Heart of Fire

Chapter 2 - Memories in Bronze-4

Talos was shaking his old head now, his eyes not fiery or angry, but sad and despairing. "What you speak of, my son, is what matters least in this world. You've turned your back on the beauties of life, and the world around you. When the battles are finished, and the crows have gorged themselves on the dead, the remnants of war are but dust in time, c*****e to fade away and be forgotten. And rightly so!"

Talos took a few more breaths, his lungs sounding like they were going to burst, but he carried on, desperate to speak his mind, as if he had thought it over all the years his son was away.

"Art and beauty in the world are what matter...they are the things that endure. The likeness of a god or goddess in bronze, a hero or victor crowned by Nike, will be remembered and admired, inspire others for ages to come. Can the same be said of a man who expertly thrusts his doru into the body of another man in the front line of a phalanx in a petty skirmish on the other side of the world?"

Stefanos did not answer. He was done with the conversation, and realized he had gone too far. His father had weakened before his eyes, the effort of their debate all to much for him.

"You should rest, Father." Stefanos said, helping to lay Talos back down, even as the old man's eyes stared up into his, pleading, willing him to understand the wisdom he had imparted to him. "I'll come back to see you later, yes?"

Talos nodded and closed his eyes, his rough breathing haunting Stefanos as he walked down the corridor.

"What are you thinking?" Cleo snapped as Stefanos came into the kitchen. "Are you trying to kill him?"

"I don't know what happened." Stefanos rubbed his dark hair in frustration as if harassed by flies. "He always manages to rile me. Even now, he's full of spite."

"No he's not, Stefanos," Cleo said, her eyes meeting his as she laid a hand on his hard, scarred arm. "He cares deeply for you. He's always wanted more for you."

"You think so?"

"I know it. He hates the world that forced you into war against fellow Greeks. To our father, the bronze of beloved Hera is not his greatest creation, Stefanos... You are."

Stefanos stared at her intensely, almost despising her for having said what she did, but he held back the vitriol that came to mind.

"I need to go out," he said, moving away from her to pull a small pouch of coins, and his grey chlamys from his satchel. "I'll see you later..." he said putting on the cloak and heading out into the grey day.

Stefanos moved through the streets of Argos in a daze, the oppressive clouds pressing down on him from above as thunder rolled in the distant mountains on the other side of the gulf to the south-west.

He walked quickly, making his way to Kratos' house several blocks away. His friend always had a good ear for listening, and understood Stefanos' divergence in belief from his father. If conversation was not needed, Kratos was always up for a good bout of drinking.

When Stefanos arrived at the door, he knocked loudly. There was a shuffling inside, and then hesitation behind the door.

When it creaked open, a slave stood there, head bowed low.

"Yes?" the young man asked.

"Where is Kratos? I must speak with him."

"Master Kratos is at the gymnasium. Training..."

"Training? For what?"

"For the Olympiad, of course," came another voice as the slave stepped aside.

The door opened to reveal one of Kratos' sisters standing there in a pale, rose-coloured peplos. Her blond hair fell about her shoulders, and her eyes stared unabashedly at Stefanos.

"Anticlea?" Stefanos said, smiling. "You're looking well."

"So are you, Stefanos. What do you want with my brother?"

"To talk. Has he definitely decided to go the Games then?"

"Yes. He has."

"When will he be back? I need to speak with him." Stefanos could not help looking over Kratos' younger sister, the curve of her breasts beneath the peplos, the soft shoulders and white skin.

Anticlea smiled. "He just left, so will not be back for some time," she said. "My mother and sisters are also gone, just now, to the agora. I'm afraid you won't be able to greet them for a long time either."

Her eyes stared at his again, and he felt his loins stir as he met her gaze.

"I'm thirsty. Might I trouble you for a cup of water, Anticlea?"

"It is no trouble. But the cistern is nearly empty. We do have some honeyed wine, though. Will that suffice?"

"I remember your honeyed wine. It was always the best," Stefanos said, walking over the threshold and following her into the living area as the slave closed the door behind them.

"Anthos, you may leave us. I will fetch the wine and serve our guest," Anticlea said to the slave.

Without a word, the slave slunk away to his own room, and when the door closed in the distance, Anticlea's arms wrapped quickly around Stefanos' neck and he pulled her in close to feel her body and lips pressed against him. She laughed as he hoisted her, and carried her down the corridor to the women's chambers where her sleeping area was.

For the next couple of hours, Stefanos lost himself in Anticlea's soft body and the pleasures of Aphrodite, managing to forget all the racing thoughts that had chased him to Kratos' doorway.

He smiled to himself as he walked through the wet streets of Argos. The rain had passed, the sun was coming out, and Anticlea had been as lively as ever. He knew Kratos would be furious, but that his anger would die away within hours.

As Stefanos rounded a corner, headed for the baker's shop on the road perpendicular to one of the local gymnasia, he bumped into Kratos.

"There you are!" Stefanos said. "I was just at your place looking for you."

"I wasn't there," Kratos said suspiciously. "I was at the gymnasium."

"I know. Anticlea told me," Stefanos said, unable to hide his smile. "She made sure to share some of her expertly made honeyed wine. True nectar!"

"She what!" Kratos roared, knowing the look that crossed his friend's features.

"Pandarus!" Stefanos suddenly yelled, seeing the man Kratos had been with coming around the corner.

"Stefanos!" the man named Pandarus said, walking up to the younger man and kissing him on both cheeks. "It is good to see you," he said.

Pandarus, a former victor at the Pythian and Nemean Games, had been a family friend of both Stefanos and Kratos' families, and had trained the boys in athletics from an early age. Even at the age of sixty, his body was still solid, well-muscled and well-proportioned. His hair had thinned to almost nothing.

"I was just helping Kratos with his training for the pentathlon at Olympia. Finally, he's going to compete in the Great Games," Pandarus said.

"Well, he could have no better trainer, my friend," Stefanos said. "You look well."

"The Gods have blessed me with the will to carry on training in my old age. I can't abide the life of laziness that makes so many men bulge in places they shouldn't."

"I hear honeyed-wine helps too," Stefanos said, glancing playfully at Kratos, the latter shooting him an angry look.

"I'll take your word for it!" laughed Pandarus. "Come, will you take food with me? I still receive free meals in Argos for my wins at the games, guests included!"

"How can we say no?" Stefanos said.

"After the workout you just put me through, Pandarus, I could eat a whole boar!" Kratos said. "Lead the way!"

"Pandarus! Take a seat!" yelled the tavern keeper when the three men entered the front room of The Iron Fist, and made their way to the inner courtyard where there were a few empty tables beneath a fig tree.

"Thank you, Iphitus!" Pandarus yelled. "I bring with me two former victors as well, though they've never been in Argos long enough to claim your hospitality!"

"You're all welcome. I'll bring food in a few minutes," Iphitus said, bringing over a krater of watered wine and three clay cups "Enjoy!"

"I should have claimed my victories sooner," Stefanos said.

"Yes," said Pandarus, "But from what Kratos has told me, you boys have seen so much action over the years, you would not have had the time."

"True," Stefanos agreed. "Steady work for men like us, from Syracuse to Babylon!"

Pandarus sipped his wine, opting not to say anything about that. "I'm just glad you're both back safely. I've heard stories of that march back from Persia...ten thousand men! The Gods must love you."

"Which is why I'm opting to enter the Olympiad this one last time," Kratos said. "I can feel it in my bones... Nike is waiting for me."

Stefanos looked at his friend and realized that he had never seen such sincerity and determination in his face.

"You're really going to do it?"

"Yes," Kratos said. "And you should too. You're one of the best boxers I know, and unbeatable in the hoplitodromos."

"I'm not interested," Stefanos said, sitting back and crossing his arms. He began to suspect that this meeting was not a coincidence.

"Your chances are good, Stefanos," Pandarus said evenly, leaning forward on the table, the veins in his thick, leathery arms pulsating.

"Can we talk about something else?" Stefanos said stubbornly. "We haven't seen you in years, Pandarus. What news?"

Pandarus sat back and went through the news about local athletes, his own training school, and his frustration with the local ephebes who seemed to be growing more fat and lazy. Once he had vented for a time, he turned to Stefanos once more.

"I'm sorry about your father, Stefanos. He has always been a good friend and supporter. I visited him last week after seeing your sister at the Heraion. I'm much saddened to see him in his current state."

"Thank you. I'm just glad I've come home now, though some things have not changed; we fight as much as we ever did."

"Such is the way between fathers and sons. But I know for a fact that he is proud of you."

"A noble effort, Pandarus, but my father made his thoughts about me perfectly clear this morning." He turned to Kratos. "That's why I came to your house."

"I see," Kratos crossed his arms. "Seeking comfort between my sister's thighs?"

Stefanos could see his friend's jaw set tightly and wondered for a moment if he would strike him, but Kratos held back.

"Well," laughed, Pandarus. "Such activities and urges are, I dare say, signs of a healthy individual. But really, Stefanos, your best friend's sisters?"

"They are the most beautiful women in Argos!" Stefanos said.

"Nice try," Kratos said, leaning back as platters of roasted meats, cheeses, and fresh bread were laid on the table by Iphitus.

"Enjoy!" the tavern keeper said, taking the krater to add more wine.

The three men ate in silence for a while, each busy enjoying the food set before them.

"I've seen some pretty amazing bouts on the skamma these last years," Pandarus said, going back to athletics. "One lad from Epidaurus defeated thirteen opponents in the boxing by exhausting them for hours, dodging faster than anyone I've seen, except yourself," he added to Stefanos. "He always won by single knockout."

"Why'd he lose on number fourteen?" Stefanos asked.

"Hubris set in, my guess is. Seems his opponent had learned his technique, and feigned ignorance of it. He play tired, having jumped around for a long time, and then, when the boy from Epidaurus let his guard down, he knocked the teeth out of his head with a single punch. Never seen anything like it."