An Inheritance (part II)

The Story of Isocrates

Ch. 2

Isocrates went throughout the palace wiping everything down with water and hyssop, which he toted in a bucket at his side. The smell of burnt thyme lingered from the day prior; he had first purified the household with smoke. He opened a door leading into a room that barely saw use. It was musty inside and the contents were covered with sheets. Slivers of light shone in through vertical slits in the outer wall, which were designed to provide cover for defending archers, giving the cramped room a striped effect.

As he entered, he left the door ajar behind him for ventilation. Setting down the pail, he grabbed the edge of the nearest sheet and removed the covering, stirring up a dust cloud that sent him into a fit of coughing. He waved a hand to clear the air, the motion causing the aching in his back to flare up, which was still sore from shoveling.

He had buried his father’s ashes in the family barrow, then went on to dig a hole nearby for Agapetus. Both bodies had needed to be burned first, not that cremation was customary, but to mask his crimes. Best to see the evidence incinerated.

Beneath the sheet was a table covered with miscellaneous items, mostly war memorabilia, which his father had been fond of. Everything from weapons, to medals and awards. He picked up a hoplon discolored with verdigris, and began scrubbing it with his rag. Out the corner of his eye, he spied a large black spider sitting atop another of the covered mounds near the wall. He spun to face his silent guest, catching barely a glimpse as it slipped behind its linen perch.

This was not his first time seeing the elusive arachnid. Their initial encounter had happened his first night back, while he was scrubbing the bloodstains from the floor of the andron. The spider had slipped away then as well, leaving Isocrates searching in vain for hours.

The same scenario had been repeated several times over the last two days. Rather than rushing off after it this time, he employed a different tact, and casually went back to wiping the shield. The thing could not hide forever; soon he would catch it unawares and crush it.

But try as he might to ignore it, he could still feel it somewhere watching him.

Once finished with the hoplon, he set it down and went on to pick up a bit-and-bridle, complete with forehead spike for charging. His father’s obsession with battle had carried over into his manner of action. Isocrates had grown up in a household ran like a barracks, with his father acting as despotic commander. Discipline was meted out with fists; oftentimes it was his mother who had suffered the worst of it. As he went to rewet the rag in the bucket, the sound of barking outside caught his ear.

Placing the rag back in the pail, he went to find out what the noise was about. The barking grew clearer as he opened the front door, but Stripe was nowhere to be seen in the courtyard. He stepped outside, and immediately wished he had grabbed his fur mantle, as the mountain air was sharp, and the robe he wore offered little protection.

He crossed the courtyard, and once at the gate he could see Stripe running back-and-forth along the rim of the ridge. As the animal barked and paced, its attention stayed locked on something down below. Isocrates joined the dog on the ridge, to see for himself what had Stripe so excited.

Three men were making their way up the rise, still about ten meters off. Isocrates recognized one of his visitors, and briefly entertained the thought of setting Stripe upon them. Instead, he turned and pointed towards the gate.

“Back in the courtyard.” He commanded.

The dog quit barking and looked up at its master, then back down the hill, sniffing the air curiously.

“Now!”

Whining once in disagreement, it loped off for the enclosure. The three men crested the ridge and came to a stop before Isocrates.

“Greetings, my good friend.” Said one of the men, flashing a broad smile that had always reminded Isocrates of a leering badger.

“Tersios.” Responded Isocrates, faking a smile of his own.

Tersios was a big man, not in terms of height, but in girth – it was clear that he liked to eat. Over his large frame, he wore a cloak that looked expensive, the collar and wrists were lined with what appeared to be ermine. Regarding his acquaintances, one was a physical specimen, as would be expected with someone who broke legs for a living. The other man was much smaller in stature, but carried himself in such a manner that he was just as menacing. The pair also wore swords at their waists, for the occasion.

“This place seems as if it was defensible, at one time.” Said Tersios, gazing about.

“It still is.” Isocrates replied.

“I think that you should pray for peace,” spoke Tersios, still smiling, “or at least that the present one should hold.”

“We should all seek as much, or is it something else which you pray for?” Asked Isocrates.

“I’m a fortunate man.” Tersios replied, shrugging. “I simply give thanks, and that is all. Wherever did that hound go?” He added, glancing about nervously.

“Relax, I sent him away.”

“I hope the animal is secured; I’m allergic to things with sharp teeth.”

“Then you must shy from your own reflection.” Said Isocrates.

Tersios’ smile grew even wider.

“From what I could see of the animal, it could be worth a bit.”

“I’m not looking to sell him.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Spoke Tersios, shaking his head. “I’ve a Molossian bitch of my own. I don’t go near her, of course – due to my aforementioned aversions. I have a man that sees to her care in my stead.”

“If I decide to mate him, you’ll be the first to know.”

“I’m not looking to breed, but to set up a fight. There’s good money in it, if a dog proves game. Breeding comes later; stud fees can be quite high for a champion.”

“He wasn’t trained to attack dogs, but men instead.” Said Isocrates.

“Ah, then we keep similar company.” Tersios replied, raising his arms to indicate those who were with him. “Where is your renowned father? I should very much like to meet him.”

“I’m afraid that that is not possible. I arrived home to find him fallen victim to some terrible sickness. Both he and the family servant, in fact.”

“Then you weren’t able to secure the loan?” Asked Tersios, his smile fading.

The men who came with him reached for their weapons.

“Wo, gentleman; keep steady your hand.” Spoke Isocrates, taking an unconscious step backwards. “Let us go inside and speak over a meal.”

“I’m a busy man.” Replied Tersios. “I didn’t come all this way to eat, or to talk.”

With that, his men advanced.

“The Fates made it so that I needn’t have asked!” Isocrates blurted out, now frantically backpedaling.

“Halt!” Tersios called, staying his men. “So, you do have my money?”

“Upon my return from completion of enlistment, I found both my father – and our servant – having succumbed to disease.” Isocrates reiterated, somberly. “I went on to cremate them, out of fear of contagion.”

“And what about my money?” Tersios persisted, uninterested in explanations.

“I just told you that my father died!”

“My condolences,” Tersios said dryly, “but what does that have to do with me?”

“All that once belonged to my father, is mine now!”

“Then paying me shouldn’t be an issue.”

“I’ll have what I owe you, as soon as I collect taxes. I am now the debtee of over a dozen households; although it saddens me that my fortune had to come in such a way.”

“Over a dozen households, you say?” Tersios asked.

“Indeed.” Responded Isocrates.

“And how much of these taxes are yours?”

“As I said, I am now the patriarch.”

“I never heard you referred to as a prime successor.”

“My father was slow in accepting the loss of his eldest.”

“How long do you expect me to wait?”

“Only until harvest time.”

“Forgive me my distrust, but you know the sort of degenerates that we encounter in this business. And you did manage to get quite deep in the hole.”

“My word is my bond.” Isocrates stated, solemnly.

Tersios’ smile returned.

“Very well then. What of the meal that you spoke of?”

“You said you were busy.” Isocrates replied. “Gods forbid, I keep you.”

“Nonsense; I forgot my manners earlier. One should never pass on an opportunity to dine with a friend.”

“It’s just not a time to entertain, in that I am still grieving. Sometimes you just have to be alone.”

“Ah, that I can understand; I guess we should be off then. Come along, gentlemen.” Tersios beckoned unto his men.

“Any other time, you would be more than welcome.” Isocrates poured it on.

“But, of course.” Replied Tersios. “Although I thought you might have wanted a chance to win some money back.” He added, offhandedly.

“Wait, wait!” Spoke Isocrates. “You’ve come all this way; it’s only right that I serve as a proper host.”

“But I would not dare intrude.”

Were the words of Tersios.

Isocrates proceeded to lead his visitors in the direction of the house; Stripe appeared, barking loudly.

“You’ll have to do something with that animal.” Said Tersios.

Isocrates did not bother raising an argument; he was eager to get the game started. What Tersios said was true; Isocrates did want to claw himself out of the hole, but more so, he was a gambling addict. The chance of him turning down a game was slim to none – which is how he got into the hole, to begin with.

He hurried off and secured Stripe in one of the back rooms, returning for his guests and inviting them inside.

“It was some good exercise, hiking up here.” Said Tersios.

“You could use as much.” Responded Isocrates.

Tersios only smiled and took off his cloak, handing it over to Isocrates to hang up.

“Be careful with that; it’s made of ermine.” The man made sure to point out.

Isocrates pretended not to have noticed it earlier, and that he was not at all impressed. Tersios’ enforcers handed over their cloaks as well, so Isocrates found himself filling in for Agapetus.

“If you would like, I can take your weapons.” He offered, to no avail.

After he put their garments away, he showed them to the andron; they all took a seat around the table there. Now that it was obvious that violence would not be needed, the larger of the pair of toughs opened up a little. He introduced himself as Erasines, from Pharsalos; the smaller individual never said a word. The man just sat there staring; Isocrates got the feeling that he would have preferred their meeting had ended differently.

“You have a comfortable setup.” Said Tersios, taking note of the mounted trophies – the boar’s head in particular. “That thing is enormous!” He exclaimed.

“It was a menace in these parts.”

“I can only imagine; he looks like a real mean boy.”

“Do you do any hunting, yourself?”

“Not unless you count the bats that roost in my rafters.” Replied Tersios. “Along the way here, I very nearly took a detour – there is a large contingent of soldiers stationed just a ways north. Plenty of good games, I’m sure.”

“Do you know what they’re doing in the region?” Isocrates asked.

“It seems that Ovinus has had something of a change of heart in regards to Hypatos; now he sees him as a threat.”

“My father never mentioned as much.”

“I thought you found your father dead?” Tersios inquired, flashing a suspicious expression.

Isocrates knew he had to think fast.

“We corresponded often via messenger.” Said he.

Tersios nodded as if the clarification did the trick.

“Are we playing knuckles, or not?” Isocrates asked, out of frustration, as well as to move the conversation.

“Of course, after you provide the promised meal.”

“I never promised anything; I only mentioned it as a common courtesy. But now that we’ve decided on gaming, I figured we’d get to that, for I cannot cook and gamble at the same time.”

“Perhaps you are correct, but you won’t get by without serving refreshments; I know you were just about to offer some.”

Isocrates frowned, then he stood up and went to oblige.

At the kitchens, he poured some wine into a pitcher, and some water for mixing into another. He then set the pitchers onto a platter, as he also needed four cups, but only had two hands. Finally, he returned to the andron with the requested refreshments – ready to begin.

His visitors were no longer seated, but seemed to have decided to get a closer look at the various mounted beasts. Isocrates set the platter down on the table, then he went to join the others before the hearth. He came to find that Tersios was handling a geode, which belonged on the mantle.

“Put that down!” Isocrates demanded.

“Relax; I’m only admiring the decorations.” Tersios replied, nonchalantly.

“The stone used to belong to my mother – put it down.” Isocrates reiterated, and this time he received no argument.

Believe it or not, even Tersios had a mother.

The geode was returned to its rightful place above the hearth, and Isocrates herded everyone back to their seats. He made sure that they all received a cup, then made it very clear that they would have to pour it themselves. Apparently satisfied, Tersios reached into his chiton and produced a pouch, sliding it cross the table.

Isocrates did not waste any time as he loosened the drawstrings, and upended the bag, shaking out the contents. The astragaloi fell onto the table with a familiar clang, which was like music to Isocrates’ ears. As they were actual bones, there was some slight variation, but each was roughly half the size of a thumb, give or take. The bag had contained four; he scooped up the three they would be using; pieces could break, so it was prudent to keep a spare.

“How much are we playing for?” He asked.

“You tell me.” Tersios countered, leering in his way.

They settled on a princely sum.

“And who should throw first?” Isocrates went on to ask.

“I slid them to you; didn’t I?” Replied Tersios.

Isocrates gave the knuckles a bit of a shake, and threw them out.

A few words on the game, for the uninitiated. There is no need describing the more elaborate version, involving tricks and the like, which was favored by little girls. Nay, this was a man’s game, nothing fancy about it; you wanted your opponent’s purse, not his admiration.

The rules were straightforward; the faces of the hocks had different values, which were added together. The object was to outscore your opponent over an agreed upon number of rounds – simple enough. But some had difficulty when collecting, as men could be sore losers, and some played for more than they could afford.

Isocrates was running good, for a change; the evening stretched on, and his luck continued to hold. It was not as if all his scores were high, per se, but all he had to do was score higher than his opponent. Tersios did manage to make a few decent throws, and yet overall, the numbers he produced were hard not to beat.

Isocrates floated the idea that they should raise up the stakes.

“No arguments here.” Replied Tersios confidently, though his smile had faded somewhat.

You can probably guess what happened next.

Isocrates threw one of the lowest possible scores, followed by a remarkable roll from Tersios. Still, that was but one round; the points did not carry over – this was a game played by soldiers, not mathematicians. But Tersios took the following round, and the one after that, winning the set with a skunk – which was double. Isocrates lost all he had won, and then some.

“I think that that should just about do it.” Tersios said, scooping up the knuckles and replacing them in the pouch.

“You can’t leave yet!” Spoke Isocrates, in a panic. “You owe me an opportunity to recoup my losses.”

“That’s what you just had!” Tersios spat. “Furthermore, we must be gone before Nyx falls, lest we meet one of these creatures you keep on prominent display; I doubt I’d like them nearly as much, were they unstuffed.”

Tersios proceeded to rise, his enforcers following suit. Erasines grimaced, at least showing a bit of sympathy, but the unnamed man had the nerve to smile.

Isocrates wanted to take the spear off the wall again.

He followed them as they made for the vestibule, where they waited as he retrieved, and then returned their cloaks, “Where can I find you come harvest time?”

“Right now, I’m heading north to join up with the unit that I mentioned earlier; I need to get a piece of that action. But, no need to worry; I shall return to collect, so as to save you the trouble.” He replied, before heading out.

In sullen defeat, Isocrates made his way back to the andron – where he found the spider on the table, as if waiting for him.

“It must have been you, bringing me such ill luck!” Said Isocrates, shaking his head.

He did not know exactly what type of spider it was, as he was no expert, but it was a good size. As far as descriptions go, it was covered in hairs which were mostly black, with a bit of white about its head and fangs. Isocrates was careful not to approach it directly; he knew that it would simply slip away into the shadows. Instead, he made for the hearth, maintaining some distance between himself and the table, by staying close to the wall.

The spider rotated like a wheel, keeping its many beady eyes trained on Isocrates’ every move.

Once at the hearth – or more specifically the mantle – he grabbed the geode, and used it as a projectile. It flew through the air, and ricocheted off the table-top, ending up shattering against the opposite wall. The crash was so loud, that Stripe was sent into a frenzy; its backroom confinement seeming to amplify the baying. Isocrates might as well have been deaf at the moment though, as he went to perform an inspection.

A deep indentation showed where the geode had struck the table, but he saw no evidence of his intended target. He dropped to his knees, and searched underneath the table, then all around it; the spider had eluded him again. He stood, and looked over at the crystalline mess on the floor, the sight of which snapped him out of the fog he was in.

Now he felt ashamed for having overreacted, but in the heat of the moment he had only seen red. His recent encounter with Tersios might have had something to do with it – damn him, and the bloody arachnid.

(to be continued…)

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