Her first thought upon waking had been that she had neglected to give Aristotle a physical.
Hell you neglected to give him anything!
Oh he was tired. It’s not you, I’m certain.
Are you sure? Would he have fallen asleep next to Miss Brick House over there? She didn’t get a wink of sleep last night.
Stick to the mission. Make an assessment.
She packed their things and loaded them on Sebastian and joined Aristotle as their little column got underway. “Did you sleep well My Dear?”
He sounded almost apologetic. “Oh yes—I weary easily these days.”
It is you after all. Who would have thought that Aristotle liked big butts! We should have dressed Selene up as the whore.
She can’t speak Greek and you can’t fight. Right?
Right!
They made their way down the hillside and back to the ‘superhighway for mice’ as she was beginning to deride the thing in her mind. The morning was cool and the sun was not yet on them. Doryklus seemed urgent and moved out in the lead, even jogging now and then to hurry the pace. Selene was withered and radiant in the post-orgasmic glow-funk that Arlene had not enjoyed since the last time that caveman Jay Bracken had disrespected her for an entire morning somewhere in the mid-Atlantic.
Mission.
Mission.
Mission.
The hours glided by and the sun rose behind them until it warmed the top of her head. They were halfway to Megara, following a long barren coast to their left and south due west as low mountains rose to their right to the north. Then Doryklus called a halt, a little early she thought. They were at a rocky outcropping of a low hillside that had apparently been excavated for something in the distant past. They now faced the sea with their backs to the scraped clay of the desiccated hillside, with the road to Megara to the right and Eleusis to the left. Doryklus stepped out into the worn track signaling the two archers to cover him. After an hour he pulled on his helmet and slipped his great bowl-shaped bronze shield off its sling and slid his left arm into it. He looked down the road and grinned and they heard the pounding of hooves, the first they had heard since coming back to ancient Hellas.
You forgot to ask Aristotle what his nickname is.
Is that really all you can think of right now?
This could be bad. What should we do if attacked?
Four horsemen wheeled into position before him, and their leader, a good-looking young man on the far left, addressed the armored boxer. “Surrender the Stagirite wreath-bearer, and no harm shall come to the rest.”
Doryklus, not much of a negotiator, hefted his heavy spear against their light lances, and spat in the dust. The Scythians then knocked arrows and Polos stepped out from behind Aristotle to whirl his sling. With a motion from Aristotle old Cyro grabbed the boy and held him fast. Selene also stepped forward behind the Scythians. The lead horseman then shouted in an imperious tone, “I am Xiphokles of Athens, and you know me for my arête. My footmen and shield-men are closing in. You have no hope. Surrender Doryklus!”
My, how funny the horsemen look without saddles, their legs hanging far below the flanks of those small horses. They look like teenagers at the carnival pony ride.
With that the big man roared and charged faster than one would have thought possible. The horse to his right reared up and he thrust his long spear clear through the torso of its rider, who slid from his mounting blanket with a sickening slurp. The horseman directly before Doryklus commanded his horse to rear and flail with its hooves. The horses’ hooves beet down the shield enough that the horseman was able to thrust his short spear—held overhand like an insanely elongated ice-pick—through Doryklus’ face.
Oh God no!
This did not phase the boxer. As his teeth spilled out of the right side of his mouth with a gout of blood and the spear-point ripped his check in half Doryklus cranked a mighty pivoting hook with the bronze shield into the head of the smallish horse. The sound of a faltering horse, and of a gong as well, rang out as the great shield smashed in the flat side of the horse’s head. The horse fell dead to the side pining the rider’s leg to the earth.
Kick their asses Doryklus!
Then, just as she was about to cheer with the Scythians raising their bows to end the battle, their world went dark, because the hired arrows went into Doryklus’ back, right through his bronze back-plate, a piece of armor that had been specially crafted to fit his massive torso.
The remaining horseman were circling to either side for advantage and Doryklus was turning on the men who had shot him, one through the right lung, the other through the left kidney.
He is done. Nothing short of a 21st Century shock trauma unit could save him.
Selene let out a sharp “Kia!” and caved in the skull of the rightmost Scythian as he knocked another arrow. The other Scythian calmly knocked and fired an arrow through Doryklus breastplate and into the breastbone as the enraged boxer charged slowly. As the archer knocked one additional arrow Doryklus was run down by the horsemen who both plunged their spears into the man’s thick neck above the breast-plate and below the helmet.
Selene, with another, “Kia!” slammed her heavy oak staff into the neck of the archer as he knocked another arrow automaton like, and snapped his neck. The robotic barbarian calmly toppled. Arlene could not see Selene’s face but could tell she was crying.
“Don’t fight them Selene!”
Her friend did not heed her and charged at the nearest rider, a younger better looking man than Xiphokles. The men pranced around her on their small nimble horses and laughed, reversing their spears to use them like staves. This really upset Selene and she did an improbable leaping thrust that unhorsed the smaller man, who was about her size. With that development Xiphokles pranced around the two combatants and barked in Attic, “Well little brother, if you can’t beat her I’ll have to kill her. Then you will be stuck fucking the boy!”
Selene made an overeager strike with the staff and was promptly disarmed. The small man then cast away the staff and shot in for a takedown. Selene sprawled and then stepped out and kicked him in the stomach with the ball of her right foot. It was a good kick, but it did not stop him and Selene was soon on her back being dominated on the ground.
“Stop, stop!” she yelled in Greek and English.
Please stop.
Selene was now tied-up in a hold that neither she nor Arlene understood and her hair was being soaked by the blood of her lover, who had finally expired next to her, after losing a huge amount of blood. Xiphokles then pranced up on his charger and placed his spear to Selene’s throat.
“Companion tell your slave to stop or she dies. I have no use for her.”
Selene, seeming to sense his statement, quit fighting and began to cry as she looked over at Doryklus.
Xiphokles then scolded his brother. “The boy it is for you brother. I’ll take the young philosopher, and the men can satisfy themselves with this furious bitch.”
Good God, no!
Sebastian and Polos, having understood this brutal man’s words, shook with fright. Aristotle placed his arm around Arlene protectively and demanded of the horseman, “What is it that you want? I knew your father and I know your kind, and you did not overtake me for the Assembly. Those fools yet argue over the sentence they shall pass.”
The tall young man then leaped nimbly from his horse and landed before them like an acrobat. He was very well built, nearly as good-looking as his brother, and an apparently committed homosexual. Both of the brothers were blonde, with curly locks and clean shaven faces. He stepped menacingly up to them and spoke coolly, without malice to Aristotle.
“We shall accompany you to Delphi, as your protectors. And thence, from the goodness of your overworked heart you shall adopt us, granting us each a quarter of your inheritance, the other half going to your family. We will then watch you drink your traitor’s cup. Otherwise we shall torture and kill you and your companions before taking what you now carry. That is the best I can offer old man.”
Aristotle drew himself up. “What of your men. You say you have men on the road; mercenaries no doubt.”
Xiphokles sneered, “And yes, I nearly needed them. They will be kept busy with their duties and the sharing of this savage bitch. They will then be compensated by plunder in route. The people inland may not know of the revolt against Antipater and should be unwary. Your servants and your companion remain yours, save the boy, who goes to my brother. I like that cute little barbarian man behind you. But I am no rapist. He shall give me nightly massages before the fire and I will attempt to woo him—I am a romantic you see!”
Aristotle literally bit his tongue and nodded affirmative, even as troops could be heard running up the road in bare feet and iron-cobbled sandals.
Selene was by then tied up and tethered to a horse’s reigns. Xiphokles had his men construct a heaped stone cairn for Doryklus’ burial beneath the hillside, as they had no tools for digging. They did this also for the slain horseman, ignoring the Scythians as if they were nothing but rat carcasses. Doryklus’ armor was given as compensation to the wounded horsemen, who took the horse of the slain one.
