

  Before Anna had woke that morning, in the darkest depths of the night Arbephest rose from his bed. He scarcely slept for his wife’s actions towards him. As time came to leave her he silently stepped around the dimly lit chamber and knelt by her side.

  He watched her for some time in the quiet of the night, merely breathing in complete calm, her beauty still struck him though he had known that face for so long. She slept so soundly he did not wish to disturb her, instead he pressed the lightest kiss upon her forehead before moving once more in silence out of the chamber.

  The air was cool outside upon the granite walkway that lead into Rhoma, it relieved him of the heat of his abode and cleared his mind of everything but the task ahead. The pains of his physical wounds now troubled his movement. With haste the scarred veteran awkwardly traced the clay streets until he reached the stable.

  There, sat upon a brown palomino was his brother in arms. Arbicos was staring lifelessly into the walkway looking lost. Arbephest knew his spirits were at their lowest, doubtlessly their lowest in his lifetime, and though sensitivity was not one of his strongest virtues, he would be sure not to provoke any bleak thoughts within his old friend’s mind for the troubles he knew already burdened him.

  The warriors nodded to one another the moment their gazes met, Arbephest’s of a burning rage, whilst his kinsman’s a woeful emptiness. Mounting Annabelle he urged her onwards ahead of Arbicos who followed in silence through the streets of the ancient town towards its derelict exit.

  For much time their mounts cantered across the green fields of the Hellenic countryside. The warriors rode alongside each other, avoiding built up areas of woodland. Neither had said a word for many miles. Regardless of their seven harvests difference in age the men had fought side by side since Arbicos’ turn into maturity. Arbephest held a great respect for the young male for his fighting ability, unmatched in any way, by any man he had known nor heard stories of, and further, that he fought for his country with the same fervour Arbephest held dearest to the virtues of Greece.

  By some strange impulse to let his young peer know he held concern over his welfare Arbephest spoke up at last, despite the two men’s comfort amidst the silence they shared.

  “How do you fare, brother?” Arbicos sighed quietly with little impulse to his manner.

  “A moment at a time.” The veteran nodded in silence.

  “And your boy?” This time Arbicos turned his head to look at Arbephest, there was a broken smile on his youthful face, still his eyes were drowned in emotion, he nodded a number of times. “I’ll be sure to come visit the moment we’ve secured our country from this pestilence, I know Anna is excited at thought of laying eyes upon him.”

  “Thank you, Arbephest, how has her attitude been most recently?” This time Arbephest sighed. Arbicos knew vaguely of their relationship, but Arbephest rarely let an emotion show nor spoke of his feelings upon the subject.

  “She’s been her most distant... I know not of her reasons, other than for the curse I carry.” Each sentence they uttered to one another was broken by some moments of quiet. For all the men’s fame and renown, they truly had little to celebrate.

  “Perhaps you will be blessed yet, old friend, the makers move in mysterious ways.”A matter that troubled Arbephest far more than the mere fact he could not reproduce was that his wife had not laid with him before he left Rhoma to march north. It churned his insides still, though to turn a personal trouble over in his thoughts without sharing it was his way. He moved the conversation to a subject which had been distressing him just as deeply as his wife’s coldness.

  “Tell me again what the stranger said to you on your march home from Arillia, Arbicos, of the boats, in the sky.”

  “It was all he mentioned, Arbephest, I’m sure now he was sincere in every word, I can recall it clear as day.” Arbephest exhaled deeply through his blooded nostrils. “You haven’t spoken with witnesses in Rhoma?”

  “By now every labourer there is likely to claim they saw the object above the temple, it would be impossible, the imagination of men can’t be trusted.”

  “What if it wasn’t mere imagination, brother?” Arbephest grunted at the young male’s words.

  “We fought an army today at the Northern Pinnacle, where were these, vessels, or boats of the sky then..? Ridiculous.” Arbicos nodded slowly in silence, as though to agree with the speculation, before Arbephest changed the subject once more. “Your boy, has he been blessed with the features of his mother? Or is he cursed to look like his father for all his living days.” This comment brought a light exhale of laughter to the young male’s nose, much to Arbephest’s pleasure, there was no joy in seeing his kinsman so constricted in his lifeless depression.

  “If Athena has any sense she’ll give him the looks of his mother,” he looked on drearily into the darkness, “I dreamt about them last night.”

  “Athena?” Arbicos shook his head.

  “Haedra, and my boy.” His youthful face became stern, “and my father. They were stood at the entrance of our home laughing... I couldn’t hear what of.” An immediate feeling of unease crept under the scarred veteran’s skin.

  “Why are you telling me this, Arbicos?” His kinsman fell silent for a moment, lost in some dark memory.

  “They never met in life... he despised the very thought of her.” Despite his respect for the man, Arbicos’ nature at times disturbed Arbephest. In his darkest states he caused the warlord a strange feeling of anxiety, and his latest actions confirmed to the veteran that his friend’s mind was troubled far beyond mere distressing dreams.

  The men fell quiet once more as that most confusing image continued to tumult Arbicos’ mind. There was more to the sequence of events amidst his dream that he wished not reveal to his brother. Upon turning away from his family, stood upon an empty field beneath the darkest of skies, he looked upon Arbephest slumped on his knees. Red lined the aging veteran’s throat and his reddened eyes wept blood, he was glaring upwards, out towards the coasts of his home, pointing up into the cold sky.