The Echoes of Solon

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  “Warlord?”

  “WARLORD!” Arbephest was abruptly woken from deep slumber by shouts and screams outside of his domain, sitting up quickly he rose from his bed to see what the panic was about. Anna had already vacated their home, she rose from sleep in the early hours each day to tend to the needs of the townsfolk. As the first lady of Rhoma she took it upon herself to act for the Hellenic people, through Arbephest she could attain all her people’s needs and for it they were greatly thankful.

  “What?” Arbephest was still half asleep, he did not truly care what the issue was, he wanted to go back inside and rest in his bed.

  “We’ve found two bodies, Arbephest, both deceased in the high priest’s bed chamber.” Theleos spoke hastily, un-phased by his leaders stalk nudity for he had grown accustomed to it over the passing harvests.

  “Wait here.” The warlord turned and walked back inside his stone abode, the guard captain waited patiently outside, clutching his spear and shield with a dire urgency.

  Arbephest returned clothed carrying a sheathed short sword. “Let’s go.” The armed guard escorted him down the rocky steps leading away from his home down to the streets. It did not take long for them weaving hastily between the clay huts to arrive at Rhoma’s temple. The town was busy in the daylight, not alike to the walkways in the depths of the night. Masses of townsfolk went about their duties and the heavy bustle of daylight hours caused great congestion in the streets. Any which Arbephest walked down a line opened out like a parting sea to allow him his way.

  “Warlord.” The word resonated throughout the streets he passed. People stood to attention whether they were soldiers or labourers, the warrior’s aura was exhilarating. The mere sight of him struck awe for his skin alone told them that this man stood for their country in ways they could never dare dream of.

  The temple of Rhoma was impressive in height compared to other Hellenic buildings, built from simple grey rock. The entrance was held up by a number of wooden pillars, the walls were all solid, built from large rocks carved from nearby quarries. It was cool inside. The chilly breeze shed goose bumps upon the warlord. The floor too was laid with rock, there was a meter high pedestal towards the back wall in the main room, upon it two small sculptures of the Hellenic makers, Athena and Hephaestus. Many crudely constructed wooden benches lined the floors of the temple to enable worship of them. Arbephest himself had not stood amidst these walls since he had been wed to Anna, he shunned the very idea of the makers, believing their stories to be nothing but the work of over exaggerated imaginations.

  Theleos lead Arbephest through a small passage beside the main hall, within he pushed open a door then stood back. Clearly he wanted Arbephest to enter.

  Stepping inside the warlord immediately identified Tuth, blood stained his large white robes and Arbephest knew he had been stabbed through the back, by the looks of it from an Athenian sword, however to state it was an Athenian was something else. He looked at the corpse shaking his head in disappointment. To the side of the high priest was a second corpse, the warlord stared almost dreamily over it, the tall slender frame and light brown skin of the body was like no race of people he knew. What concerned him more was the skull’s state which had been caved in itself from behind. Much of it appeared missing and its shape filled the warlord with a disturbed feeling that was alien to his nature.

  “What of the priest’s assistant, Theleos?” He sounded un-phased, continuing to look upon the bodies.

  “He’s missing without a trace. The townsfolk say a vessel appeared above the temple after the screams from within had become quiet.” Arbephest turned to look at Theleos, his face appeared misplaced with confusion. In the silence Theleos stepped forward to look over the bodies himself.

  “Above the temple, Theleos? By what means?”

  “As a bird flies, my lord, yet without wings. I would have laughed had not such a number of townsfolk stepped forward with the same story.”

  “A priest should never suffer such a fate,” the warlord spoke at last with hesitance, as if ignoring the stranger details of what Theleos had just said. “Theleos, ride to Panthea, give my word to Crastan and have the trireme launched, as many men as you can find capable there. Sail to Sais and inform the Egyptian priests. We must know what is truly upon us, learn what you can and return. Send message to my parents too, I shall not be paying visit upon this day.”

  Theleos went without question or comment at his warlord’s word. It would take him the better part of a day galloping by horseback to reach the walls of Panthea. The dock was the largest upon the shores of Greece and until recently harboured an enormous navy of trireme built for the purpose of war upon the oceans. The recent freak weathers which had been put upon the Hellenes however had thrown over half of the fifty seven ship fleet across the shoreline, desecrating them as they peppered Hellenic cliffs and beaches with splintered and ruined woodwork.

  With his guard captain en-route the warlord knew he must make haste to Athenia and inform his king of the occurrences in Rhoma. Though he despised the very thought of even being in his king’s presence, it was his duty. Arbephest held no interest in speaking to his townsfolk about what they had seen or heard at the temple. He doubted the whispers as mere words. What the priest had spoken of however was very much alarming, a hostile nation that comes from beyond the Pillars.

  He made haste to the stable at the heart of Rhoma and saddled his great palomino mare. Make haste, Annabelle, he whispered to her in his tongue, mounting her, and away she went, her hooves thundering across the clay walkways of Rhoma, out of the derelict wooden gates, into the wilds of Greece.