An Inheritance (part XI)

The Story of Isocrates

ancient Greek (Caeretan) hydria, depicting Hephaestus, seated on a mule (from the public domain)

Ch. 11

After witnessing the threat first-hand – and coming close to being eaten – Isocrates’ priorities changed. The very next day, he went about entreating all able-bodied men, to rally together for decisive action. If they were reluctant, he reminded them of civic duty, and even appealed to their sense of honor, and justice, “Linos’ boy has to be avenged.” He delivered with a long face, seeking maximum effect.

Many refused to listen, and slammed the door in his face, but he found a few receptive audiences. He ended up with five volunteers, which is more than he had expected – all things considered. Linos’ participation was a given; he was there with his remaining son, and a clear vendetta. But rather surprising was the fact that one of the folk to step forward was none other than the quarrelsome Alcinous. The man said he was only there to preserve his precious herd; Isocrates would take all the help that he could get. He had counted five wolves, and they were only six men strong now; any less would be cutting it close.

Now obviously, they were not heading out empty-handed, everyone had at least one spear, if not a backup. Nor could they rely on their own feet; the chance of them catching fleeing wolves was non-existent – they required mounts. All that they had available were mules, but this was not a hindrance, as mules were more suitable than steeds. Wolves are notorious for endurance; the process of tracking them would be a marathon, and not a sprint.

The hunting-party also included another half-dozen hounds, which included Stripe, of course. Speaking of which, he was bandaged up, but in fighting shape. In regards to the others, there were four short and sleek Laconians, all a tawny brown, and an additional Molossian, as black as Nyx. Belonging to Alcinous, the Molossian was similar to Stripe in size, but had its ears clipped, and its tail docked, making it look all the more intimidating. In regards to tracks, they could hardly be any fresher than at the present moment.

The dogs were put on the scent.

Starting from where the wolves were last seen, they were led down from the mountainside, and south through the freshly harvested fields. The sun had just reached its cruising altitude; the sky was a shade of blue so pale it seemed grey. The course was difficult from the outset; their prey mostly stayed off of the beaten path, preferring the brush. This hidden avenue often ran right up against the throughfare, which was a rather chilling thought to consider.

They maintained as grueling a pace as possible, the mules requiring fewer breaks than horses would have. More often than not, they were led over precarious terrain; luckily, mules are also known for surefootedness. But the bumpy ride, was like torture for Isocrates, with all of his pains – take his splitting headache, as a prime example. It goes without saying, that having one’s brain scrambled, does not compliment a preexisting migraine. Before tending to Stripe, he had cleaned and wrapped his wounded shin; now it felt as if his leg was back in the wolf’s maw. The only positive was that constantly being jostled about, made it impossible for him to drift off.

Beyond what was a thin ribbon of Phthian farmland, the party descended into the Spercheios Valley. The slopes were green, this time of year, and dotted with wildflowers – of too many types to try to name. By the time they halted for their second break, the Malian crescent, and the jagged Kallidromo were visible. Isocrates dismounted and found it difficult to stand, and harder to walk; his gait was that of a drunkard.

“You’re no good to us – none at all.” Alcinous remarked, as he was in the act of climbing down from his own mount.

“How long must I listen to you bemoan?” Isocrates blurted out, having put up with such comments, the whole way.

“As long as I have to suffer your presence.”

“No one forced you to be here – you could have stayed behind.”

“I wanted to make sure that this was handled, properly; I can’t entrust the safety of my herd to a moon-calf.”

“If you should take part, then I could do without the constant complaints.”

“And I could do without avaricious landlords – were that we could both be satisfied.” Replied Alcinous, who then turned his attention to rubbing his mule down.

Isocrates glowered; he had plenty more to say, but he decided to distance himself from his adversary. He did not get very far, as everything started spinning; he felt himself falling, before it all went black. Back in the belly of a beast that breathes flames; being harassed again, by retribution personified. The blows from their scourges tore his flesh open.

As always, he tried to escape, but there was none to be had.

Water splashing his face jolted him back to reality. He stared up at the others, who had all gathered round. Alcinous had his waterskin out, some of the former contents of which, Isocrates was now covered in, “Worthless, I say.” The disdainful accusation was reiterated, by the dour cowherd.

Isocrates was too busy coughing to refute the claim, nor could he make a strong case, to the contrary. Alcinous tried to hand him the skin, but he refused it – preferring to suffer, for the sake of pride. Stripe was summoned over by the hacking, and started licking away at his wet face, adding some saliva. He recovered, slowly, and then struggled to get back up on his feet. The onlookers dispersed, having lost interest.

After the short break, they picked up where they left off; Isocrates was back in the saddle, suffering for it. They still were traveling on a decline, heading for the gulf, with the eager hounds in the lead. As they hurried forth, thicket soon gave way to woodland, the trunks rising at an acute angle, to compensate for the slant. This extended the rest of the way down to the shoreline, where the dogs’ baying hit a crescendo.

It turned out to the be the narrow entrance, to what was obviously a den, that had gotten the dogs so excited. The adit was dug into the earthen bank, at the base of a towering Willow, the roots were serving as roofbeams. The scent brought them here, so it was safe to assume the wolves had used the burrow; the question was – were they in it, now? Someone elected that they should light a fire, to smoke out whatever might be hidden in the Cimmerian recess.

They nearly burnt the tree down, but nothing came running out from under it. When the smoke cleared, the dogs were sent in, to double-check. They all reemerged, moments later; the only thing to show for it, is they were dustier than before. The men were disappointed, but no one was surprised by the revelation – of course, it could not have been that easy.

From there, the trail took them west, keeping tight with the coast; by then, they were chasing after Helios, as He made for Thermopylae. The next time they stopped, it was to set up their camp, for the coming night, with hopes for success, on the morrow. In case the wolves happened to double back, while everyone was asleep, they all agreed that lookout shifts were in order. Neither the hounds, nor the mules, would keep quiet if attacked, but one felt safer with human eyes at work. Knowing that he would be awake anyway, Isocrates said he would go first, but the offer was shot down.

“Who’s to say you won’t faint again?” Linos asked, and – admittedly – this was a fair inquiry. “Miltiades will take first watch.” The man proceeded in nominating his son, who did not look thrilled.

No one expressed reservations – like they had with Isocrates’ bid; he and the lad ended up sharing the shift. The two sat together, next to the glowing campfire, while the others had the pleasure of sleeping the night away. Aside from exhaustion, which was expected after so hard a ride, the youth had a look of fear, which he tried to hide.

“How many springs have you known?” Isocrates asked, as the lad was rather small, to be chasing wolves, by his estimation.

“The one coming will be my fourteenth.”

“Then, you’re already thirteen?” Isocrates said, in disbelief.

Had he ventured to guess, he would have said ten, at most.

“Thirteen, and a half.” The youth made sure that all his months were included.

“Basically, a grown man, then.” Said Isocrates.

Miltiades nodded in agreement.

“I’m sorry you had to suffer the loss of a brother.” Said Isocrates, well understanding how it felt.

“Father says our success here will make it right.”

“I hope it can ease the pain.” Responded Isocrates.

“How large were the beasts? – you saw them up close.” Miltiades asked, as once again his terror was plain as day.

“They were a good size,” replied Isocrates, not wanting to lie, “but we have them in numbers, and in ferocity.”

This response brought a smile to the lad’s face. They continued sharing words, their bantering accompanied by the crackling flames, and the snoring of their companions. The youth expressed an interest in the day-to-day minutiae of military service, as he would have to enlist soon.

Isocrates told him to be prepared for the hazing, which was brutal, but effective at fostering camaraderie. He also told him about the egotistical officer corps – and how to keep his head down. He added a stern warning that the lad should never pick up gambling, and especially to never play a single game of knuckles. The lad seemed amenable to the advice, but Isocrates knew that peer-pressure is difficult to resist. When the time came to pass the baton, Miltiades said adieu, and went off to wake a replacement.

The man who filled the vacated post, was called Errikos; he was less congenial than his young predecessor. He looked to be middle-aged, perhaps in his forties, although Isocrates now had reason to question such assumptions. He and his brother, who was still sleeping, had attended the hunt against their own wishes, at the behest of their father – who you met already.

When Isocrates sought help, his rounds had taken him to the farm of the kindhearted old man from the festival. During the encounter, he managed to redetermine the old man’s name – it was Spyridon. The man had been a friend of his grandfather’s, who passed away long ago, when Isocrates still hunted garter-snakes. True-to-form, Spyridon offered a gracious welcome, but was too old to take part – so he sent his sons, instead.

Since their departure, neither brother had said much.

At present, Errikos sat there in silence, with the occasional, reproachful look thrown in, for good measure – it was awkward. For his part, Isocrates extended no olive-branch; he stared right back, as he was already on edge. This continued, till the quiet was disturbed, by a rustling in the darkness that caused both of them to start.

Linos emerged from the shadows, to join the pair by the fire, his expression evoking the image of a maelstrom, “I haven’t slept a whole night…since the disappearance.” He explained.

“Join the club.” Was Isocrates’ response.

So now there were three on watch, though two of them were watching each other, while the third was in a state of oblivion. Eventually, Errikos retired, to try to salvage what sleep he could – the night was already half spent. For a while, no one spoke, then Linos turned to face Isocrates.

“I owe you a debt of gratitude.” Said he.

“What for?” Isocrates asked.

“For organizing this mission, seeking requite on my son’s behalf.” The man explained.

“Don’t mention it.” Isocrates replied, as if the loss had been his true motivation.

After this, it grew quiet again, and stayed that way. Since both of them would be up for the rest of the night, there was no reason to wake anyone else – they had it covered. When Eos arrived, it was in spectacular fashion; Her radiant peplum was like the heart of a forge.

The party set off again, early, to keep up the pressure; if they were gaining, or losing ground, who could really say? The gulf was behind them now, replaced by the crystalline waters of the mighty – and some say holy – Spercheios River. It turned out, the mule that Errikos was riding failed to live up to the lofty reputation attributed to the breed. It happened in the blink of an eye; they were crossing over loose scree. The mule slipped a hoof.

Errikos was thrown.

Before anyone else could dismount, the injured party’s dismayed brother, Didymos, was there to offer assistance. The mule had landed atop its rider’s lower half – and still had him pinned – though Didymos was trying to change that. Having taken note of the disturbance, the hounds had come to investigate, which only added to the commotion.

Errikos was conscious, and desperately trying to help free himself, only, the mule was refusing to cooperate. The animal kept trying to stand, but both of the legs, on its left side, had been shattered in the fall. Because of this, its efforts were proving counterproductive, only serving to drive the inoperative flank downward.

Isocrates rushed in, with the others, that they should all work together, but the mule was as powerful as it was determined. It ended up having to be put down, before being rolled, like a log, and Errikos was set free. But freedom did not impart mobility; his legs had been left crushed – all he could do was lie there and moan. Didymos had taken on the role of medic, seeing to the many wounds, which were leaking profusely. The moaning subsided, but only on account of Errikos having passed out, from the shock.

“I guess that means we’re down, one man.” Linos stated the obvious, in a rather callous manner. “The rest of us will have to be off, soon.”

“I won’t leave my brother!” Didymos exclaimed, making it clear that Linos had been mistaken.

They were down two.

“Perhaps we should all be turning back.” Isocrates interjected.

He was more than ready to call off the hunt.

“You can’t be serious; we still a job to do.” Linos pointed out, looking offended by the thought of capitulating.

“We’ve chased the wolves far enough, already.” Isocrates tried to argue, certain that his was the side of reason.

“There’s no way of being certain the distance is sufficient.” Linos countered. “They might simply decide to return.”

“We set fire to their den.” Isocrates reminded him.

“I want to see the denizens burn.” Was the response.

“I think we should cut our losses, now.” Said Isocrates.

“But yours is only one voice; we ought to have a vote on the matter.” Linos argued. “Where do you stand?” He asked, looking over at Alcinous, who seemed undecided. “Remember that your herd is still at risk.” The man added.

That was all it took.

“He’s right – we do still have work to do,” Alcinous replied, “and we did not come all this way for sightseeing.”

“But if we lose two from our ranks, we’ll be down to four, and I told you, there are five wolves.” Isocrates said emphatically.

Since reason had failed, he tried basic arithmetic.

“If you were not so despised, we would’ve had thrice as many with us.” Alcinous remarked.

Isocrates shrugged, “That may be the case, but I could not control the peoples’ reaction to my call-to-arms.”

“You speak as if you’re hated for no reason.”

“Yet and still, here we are – about to have our numbers even further reduced.”

“The dogs aren’t only here for tracking.” Alcinous replied.

“True enough, but we needn’t push our luck.” Isocrates pleaded.

“We’re already here now, and I like to finish what I start.” Said Alcinous.

“It seems you’re outnumbered.” Linos gloated.

“We still haven’t heard from Miltiades – shouldn’t his opinion be considered?” Isocrates asked.

At this point, he was grasping at straws.

“Of course.” Linos said, dismissively.

Isocrates turned his attention to little Miltiades, who seemed even more terrified now, than before, “Do you wish to continue?” He asked.

Miltiades planted his eyes on the floor, and said nothing.

“Tell him boy, that you want revenge.” Linos said forcefully, eliciting a nod from the lad. “There you have it!” The man said, in triumph.

Isocrates sighed, and accepted his defeat.

Two of the Laconians belonged to the soon to be abandoned pair, and showed their devotion by refusing to go on. As such, the party really lost four members, a third of the starting tally, without ever facing an adversary. The brothers were given extra supplies – as much as could be spared – other than that, they were left to fend for themselves. Aside from the numerical loss, the episode ate up precious time – it was already past midday. To make up for this, the riders pushed their mounts even harder now, as if the accident had never occurred.

Eventually, they still had to let the mules rest; Isocrates needed the break just as much, if not more. When he dismounted, his knees nearly buckled; he held on tight to the reins, hoping that no one was watching. He got his legs beneath him, then took a look about; luckily, the moment of weakness seemed to have gone unnoticed.

“Look at the sky!” Miltiades shouted, in alarm, pointing a finger towards the northern horizon.

The Othrysian ridge had tapered off, giving a view clear to Thessaly, where, at first, it appeared a storm was brewing. The entire northern sky was blotted out, but this did not look right; elsewhere, the skies were bright, and clear. Isocrates squinted, and realized it was not a cloud at all, but a sky full of birds.

And he knew what kind.

“Are they crows?” Miltiades asked, as from so great of a distance, they were but tiny specks.

“Those are vultures, boy.” Linos offered in response.

“But why so many.” Miltiades inquired further, staring wide-eyed.

“What did I tell you about asking too many questions?” Linos shot back, sounding annoyed.

The lad fell silent.

If Isocrates’ bearings were correct, the black mass was hovering over Melitaea. His thoughts turned to the summit being held there, and to Euandros; he could only hope that his brother-in-law was safe. He glanced over at Alcinous, who happened to be looking his way, and for the first time, he did not find an accusatory expression on the face of the cowherd, but one of concern. Miltiades was still marveling at the scene before them. Linos was already impatiently looking westward.

Sufficient time was given for the mules to be fed and watered, and after recuperating, they were put back to work. Soon, the window to Thessaly disappeared, as the Achalan Mountains sprang up to block the view, and once again they were bounded between rocky slopes, and the river that seemed to go on forever. So, more of the same, till the daylight started fading, and they were searching for a decent place to camp for another night.

All of a sudden, the dogs went into a frenzy, barking fervently, and darting off ahead, as if their tails were on fire. Though no one had spotted anything, the riders whipped at the reins, urging their mounts to keep up as best they could. At some point, Linos shouted that he sighted their quarry, but Isocrates still only saw the hounds, and the setting sun. The glare from the latter was not helping, nor were the lengthening shadows. He was flying half-blind.

The sound of the dogs barking made them easy to follow, or easy enough; he still had to stay in the saddle. Then he saw them too, just on the edge of his line-of-sight; wolves, sure enough, trying desperately to get away. He noticed there were more than he expected, perhaps twice as many, but could not get a precise count, with things being as they were – he was busy, hanging on for dear life.

When he did draw nearer, and could make out some detail, he saw that they were not all the same size; some were juveniles. The smaller pack-members were struggling to match their elders’ stride. This gave the upper-hand, in the chase, to the pursuers.

The hounds were steadily closing in; Stripe led the charge like a field commander, his bandages resembling a suit of armor. Once they were nipping at the wolves’ heels, the pack had no choice, but to turn and stand its ground – which it did in earnest. The opposing forces collided, and fur started flying, and the dogs were getting the worst of it.

But backup arrived, as the riders now had time to close the gap; they leapt to the ground, and went for their spears. They also were yelling, to garner the wolves’ attention; several broke away from the mayhem, accepting the invitation. Isocrates was still in the same weakened state, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins, gave him fortitude. It also imparted a preternatural clarity, and focus – where everything appeared to slow down.

Approaching were two full-sized wolves, along with two of the pups, which were only a short way from reaching maturity. It should have been four-on-four, but little Miltiades was hesitant; Isocrates was left with two teammates. The wolves were upon them now, and they did not hesitate.

One of the larger wolves rushed at Isocrates, and only just evaded his spear-tip, but it would not quit. It came in again, and again, searching for an open lane; Isocrates tried to keep them all closed. Alcinous was up against a pup, so he was holding his own, but so was the feisty whelp. Linos, on the other hand, was struggling with the remaining pair; while fending off his pup, his larger foe took him down. The sight of this was enough to motivate Miltiades; he hurried in to rescue his father from the jaws-of-death.

Lo, and behold, he ended up in his father’s place.

The larger wolf assaulting Linos left him alone, and bounded straight at Miltiades, who went down screaming. The scream was choked off, as the wolf had him about the throat. His screaming was replaced by his father’s wailing. None of this was lost on Isocrates, but he still had his hands full.

His opponent was still attempting assault, and he was still on his back foot – the wolf was nothing if not tenacious. It made a feint, and Isocrates went for it, and he was made to pay for his mistake. The wolf got around the spear, finding a choice opportunity to lunge. Isocrates’ free-hand went up defensively, and the wolf sank its teeth into his exposed forearm. It yanked him one way, and then the other, then off of his feet.

The wolf still had a hold on his arm; it let go, only to aim for a better point of contact. It came for his face, but never reached its target; instead, it tensed up, and whined – as Alcinous thrust a spear through its side. After yanking his weapon free, Alcinous reached out a hand; Isocrates grasped it, and was hoisted back to his feet. Before him, the beast that he was just tussling with now lie motionless. Meters away, Alcinous’ juvenile opponent was also out of commission.

Yet the battle raged on.

The hounds, and the other half of the pack, were still in a chaotic cluster, chomping away at each other. There had already been casualties, on both sides. Isocrates wanted to help Stripe – who, he could see, was still being hard pressed – but the first order of business was to help his fellow man. Linos had succeeded in dispatching the pup, but the larger threat was back to harassing him. Isocrates and Alcinous both ran to his aid, and together, they made short work of the beast. Now free to give the dogs a hand, they hurried off to do so, while Linos stayed to check on his son.

Stripe and his unit had been left to deal with five wolves in total, two of them pups. The pups had already bled out, and one of the large wolves had also been scratched off. This meant that just two remained. But, as was mentioned, the dogs suffered losses as well. One of the Laconians had been mauled to death, and the black Molossian was lying on the ground, whimpering. Only Stripe, and one scrappy Laconian, were still going strong.

When reinforcements appeared, spears in hand, the wolves seemed to intuit their state of hopelessness, and turned their minds to escaping. A well-placed stab, from Isocrates, thwarted the attempts of one. The last wolf bolted for the slope, but Stripe and the Laconian went after it. It was the Laconian that caught up first; Stripe came right behind and took over. The wolf was all but ripped apart.

In the stillness afterwards, Isocrates had a chance to decompress, and suffered something of an adrenal crash. The burdensome weight returned, and he went from tunnel-vision to processing the entire scene, although his view was still limited at present – the night had completely settled in. He could vaguely make out the form of Linos, kneeling over what was now just a little corpse, but he heard him sobbing, all too clearly. Isocrates was also quite devastated, but a searing pain, in his arm, managed to steal his attention.

The sight of his mangled extremity – with all the blood dripping from it – almost made him faint again.

He knew it was imperative that he stop the bleeding, fast, but he also felt a pressing need to sit – it was that, or collapse. He sank to the ground, and might have sunk further still, had Alcinous not appeared, right then. The cowherd wasted no time, or even words, but hastily tore a strip from his own chiton, and proceeded in applying a much-needed tourniquet. While his arm was being tended to, Isocrates did not speak either – he was too exhausted. Of course, he could not surrender to the urge; he reminded himself of as much, for what that was worth.

While the spot was not ideal, they ended up camping where they were.

* * *

The black Molossian did not survive the night, and both of the fallen hounds were buried at sunrise – the wolves, on the other hand, were left for the scavengers. Linos lifted, and carried his son’s remains, carefully securing them to the same mule the lad had ridden in on, only now he would be riding on his belly. Afterwards, they set off on the journey home, having technically achieved their goal, though their demeanors were anything but triumphant.

Thusly heading in reverse, their way began with a long stretch, by a longer river, as they had barely ventured into Aeniania. While getting there had only taken two days, they were no longer rushing, so it took nearly twice as long getting back. Storm clouds gathered, on the first day, dark and menacing, as if they might burst at any moment. This meant that, when passing back by the aforementioned window to Thessaly, the curtains were effectively closed.

The only time Linos opened his mouth, the entire rest of the trip, was when the rain finally began to fall – and this was just to fuss about the corpse getting wet. There were some intermittent, and not completely unpleasant conversations between Isocrates and Alcinous. The two of them might not have become best-friends, but seemed to have gained a mutual respect – as men often do, when they bleed together.

By the third day, even under Linos’ diligent and tender care, the corpse had begun emitting an odor. Isocrates tried to act as if he did not notice, so as not to offend the bereaved, but he did move upwind. Midday next, they were back on familiar farmland, where they said their brief farewells.

Alcinous offered to return the mules to their rightful owner, as he was heading that direction. Isocrates dismounted, and so did Linos, but it was understood that the other animal was still in use. The diminished, and deflated, group parted ways, the surviving Laconian scurrying after the still mounted cowherd.

With Stripe at his side, Isocrates headed for Othrys; although he was eager to get back, he was moving rather slowly. A better descriptor might be sluggishly – it was all the strength that he could muster, just to creep along. He was nursing his arm, but everything was hurting, from his crown to his stubbed toe, the latter of which had flared up again. Yet all of this was background noise, as his insomnia was – far and away – the issue that was troubling him most. He had lost count of how many days, and awful nights, he went without sleeping, but they were compounding exponentially.

At this point, he was even ready to give the sedative another try. As bad as the nightmare was, something had to give. Perhaps, he could use a bit less this time, although he had been quite sparing on the first attempt. These were his thoughts, as he traversed the foothills, and struggled his way up the mountainside. Cresting the ridge felt like something of an achievement. He set sights upon his house and sighed, as it seemed so far away. Imagine his relief when walking through the front door, and his consternation at finding Tersios and his goons, waiting for him in the andron.

Stripe let out a sonorous growl.

“Welcome back.” Tersios exclaimed, rising from the table where he and the others were sitting, and flashing his predatory grin.

“What are you doing here?” Isocrates inquired, with hackles raised.

“Must you even ask?” Replied Tersios.

“I mean here in my home – uninvited.”

“Were we to wait outside, or in the stables with the mules?”

“What mules?”

“The ones I brought to carry off what you owe.” Tersios replied.

“You didn’t expect us to carry it, did you?” Erasines asked, still seated at the table with No-Name.

“I hadn’t really thought it through.” Isocrates admitted.

“That’s what you have me for.” Were the words of Tersios. “We were starting to think you had flown the coop.” He added.

“I had important business.” Isocrates replied.

“What could be more important than the business that we have?”

“A murderous pack of wolves.”

“Wolves!?”

“Yay, indeed.”

“You’ll have to tell me about it…later – right now, we have a debt to settle.”

“I’ll speak to my neighbors, on the morn.”

“We’ll see to it, now.”

“But the day is more than half gone.” Isocrates complained.

“We still have a little time, to get the process initiated.” Countered Tersios. “After sitting around here for days, with nothing to eat but bread and fish, I’m more than ready to get this over with.”

“I told you that I just returned from hunting a pack of wolves. Can’t you see that I’m injured? – I need to sit down, and rest.”

“You can rest on your own time – this is my time, you’re on now.” Tersios replied, in a manner that said there would be no more arguing.

“I’ll handle it then, alone.” Isocrates offered, as he did not want to see what had taken place with Delearces repeated.

“I prefer that we come along, in case there might be holdouts.”

“Folk are unhappy with the arrangement, but they’ll pay. There was a rather obstinate cowherd, but even he and I have straightened things out.”

“A cowherd, you say? I should like to meet him.”

“I said he won’t be a problem.”

“Very well, then I shall enjoy a steak tonight – as a downpayment.” Tersios replied.

Isocrates shook his head in resignation, and Tersios signaled to his men that it was time to go. Stripe had not stopped growling since returning, and when he got left behind in the house, his complaints were even more severe. To make matters worse, Isocrates ended up back on a mule.

Alcinous’ meager ranch was located on a small patch of grassland, just beyond the fishing-pond. Isocrates introduced his present company as important business associates, but Alcinous did not seem at all impressed. As soon as the subject of payment was raised, things took an even worse turn.

“I just can’t hand over, what I worked so hard to earn – to a stripling, nonetheless.” The cowherd explained.

Tersios did not look happy.

“I thought we had an understanding?” Isocrates asked.

“That was before we faced the wolves.” Said Alcinous.

“What do the wolves have to do with our arrangement?”

“My reason for owing you is on account of your noble ancestor, saving mine from a wild threat. I just played a crucial role in saving us all from similar peril. Wolves are every bit as dangerous as boars. I say the debt that my forefathers owed, has been paid.”

Isocrates felt Tersios staring at him; the two of them locked eyes.

* * *

Alcinous was found floating face-down in the pond.

No one accused Isocrates outright, but it was clear they all believed he was to blame; yet, they were mistaken – Tersios had given the order. Although Isocrates knew that he could not have stopped it from happening, he felt that he should have at least tried. And even if he took no direct part in this specific crime, there were a host of transgressions he could not deny. In fact, he was his own judge-and-jury; having been found guilty, by his own conscience, he was just awaiting sentencing.

(to be concluded…)

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