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You only just barely manage to clamp your jaw shut, not trusting yourself to speak aloud. You wrestle with how to respond before settling on the simplest situation: you simply pretend not to have heard your uncle. Under your helm, you grimace silently, struggling to wrestle your fury back down into your gut.
You raise your spear silently in salute, before taking a knee before Adrastus in turn - a show of respect to the man who had just insulted your wife. The gesture serves as wordless acknowledgment of his surrender, of his patronage, and yes - even of his belittling words. With your left knee in the dirt and your head bowed, your heart turns sour - shame that you have not defended Euanippe’s reputation, not corrected your uncle’s perspective. As the Argive army begins to reorganize around you, the word echoes in your mind.
Barren.
Barren.
Barren.
Barren.
[i:lit]Could she really…[/i:lit] a corner of your mind muses - but you crush the thought mercilessly.
The rest of the pleasant spring day is spent tallying the battle’s performance, treating the wounded and recovering dropped equipment. Your effort to reduce deaths was successful - only two Argive soldiers died. One of them was an unlucky lad who been struck accidentally in the head, tumbling to the ground and bashing his head against a boulder. The other was an older man of fifty summers; his compatriots claim he simply collapsed due the exertion and could not be roused. Generally speaking, your forces are rewarded (except those who routed), and Adrastus’ forces are not (except those northern battalions who stalled your northern sweep). In fact, Adrastus is so taken with the handful of men who had held off your northern sweep, he decides to collect them into a unit of their own making: the [i:lit]Coroebians[/i:lit], in memory of the hero who had saved Argos from a Apollonian plague through grit and resolve.
As for your own honorguard, they are disappointed to a man by their performance against Mecisteus and Pronax, but you steady their nerve: they will have many chances to beat them over the next weeks.
Adrastus, proud man that he is, insists that he leaves the field astride his own chariot - although you encourage him to seek the Asclepian disciples as soon as possible. The wound in his side is serious one, for a man of his age; he makes a show of casting aside your recommendation in a joking manner:
“Ah, keep your womanly anxieties to yourself, Hippomedon!” he cries, sparking laughter from the surrounding soldiers. He is the sole Argive who can speak to you this way. You are mollified when he nods seriously to you after the gaiety subsides; he will do as you suggest.
>cont
