It was good to be home.

Those were the words on King Nikandros’ mind as he entered the small city of Sparta that evening.

Truthfully, calling Sparta a city was a bit of a stretch. She was more like a collection of small villages, four in total, that combined made some semblance of a city. But it wasn’t a city like Corinth, Argos, or even Athens. Sparta was rustic and unadorned with sites of grandeur.

It just wasn’t in their custom to enjoy anything beyond cold practicality. Sparta was a place where the Spartans met, ate, and slept, and it was to be nothing more than that.

His reason for visiting was simple. He would have to secure a favorable omen before marching north to wage war on Corinth, and it was only within Sparta that this omen could be taken. Nikandros allowed his men the chance to see their wives as he summoned a goat for his sacrifice. As he did so, he took up residence in his house while awaiting the animal’s arrival.

The return of a Spartan army was usually greeted with muted enthusiasm and indeed, it was no different today. Various groups approached the victorious army to extend their affirmation but there was no cheering or yelling amongst the people.

Besides, what was there to cheer about? There was never any doubt about a Spartan army coming home victorious. Spartan armies were never defeated so there was never the worry that the army would lose or come home in bad shape. Those reunifications that happened were brief and without emotion, as was the Spartan custom.

Outpourings of emotion were not the Spartan way.

Indeed, it was more a matter of finding out who died and what that meant to the rest of the city. Whether their land would have to be doled out to someone else, or their wife given to another Spartan.

Today’s return was a good one because not a single Spartan warrior had been lost to combat during the fight against Pellana, mostly because of Nikandros’ cunning and guile in getting them to drop their weapons before the fighting started.

Nikandros was barely back in his house for very long before he had a visitor. It wasn’t his wife or his son but rather his fellow king, Cleomenes, who was the first to arrive.

Sparta was unique amongst all the Greek city-states for having not one king, but two. Each king was from a different family line, and had been with the Spartan people longer than anyone could remember. Cleomenes was the elder king, having already served more than thirty years as king of Sparta before Nikandros took the throne. To that end, Cleomenes was wrinkled and gray but even in his old age, he was still a formidable warrior.

If only that formidability had been extended to Sparta’s enemies, Nikandros might not have so much to do when he became king.

As fate would have it, Cleomenes was not a warrior king. Though he would respond to aggression when called for it, Cleomenes did not go out looking for wars, which earned him a reputation as being a weak king. There were many in Sparta who were just waiting for Cleomenes to die, as his son, Eurypon, was much more aggressive and king-like than his father.

Indeed, Nikandros was one of those waiting for Cleomenes to pass. Ever since taking the throne, he’d found Cleomenes difficult to work with. The man just had no fight left in him, preferring to solve problems with diplomacy over war.

Such weakness should never be tolerated in Sparta.

“Welcome home,” said Cleomenes as he eyed Nikandros from the doorway. “I take it your campaign went well?”

Nikandros sneered. “Do campaigns ever go badly for Spartans?”

“Sometimes they do.”

“Well, for me they don’t,” said Nikandros, shrugging. “Those wild Arcadians aren’t a serious challenge anyway. I didn’t lose a single man, which should tell you all you need to know about their fighting prowess.”

“Or perhaps it was the fact they were disarmed,” said Cleomenes, crossing his arms. “It’s hard to kill a man when you don’t have any weapons.”

Nikandros started to laugh. “You heard already, did you? I fooled those rural bumpkins. I got them to lay down their weapons before I launched my war.”

Cleomenes started to shake his head. “That’s not the honorable way of fighting. Why would you do that?”

“You have much to learn about fighting a war,” quipped Nikandros. “The easier you can make the war on yourself, the better. I don’t care if my enemies are armed or disarmed. An enemy is an enemy and they need to be crushed.”

“Says the man who would hope to see Sparta as the dominant power on the Peloponnese,” mocked Cleomenes. “I hardly doubt our neighbors will think much of our formidability when they see us slaughtering harmless goat herders.”

That was one slight too many. Nikandros grabbed his sword and approached the old man, positioning it between them.

“And what would you know about power?” growled Nikandros. “You’re nothing but an old man. Under your rule, Sparta has languished. Our neighbors grow more powerful while we get weaker. Spartan armies should be on the march every year, conquering more land and killing off the previous inhabitants. If you hadn’t wasted your rule, we might have the entire Peloponnese by now.”

“So you will make war with all of our neighbors then? And what will you do when they all band together as one against Sparta? Will you be able to withstand their might then?”

Nikandros chuckled. “You know I will. The entire world could band together against Sparta and we would still win. Such is the strength of Spartan arms.”

“You’re young and naive if you really think that,” said Cleomenes, shaking his head. “At one point, I was young and brash just like you are.”

“I highly doubt you were ever like me,” scoffed Nikandros.

“But I was. I believed in the power of my people and in my own fighting ability. And then I became king and I saw war for what it was—a tool. One of many that we can use. But when your answer to any diplomatic problem becomes war, you’re not using all the tools at your disposal.”

“Why isn’t war the answer to most problems? The strong should dominate the weak, Cleomenes. It’s the law of nature. Only the strongest survive. When we have our issues with our neighbors, then we’ll fight it out. The one that wins in combat is the right one and the one that loses is the wrong. What could be more right or natural than that?”

“One day you will start a war that you can’t finish,” said Cleomenes. “And then you will see that war isn’t always the answer. The truth of the matter is that Sparta can’t take on the entire world. She can’t even take on the entire Peloponnese. There will always be those that stand in her way. That’s why I supported this alliance of yours, this Peloponnesian League, as a way to unite the peninsula without war. We don’t have to conquer our neighbors to subdue them.”

“Then why do you keep blathering about this to me?” said Nikandros, waving his hand. “My next fight will be with Corinth, who thought to exit from our alliance unscrupulously. My armies will now go to punish them.”

“I worry not about Corinth but more about Argos,” thundered Cleomenes. “I’ve heard of what you’re planning to do to the city. You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I would have hoped that you would have approved of that plan,” replied Nikandros. “Seeing as it doesn’t involve conquering the city. We’ll subvert it from the inside and put a puppet on the throne, answerable only to Sparta. I have to say, it’s one of my better ideas.”

“And you think everyone else on the Peloponnese is simply going to sit by while we take over Argos and Corinth in one shot? What do you think is going to happen with the Messenians?”

Nikandros scoffed. “The Messenians can do whatever they like. Their time is coming soon, and they won’t be able to stand up to the combined might of Sparta, Argos, and Corinth. Who else is left in the Peloponnese that might harm us? Elis? Arcadia? Each of them will fall in a matter of time.”

“I’m not just talking about the rest of the states on the Peloponnese. What about Athenians? Or the Boeotians? There’s always just another power on the horizon.”

“Spoken like an old man,” said Nikandros with a sneer. “Always afraid of his next steps. You worry too much, Cleomenes. Why be afraid of threats that haven’t materialized yet?”

“It’s for precisely that reason why you’re not a good king, Nikandros. You can’t think beyond today.”

Nikandros reached out with his hand and gripped Cleomenes by the throat. The old man’s eyes went wide.

“Careful, Cleomenes. If I’m really as shortsighted as you say, I might just kill you right now. You and I both know that the murder of another Spartan, let alone a king of Sparta, is punishable by death. And yet, if I don’t care about the consequences, what’s to stop my sword from slipping between your ribs?”

Cleomenes didn’t answer that. All of a sudden, the old windbag had nothing to say. His point aptly demonstrated, Nikandros released his grip on the other man’s neck and walked away. Cleomenes said nothing apart from rubbing the spot that had just been held.

It was at that moment that Nikandros received another visitor.

“My king, here is the goat you wanted,” informed one of the soldiers.

“Excellent, tie him up outside,” said Nikandros. “I’ll take the sacrifice out there.”

The soldier did as he was asked, and Nikandros stepped out moments later bearing his knife in his right hand.

Cleomenes came out just behind him, where he suddenly found his voice once more.

“Nikandros, I’m asking you not to do this,” pleaded the older king. “Don’t lead the army out of the city. Something about this next fight doesn’t feel right to me.”

Nikandros rolled his eyes as he knelt next to the goat. “Is that right? Are you a seer now, Cleomenes? Can you see the future?”

“It’s not about that, but it’s my gut feeling. I feel like you’ll be leading Sparta into a cauldron of death, the likes of which won’t be easy to escape.”

“Sounds chilling,” mocked Nikandros. He used a hand to pet the soft coat of the animal. What a gentle creature. And it certainly didn’t deserve what was coming to it.

Nikandros placed his knife against the goat’s throat and pressed in tight, ripping the blade across the animal’s flesh. Blood erupted from the wound as the goat made a squeal of pain. Its anguish didn’t last very long, as it lost its footing and fell to its side, its neck still erupting with blood.

No more than a minute later, the creature was dead.

Nikandros took his knife and opened up the animal’s stomach, looking for the entrails that would give his omen for war. All the while, Cleomenes kept pleading.

“Let me talk with the Argives. Let’s make sure we’re on firm ground with them before we take the war to Corinth. If things go wrong here, we could easily find both cities against us, and that’s not even mentioning what the Messenians might do. You know they would join any war that turned against us.”

“You’re an old woman, Cleomenes, do you know that?”

Nikandros was wrist deep inside the goat’s stomach, pulling out the beast’s entrails and performing the ritual he’d done more than a thousand times. He knew exactly what he was looking for, and once he found it, he cheerfully yanked it from the goat’s body and knifed the end.

“Now you can stop your whining,” said Nikandros, showing off the entrails. “The omens are favorable. The gods want us to go to war to punish the Corinthians and to take over Argos. Look at the entrails now. Do you deny what I see?”

Cleomenes looked at the bloody organs only reluctantly. Once he was done, he had to admit the truth.

“The entrails look favorable to me,” whispered Cleomenes.

Nikandros grinned and threw them at Cleomenes, who was soon splattered in blood. He tried to wipe it from his face.

“You should leave the blood,” said Nikandros. “It just might remind you of your true purpose. Until it does, I’m going to lead this army out of the city. And I’m not coming back until I have the submission of Argos and Corinth. It’s a new day, Cleomenes. A glorious day for Sparta.”

Cleomenes swallowed. “I only hope you’re right, Nikandros.”