Spartan Run Page 11

  “And the town has continued to grow over the past century.”

  “We no longer refer to Sparta as a mere town. It’s a city-state in every sense of the word.”

  “What about the Helots? Where did they come from?”

  “There were many farmers in the outlying territory, and most of them balked at turning over part of their crops to the invaders, as they regarded the Spartans. So they were subjugated and forced to turn over a portion of their yields whether they liked it or not. In due course they became an entirely separate class, just like the Helots of old.”

  “And you approve of such a system?”

  “Why not? It works out for the best for everyone. The Helots feed us and we protect them. What more could they want?”

  “Their freedom.”

  “The Helots are as free as they need to be.” sounding very much like a trumpet shattered the stalemate. “What was that?”

  “The signal!” Leonidas exclaimed, running toward his troops.

  “Agesilaus’s men are going to attack!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  “What do we do?” Teucer asked.

  “Technically, this isn’t our battle. We’ve been told in no uncertain terms not to use the SEAL. And since they’re fighting in formation, there’s no place for us,” Blade said.

  “I’d still like to view the clash,” Rikki remarked.

  “So would I,” Blade stated. “This is a once-in-a-life-time opportunity.”

  “Where the two of you go, I go,” Teucer declared. “Count me in.”

  Blade grinned at both of them. “Okay. We’re all agreed. Back in the SEAL.” He clambered into his seat, waited for them to get in, then started the engine, backed up, and drove along the side street to the junction with the gravel road.

  Neither contingent had moved. General Leonidas stepped around to the front of his men, a sword in his right hand, a shield in his left. Across the way a similar figure stood at the head of Agesilaus’s troops.

  “That must be General Calchas,” Blade deduced, and killed the engine once more.

  “He waited for Leonidas to arrive,” Rikki said in a respectful tone. “He could have attacked sooner if he wanted.”

  The bowman leaned between the buckets seats and braced his hands on the console. “I’ve never known men like these Spartans.”

  “And you never will again,” Rikki responded. Both generals now addressed their contingents. “Roll down your window,” Blade suggested to the martial artist. “Let’s hear what they have to say.”

  Nodding, Rikki complied, and the deep, booming voice of General Leonidas clearly reached their ears.

  “—what happened to King Dercyllidas. I need not remind each of you about your oath to him. All of you have taken a solemn vow to defend him with your lives, and now is the time to prove the worth of your word. Stand shoulder to shoulder and fight bravely as Spartans should. And remember that you fight not for yourselves, but for the common good of Sparta and all her people, for your families, friends, and even those you don’t know.” The general paused. “The man has a way with words,” Teucer observed. Leonidas continued. “We face the prospect of death today, but what is death to a Spartan? Death is simply the way we get from this life to the next. And should you fall, you know that you’ll be honored as a valiant soldier. Your name will be engraved on the plaque of distinction is the palace for all to see. Your wives and children will receive the praise and gratitude of the whole city. And the marker on your grave will bear not only your name, rank, and age, but will include a list of your accomplishments and mention you fell heroically. Only soldiers slain in combat receive the special markers. Think of the glory you’ll have won!”

  “Big deal,” Teucer said. “I don’t see what difference a fancy headstone makes.”

  “Shhh,” Rikki said.

  General Leonidas raised his sword on high. “Above all you are Spartans. Above all, you value duty and discipline. Get ready for both to be put to the supreme test. Remember the instructions you were given the day you received your shield.” He touched his sword to his own shield and declared, “With this or on it. Either return from battle victorious with your shield or dead on it. That is the simple creed by which we live, the creed that sums up our existence. Let’s show Agesilaus’s men the courage in our hearts. Let’s carry our swords to victory and not stop until the enemy has been routed.”

  “Say, what happened to Captain Chilon?” Teucer absently queried.

  “Maybe Leonidas let him join the formation,” Blade speculated.

  Further conversation was cut short when the two generals assumed their positions in the first rows of the soldiers, each in the very center. The two officers lifted their swords overhead, then swept the blade down, and at the signal both formations moved forward.

  “I wish we could aid Leonidas,” Rikki said wistfully.

  Blade simply nodded, his gaze riveted on the Spartans. The phalanxes presented veritable walls of shields and long spears on three sides. He imagined how he would feel if he faced such a line himself, and shook his head in amazement. Only a truly courageous soul could perform such a feat. He’d rather take his enemies on one by one instead of in a packed mass where the element of chance figured so prominently in deciding the victor.

  The phalanxes neared the gravel road slowly, every Spartan moving at a set pace, every man holding position, the glittering tips of the spears held perfectly steady. Red boots marched in precision order.

  “Why do they wear all red?” Teucer asked no one in particular.

  “I read that the ancient Spartans wore red cloaks so those they fought wouldn’t know if they were hurt. They didn’t want their enemies to see them bleed,” Blade answered.

  “A lot of them are about to do just that,” the bowman said.

  As the twin phalanxes drew closer to the road they moved faster, yet still retained their formations. Soon they broke into a headlong charge, running in rhythm, their horsehair crests bobbing.

  Blade scarcely breathed as the two sides converged. The clash, when it came, resounded to the heavens, a tremendous crash of metal against metal, and a mighty shout added to the din. Spears flashed in the warm air. Neither side gave way, and the battle became a grim, intense struggle for survival.

  The leading ranks of both phalanxes were on the gravel road, and their strenuous exertions raised choking dust that gave the air a powdery aspect.

  Blade had yet to see a Spartan fall, and he marveled at their prowess and stamina. More than ever he wanted to persuade them to join the Federation. They would be so priceless.

  The fighting devolved into a mad melee of thrusting spears, slashing swords, and countering shields. Soldiers finally fell on both sides, and whenever a man in the first rank went down, another moved forward to take his place. At such close quarters all the spears of those in the front were soon shattered or rendered useless by the press of combat, compelling the Spartans at the forefront to rely exclusively on their swords.

  Locked in savage conflict, neither phalanx made any headway. The men fought toe to toe, shoulder to shoulder. Those Spartans who were slain died without uttering a cry. Except for the banging of sword on sword and sword on shield, the battle was conducted in an eerie silence. None of the combatants yelled or cursed, as so often happened in mass engagements.

  Their discipline was superb.

  “Just think,” Teucer remarked. “One machine gun would turn the tide.”

  “The man who used one would be ostracized if he lived,” Rikki noted.

  “Not one of them would violate their code of honor.” He paused. “In a way, their code of honor is a lot like ours, only stricter. Perhaps even better.”

  “If you like them so much, maybe you should become a Spartan,” Teucer joked.

  “No thanks.”

  “Why not? I thought you were big on codes of honor.”

  “I am,” Rikki admitted. “On bushido. But the real reason I won’t become a Spartan is because I�
��d have to give up my katana.” He looked at the bowman. “And the only way anyone will take my sword from me will be to pry it from my cold, stiff fingers.”

  Teucer frowned. “You’re becoming morbid in your young age, my friend.”

  Blade listened to their conversation with only half an ear. He was absorbed in the battle, noting the ebb and flow, amazed at the swordsmanship displayed on both sides. A crick developed in his neck, and to relieve it he places his hand on the nape, squeezed, and turned his head to the right His gaze happened to sweep the field in the general direction of the barracks, and he was puzzled to observe ten Spartans approaching the building from the southeast. “Where did they come from?” he wondered aloud.

  Rikki and Teucer both looked.

  “They must be Dercyllidas’s men,” the bowman commented.

  The ten were running toward the barracks with their swords drawn, their cloaks billowing behind them. They did not have shields.

  “If they’re Dercyllidas’s men, why are they heading for the barracks instead of the battle?” Rikki questioned.

  “Who knows?” Teucer responded. “Maybe they’re going to protect Dercyllidas.”

  “What if they’re not?”

  “What are you getting at?”

  “Could they be some of Agesilaus’s soldiers?”

  Blade had been thinking the same thing himself. He wouldn’t put it past the madman to try and finish the job. If Dercyllidas was assassinated, Agesilaus would win. And what better time to send in an assassination squad man while most of the bodyguard contingent was embroiled in the battle? It would have been easy to send a squad around the long way and have them sneak into the barracks at the proper moment. Acting on a hunch, he started the SEAL and performed a tight U-turn.

  “Where are we going?” Teucer asked.

  “Three guesses,” Blade replied, watching the squad. They were almost to the building. He raced to the south, driving onto the field and angling straight toward them. If he was wrong, no harm done. But if he was right, he must save King Dercyllidas at all costs.

  Four soldiers suddenly emerged from the barracks. Without hesitation, as if they’d seen the squad approach through the windows, they drew their swords and formed a line facing the newcomers, blocking the entrance.

  Blade had the answer he needed. He pushed the speedometer over 50.

  The squad never slowed. At a word from one of the soldiers in the lead, they fanned out and bore down on the quartet. In moments they engaged, and although the four men fought bravely and downed two of the squad, the fight was hopelessly one-sided. All four defenders perished.

  “We’re too far away,” Rikki said anxiously.

  The SEAL was 40 feet from the building. Barring a miracle, Blade couldn’t prevent the squad from entering, and slaying Dercyllidas. He needed a distraction, and he did the first thing that came into his mind.

  His right palm pressed on the horn. At the unexpected blaring to their rear, the eight Spartans spun. The leader barked orders, and four of the men ran toward the van while the rest went into the barracks.

  Blade brought the van to a slewing stop. “Stay with the SEAL,” he instructed Teucer, then vaulted to the grass, drawing his Bowies as he landed. He ran to meet the four assassins.

  Out on the road the battle attained a furious metallic crescendo, the dust becoming thicker by the moment.

  The four members of the squad halted, hefting their weapons, and regarded the giant coldly.

  “This doesn’t concern you, stranger!” one of them barked. “Leave immediately.”

  Slowing, Blade studied each of them, then focused on the speaker. “I’m going inside.”

  “Care to bet?”

  Before Blade could reply, a black-clad whirlwind hurtled past him.

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi’s katana was a blur as he tore into the Spartan on the right, and his graceful movements belied his lethal intent. The Spartan executed a single thrust, then staggered when his neck was nearly severed, blood pumping from his throat. Rikki slipped around his foe while the man was still swaying and dashed inside.

  “Get him!” cried one of the soldiers.

  Blade leaped forward to prevent them from chasing Rikki, forcing them to deal with him first, his Bowies flashing. He took on the soldier in the middle, wielding his knives ambidextrously, his initial swings deftly blocked.

  The remaining pair came to the aid of their comrade.

  Three against one were uncomfortable odds. Blade opted to reduce them immediately by faking an overhand swing with his right arm, then following through with an underhand left thrust when the Spartan lifted his sword in a reflex action. The thrust took the soldier in the chest and the man stiffened and let go of his short sword. Blade yanked the Bowie free and moved to the right, his back to the transport, both knives extended.

  Only steps away, the last two abruptly halted, wary now. Each glanced at his fallen buddies and gripped his sword a bit tighter.

  “There’s no need for this,” Blade told them. “Surrender your weapons and you can live.”

  “A Spartan never surrenders,” responded the thinner of the pair, and they both pounced.

  Blade backpedaled to gain a few precious seconds.

  From behind him there was a familiar swishing noise, and an arrow struck the thin Spartan in the right eye, jerking the trooper’s head around.

  He dropped where he stood.

  The last soldier was game to the last. He leaped at the giant and swung his sword furiously, seeking to batter the big knives aside and revenge his companions.

  Hard-pressed to parry the flurry, Blade resorted to an ingenious ploy.

  At the very instant the Spartan’s sword hit his left Bowie, he deliberately released the knife. For a fraction of a second, as the Bowie arced to the grass, the soldier’s eyes were on the knife, and at the moment of distraction Blade dropped to his right knee and sank his other knife into the Spartan’s stomach.

  Unwilling to admit defeat even with a Bowie sticking in him, the soldier delivered a swipe at the giant’s head.

  Blade caught the man’s wrist in his left hand, pulled the Bowie out and reversed his grip, then smashed the hilt into the Spartan’s jaw.

  Four up, four down.

  And now to check on Rikki. Blade took several strides, when a sharp shout drew him up short.

  “Blade! Look!”

  Whirling, Blade saw Teucer standing next to the SEAL and pointing toward the road. He glanced at the site of the battle and couldn’t believe his eyes.

  King Agesilaus’s men were winning!

  General Leonidas’s phalanx had buckled in the center and their foes had breached the outer ranks, forcing a wedge deep into the heart of the formation. Dercyllidas’s bodyguards were resisting gallantly, but the break in their lines created gaps in their defensive wall of shields, gaps the enemy poured into, causing even more casualties in the process.

  Blade hesitated, torn between wanting to go help Rikki and the necessity of determining the outcome of the battle. If Leonidas and his men were routed, Agesilaus’s contingent would undoubtedly pursue them to the barracks. The SEAL could fall into enemy hands. General Calchas might decide to destroy the van using grenades or dynamite. Blade couldn’t allow that to happen. The SEAL was essential to the safety and future of the Family.

  A mighty shout of triumph from the throats of Agesilaus’s men signified the worst had occurred.

  With their ranks in complete disarray, General Leonidas’s troops broke and raced in retreat toward the Warriors and the transport.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Blade was forced to make a snap decision. Would it be Rikki or the SEAL? As if there was much choice. As the top Warrior, he had to constantly regard the Family’s welfare as his paramount responsibility.

  And since every Warrior was expendable, but the SEAL wasn’t, he had but one option.

  Damn.

  “Get in the van!” Blade instructed the bowman, then stepped to the doorway and sh
outed into the barracks. “Rikki! Can you hear me?”

  There was no response.

  “Leonidas has lost! We’ve got to leave!”

  Still no reply.

  Frustrated, Blade cupped his hands to his mouth. “We’ll be back! Count on it!” He scowled, and quickly reclaimed his other knife, then wiped both on his pants.

  The retreating contingent was still 40 yards distant.

  Casting a last glance at the barracks, Blade ran to the transport and took his seat. He slammed and locked the door, then gunned the engine and drove to the side street.

  Teucer sat in the front passenger seat, his countenance glum. “I don’t like leaving Rikki behind.”

  “Do you think I do?” Blade snapped.

  “No, of course not. But what do we do now?”

  “We keep the SEAL from falling into General Calchas’s hands and figure out a way to reach Rikki.”

  “Why don’t we just mow Calchas and his men down?”

  “You made the same suggestion before. Since when did you become so bloodthirsty?”

  “I’m not, ordinarily. But we shouldn’t hold back any longer, not with Rikki’s life on the line.”

  “General Leonidas requested that we not intervene. So we won’t.” Blade braked and stared at the Spartans sweeping across the field.

  Despite being routed, Leonidas’s men were fighting as they retreated, covering their flanks and inflicting heavy losses on their overeager adversaries. Calchas’s men had broken their own phalanx to give chase, a mistake that was costing them dearly. Bodies littered the road and the grass, dozens of them, lying in pools of blood.

  “We couldn’t help Leonidas now even if I wanted to,” Blade mentioned bitterly.

  “Why not?”

  “How would we know which Spartans are on our side?”

  The bowman gazed at the conflict, his forehead furrowed. “Beats me. I never thought to ask. They all look alike in those helmets and red cloaks, but there must be a way to tell them apart.”