Quoted By:
Polynices is not an exiled prince, but an <span class="mu-i">exiled king</span>, no matter what the fools of Adrastus’ court are saying. The rushed marriage of Polynices to Argia, and the union between the houses of Oedipus and Adrastus can mean only one thing:
<span class="mu-s">Polynices will seek the throne of Thebes with Argive spears; he has convinced your uncle to go to war against the Thebans!</span>
Such a thing has never been done in the history of Hellas – no walled city has ever been conquered by a hostile neighbor by force of arms alone. Argos is the among the strongest of the Hellenic cities, but the sheer novelty of the situation gives you pause – any assault against the Theban walls would be a daring and dangerous enterprise. At any rate, you believe yourself to be one of the few Argives (and even fewer Hellenes) to have predicted the war between Argos and Thebes – no general call to arms has yet been made by King Adrastus, but you know your uncle’s mind – it <span class="mu-i">will</span> occur. He is not a man to change course, once his mind has been set.
You are therefore traveling to his court with all speed, to take your measure of Polynices and learn the mind of your uncle – and to advise him properly before hostilities begin.
Of course, things are never so simple in the Peloponnese.
<span class="mu-i">“Lord Hippomedon – I have news!”</span> your scout, Chabrianos, shouts breathlessly, as he navigates the trailside underbrush to your chariot. He is young, blonde, athletic for a commoner, and his face is heavily scarred along the right side – he came off badly with an encounter with a poorly-trained warhound as a boy, you are told. You patiently nod in recognition to him, as your chariot trots along – Argyros peers forward anxiously. Chabrianos gulps air for a few moments as he strides alongside you:
“Some fifty spears are wedged into the fens just four stadia up the trail! They have the look of hungry bandits, godlike Hippomedon, and equipped with ramshackle gear of foreign make.”
You sigh in irritation – you know exactly who these bandits are.
You first caught wind of them a week and a half prior – they are Dorians, probably led by one of the Heraclidae as well; the sons and grandsons of Heracles who raid down from their fiefdom in Western Thessaly. You had expected that these Dorians would range through the Argolid, gathering intelligence and leaving little sign of their passing, before returning to their hidden ships and sailing back north – ever since the High King Atreus of Mycenae defeated Hyllus, son of Heracles, some fifteen years ago, such scouting parties have been infrequently spotted around the Peloponnese. Despite the catastrophic loss, the Heraclidae have not abandoned their (outrageous) desire to rule all of the Peloponnese. As for this particular band, you presume that they are either attempting to map the swamps surrounding your corner of the Argolid, unwisely testing your reaction to their presence, or both.
>cont
