Spartan Run

by David Robbins

  One in particular stood out.

  “—food in the barracks?”

  “You should know better. It’s against the law for our unit to eat anywhere but in to public mess. We don’t have so much as a crumb.”

  The Warrior recognized the first speaker as Captain Chiton, and he believed the second to be Captain Pandarus.

  “We can hold out for three or four days at the most,” stated another person in a forceful tone. “After that, our bodies will be too depleted of energy to withstand the rigors of combat.”

  “How are we fixed for water, sir?” Chilon asked.

  “We have a faucet in the small room at the rear of the barracks,” replied the forceful one. “But General Calchas knows about it, and I have no doubt he’ll cut off our water supply. He won’t waste the lives of more good men when he can simply wait us out, then pick us off easily when he ventures from the barracks.”

  Rikki finally identified the third speaker as General Leonidas. He opened his eyes and glanced to his right. Sure enough, there they were: Chilon, Pandarus, and the general. Leonidas sported a wide bandage on his left shoulder. Rikki discovered he was lying on the top bed of one of the double bunks, and next to his right arm lay his katana in its scabbard.

  “Go check on the progress of the casualty count,” Leonidas directed Pandarus.

  “Yes, sir,” the captain said. He did a smart about-face and departed.

  The general stared down at the floor and sighed. “Damn my luck! If I hadn’t taken a spear we might have won.”

  “You shouldn’t blame yourself, sir,” Chilon stated.

  “And why not? If the men had let me lie there instead of trying to protect me, our line wouldn’t have broken and Calchas wouldn’t have breached our phalanx. The fault is mine for being careless.”

  “The men were doing their duty by safeguarding you at all costs,” Captain Chilon remarked. “You’re the best officer King Dercyllidas has under his command. If anything happened to you our cause would be bleak.”

  “Our cause is bleak,” Leonidas stated. “Dercyllidas is at death’s door.

  General Calchas has us trapped. We have no food, and soon the water will undoubtedly be cut off. And to top it all off, the outsiders and their van are unaccounted for.”

  Blade and Teucer were missing? The revelation upset Rikki, although he took comfort in knowing his friends wouldn’t desert him.

  “Not all the outsiders are unaccounted for,” Chilon commented.

  Rikki saw both men look at him, and smiled. The mere movement of his lips intensified his discomfort. “I take it you’re talking about me.”

  “Rikki!” Chilon declared, and stepped over to place his hand on the Warrior’s shoulder. “Thank God you’ve revived. The doctor told us you would be all right. How do you feel?”

  “Where’s the debris?” Rikki responded, and rose onto his elbows to survey the room in which they had placed him. He spied the north doors 30 feet away, closed and barred and guarded by six soldiers.

  “The debris?” Chilon repeated quizzically.

  “From the part of the roof that came down on my head.”

  The captain grinned. “If it’s any consolation, Captain Pandarus feels very bad about knocking you out.”

  “Not half as bad as I feel.”

  General Leonidas moved up to the bunk. “I’d like to extend my apology for what has happened. My subordinate believed he was doing his duty.”

  “He does it very well.”

  “Can we get you some water?” Leonidas inquired. “I’m afraid that’s all we can offer.”

  “Water would be nice.” Rikki placed the katana in his lap, then swung around and draped his legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Get him a glass,” the general instructed Chilon, who promptly hurried off.

  There were Spartans standing at every window, and scores of them seated on the bottom bunks, most sharpening their swords or talking quietly.

  “I heard you mention my friends,” Rikki said. “What happened to them?”

  “I don’t know,” Leonktes answered. “I was injured during the battle and carried back to the barracks, so I didn’t note where they went. Some of my men reported that your vehicle was last observed heading into the city. Do you have any idea why Blade would go there?”

  “No, but he must have an excellent reason.”

  “King Agesilaus is still in the city. He’ll never let them return.”

  Rikki grinned. “If you knew Blade as well as I do, you wouldn’t be worried.”

  “And if you knew Agesilaus as well as I do, you would be.”

  “I understand you’re trapped in here,” Rikki noted, staring out the nearest window. Beyond stood a row of soldiers holding their shields in front of them. Only their heads, necks, and legs from mid-thigh down were exposed to view.

  “General Calabas has us surrounded, yes. I suspect he intends to simply wait us out. Hunger will drive us into his hands.”

  “Perhaps you won’t mind if I offer a suggestion?” Rikki tactfully said.

  “Be my guest.”

  But before the Warrior could elaborate, a loud crash shattered the hushed atmosphere in the confines of the room as a heavy spear smashed through a window on the west side.

  “They’re attacking!” someone cried.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Blade crouched, spun, and threw himself to the right, his finger on the trigger. Four soldiers were making toward him, each with an assault rifle they were bringing into play. He squeezed off a burst, sweeping the M-16 from right to left, his rounds taking them at chest height.

  All four were jerked rearward by the impact, and all four went down without getting off a single shot.

  The Warrior whirled again, anticipating the bearded one and Major Xanthus would be coming at him, but neither of them had moved.

  Confused, he straightened and tried to read their inscrutable expressions.

  “Why didn’t you try to stop me?”

  “We told you we’re not backing either side,” replied the man with the beard, “Those were Agesilaus’s men.”

  Blade glanced at the bodies, at the bronze helmets and the red cloaks worn by every Spartan soldier. “How could you tell?”

  “Do you see these?” the bearded one asked, and reached up to touch the large metal clasp that fastened his cloak at the neck.

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Look at it closely.”

  Suspicious of a trick, Blade studied the clasp briefly. “It’s made of copper.”

  “All of the troops in the regular army wear such clasps, as do a few others. But the men assigned to King Agesilaus’s bodyguard wear ones of gold, while those in King Dercyllidas’s contingent wear clasps of silver.”

  “So that’s the secret.”

  “It’s no secret, actually. Every Spartan is aware of the difference. You’re the first outsider to know.”

  “Thanks for filling me in.”

  The bearded man smiled. “I wouldn’t want you to kill a soldier from the wrong unit by mistake.”

  “Where’s Agesilaus now?” Blade inquired.

  “In the audience chamber, I believe.”

  “Then let’s pay him a visit,” Blade suggested. “The two of you can go first.”

  “Do you still intend to interfere in Sparta’s internal affairs?” asked Major Xanthus.

  “I plan to eliminate the madman, yes.”

  “Why not let the struggle take its natural course as we advised?”

  “Because one of my men is trapped in the barracks with King Dercyllidas. The only way to guarantee his safety is to terminate the egomaniac responsible for your civil war. If Agesilaus dies, it’s all over.”

  The bearded man sighed. “Isn’t there anything I could say to convince you to change your mind?”

  “No.”

  “Very well.”

  The two Spartans turned and walked toward the enormous door at the end of the hall.

  Blade stayed a f
ew feet behind them, his eyes darting from side to side, mystified by the absence of guards. Were they in the audience chamber?

  Even if they were, someone should have heard the blasting of his M-16. Yet the palace resembled a tomb.

  “I do wish you would listen to us,” Major Xanthus said I over his shoulder.

  “I can’t.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  The door to the throne room, like the entrance door itself, hung open a crack.

  “Open it,” Blade directed. “Slowly.”

  The pair complied, pulling the portal a few feet out from the jamb.

  “Do you prefer us to go in first?” asked the bearded man.

  “Go ahead.”

  Blade walked on their heels and hunched down. He planned to open fire the second he laid eyes on Agesilaus. All it would take was a single shot.

  He stared between the Spartans, braced for the worst. Instead, to his consternation, he beheld an empty chamber: no king, no guards, no audience, nothing. “Stop,” he commanded the two men.

  “Leave now before it’s too late,” Xanthus said.

  “Be quiet.” Blade straightened and regarded the vacant thrones. “Since he isn’t here, we’re going to checkout every floor from bottom to top.”

  “You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” the major stated.

  “Let me worry about that.” The Warrior shifted so he could cover the entrance. “Where are the stairs?”

  The bearded Spartan pointed at the southeast corner of the chamber.

  “Through that door.”

  “After you.”

  Their faces reflecting resignation, the pair of soldiers complied.

  Blade noticed other doors rimming the room and wondered where they led. He wouldn’t put it past the madman to have a secret passage out of the palace for use in emergencies or a hidden room no one else knew about. Agesilaus was a narcissistic power monger, true, but he was also a clever narcissistic power monger. Not the kind of man to leave anything to chance.

  So far Agesilaus had stayed one step ahead of everyone else. The monarch must have been planning to do away with Dercyllidas for a long time, and the opportune arrival of the Warriors with their offer for Sparta to join the Federation had given Agesilaus the pretext he’d needed to save Sparta from a detrimental alliance and come off as the hero who slew the wicked Dercyllidas.

  The assassination attempt was also a testimony to the man’s cunning.

  Agesilaus had deliberately drawn Leonidas’s troops away from the barracks so the hit squad could terminate Dercyllidas. And by having the soldiers in the squad carry nothing but swords, Agesilaus had stuck to the letter of the law.

  The man never missed a trick.

  But it was time to do to him as he’d been doing to others.

  Blade thought of Rikki, and hoped the martial artist was all right. His weapon leveled at the Spartans, he came to the middle of the room and idly gazed at the magnificent vaulted ceiling.

  “Don’t move!”

  The stern command seemed to emanate from the very walls.

  Crouching, Blade swung from side to side, searching for the source.

  “Drop your gun!” the voice directed.

  Unwilling to relinquish the M-16, Blade was confounded by the lack of a target until he abruptly recalled a statement made by General Leonidas.

  “There are also riflemen concealed behind the walls.” He’d automatically assumed the marksmen wouldn’t be there when the chamber was empty, and his carelessness had cost him. In his understandable zeal to eliminate Agesilaus and save Rikki, he’d committed a cardinal blunder, a bad mistake even a novice Warrior knew to avoid: Never take anything for granted.

  “This is your last warning! “the concealed man stated. “If your weapon isn’t on the floor in three seconds, we have orders to open fire in four.” He paused. “One.”

  Blade wanted to smack himself in the head with the stock for his stupidity.

  “Two.”

  His broad shoulders slumping, Blade eased the M-16 to the floor and lifted his hands into the air. “Satisfied?” he snapped.

  “Quite,” responded a different voice, and a section of wall behind the thrones slid aside to reveal King Agesilaus and a dozen soldiers.

  Scowling, the Warrior faced the dais.

  Other hidden panels all around the chamber opened and disgorged a score of Spartans armed with high caliber rifles.

  “Isn’t this grand?” Agesilaus asked, and pranced to his throne. “Isn’t this positively wonderful?”

  “It would be more wonderful if you’d go take a long leap off a short cliff,” Blade stated.

  The monarch tittered. “Now, now. Where’s your sense of fair play? You outsmarted me earlier and escaped. Now I’ve outsmarted you and lured you into my trap.”

  “I did it to myself,” Blade said bitterly.

  “Where are your two companions?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Agesilaus gestured, and all the soldiers in the chamber converged on the giant with their weapons trained on him. “I trust you won’t try anything foolish?”

  “Not if I can help it.”

  Smiling contentedly, the dark-haired ruler descended the dais and approached the Warrior. He glanced at the bearded man, then the major.

  “And what have we here? How did you manage to get yourselves captured?”

  “He took us by surprise,” replied the Spartan with the beard.

  “Am I to understand, my dear General Agis, that this barbarian took the head of the Crypteia unawares?” Agesilaus inquired, his tone reeking of sarcasm. He gazed at the general’s empty scabbard. “Look at this! No wonder he took you by surprise. You apparently left your sword at home this morning.” He laughed uproariously.

  The leader of the secret police controlled himself with a visible effort, his cheeks acquiring a scarlet hue.

  Major Xanthus glanced at Agis, then at the monarch. “You sent for us, your lordship?”

  The question had an immediate sobering effect. Agesilaus frowned and placed his hands on his thin hips. “Yes, I did. You were supposed to be here an hour ago.”

  “We were unduly delayed, your highness,” Xanthus said.

  “What could possibly be more important than an appointment with me?”

  It was General Agis who answered. “I’m the one to blame. I was in the middle of a meeting when your messenger arrived, and I felt it wiser to finish the meeting before coming here.”

  “What was the nature of this meeting?”

  “I called together every member of the Crypteia and impressed upon them the need to remain totally neutral during the dispute between King Dercyllidas and yourself.”

  Agesilaus grinned. “How wise of you.”

  “Many of my younger recruits might have been tempted to take sides.

  The Crypteia must always remain above petty politics if we’re to survive as an institution. Our first loyalty must always be to Sparta.”

  “Wise and noble,” the ruler stated, smirking. “I wonder if the good people of our illustrious city-state know how fortunate they are to have such a dedicated protector.”

  “Service is its own reward. I don’t want the gratitude of the people.”

  The major cleared his throat. “About the reason we were sent for, sir?”

  “Be patient, Xanthus,” Agesilaus said. “I’m getting to that.” He regarded them both for a moment. “What would you say if I told you I plan to reorganize our armed forces after I’ve defeated Dercyllidas?”

  “You must defeat him first,” General Agis said.

  “And I will,” Agesilaus declared passionately. “Once I do, and since I will be the sole king in Sparta, there will be no need for the royal bodyguard to include three hundred men. I intend to muster any of Dercyllidas’s men who live through the conflict into the regular army.

  Naturally, Major Xanthus, since you’re the officer in charge of the regular forces, these men will come under yo
ur command. I fully expect you’ll have four hundred men at your disposal by tomorrow evening.”

  “How interesting,” the major said.

  “Interesting? I should think you’d be delighted at the opportunity to increase your command.”

  “Of course I am, sir.”

  “But you realize this will only be achieved if I prevail?”

  “Yes, your majesty.”

  Agesilaus turned to the general. “And as for you, dear Agis, I’ve decided the Crypteia should be permitted to increase their number by fifty. How would you like a hundred secret police to ferret out traitorous Helots and other rebels?”

  “There are currently fifty, your highness, and they do the job admirably.”

  The king appeared flustered. “What is the matter with the two of you?

  Here I offer you the greatest gift imaginable, more power, and you both treat my generosity in a cavalier fashion. Don’t you realize that power is the only thing that matters in life? You’re Spartans. You’re military men.

  You, better than anyone else, should appreciate the sublime feeling that comes from knowing you have unlimited authority over others.”

  “We realize it fully, your lordship,” General Agis stated.

  “Then I fail to understand your attitude.”

  “Forgive us. But being military men, we know better than to let our hopes soar when your victory hasn’t been assured.”

  “It will be. A messenger is on his way at this very minute to General Calchas with the orders that will enable me to triumph.”

  “We’ve heard that Calchas defeated Uonidas,” Major Xanthus commented.

  Agesilaus blinked. “Where did you hear the news?”

  “From him,” Xanthus said, and indicated the giant.

  “Ahhh, yes. Well, he told you the truth. Leonidas and his men were no match for my bodyguards. By sunrise his forces will be crushed.”

  General Agis looked at Blade; “And what about this man, your majesty?”

  A sly grin curled the ruler’s lips. “I have special plans for our honored guest.”

  “May I ask what kind of plans?”

  “Certainly. He’s going to run the Marathon of Death.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN