An Inheritance (part VI)

The Story of Isocrates

Image of a painting by Carl Rahl, titled ‘Orestes Pursued by the Furies’ (c. 1852)

Ch. 6

The following morn, Isocrates left the encampment and headed home – with Tersios’ men as an escort. He had not fully grasped the implications, having not allowed himself to do so, and was simply going through the motions. Tersios himself had opted to stay behind; he said that he had only just started gambling. Stripe kept his distance, and seemed dissatisfied with the choice of company.

If only Isocrates were so astute.

“I hope today is not another scorcher.” Were the words of Erasines, as they all were wading cross the stream.

“You can look at me and see that I’m in total agreement.” Said Isocrates, his face and his arms red from sunburn.

“Verily, you look like shit.” Said the dour shorter fellow, Isocrates’ first proof that he could speak.

He still was yet to offer his name.

“And I don’t mean your ruddiness; you look as if you recently returned from the grave.” The man had the nerve to add.

“Perhaps, he caught whatever his father had.” Erasines surmised, stepping sideways, to give himself space.

“I haven’t fallen ill; what you’re noticing is exhaustion.” Isocrates explained, only to be regarded with skepticism.

Of course, he was not surprised, nor did he need reminding; whatever they were seeing was nothing to how he felt. The night before had been another sleepless one, and not for a lack of trying, but tossing and turning is worth little consolation. Before very long, Erasines seemed to get over his apprehension, offering some casual conversation. The other man grew quiet again, giving a nod here-and-there, but other than that, he was all scowls.

They continued on, as the sun climbed, and promised another merciless round; none of them were thrilled. Erasines began asking questions about Isocrates’ father; this was the last thing he wanted to hear.

“What was it like to grow up as the son of the Liberator?”

Isocrates was unable to mask his agitation, “Less than ideal.” Was all that he cared to offer, and after that, he grew as quiet as the third-wheel.

He knew the man was speaking out of reverence, but he disagreed with his view of liberation. Some years before he was born, the region had seen a rebellion much like the current one; a different claimant as Tagus, but the story was the same. The rebels said that they fought for independence; the powers-that-be, said they fought for preservation.

Depending on who you asked, the tyrant was either a brilliant strategist, or the luckiest of all fools. But everyone agreed that he was cruel, and violent – so much so, the Synedrion fled in a panic. They say the tyrant ruled with a black heart, and a bronze-fist, but the spate of war came to an abrupt end.

Isocrates’ father had been one of the few who dared to speak against the usurper, for which he was tortured, and confined. But his words had been enough to inspire a new revolution, which ended with the tyrant’s beheading. As such, Kleitos had been hailed as the Liberator, but freedom only led to too many factions competing. For revolutions are only reshufflings – eventually, a new batch of tyrants are created.

By midday, Isocrates was leading the party out of the ravine, retracing the course that brought him there. As such, there is no need to describe the journey in detail – suffice it to say, it was hot but uneventful. Another night in the wooded basin deserves an honorable mention; Isocrates did not even try to sleep. He spent another night with his eyed peeled, darting at shadows – afraid of his own.

* * *

The next day was like the one that preceded it, with nothing of note occurring; by even, they were back at the southern foot. As it would be dark soon, Isocrates suggested they put off their endeavor till the morn. On legs like lead weights, we led the way up the hill, atop which his home awaited; he was relieved to see it again. Admittedly, there was an unsettling air of quiet – he was used to having someone there to greet him.

Just before he led them inside, he stopped and glanced over his shoulder, with a fervid expression, “If you see a spider, kill it.” With that, he went in.

His visitors looked at one another quizzically, before they entered.

Isocrates dropped his gear on the floor of the vestibule, too tired to bother with unpacking. The others held onto their belongings, having traveled lighter than he – it might also have had something to do with a lack of trust.

“Would you happen to have a Cretan stone handy, that I could borrow?” This from he who remained anonymous.

“Of course, but whatever for – I mean why now?”

“Some of us like to be prepared.” He replied.

“I’ll get it for you later, unless there’s a rush.”

“Later works, only don’t forget.”

Isocrates nodded in response. The question had made him take note of the weapons that both of them were still wearing; they kept them on their hips, at all times. He was no longer as worried about them using the swords on him, but whoever else they could chance to harm with them.

They migrated through the hall, and entered the andron; Isocrates found it darker than ever before. As he had been forced to the leave the hearth untended, the flame which had burned for generations, was now just a pile of ashes. His guests were unaware that this was out of the ordinary, and were already heading for the table to sit down. Eager to be off of his feet as well, Isocrates went to retrieve a new pile of kindling from the rear shed.

When he reached the table, he stopped to address the seated pair, “We need firewood; I’m heading out to pick up a load.” He explained, hoping to get a volunteer.

All he received were some blank stares, until he gave up, setting off again in frustration. He was not completely disregarded; Stripe came after him – loyalty is fine, only dogs lack arms.

“Would you mind if we get a little something from the kitchens?” Erasines called after him, as he was leaving.

“I suppose not.” He replied, before exiting.

It was not long before he returned, with his arms full; Stripe carried a heavy block in his mouth, with obvious pride. Apparently, enough time had passed for his company to have the table laden with a full spread. There was some ham he had hanging up to cure, they brought out the whole rump, on a platter that was meant for decoration. In addition, they had stacks of flatbread, and plenty of olive-oil for dipping – they even had crudites.

Isocrates shook his head, and went over to see to the hearth; once he had a fire going, he was free to crash the party. The diners were busy stuffing their faces; when he drew his knife, that got both of their attention. He stepped forward, and used the blade to carve off of chunk of ham, and gave it to Stripe, then he finally took a seat.

“We found everything we needed, except for the wine.” Spoke Erasines. “Perhaps, you would go and get it for us.”

“I’m all out of wine; you’ll just have to make due.”

“How will we wash our food down?”

“There’s a well outside.” Isocrates replied.

With that, he made himself a plate, though he had no appetite; all his body craved now was sleep. It came down on him harder now that he was back, and near to a bed; he still was planning on steering clear of his. He sat in a daze, just picking over his food, while his guests did their best to eat him out of house-and-home.

After the meal, he saw the pair to their quarters, which were full of dust, from not having been slept in for ages. But after he gave them linens – and a Cretan stone – they seemed content; Isocrates was anything but. He retired to his younger brother’s room again, lighting a candle before crawling into bed. As soon as his head touched the pillow, he was out.

Now he was in the midst of a raging conflagration. Along with the crackle of the flames, he could hear the distant sound of barking, and someone kept yelling out his name. But none of these details seemed important; he was focused on the menacing trio who were there with him in the inferno.

They might have been described as women, who were long dead, and ravaged by the process of time. Each of them had a wicked scourge, and by way of generous lashes, they drove him through a fiery hall. He tried his best to slow his advance, as deep down, he knew exactly what lay ahead, and he was not ready yet.

He came awake in a cold sweat, struggling to breath; it was as if he still could feel the smoke in his lungs. The candle was much the same size, so he could not have been sleep for long, but sometimes a little is too much. He felt no better for having rested, but he was glad to be away from those foul hags – sooner or later, he would have to face them. As usual, Stripe was up and there to investigate, ever mindful of his master’s distress.

Isocrates sat up, so that he would not drift off again. Part of him wanted to lie back down; he got out of bed. He paced about for a bit, trying to shake the torpor, then spent some time staring out a window, at the moon. Skygazing grew boring, and it was back to more listless pacing. Stripe stayed up with him, so at least he had some company.

As he paced, he found himself searching recesses for his tiny roommate, which he was surprised not to have seen yet. As the candle could only do so much, there were still plenty of shadows, especially in the corners, and what not. This was his first time thinking about the meddlesome spider, since he was coming in earlier, upon returning. Perhaps it had perished, or found someone else to torture; if he had a choice, he would quickly take the former option.

The night stretched on, with Isocrates fighting to stay awake – when the candle burned low, he replaced it with another. Eventually, the darkness outside his windows was showing a hint of light, signaling that a new day was nigh. And soon there was a knocking at his bedroom door; he went and opened it. Of course, it was his guests.

Stripe growled.

“It’s time to be heading out.” Erasines said, speaking in a casual manner, as if it were just another day at work.

“It’s still the wee hours;” spoke Isocrates, yawning, “I didn’t know the two of you were such early birds.”

“We’ve been up long enough already, to break our fast.” Said Erasines.

Isocrates’ lip curled. He made a point to stop and get something for himself; if nothing else, then for the fact that they had eaten without him. He still was not hungry, and ended up having to force it all down, but it was a matter of principle.

The decision was made that Stripe would be left behind; the dog was not happy with the plan, and had to be confined. By the time the trio ended up starting down the hill, Helios’ chariot was already airborne. Today there was a bit of cloud cover, just a smattering, but enough that it provided some intermittent shade.

“You won’t get anywhere with my neighbors; they’re a stubborn lot.” Isocrates said, convinced this was just a waste of time.

“Luckily, we have some experience with collections.” Erasines responded, with an impish grin.

They continued down to ground level, keeping to a course familiar to the reader, so we can forward ahead – o’er the foothills, and through the same olive grove – back to Lamon’s humble abode; picking up there.

Isocrates knocked on the door; it was answered by an adolescent lad, that he barely recognized.

“Isocrates!” The young man exclaimed.

“Antipas, you’ve sprouted up like a weed.” Isocrates responded in awe, as the lad was now standing nearly as tall as he – when he saw him last, he was still a little boy.

“Everyone says that, but I feel the same.” Spoke the youth, beaming with pride. “One more year till my enlistment.”

The last part was stated as if it were something to look forward to; Isocrates pitied his naivete.

“You can play catch-up some other time.” Erasines interjected. “Go get your father, or whoever is in charge here.”

On account of the man’s tone, or his hulking size, Antipas looked to Isocrates in confusion, and alarm.

“It’s all right, just do as he said.” Isocrates tried to assure him, sounding calmer than he really was.

Before the lad was able to move, assuming that was his plan, he was joined by Delearces.

“I see that you’re back, and you’re not alone.” Delearces remarked, looking apprehensively at the strangers.

“These are associates of mine, that I’d like you to meet. This is Erasines,” Isocrates indicated as much with a gesture, “and this is –“ He pointed at the other fellow, who just cracked his knuckles.

Isocrates gave up on that plan.

“And over here we have Delearces.” He continued with his introductions.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintances.” Delearces replied, clearly being sardonic.

“I thought you asked the kid to go get someone called Lemon?” Erasines pointed out.

“Lamon.” Isocrates corrected him.

“Layman, Lemon, whatever – where is he?” Erasines persisted.

“Is your father available?” Isocrates asked, still trying to keep the situation from becoming too heated – if that were even minutely possible.

“He’s here, but why – might I ask – are you inquiring after him?”

“We’d just like to have a word.” Isocrates replied.

“What about?”

“Why are you snooping into your father’s business?” The shorter fellow chose to speak up now.

Isocrates knew that was a bad sign.

“My father’s business is mine.” Delearces responded firmly.

“Who are you guys talking to?” Came the voice of Lamon, followed by his not-so-swift arrival.

The man was no spring chicken.

“Isocrates, what are you doing here?”

“I hoped we might pick up where we left off from last time.”

“We both said enough.” Spoke the old man. “Now, go away.”

“I assume that this is our man, then?” Erasines asked, looking to Isocrates for confirmation, who sighed, and then nodded.

“Salutations, good sir.” Said Erasines.

“And who is this?” Lamon asked, his focus remaining squarely on Isocrates.

“These men traveled a ways to come speak with you; just hear them out.”

“That we did.” Erasines cut it. “We’re friends who look after Isocrates’ business interests.”

“He and I have no business of which to speak – not anymore.”

“Unless I was misinformed, you owe my friend a debt, and have chosen to back out.”

“What business is that of yours?” Lamon asked, hackles raised.

“I just told you, he’s our friend.”

“And I told him that he’s not welcome here, nor are any friends of his.”

“Don’t say I didn’t try to be nice.”

With that, Erasines reached out and grabbed Lamon by the shawl collar, yanking him outside, and throwing him roughly to the ground.

“Hold up!” Isocrates yelled, although it was too late; the chaos had already begun.

Delearces tried to rush out to his father’s defense, the shorter goon socked him in the face, sending him sprawling back into the house which he had only just come out of. Isocrates was hurrying over to assist Lamon, who was being pulverized.

“That’s enough!” He called out to Erasines, who let up on the old man.

By then, he had taken quite a beating.

Young Antipas tried to join in the fray, and rather than a blow to the face, a stiff gut-punch put him down. Then Delearces came back out from the house, his nose leaking blood, apparently seeking a rematch. He and the vertically-challenged – but scrappy – fellow began to tussle; Isocrates went to break it up.

Alerted by the commotion, Myrtale arrived in the doorway; her reaction was to scream, then to run to her husband. When Isocrates got over to the fight that was underway, for some reason, Delearces turned his rage on him. No-Name backed away a few steps, actually smiling, seemingly amused at the sight of them going at it. Antipas managed to get himself to his feet, at which point he darted in the house, out of sight.

Now regarding Isocrates and Delearces, the two had fought many times, through the years – as best friends do. Usually, they were evenly matched, but not this time; Delearces quickly got the upper-hand. Keeping in mind the fact that Isocrates was already fighting fatigue, he had little fight left. So, unable to do much, he ended up on the ground, being choked out.

It was Erasines who came to the rescue; he tore Delearces from his death-grip, and slammed him on the ground. Myrtale stood up, and tried to claw out his eyes; he dispatched the woman with a vicious back-hand. She fell like a sack of wheat, and crawled her way back over to her husband. Erasines mounted Delearces, and began to pummel him mercilessly. Myrtale screamed again.

“Stop.” Lamon said, weakly.

The assault continued.

“Stop!” The old man repeated, this time summoning more strength. “I’ll give you the additional payment, just don’t kill my boy!”

“I thought you might come around.” Erasines said, staying his blows, and rising from his motionless victim.

As this was happening, Antipas reappeared from inside the house – this time, the lad brandished a sword.

“Now we’re talking.” Said our diminutive villain, with a sudden glint in his usually dead eyes.

He then drew his own blade, “I see you have some heart, after all; I thought you went off to hide.” He added, brimming with excitement.

Antipas advanced slowly, on unsteady legs, and he held his blade awkwardly, clearly lacking practice. His opponent – on the other hand – had the comfortable stance, of an experienced dueler.

“Antipas, what do you think you’re doing? Put my sword down!” Lamon commanded, though his words were not heeded. “I said put it down!”

Antipas stopped in his tracks, but held onto the sword.

“Come on, then.” The maniac attempted to taunt the lad.

“I said that I’ll pay.” Lamon pleaded.

No-Name had a crazed look on his face, and was staring at Antipas as if he hoped he would charge ahead.

Having finally regained his wind, Isocrates was up now, and he went and got between them – focusing on the one who was clearly the most dangerous, “Stop; I didn’t bring you here to do this!”

“Then why did you bring us?” Came the swift response.

Unable to come up with a decent answer, Isocrates grew silent.

“You heard the old man.” Erasines said to his partner, before walking over and easily disarming Antipas; it was little different than snatching a toy from a babe.

The unhinged party took a moment before returning his blade to his scabbard, in obvious disappointment.

“This could have gone easier than this.” Erasines claimed.

Isocrates looked over the violent scene, keenly aware, all the despair was his making, “It seems we’ve got what we wanted, we can go now.” He said, eager to get away.

“That sounds like a plan.” Replied Erasines. “But as I said earlier,” he continued, now addressing Lamon, and the rest of his family, “Isocrates is a good friend of ours; don’t make us have to come back.”

* * *

Satisfied with the results of their act of terror, Isocrates’ loaner thugs were ready to head back north. Although he would not be sad to see them go, he still was surprised that they were leaving after the one visitation.

“I thought we had a long day ahead of us.” He said, as they were making their way back through the olive grove.

Erasines shrugged, “That was light work.” He replied.

“But you were so eager to get started early.” Isocrates pointed out.

“So that we’d have daylight left, to travel by.” Erasines responded – as though it were obvious.

“I’d assumed that we’d be making multiple house-calls.” Isocrates replied, still not understanding.

“One is enough; word of the encounter will spread – the rest of your neighbors will fall in line, to avoid the same.”

“How can you be sure?”

“I’ve seen it enough times; this is what I do.” Erasines responded, with brash confidence.

Isocrates finally caught on – the realization sickened him – he had made a terrible mistake. Had he known they were only visiting one of the neighboring farms, he never would have chosen that of his best friend. Or his former friend – obviously, that relationship had been ruined, and would never be fixed.

“We mustn’t leave the boss unattended;” Erasines went on explaining, “he doesn’t keep us for our good looks.”

“Speak for yourself.” Said No-Name, clearly joking though; at some point in his life, he had to have seen a mirror.

Regarding No-Name, he seemed to be of higher spirits, since the violent encounter, only frowning half as much.

Isocrates took his associates to pick up their bags; when they arrived at the house, they stopped at the well, to wash off the blood. In the sky above, the clouds had further accumulated, giving Helios even more competition.

“It looks like it might rain.” Erasines said.

Isocrates did not hear him, though; he was lost in thought. Erasines did not seem to notice in the slightest; he and No-Name retrieved their belongings, and then went on to depart, leaving Isocrates to dwell on the error of his ways.

(to be continued…)

Become a paid Subscriber, to access the entire vault, or Buy Me A Coffee, to support my work…