Bluetopaz The Early Years

Chapter 9

"Battle On, Blue"

It's almost the end of the semester. I've got final papers to grade plus new responsibilities as one of Chancellors Nanaea's Assistants. None the less I'm going to take some time out to get another chapter done on this. Scribia is still hanging around like a starving vulture gobbling up every scrap I write so I'd better arrange to *feed her* for today.

*Sigh* where was I.....

A quiet knock on my office door provided another interruption just as I was picking up the quill to begin.

"Yes?" I replied in an impatient voice. "Come in. What now, ax? Sorry, warrior-bard." I'll never get used to the name change he'd just made. Some sort of rite of passage, I suppose.Either that or the law enforcement athorities have heard too much about some recent shady deals pulled by axman and this is his way of eluding prosicution.

The first of my adopted sons stuck his head in the door. "Are you busy, Mom?" he ventured.

I cut short my usual caustic reply as I took in the serious look on his usually devious face.

"I received a message from Salmoneous today. I think you should see it." He thrust a small scroll at me and mumbled, "I'm sorry, I know she was your friend."

"The scroll from Salmoneous stated simple that while in Corinth he had heard the news that King Iphicles' mother had died. Sal, remembering that I had known Alcmene for years, wanted me to hear the news from a friend. The scroll also contained some details on some sort of business deal Sal and wb were involved in. I diplomatically skimmed through that to be sure they weren't bending the law too far but my heart really wasn't up to scolding wb for this latest scheme.

"Alcmene dead?" I murmured, almost to myself

"Well yeah, that's what Sal says. but she was a lot older than you, right Mom?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "She was younger. Maybe five or six years, I would guess. Her mother died very young, also. Poor Jason I must write to him. And Hercules and Iphicles, they must be devastated.

I sat for a long time just remembering my friend. Little Alcmene, as I'd always called her. All dimples and blond curls; silks and fine lace; and a spirit and will as hard and steadfast as any alloy Arn ever concocted.

At last, I picked up the quill and began to write....

*

When I awoke it was still an hour before dawn. The sky, still midnight black, was spangled with stars and the only light came from them and a tiny sliver of the waning moon. I've always been blessed or maybe cursed with the ability to awaken at a predetermined time. Arn was not blessed with this ability. Shaking him or shouting at him only drove him deeper under the covers and seemingly deeper asleep. Finally, after I'd gotten my leather trousers, undertunic and boots on, I went over sat on the edge of the bed and finding an ear under the pile of bed clothes whispered,

"Arn, don't you and The Smith have some adjustment to do on the catapults before The Prophet arrives for our party?" This elicited some groaning and mumbling as Arn emerged from his quilted cocoon and stumbled across the room to the wash stand. He grabbed the water pitcher leaned over the basin and poured the contents over his head. He reach blindly for the towel, found me instead and we both ended up slipping in the puddle and falling on the floor in a soggy laughing heap.

In spite of the early hour and the lack of sleep everyone got fed and then assembled in the courtyard by the time Apollo's blazing chariot chased the last of the morning stars off to bed.

As we started through the gates I noticed that very few of our people were staying behind. Those who stood in the gate and waved were mostly the old, the injured and a handful of women to care for them and the young children. Lady Placidia insisted on coming to set up a camp to care for the injured a short distance from the battle site. Riding with her was Alcmene who I assumed would be assisting in the care of the injured.

I was wrong!

The next morning when we broke camp at first light both Alcmene and her young brother, Licymnius, were riding with Electryon in his chariot! I did attempt to persuade him that a battle was no place for children but he brushed my objections aside and declared that it would be a good experience for them.

We reached the north end of the pass before midday and began to deploy our forces. On the western summit of the pass the Smith and his team of catapult operators were station while Arn and his team took the eastern side. I was much relieved when Alcmene decided that the summit would be an ideal observation point and decided to accompany Arn and his team. Licymnius, however was adamant in his instance that he stay with his father. At the time I really didn't have time to argue about it. The Amazon contingent had arrived and were deployed with half the chariot cohort in a ravine near the southwestern end of the pass. Dorus was reluctant to leave his king but like a good soldier followed orders by taking command of this force. Mayruna, of course commanded the Amazons. On the opposite side of the road the other half of the chariots and the foot warriors from the stronghold were stationed with the king and I sharing command. We carefully wiped out all traces of our movements and settled down to the hardest part. The waiting.

After a couple of hours a tell-tale dust cloud began to be noticeable to the south and quite suddenly The Prophet's army or at least the vanguard was visible coming over a slight rise. They were allowed to enter the pass unhindered and soon the main body followed. As before the army was strung out in no particular order except that the Prophet himself was riding in a wagon at the center of the column. If it had not have been such a serious moment I would have laughed out loud! The wagon, apparently liberated from a farmstead had a sort of cloth canopy over it with sides tied back to reveal the Prophet himself, dressed in gaudy robes standing on a dais exhorting his troops as they bounced along. The wagon was pulled by four mismatched farm horses draped in the same colorful manner as the Prophet. There was nothing amusing about the four burly guards riding at the four corners of the wagon. The were not listening to their leader but were instead, carefully scanning everything around the wagon.

As the wagon passed directly in front of our hiding place. Amphitryon in a gesture of pure bravado drew his sword and saluted his bride, Alcmene, standing atop the pass. The glint of the sun off the blade caught one of the guards directly in the eyes. He shouted a warning and all the foot soldiers turned and fired arrows directly at our position. The King to his credit forcefully pushed young Licymnius to the floor of the chariot but in so doing exposed his lightly armored side beneath his left arm. An arrow by chance or by fate found it's mark there and passing through the leather pierced his heart. His last action was to shield his son with his dying body.

Amphitryon, was momentarily stunned by this but recovered and ordered the attack. Arn seeing this from the heights ordered the rock slides to seal the north end of the pass triggered and turned the catapults on the rear guard of the Prophet's army. The Smith aimed his catapults on those who had already entered the pass. They would not be coming to the aid of their leader. Those soldiers attempting to leave the road either left or right stumbled into concealed pits lined with sharpened stakes. It was not, perhaps, an 'honorable' way to fight a war but we were badly outnumbered and these measures were necessary to even the odds.

There were, of course, several carefully concealed ramps from our hiding places leading to the road and as the prophet's army milled around his wagon we charged full tilt up those ramps to the road and engaged the enemy. The Amazons looked like specters from darkest Tartarus in their body paint and grotesque masks. The Prophets troops turn from them in terror and straight into another terror. The kings troops, enraged by his death, fought like mad men. For me though, the life and death struggles going on all around me were secondary to my main goal. The Prophet! It had been in my mind all along to present him alive to Lady Cidia and those people of the stronghold who had lost so many loved ones to this madman and his army. I wanted him to die, yes, but I wanted all who had been hurt by him to witness it. His guards seemed to be more disciplined or perhaps more fanatical than the rest of the army. They stood their ground as I charged head long into them I was conscious of the reassuring presence of Pallus at my side and together we took on the first two guards. That mighty mace swung once and the first guard crumpled to the ground his scull crushed in spite of his iron helmet. The second guard dodging Pallus' back swing and taking the blow on his shield thrust a long pike at me thinking to keep me out of sword range. I bobbed to the side and sliced through the wooden pike staff and then, reversing the stroke, through his neck just above the decorative torque he wore. The other two had managed to scramble around the wagon and met us before we could reach the Prophet. One got in a lucky blow clanging off my arm torque but the force numbed my right arm . Fortunately I'm left handed but the bow I'd been caring in the right hand dropped to the ground. Pallus dealt my attacker a vicious mace blow to the midsection and he fell to the ground. The last of the personal guards made a desperate slice at Pallus' legs. The blow bounced off Pallus' grieves which Arn had just finished the day before we left the stronghold. The guard leapt to the wagon bed placing himself between his now cowering master and the two of us. Unseen by him Mayruna rode to the other side of the wagon and the guard found himself guarding a man with no head.

With the Prophets death, the fight seemed to go out of his army. Many surrendered and many more sure of what awaited them as captives tried to run and ended up in the road side pits. Some few actually did escape. Those in the vanguard who had exited the pass on the north were among them. Many were foolish enough to enter the Amazon woods and I think, very few found their way back out again.

Alcmene had somehow made her way down to her father's chariot during the battle. As I returned to the spot I could see her in the chariot, sitting, holding both father and brother crying as if her heart was breaking. Charis who had come with her as guard stood a few steps away allowing her a time of grief in private. Amphitryon, was by turns begging her forgiveness and attempting to explain his way out of responsibility for the tragedy.

"I'll hunt them down, Alcmene. I swear it. Every last one of them." He vowed.

"You do that!" she hissed at him, "And don't bother to return until you do."

Without another word Amphitryon returned to his chariot and gathering up most of the cohort galloped off into legend.

Many versions of the story of Alcmene's vengeance on the Prophet's army have been told. In later years they became simply, some cattle raiders and the battle far to the north of 'civilized' Greece was forgotten. That it was Amphitryon, who caused the death of the king is remembered.

As are the events which I will tell you about in the next chapter.