David Robbins: Spartan Run

“Where did you happen to meet him?”

“In Memphis. He wound up there after he was banished from Sparta.”

“Is he still in Memphis?”

“No, he’s dead.”

Leonidas glanced at the small man. “Did you see him die?”

“I killed him.”

The general abruptly stopped. “I seem to detect a trend here. Why did you slay him?”

“We found ourselves on opposite sides. I didn’t want to fight him, but he left me no choice. He did his duty to the very end.”

“A true Spartan,” Leonidas said, and smiled. He resumed walking.

They went into the next room, which was likewise filled with soldiers.

Rikki saw Captain Chilon approaching with a glass of water, and halted once again when the general did.

“Here you are,” stated the junior officer. “Catenas hasn’t cut off our water yet.”

“Thanks,” Rikki responded, taking the glass. He swallowed eagerly, grateful for the opportunity to quench his thirst.

“Have you seen Captain Pandarus?” Leonidas inquired.

“Yes, sir. He’s finishing the casualty count.”

“Good. Let’s proceed. Fall in, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

The three of them moved briskly along the aisle to a closed door.

Leonidas rapped, once and opened it.

Within was a modest-sized office containing a desk, a chair, a file cabinet, and along the east wall, a green cot. Across the room was another door, partly open, revealing more bunks. There were already eight Spartans crammed into the office. King Dercyllidas was resting on the cot.

Kneeling next to him, a stethoscope in his hands, was a man with a worried look. The rest were all guards who snapped to attention the instant the general entered.

“How is he, physician?” Leonidas asked without ceremony.

The kneeling man frowned. “He’s asleep, and I wouldn’t advise waking him. He’s lost far too much blood for my liking.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Now?”

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent.”

The doctor, clearly displeased, had his hand on the monarch’s arm. “I’ll see if I can rouse him; I gave him an herbal remedy to bolster his immune system and make him sleep. He might not wake up.”

“Try.”

The door on the south side suddenly swung open and in came Captain Pandarus. Like the guards, he stood at attention. “I have the casualty count as you requested, sir.”

“At ease, Captain,” Leonidas said. “Give it to me straight.”

“We lost sixty men, sir.”

“And I’d estimate that Calchas didn’t lose more than thirty,” Leonidas stated. “Damn.”

“Excuse me,” Rikki interjected, “but is that sixty men killed or sixty counting your injured?”

“There are no injured men,” the general replied.

“How can that be? Surely, in a battle like you fought, there must be dozens of injured on both sides?”

“You don’t understand,” Leonidas said patiently. “Spartans would rather die than be taken prisoner. If a Spartan is injured on the battlefield, he’ll fight to his dying breath instead of surrendering.” He paused. “We have no injured men because they were all slain in combat.”

Now it was Rikki’s turn to voice a simple, “Oh.”

The physician was gently shaking the monarch’s arm. He looked up at Leonidas. “I’m sorry, General. Our liege won’t respond.”

“Keep trying.”

Rikki placed the empty glass on the desk and scrutinized the Spartans.

They were riveted to the cot, anxiously waiting for their king to revive, as if their very existence depended on it. In a way, he reflected, that was the case. As much as he admired their bravery and devotion to duty, there was a certain flaw in the Spartan system, an ingrained dependency on higher authority that bordered on the fanatical. Spartans followed orders with the single-minded determination of zealots. They never questioned a command, even when it might be issued by a potential dictator like Agesilaus. The Warriors, by contrast, would never follow an order that was unethical, immoral, or given by a power monger. The Family’s protectors enjoyed a latitude of freedom and individual responsibility never known by the Spartans.

“The king is coming around,” declared the doctor.

An air of tension permeated the office. The soldiers watched Dercyllidas intently. General Leonidas stepped to the cot and knelt next to the pillow.

“Can you hear me, my lordship? It’s Leonidas.”

A fluttering of the ruler’s eyelids was the only reaction.

“King Dercyllidas?” the general persisted.

For a second nothing happened, and then with startling abruptness the monarch’s eyes snapped wide open. “Leonidas?” he said weakly.

“Right here, your highness.”

Slowly, grimacing in pain, Dercyllidas twisted his head to stare at the officer. “What has happened?”

Leonidas bowed his head in shame. “We engaged General Calchas and he broke our phalanx. We’re now trapped in our own barracks, surrounded by his troops.”

“You must break out at all costs.”

“There is a way, but the cost will be very high.”

Dercyllidas’s eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them again his voice was even weaker. “At all costs, Leonidas. Do you hear me?”

“I hear and obey.”

Sighing, Dercyllidas nodded once, a barely perceptible bobbing of his chin. “Good. And Leonidas?”

“Yes, your highness?”

“Once you’ve defeated Calabas, as I know you will, kill Agesilaus.”

“None of your bodyguards will rest until his head has been brought to you on a platter.”

Dercyllidas smiled. “I can always rely on you…” His voice trailed off and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

General Leonidas stood. “You heard our king.” He turned to Rikki.

“We’ll put your plan into effect immediately. Would you care to take part?”

“Yes,” the Warrior answered. “And I have a favor to ask you.”

“Anything.”

“I’d like to be the first man out the doors.”

“Do you have any idea what this is?” King Agesilaus queried imperiously.

Blade refused to give the man the satisfaction of a reply. He stared at the field in front of him, which extended to the east for 300 yards, then glanced over his right shoulder at the Royal Palace. He’d been escorted, under tight security, from the audience chamber and out a door at the rear of the structure. Now he stood at the edge of the field, with Spartans on both sides and to his rear, all Agesilaus’s soldiers except for two.

Both General Agis and Major Xanthus had insisted on accompanying the king. They’d told him they wanted to witness the Marathon of Death, and Agesilaus had gladly assented.

“This is a training field,” the ruler was saying. “When those assigned to palace duty aren’t required for specific tasks, they come out here to hone their skills. During the midday meal break dozens work out instead of eating.”

Blade surveyed the field. A gravel track ringed the outer boundary, evidently for jogging and foot races. There were bales of hay set up at one point, stacked three high, to which targets had been attached. There were also practice dummies dangling from wooden scaffolds. Each dummy was the size of a man and had white circles painted on its cloth surface to signify human vital points.

“Do you see the men I sent out?” Agesilaus asked.

The Warrior couldn’t miss them. Eight riflemen were positioned along the outside of the track, spaced equal distances apart. Between them they covered every square inch of the field.

“If you try to flee, you’ll be shot,” the monarch stated gleefully. “If you break the rules, you’ll be shot. And if you don’t follow my instructions to the letter, guess what happens?”