Aristotle emerged calmly from the master’s chamber. He was the master of this house, even if a captive, and would conduct himself so. He had resided here for two full moons now, after tirelessly tramping around central Hellas as the camp-follower/resident political advisor to the Spartan adventurer for three moons. The man had spent three moons recruiting fighting men, scouring the countryside for supplies, avoiding larger forces, and fighting small actions against the guard detachments of various fleeing Macedonian officials, robber-bands and other bands such as his. On one occasion, on the Aetolian border, the man challenged a rival captain to a duel between the assembled troops, and butchered his rival easily, winning the loyalty and admiration of an additional sixty men.

His arête is unquestioned and he remains a formidable partner in political conversation.

You, however, might influence him to your purpose, now that you have one that is in accord with The Good.

Menander himself seemed content to promote the fiction that Aristotle was his learned and well-travelled advisor who preferred to stay secluded with his student and companion, for he stood at the foot of the table, reserving the seat of honor for Aristotle. His captains stood along either side.

None of these men knew of Aristotle’s identity other than Augulus the Agrianian. The savage barbarian was now Menander’s own bloodhound and had sworn before the both of them to maintain his silence in return for a portion of Aristotle’s treasure at Delphi, whenever they finally arrived there.

Many of the troops of the other captains closer to the siege lines were Athenian, and Aristotle could not be seen by them, lest the call go out to General Leosthenes for his death. Menander maintained his distance from the besieged city of Lamia thanks to his uncanny ability to denude the countryside—even a friendly one—of its portable goods and able-bodied men.

It is so very fitting that here on the border of half-barbarian Thessaly we abide by the customs of the barbarians and of the Homeric heroes of a lost age, sitting at some long feasting board rather than reclining in symposium on couches.

We are driven to act in accordance with our environment, just like lesser animals, and this ancient house is appointed as if for Odysseus and his wife’s suitors.

He nodded respectfully to the gathered military men and took his seat in the odd throne-like high-backed oak chair. Menander took the other high-backed seat at the foot of the table, the traditional place of the eldest son. Not until he was seated did his captains sit along the benches. Kratoklus kept vigil behind his master, shield on arm and spear-butt on floor. He thought he heard Polymara and Polos lurking about somewhere but did not see them and let the notion to root the rude little girl and his messenger out with a gaze pass.

Once seated Menander, a towering square-jawed Dorian, addressed Aristotle by his false identity with his handsome voice, “Timosophy, my captains request a council of war, concerning the raising of Lamia. There is, I think, some disagreement among us. Perhaps you may offer the best course.”

His words hint at mutiny.

“I shall be of such assistance as I may. Although I am not a military man, I am well-acquainted with the methods, resources and habits of many of the communities of this region and am well-versed in Makedonian military operations as I once advised Hegemon Phillip.”

Menander addressed the captain of the Aetolian archers, “Kieton what are your concerns about our deployment?”

He does not trust this avaricious animal of a man. I see the game that is afoot. I did not teach rhetoric and statesmanship for nothing!

“The tall gaunt Aetolian with his scraggly auburn beard complained, “My men and I want some real plunder. The farmers have fled. We’ve used up the few girls and boys they left behind. Sure we have their food. I say take the supplies up to General Leosthenes and join the besieging force. That way we get in on the sack when the time comes.”

The various captains, all except Menander, began arguing, which gave him time to process the information.

Menander looked to him with pin-point black eyes that bored into his mind.

He has named you to offer a solution, named you with his eyes, has intentionally not settled the argument among his men.

Aristotle rose and paced about the table, wanting his mind to work the best in terms of wording his thoughts. This, walking had always done for him.

“Leosthenes values this foraging operation, which does only provide you men with first pick of barley and such. I would remind you that these quarters are more comfortable than what would be had up at the lines. I think it would be best for this command to have a presence in both locations. Let the Aetolians go up and stake a claim to pillage by aiding in the assault on the Makedonian works, while the rest stay well-supplied back here—and our Aetolian friends are better fed than the rest of the besiegers.

“I will offer to have my assistant—with the aid of the indispensable Agrianians—see to the Aetolian supply needs as well as keeping open communications between Menander and Leosthenes. This would keep Menander’s promise to his general. It would also reserve a place for the rest of the command here up in the lines. That way when a breach seems likely, Sebastian can send word with a swift runner and the entire command can join the Aetolians, who until then, remain the best fed troops at the front.”

There was some Murmuring, mostly agreeable but some contrary to his proposal, so he went on.

“Macedonian troops—veterans that the Agrianian’s have served with in Asia—will be returning by spring. If Lamia has not fallen by then maintaining a rear area base would provide intelligence against any Makedonian landing that might be made by way of the Artemisium Narrows, and insure that our detachment at the front not be cut off with the rest of the army. It would instead give this command the honor of informing our general of a danger to his rear and possibly win Menander, and the entire command, the Place of Honor in battle.”

There were murmurs of approval up and down the table.

Menander was soon sending off the Aetolians and Agrianians to prepare for the next day’s march north, and Augulus was fetching Sebastian.

Before the sky began to grow gray with dusk the captains were gone, and only Menander remained, sending away even Kratoklus. The Spartan was thankful. “How may I repay you, ‘Timosophy’?”

This is the time to plant the seed of urgency.

“My continued peace and lodging in such accommodations is payment enough. You did save me from a cruel fate.”

“I won’t make you drink your bitter cup after I have acquired your ransom. I will, however, not let you go. You were teacher to the man who conquered the world.”

“We fall into a new age of blood and iron. I mean to carve my place. I’m not fool enough to adventure in Asia. But there is plenty to be had here among the wolves, while the lions rend each other in Asia. Who’s to know how your advice helped Alexander win the world? But I’ll not take a chance on letting such advantage slip through my fingers.”

“I assure you Menander, that I am no military mastermind, just a humble student of wisdom.”

Menander leaned close. “Wise-man I’m no more humble than Alexander, but I would not pretend to know the unknown. If I were Alexander you would have travelled with me, and perhaps I might not have died in bed. Besides, with you I have two wise-men and a barbarian witch.”

He felt himself start unexpectedly, like a man caught hiding a secret, which indeed he was.

The cruel Spartan continued with a fierce humorless grin, “I grind the breath from my bloody beauty every night and she tells all. I know of your sorceress, and know she has powers. I’ll keep you both close Wise-man, be sure of that.”

I should have thought to warn Arlene against teaching her friend civilized speech.

Have you learned nothing from your greatest student?

Seize the javelin that pierced your armor and cast it back.

He looked into Menander’s eyes and opened his mind within, exposing himself as disarmed and discovered, utilizing his best rhetorical expression. “You have found me out then—perhaps not as wise as you suppose I am. I should tell you then of some recent bad news gotten by way of sorcery, for you rather than for I.”

That is it old man, pause just as if with regret for a life cut short. You know the feeling all too well, now just let it show instead of keeping it in.

Good, long enough. Unlace the fingers and continue.

“My fate is sealed and I would like to leave my beloved companion to your service. I am to die before the New Year. My sorceress found a corrupted organ in my bowels; an organ I did not know existed, and tells me it is cancerous. She gives me until Munykhion [April] at the latest, Anthesterion [February] at the earliest…”

He sat contritely with fingers intertwined again. Menander seemed vexed, but recovered. “Will you be debilitated for any time?”

Did I not hear his regrets for my untimely passing? These Spartans are a cruel lot.

“She shall be able keep me mobile and free of pain up until the last dekad of life, when I will be stricken down and beyond comfort.”

Menander rose with great seriousness. “I will regret the absence of your counsel. Educate the sorceress as best you can, so she can advise me after you descend to dust.”

With those soulless words the cruel Spartan commander stood with a flourish of his bloodstained red cloak, and walked out, barking—literally—like a dog to the guard who stood outside, a guard that he somehow knew would never leave until they made a move toward Lamia or Delphi.

The Spartans are famous for their facility with the tactical lie. The man will find a means to get released for a journey to Delphi before spring.

Oh my, I have just been commanded to spend the entire winter educating my young beauty—there goes poor Sebastian with Augulus.

I am sorry my Iberian philosopher. But you are, after all things are considered, a barbarian. Good luck to you at the siege my friend.

Yes, indeed, my companion remains alone, no doubt distraught over the temporary loss of her man servant.

Old Man, you are no better than that damned Man of the Silent Land.

Oh, I most certainly am—just ask my dear companion, a sorceress you know…