Back in Argos, King Damian was pacing around his study.

Today was finally the day. All his months of preparation had finally brought the Spartans to Argos to negotiate the terms of a new alliance. More specifically, it was about Argos joining the existing alliance between Sparta, Corinth, and Achaea, the so-called Peloponnesian League.

It was a day that could have been easily delayed or derailed, especially after the events of last week’s skirmish with the Cynurians—a lesser Spartan ally. No thanks to his stepson for almost putting them in the cauldron, Damian went into today with high hopes but also a degree of anxiety.

He knew the Spartans typically made heavy demands for entry into their alliance, but Damian was willing to capitulate on most requests short of outright subjugation to reach an accommodation.

Otherwise, he would have an angry and very capable neighbor in the form of the Spartans, as well as be surrounded by newly-hostile states such as Corinth or Achaea.

No, joining the Spartan alliance would be a good thing for Argos. He just had to find common ground and make it so.

The Spartan envoy arrived shortly after midday. He dressed very simply for his task, sporting no outer trappings of the importance of his mission. In fact, he was dressed in a very simple military chiton, which was only adorned with a cape stemming from the back. His hair was long but kept very well, but his eyes were cold and dark, almost as if they’d only recently seen some horrors.

And as Damian soon saw, his tone of voice seemed to completely match his eyes.

“Damian of Argos,” called out the envoy. “My name is Dorrusas of Sparta. I’ve been sent to meet with you on behalf of my king, Nikandros.”

“May Zeus honor his name,” said Damian, nodding his head. “How is King Nikandros? Is he well?”

“He’s greatly perplexed,” said Dorrusas suddenly, narrowing his eyes at Damian. “He wants to know why you’re engaging in conflict with a Spartan ally.”

“You’re talking about the Cynurians, of course,” said Damian diplomatically, trying to get his feet about him.

Dorrusas sneered. “Have there been any other Spartan allies you’ve been quarreling with?”

Damian already didn’t like the man but this alliance was necessary. He proceeded without addressing the slight.

“The battle was the result of a misunderstanding by several Argives that has since been dealt with,” replied Damian. “I see no future conflict with the Cynurians in my lifetime.”

“I should hope not, or there won’t be much time left in your lifetime,” quipped Dorrusas.

Again, Damian let the slight pass.

“I had hoped that we’d be able to talk of more pleasant matters,” said Damian, changing the subject. “More specifically about the terms of this new alliance, this Peloponnesian League that I keep hearing about.”

“It’s the most formidable alliance in all of Greece,” replied Dorrusas. “Made better with the addition of the Corinthians and the Achaeans. Our hope is to keep expanding the alliance until we’ve united the entire Peloponnese.”

“And an attractive proposition that it is,” added Damian. “I’d like to know the cost of entry for Argos to be considered a full member of the alliance.”

The cruel smile that appeared on Dorrusas’ lips bothered Damian.

“The cost of entry is quite high,” said Dorrusas with a shrug. “But I think it will be in Argos’ best interest. After all, who knows what kind of threats that can arise these days. Half the time, those threats arise from . . . simple misunderstandings.”

The man was toying with him, and that irritated Damian to no end. His words were a veiled threat, a promise that those states that didn’t join the alliance willingly would find themselves subjugated by force otherwise.

In this case, Damian wouldn’t subject Argos to that kind of hostile treatment if unnecessary. It was prudent to join the alliance willingly.

“Let’s talk about requirements,” said Damian. “What would good King Nikandros need to see Argive ascension to the Peloponnesian League?”

“A host of items, unfortunately,” replied Dorrusas as he began to rattle off a rehearsed speech. “The first item that I need is a public statement in deference to King Nikandros, proclaiming him as the greatest king on the Peloponnese and professing your loyalty to the alliance. This will announce to the people of Argos that you are now within his protection moving forward.”

“The second item we’ll need is tribute. The cost of running a war is only going up, and we’ll need a significant contribution from Argos to maintain the military expense of the alliance.”

“How much tribute do you suggest?” asked Damian warily.

Dorrusas gave a helpless shrug. “King Nikandros will do it for no more than a thousand gold pieces a year.”

Damian nearly lost his standing. “I’m certain I didn’t hear you correctly. You said a thousand gold pieces?”

That cruel smile appeared again. “That is correct. Any less, and I’m afraid that Sparta may not be able to defend you properly should any more misunderstandings arise.”

That was quite a bit more than Damian wanted to spend. He knew there would be a tribute but a thousand pieces of gold?

That was practically robbery!

Unfortunately, Dorrusas would not budge on the amount, even after several minutes of negotiating.

“The amount is what it is, King Damian,” said an annoyed Dorrusas. “If you want in our alliance, you will procure the amount necessary for the cost of your defense.”

It was a battle that Damian wasn’t going to win right now so he decided to keep moving forward to hear the rest of the demands for entry.

“Very well, tell me what other conditions would be needed for this alliance?” asked an exhausted Damian.

“Just one more,” said Dorrusas, his lip curling up into a sneer. “After the payment of the tribute, Argos will house a Spartan garrison, paid for from your treasury, as a necessary deterrent to any hostile action.”

That was even worse than the tribute.

“A garrison?” said Damian, raising his voice. “For what reason? Sparta isn’t at war!”

“And with our policies, it will stay that way,” challenged Dorrusas. “King Nikandros is very explicit about his orders regarding his allies. The world is a very unfriendly place, King Damian. Threats arise from every direction. A Spartan garrison is a prerequisite to any alliance.”

“My people will never accept it,” replied Damian. “They will think that we’ve given up our sovereignty to the Spartans. They will think we’re an occupied power.”

“The little people think all kinds of things, most of it completely inconsequential. It doesn’t matter what they think as long as they are safe. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Damian couldn’t agree to that. Of all the provisions for joining the alliance, that was the hardest to accept. He felt that Sparta was dictating with a hand around his throat, telling him to either be subjugated to their rule or find themselves as a future enemy.

Surely there had to be another way.

“King Damian, I can see that my conditions have put us in an impasse,” said Dorrusas, bowing his head. “You don’t need to give me your answer today. Why don’t you discuss it with your people? Discuss it with your family. I think you’ll find that being within the alliance is better off than being outside of it.”

Dorrusas turned to leave but Damian wasn’t done with him yet. He called out to the Spartan before he could leave.

“And what if my answer doesn’t change? What if I won’t bend on the garrison or the tribute?”

Dorrusas turned and sneered at him. “Then I think you’ll find your future very uncertain. Very uncertain indeed.”

With that last warning, the Spartan envoy disappeared, leaving Damian in quite the predicament.

How was he going to get around this?

*****

Praxis’ head was still spinning.

One moment, he’d been looking for a new cuirass from a merchant in Corinth. In the next, he was battling the two robbers that had killed the merchant and was looking to make off with his money. In the process, the fighting had spilled onto the street, causing a great mass of Corinthians to stop what they were doing to watch the developing scene.

The worst came after the second man was dead. Praxis was wiping his blade on the dead man’s chiton when one of the largest men he’d ever seen stepped forward and unsheathed his sword.

“You picked the wrong city to fuck around in today, foreigner!” snarled the man.

Out of nowhere, Praxis was once more placed on the defensive after the man charged at him. This man was obviously gifted by both Zeus and Ares for his size and fighting skill. The robbers turned out to be mere child’s play, a warm-up for the warrior that now charged at him.

“I have no quarrel with you,” said Praxis, dodging a blow. “Those men were robbing that merchant. His dead body is inside!”

“How do I know they aren’t your men?” growled Agemon, lunging again. “There was never any trouble at that shop before you turned up!”

“I’m an honest man, and I’m not from here,” said Praxis, using his sword to block another blow. “This is a misunderstanding!”

“Honest men don’t associate with thieves!”

The man had Praxis stepping back, but it was the random shard of pottery on the street that caused Praxis to lose his balance, falling onto his back. Agemon’s eyes shimmered, seeing the chance to make a killing strike.

Praxis closed his eyes, knowing the big man’s strength would be able to overcome any block he made.

Death was certainly coming.

“Halt this madness! At once!”

The blow never came. Praxis waited until it was prudent to open his eyes, seeing a raging Agemon still hovering above him, his sword raised high.

A man in an expensive chiton had now pushed to the front of the crowd, followed by several bodyguards behind him. Judging by the look of him, he was someone important in Corinth, perhaps a local boss of the main ruler.

“There is no bloodshed allowed on the streets by order of King Cypselus,” announced the man, gesturing for Agemon to put his sword away. “Both of you are in violation of the king’s peace!”

“This man is a thief,” bellowed Agemon. “And he’s getting the fate of any thief right now!”

“Be that as it may, it’s up to the king to decide both of your fates now,” said the man before looking at Praxis. “Especially yours, if the charges of thievery are accurate. You may not have much longer to live if that’s the case.”

Praxis felt the situation spiraling out of control. On one hand, Agemon was still ready to launch his killing blow but on the other, now he faced some kind of trial for stopping a band of robbers.

How did trouble always seem to find him?

It seemed that fate had one more surprise for him.

“What is the meaning of this? Who gave the order to apprehend that man?”

The voice was feminine and familiar to Praxis. He was able to match it back to a person right away, almost not believing that she was really here.

The crowd parted way, only for Astara to work her way to the front. Her eyes were blazing with fury as she glared at the man that stopped the fight.

“I can vouch for that man,” said Astara, pointing her finger at Praxis. “He is no thief. He’s from Argos and he saved my life yesterday. My word should be good enough for that.”

The man that had stopped the fight suddenly lost all of his courage. He even started to bow. “I’m quite sorry for the disturbance, Astara. I was just trying to keep the peace in the city when these two started fighting—”

“The fighting is over now,” snapped Astara. “Let these men go, or will I need to tell my father about this? He has the ear of King Cypselus, and I have no doubt that the king would be willing to give his judgment in this case, prefect.”

Praxis had never seen a man’s confidence deflate as quickly as it did at that moment. The prefect hung his head and started to back away from the situation.

“No, that will be unnecessary,” he said in a small voice. “Please continue on with your day.” He then turned to look at the crowd. “All of you, continue on with your day!”

His words were enough to get most people moving again, even Agemon who seemed to realize that a favor had been done for him by Astara. Soon enough, it was only Praxis left with the beautiful woman, except her glare was now trained on him.

“I need to thank you,” said Praxis, rising to his feet. “Without your intervention, that might have gone a completely different way.”

Astara wasn’t so easy to relent. “Why did you leave in the middle of the night? Without saying goodbye? What kind of man does that?”

Praxis reached around his neck to scratch at his scalp as he remembered her father’s warning. “It’s complicated,” he said finally. “There are a lot of things that you might not understand.”

Astara scoffed. “That much is certain. You say you are here on some mission for your father and here I find you about to be executed by one of Cypselus’ prefects. I’m thinking that you’re not entirely honest with me.”

Praxis turned red at that statement, not knowing how to respond.

Astara crossed her arms in front of her near perfect bosom. “So if you ever want to see me again, you’ll tell me the real reason you’re in Corinth. I want the truth this time, Praxis. All of it.”

He barely knew where to begin.