Quoted By:
“So be it,” you state calmly to the gate guards, suppressing your irritation. “I will wait here.” The guardsmen trade surprised looks, before the nervous one stammers out -
“Y-yes, of course, Lord Hippomedon.” They look relieved as you pick a patch of stone wall to lean against, some distance away. You inwardly chuckle at their anxieties - while it would be trivial for you to smash these guards, force entry and abduct your wife by force - murdering the Dionysian temple guards and violating the sanctity of their grounds would only cause problems for your uncle. Not to mention, Euanippe would not look kindly upon this. Sometimes, patience is the best approach.
So you wait.
Setting a watch and keeping it well is a soldier’s duty - you learned this at age ten, under supervision of your uncles. The slow grind of Chronos is best withstood by maintaining your discipline. You close your eyes and rest your head against the stone wall behind you - you listen to the chattering crowds of Argives as they stream through the Temple Quarter, conducting their business and extolling prayers to the Olympians. You reminisce - learning the spear was difficult, but mastering your emotions was truly challenging – as a child, you were beaten countless times for misbehavior and your emotional outbursts. You held onto your petulant rage until, at last, it was a hindrance to your combat techniques; you were easily baited by those with superior self-control.
Times passes, and finally, you hear the distinct sound of crashing brass and ululating women - the crescendo of some Dionysian ritual, you are sure. Standing, entry to the temple is granted to you, and it’s a simple matter from there to be directed to your wife. You certainly draw attention from the stumbling devotees of Dionysus - you are not known as a pious man, or one to engage in frivolities, and you have a decidedly martial aura. Despite the hour of the day (only mid-afternoon), you cross paths with multiple gaggles of drunken youths - wealthy young heirs dallying in “worship” of the wine god before they take on the responsibilities of their oikoi*, and nearly as many old bums – or as they claim, high priests.
You cross by several rooms devoted to the various aspects of Dionysian worship (that is to say, feasting, fornicating, and fine wines), but the only true surprise is a courtyard filled to the brim with well-fed leopards from the East. The Theban god took a liking to these while at war in India, your wife once mentioned to you, and it is said that his divine chariot is pulled by a pair of the godlike cats. In the halls, you begin to detect a heady scent - roasting herbs and honey, wine-soaked pinecones, and more. The sound of women singing in concert draws closer, as you make your way through the halls. Funny - you've stumbled twice just now on the cobblestones - the Dionysians should hire a team of masons to level the halls properly...
*households
>cont
