Quoted By:
You feel nothing for having killed the Heraclid – after all, you did not know him. Finally, you have your honorguard build a funeral pyre for the enemy corpses, while Argyros assists you in stripping the bronze from the enemy commander. While you care nothing for the Dorians, you simply cannot let the bodies rot in place, not so close to your estates. Better to burn them and be done with it. As you investigate the enemy commander's corpse, you’re shocked to find that Agemedidas was very young – you estimate that he was a man of perhaps eighteen, despite his full beard and build. To your disquiet, you see that the Heraclid has a striking resemblance to yourself – the same lean and angular features, same noble nose - although he is blond and you are dark-haired, and his eyes are of a different cast. Still, an unusual and unsettling thing – if not for the hair, he could pass as a son, or perhaps a brother. You put it out of your mind, as you place the body atop the funeral pyre.
Always stern, you turn to Argyros once the Heraclidean armor has been packaged together, and say:
“Argyros, you have served me faithfully and well – it is time for us to retire your tired linothorax and armor you properly. War is coming – I cannot risk your injury or death due to substandard equipment. When we reach Argos, we shall meet with one of my uncle’s bronzesmiths and provide you with a panoplia of your own.” Argyros nods seriously in understanding, grasping your larger hand in a warrior’s agreement, maintaining a grim expression and matching your gaze with his icy-blue eyes. The deal is struck!
>Argyros has an UNBREAKABLE BOND OF LOYALTY to Hippomedon and by extension, the Argive Royal Family. Betrayal is not within him, and he will always serve Hippomedon and his family dutifully.
But then the moment passes, and Argyros, comedian that he is, grins broadly, saying:
“Hippomedon, you cannot bribe me into bed.”
You can’t help but laugh, as the corpses of the Dorians begin to crackle and burn, their ashes rising into the swamp air.
---
The <span class="mu-i">Inachian Honorguard</span> is no worse off for their role in the ambush - the enemy broke before a single sustained counterattack could be made, and so only minor bumps, scrapes and bruises were suffered by your men. All victories are worth celebrating, and so the men are boisterous, chattering happily as they overturn the camp looking for valuables. The smell of roasting men fills the air, as the pyre burns, but for you, this is nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing of true value in the camp is the Heraclidean armor that you have packaged safely into a spare Dorian ox-cart - without oxen, it must be pulled along by your honorguard, but this can be done with no loss of speed. You regret that the Dorian commoner you spoke with was uneducated and could not describe the location of his hidden vessel, but nothing to be done about this now.
>cont
