Heart of Fire

Chapter 2 - Memories in Bronze-2

"Looks the same as ever," Kratos said.

"Looks can be deceiving."

"They're your family, Stefanos. You've provided for them when they were in need, and whether Cleo likes it or not, you did her a favour. She's always looked up to you, my friend."

Stefanos nodded, unconvinced. "Maybe I can eat with your family tonight, and see mine tomorrow morning?"

"I don't think so," Kratos said, no humour in his voice this time as they continued on their way toward the city walls.

They entered Argos through the north gate, to the left of the great theatre, where the guards stopped them.

"What business do you have in Argos?" said the file leader.

"We're Argives," Stefanos said, eyeing the group of ten men.

"We've been fighting abroad. Just back from Eleutherai," Kratos added. "I'm Kratos, son of Lichas, and this is Stefanos, son of Talos. The Sacred Truce is on, so we've come home before heading to the Games."

Stefanos shot a look at Kratos, but said nothing. He could feel himself getting impatient.

"Mercenaries, eh?" the file leader said. "We don't need any trouble within the city walls. We've had enough outside of them."

"We won't be fighting in our family homes, if that's what you're worried about," Stefanos said. "Can we pass? We're citizens. You can't bar our entry."

"I can have your weapons though," the man said.

Stefanos stared at him and stepped forward to look him in the eye. "You've no need to do that, friend."

There was a lingering silence as Kratos and the other guards looked at the file leader and Stefanos.

"No need. You may enter. Welcome home," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Stefanos pushed past him and beneath the massive gate house, Kratos following.

"Your propensity for making friends never ceases to amaze me," Kratos said as they made their way to the agora through which they needed to pass to get to the neighbourhood where their families lived on the southern end of the city.

"They've no right to treat Argive citizens that way."

"No? Even though we've raised arms against Argos' allies?"

Despite the onset of evening, the city streets were full of citizens, and the agora filled with groups of men in heated discussion about everything from politics and war, to art, theatre, and the latest bronze sculptor to make a name for himself.

Stefanos and Kratos looked around at the familiar alcoves where they had run rampant as boys, the colonnades where they had played hide-and-seek, and the bouleuterion where they had first heard the news that Argos was officially at war with Sparta whose forces were making their way toward Hysiae.

The two armed mercenaries were met with not a few looks of anger and disgust as they made their way through the crowds. People cleared a way for them, some out of fear, others out of intense dislike, but Stefanos was not bothered. It made their progress that much easier.

When they reached the southern end of the agora, a group of men did stand in their way and Stefanos made directly for them.

"Here we go," he said to Kratos, who loosened the grip on his spear shaft. "Ocnus! Is that you?"

The group of five men stepped forward. Their leader, Ocnus son of Nemos, stood there in the uniform of the Argive Thousand, decked out in a matching blue and white thorax and cloak.

"What are you doing here?" Ocnus demanded.

"I live here," Stefanos said. "I see the Thousand's standards have dropped drastically."

Ocnus took a step forward, but Stefanos did not budge. Ocnus was a big man, but lacked the strength and confidence that Stefanos possessed, even though he feigned as much.

"I also see your own standards are the same," Stefanos said, looking beyond Ocnus to the same four men that had always backed him up, Krikor, Biton, Ampyx, and Glaucus. "Boys," Stefanos nodded. "Still buggering this one?"

"Listen to me, you mercenary piece of s**t!" Ocnus grabbed Stefanos' thorax and shook. "Things are different now, and you owe me."

"Owe you?"

"Yes."

"Maybe you're right," Stefanos said. "Here's payment with interest for laying your hands on me just now." Before Ocnus could react, Stefanos' head slammed into his face, crushing his nose and sending him back into his friends' arms as he howled. "I thought I'd reset it for you. I did a botch job last time."

Kratos laughed uneasily as people began to gather and stare at them. "Let him be, Stefanos. He's part of the elite guard now. He deserves our respect."

The two men laughed and continued on their way, but not before Ocnus stood up again, holding his bleeding nose to yell at them.

"Hope you enjoy your homecoming! The Gods have a sense of humour!"

Stefanos and Kratos continued on their way, but Ocnus' words thrust a sliver of dread into Stefanos' thoughts.

Stefanos arrived at the door of his family's modest home where he stood beside the bronze Herm that warded off evil and guarded the home. He found he could not open the door immediately, and so he stood there, his hand fidgeting with the handles of his hoplon's grip and the shaft of his doru.

Some warrior... he chided himself. I can face down elite infantry or Persian cavalry, but can't even knock on the door of my childhood home...

Shaking his head, and laughing a little at himself, Stefanos raised his hand to knock on the door, but as he did so, it opened and out came a doctor in a rough-spun Ionic chiton. Stefanos stepped back, surprised, to allow the doctor through.

"Good evening," the doctor said, nodding and moving past Stefanos with his case to walk down the street.

As the door was closing, Stefanos put his foot in and pushed through.

"Doctor, did you forget some...thing..." a tired voice said, trailing off.

Cleo gasped and took a step back as her brother appeared before her, fully armed and armoured, as he had been the last time he had come into their home, six years before. Her hand shook as it covered her mouth, and tears began to pool at the corners of her brown eyes.

"Cleo. What's going on?" He looked at her, his heart tightening. She looked pale and tired, her once-shiny black hair gone to grey, even though she was three years younger than him. He leaned his spear and shield against the back of the door, and reached out to her.

Her arms wrapped quickly about his neck and she held him tightly, despite his thorax, as emotions swept through them both in the fading light of the small courtyard.

After a few moments, he held her gently at arm's length and looked into her eyes. "Cleo, what's happened? Why aren't you at the Heraion?"

Cleo nodded, wiped the tears at the corners of her eyes and spoke. "Father is dying, Stefanos. The Gods will take him soon."

"Dying?"

She nodded. "It is good Zeus and Hera have brought you home safely to you family." She began to walk beneath the small olive tree that stood in the middle of the dirt courtyard, and made for the open door that led into the stone house. "He'll want to see you..." she said as she disappeared inside.

Stefanos stood there for a few moments, trying to register all that was happening, afraid of what he might find beyond the door of his childhood home - a smell of death, and the angry words of a dying man? He was not sure he wanted to deal with that, but picked up his shield and spear and walked slowly after her, the branches of the olive tree brushing his hair lightly as he passed beneath it. He glanced at the bronze statue of the the goddess Hera which stood at the far end of the yard, beneath an arch of bougainvillea, and entered the house.

It was dark inside, but for a few oil lamps. The kitchen smelled strongly of herbs and the long table to one side was empty, except for a couple of wooden bowls with the remains of half-eaten barley broth, a plate with crumbs of bread, and a pitcher of water with a clay cup.

Stefanos leaned his doru and hoplon in a corner, put down his satchel and looked at Cleo. "Where is the slave that we hired last time I was here? She was supposed to help."

"I sold her when father became ill and could not work anymore," Cleo said, her voice harder now, drained of the shock and sadness of minutes before. Now she turned on her brother with hard, chiding eyes. "Six years, Stefanos... Six years!"

"It's as it has always been," he answered peevishly.

"Yes, but you could have stopped in Argos once in while. Even I know the fighting stops in the months of Gamelion, Anthesterion, and Elaphebolion."

"It doesn't stop for a mercenary. People don't stop having enemies in the winter months."

"Are you a common thug now, wagging your spear to collect overdue rents for others?"

"Mind your tongue, woman. I didn't come home to be chided."

"You didn't come to see our father dying either, did you? But you will."

Stefanos was silent. He did not want to fight with her. Not now. Not ever. But it seemed they would. "I guess you're still angry with me?"

Cleo looked up from the pot she was stirring above the fire and shook her head. "No. Of course not. Not for that."

"Are you sure? I just saw Ocnus in the street. He's still raging over it."

"The Gods know you did me a favour, exposing him to father. I have a good life, serving the goddess. I have food, shelter, and a means of helping others. It can be difficult, but it is right and destined."

"And that is your toil?" Stefanos said softly.

"Yes." Cleo nodded, resigned and determined at once, and walked over to her brother to lay the palm of her hand upon his rough, sun-darkened cheek. "You should go in and see him. But be quiet, and gentle. I don't want him over-excited."

Stefanos stared down the small corridor that led to their father's room. It was dark, but for the flickering of a single lamp which hung from the ceiling mid-way. Without another word, he walked toward the open, olive wood door and entered.

The room was full of the smoke from incense burning at a small shrine where statues of the Gods, Apollo, Asclepius, Igeia, and Hera peered from the smoke toward the narrow bed in the corner of the room.

Stefanos gasped as he laid his eyes upon his father, Talos, and had to lean against the wall to support himself.

The man who had once had hard, muscled limbs like Haephestus himself now lay there weak and white, his skin loose upon his bones, his once-kind, creative, and eager face now contorted and angry, even in sleep. His body shuddered with some sort of pain, but Stefanos wondered if it was not the regret and tortured dreams that the Gods felt compelled to send the aged as they walked towards the banks of the black river.

A wave of intense sadness swept through Stefanos, and he moved toward the bed to kneel beside Talos. He gripped the frail, calloused hand with his own, and leaned forward.

"Father?" he whispered. "Father, it's me. Stefanos. I'm here."

For a moment there was no reaction and if he had not seen the shuddering breath rising and falling in his father's chest, Stefanos would have thought him dead.

"All will be well, Father. I'm here. I can help."

The frail hand gripped Stefanos' suddenly, and Talos' rheumy eyes blinked open and closed a few times before they searched for the source of the voice and found it. They focussed on Stefanos beneath creased brows, and the hand pulled away.