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The next morning, the moment arrives. It’s a humid day for early spring, but all the better to keep dust out of the air, and your vision clear. Before you, a line of five thousand Argive soldiers stretches both north and south, and perhaps a stadia distant, your uncle’s forces, mirroring your own arrangement. You've taken your position on one of the newer training fields, the grasses trampled flat to the earth - this field has not yet developed great muddy patches that would make fighting difficult.
Your uncle gave you the honor of beginning the drill – you signal to Eupous, the messenger from Crete, and he blows wildly on a borrowed horn, face reddening with effort. You retained his services after the feast, and he had gleefully accepted – you suspect he has aspirations of battlefield glory, and you have done nothing to puncture his fantasies - you have need of a reliable messenger.
<span class="mu-i">”ADVANCE!”</span> you bellow, and your orders are promptly followed by your men, as they lurch into a quick march. Argyros marches to your left, wearing his new bronze panoplia - he steps heavily, clearly not used to the increased weight. The <span class="mu-i">Inachian Honorguard</span> pace forward with confidence and pride - they're ready to bloody some sparring partners and prove their worth. Across the field, you see that your uncle’s forces have also started to shuffle into position. You restrain the urge to bound across the meadow and smash your way through to your uncle, and instead assist Argyros by keeping the men aligned. Every minute or so, you must shout at a battalion to either speed up or slow down – they’re having difficulty maintaining a constant speed. You shake your head at their inexperience – you’ll have to double their training on troop movement until they can keep the rhythm in their sleep. Above your head, vultures wheel in a brilliant blue sky - they mistake this exercise for a true battle, and you're only too glad to disappoint them - no Argive flesh will be consumed today.
Over the heads of your advancing troops, you can see that your uncle is up to something – his first battle-line is bulging out towards your own, while his reserves troops are maintaining their pace. You’d recognize his kingly bass from any distance, although you’re still too distant to catch sight of his distinctive bronze or make out the words of his orders. You guess that he wants to decide the contest in the middle of the field as soon as possible, so that he can determine where to place Mecisteus and Pronax, and thereby draw you out into active combat. Together, they might be able to bring you down, but in your opinion, this is a misjudgment on his part – while your troops are of equal quality and of generally equal equipment, you are the superior commander.
Check out my battle map - green boxes are friendly troops, red boxes are Adrastus' troops. Blue star is Hippomedon's general position with Argyros and the honorguard.
