Spartan Run

by David Robbins

  Rikki-Tikki-Tavi dropped to the floor and quickly slipped the scabbard under his belt, slanting it over his right hip…

  “To your posts!” General Leonidas bellowed, and the Spartans on the bunks rose and dashed to nearby windows, their swords out and ready. He walked to the shattered window and peered out at the row of troops, none of whom had moved. “Who claimed we were being attacked?” he asked.

  “I did, sir,” a soldier responded.

  “A Spartan must never lose his head, Lieutenant Idomeneus. You are hereby reduced in rank to sergeant and you’ll consider yourself on report.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Surprised at the general’s strict judgment, Rikki stepped to the left of the broken glass. “Why was the spear thrown?” he wondered.

  As if in reply, a hearty shout came from outside. “Leonidas! Are you still with us or has your guardian spirit ferried you to the far side?”

  Leonidas chuckled. “I’m still alive, Calchas. You should give your men lessons on spear throwing. They can’t seem to hit what they aim at.”

  “I know you were hit. I saw you being carried inside. Perhaps it’s you who needs more exercise. You’re not in the best of shape.”

  Many of the soldiers surrounding the barracks laughed.

  “I got your attention so I can make a proposal,” General Calchas went on. “I don’t want to see more men die needlessly. You’re beaten and you know it. If you try to break out, my troops will cut your men down as they try to get through the doors and windows. We have the advantage.”

  “You think you do,” Leonidas stated.

  “Save your false bravado for another time. The lives of your men are at stake, and I can’t believe you’d sacrifice them for a lost cause.”

  “Who says our cause is lost?”

  “I do,” replied Calchas.

  Rikki spied the enemy general walking along the line of soldiers, a stocky man sporting a large gold clasp on his cloak. That was when he noticed all of Calchas’s troops wore gold clasps; Leonidas’s wore silver.

  “Then you must be aware of some fact I’m not,” Leonidas called out.

  “The cur you serve won’t win unless my liege dies, and King Dercyllidas is very much alive.”

  “Not for long,” Caichas predicted, and stared at the broken window. He gave a courteous nod to Leonidas. “I’m a patient man, as you well know. I can wait out here until you become desperate with hunger or Dercyllidas dies, whichever occurs first. But I’d prefer to spare your men from such acute suffering. Surrender now. Lay down your arms and turn Dercyllidas over to me. I promise he’ll be treated with proper respect.”

  General Leonidas gripped the hilt of his sword. “I’ve always regarded you as an honorable man, Caichas, until this very moment. You’ve insulted my king, my men, and me.” He paused. “You imply that my men aren’t willing to make whatever sacrifices are necessary to perform their duty.

  You say you would spare them from suffering, but Spartans are bred to endure suffering. And you demand that we turn over the man we have pledged to serve with our dying breaths, if need be. Well, here’s my answer. Never!”

  A spontaneous cheer rocked the barracks.

  Rikki scanned the relaxed, smiling Spartans and marveled at their composure in the face of imminent death. Their attitude was almost Zen-like in their acceptance of the inevitable, whatever it might turn out to be.

  “You’re a fool, Leonidas!” Caichas cried.

  “Perhaps. But I’m a loyal fool.”

  “Prepare yourself, my former friend I’ve a strategy or two up my sleeve that will make you realize how foolish you’re being.” Caichas spun and stalked to the north, out of sight.

  “I imagine he does,” Leonidas said softly.

  “He was your friend?” Rikki queried.

  “We were inseparable at one time.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was appointed by King Dercyllidas to take charge of his bodyguard.

  Caichas was still an officer in the regular army. My promotion upset him immensely. He’d always wanted to be in the Three Hundred. Later, when Agesilaus offered him a post equal to mine, he gladly accepted,” Leonidas detailed. “I never did understand the reason Agesilaus selected him.

  They’d never gotten along very well.” He scowled. “Only later did I realize Agesilaus took advantage of Calchas’s jealousy to set him against me.”

  “How long ago did this occur?”

  “About four years ago: Why?”

  “It means Agesilaus has harbored the idea of becoming sole ruler of Sparta for a long time. Where I come from, we refer to such persons as power mongers. Men and women who crave power for power’s sake. Our Founder warned us in his journal against allowing such people to live among us. Whenever power mongers are discovered in our midst, they are banished from the Family or terminated.”

  “Terminated?”

  “Yes. But only if they refuse to mend their ways or leave peacefully.”

  “Have you had many such power mongers?”

  “Only one. A Warrior named Napoleon. About six years ago he attempted to seize control of the Family.”

  “Was he exiled?”

  “No. I killed him.”

  “Oh.”

  Rikki gazed at the soldiers standing like statues 30 feet away. “So what are your plans?”

  “To wait until King Dercyllidas revives and follow his orders.”

  “And if he doesn’t revive soon?”

  “I’ll wait as long as I can.”

  “Doing exactly as Calchas expects.”

  General Leonidas studied the man in black. “Do you have a better idea?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell me.”

  The Warrior nodded at the row of enemy troopers. “Attack now, when they’d least expect it.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t considered the idea. But we’re outnumbered. They could leisurely pick us off if we tried to escape.”

  “I’m not talking about escaping,” Rikki elaborated. “I mean attack.

  Calchas expects you to send men out every door and window. In that case, he would have a numerical advantage. So do the unexpected. Lead all of your men out at one point, say the north doors. Bear in mind that Calchas has his unit stretched thin. How many soldiers has he posted opposite the doors?”

  “Four rows of ten men each. The rest of his forces are deployed in a single row around the building.”

  “There you see my point? Pour all of your men out of the doors at the strongest part of his line. I know your losses will be high. Those in the vanguard will undoubtedly be slain, but as more and more of your soldiers press into the open the tide will turn. His forty men at arms can’t possibly hope to contain all of your men. And by the time the remainder of his line rushes to the north, it will be too late.”

  Leonidas scratched his chin and regarded the Warrior respectfully. “A commendable plot. It might work, but the losses, as you’ve noted, would be large.”

  “I’ll understand if you decide against it. The cost might be higher than you’re willing to pay. Losing men is always a distressing experience.”

  “You’ve lost a few, I take it.”

  Rikki nodded, sadness etching his features. “Friends of mine, fellow Warriors, have died in the line of duty. I mourned their passing, even though I have faith they’ll survive this earthly life.”

  The general turned and scanned the room full of Spartans. “I care for each and every one of them. After all the hours I’ve spent training and drilling them, I hate to see any of them die. But to die in combat is the dream of every Spartan from boyhood on, and we view death as the crowning glory of a life of service.” He nodded at the doorway on the south side of the room. “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To check on King Dercyllidas. I’d like to present your proposal to him.”

  “And if he isn’t awake yet?”

  “Then the final decision will be mine, and de
pending on the outcome the praise or blame will fall squarely on my shoulders.” The general started off.

  Rikki kept pace with the officer. “Did you know a man named Sarpedon?”

  Surprise registered in Leonidas’s face. “Captain Sarpedon? I knew him well. He was an honorable man, even if he did have the distinct misfortune of being in Agesilaus’s bodyguard.”

  The Warrior grinned. “He was the first Spartan I met, and, as you say, he was a man who put honor before all else. I admired him greatly.”

  “Where did you happen to meet him?”

  “In Memphis. He wound up there after he was banished from Sparta.”

  “Is he still in Memphis?”

  “No, he’s dead.”

  Leonidas glanced at the small man. “Did you see him die?”

  “I killed him.”

  The general abruptly stopped. “I seem to detect a trend here. Why did you slay him?”

  “We found ourselves on opposite sides. I didn’t want to fight him, but he left me no choice. He did his duty to the very end.”

  “A true Spartan,” Leonidas said, and smiled. He resumed walking.

  They went into the next room, which was likewise filled with soldiers.

  Rikki saw Captain Chilon approaching with a glass of water, and halted once again when the general did.

  “Here you are,” stated the junior officer. “Catenas hasn’t cut off our water yet.”

  “Thanks,” Rikki responded, taking the glass. He swallowed eagerly, grateful for the opportunity to quench his thirst.

  “Have you seen Captain Pandarus?” Leonidas inquired.

  “Yes, sir. He’s finishing the casualty count.”

  “Good. Let’s proceed. Fall in, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The three of them moved briskly along the aisle to a closed door.

  Leonidas rapped, once and opened it.

  Within was a modest-sized office containing a desk, a chair, a file cabinet, and along the east wall, a green cot. Across the room was another door, partly open, revealing more bunks. There were already eight Spartans crammed into the office. King Dercyllidas was resting on the cot.

  Kneeling next to him, a stethoscope in his hands, was a man with a worried look. The rest were all guards who snapped to attention the instant the general entered.

  “How is he, physician?” Leonidas asked without ceremony.

  The kneeling man frowned. “He’s asleep, and I wouldn’t advise waking him. He’s lost far too much blood for my liking.”

  “I need to talk to him.”

  “Now?”

  “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t urgent.”

  The doctor, clearly displeased, had his hand on the monarch’s arm. “I’ll see if I can rouse him; I gave him an herbal remedy to bolster his immune system and make him sleep. He might not wake up.”

  “Try.”

  The door on the south side suddenly swung open and in came Captain Pandarus. Like the guards, he stood at attention. “I have the casualty count as you requested, sir.”

  “At ease, Captain,” Leonidas said. “Give it to me straight.”

  “We lost sixty men, sir.”

  “And I’d estimate that Calchas didn’t lose more than thirty,” Leonidas stated. “Damn.”

  “Excuse me,” Rikki interjected, “but is that sixty men killed or sixty counting your injured?”

  “There are no injured men,” the general replied.

  “How can that be? Surely, in a battle like you fought, there must be dozens of injured on both sides?”

  “You don’t understand,” Leonidas said patiently. “Spartans would rather die than be taken prisoner. If a Spartan is injured on the battlefield, he’ll fight to his dying breath instead of surrendering.” He paused. “We have no injured men because they were all slain in combat.”

  Now it was Rikki’s turn to voice a simple, “Oh.”

  The physician was gently shaking the monarch’s arm. He looked up at Leonidas. “I’m sorry, General. Our liege won’t respond.”

  “Keep trying.”

  Rikki placed the empty glass on the desk and scrutinized the Spartans.

  They were riveted to the cot, anxiously waiting for their king to revive, as if their very existence depended on it. In a way, he reflected, that was the case. As much as he admired their bravery and devotion to duty, there was a certain flaw in the Spartan system, an ingrained dependency on higher authority that bordered on the fanatical. Spartans followed orders with the single-minded determination of zealots. They never questioned a command, even when it might be issued by a potential dictator like Agesilaus. The Warriors, by contrast, would never follow an order that was unethical, immoral, or given by a power monger. The Family’s protectors enjoyed a latitude of freedom and individual responsibility never known by the Spartans.

  “The king is coming around,” declared the doctor.

  An air of tension permeated the office. The soldiers watched Dercyllidas intently. General Leonidas stepped to the cot and knelt next to the pillow.

  “Can you hear me, my lordship? It’s Leonidas.”

  A fluttering of the ruler’s eyelids was the only reaction.

  “King Dercyllidas?” the general persisted.

  For a second nothing happened, and then with startling abruptness the monarch’s eyes snapped wide open. “Leonidas?” he said weakly.

  “Right here, your highness.”

  Slowly, grimacing in pain, Dercyllidas twisted his head to stare at the officer. “What has happened?”

  Leonidas bowed his head in shame. “We engaged General Calchas and he broke our phalanx. We’re now trapped in our own barracks, surrounded by his troops.”

  “You must break out at all costs.”

  “There is a way, but the cost will be very high.”

  Dercyllidas’s eyes closed for a moment. When he opened them again his voice was even weaker. “At all costs, Leonidas. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear and obey.”

  Sighing, Dercyllidas nodded once, a barely perceptible bobbing of his chin. “Good. And Leonidas?”

  “Yes, your highness?”

  “Once you’ve defeated Calabas, as I know you will, kill Agesilaus.”

  “None of your bodyguards will rest until his head has been brought to you on a platter.”

  Dercyllidas smiled. “I can always rely on you…” His voice trailed off and he lapsed into unconsciousness.

  General Leonidas stood. “You heard our king.” He turned to Rikki.

  “We’ll put your plan into effect immediately. Would you care to take part?”

  “Yes,” the Warrior answered. “And I have a favor to ask you.”

  “Anything.”

  “I’d like to be the first man out the doors.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  “Do you have any idea what this is?” King Agesilaus queried imperiously.

  Blade refused to give the man the satisfaction of a reply. He stared at the field in front of him, which extended to the east for 300 yards, then glanced over his right shoulder at the Royal Palace. He’d been escorted, under tight security, from the audience chamber and out a door at the rear of the structure. Now he stood at the edge of the field, with Spartans on both sides and to his rear, all Agesilaus’s soldiers except for two.

  Both General Agis and Major Xanthus had insisted on accompanying the king. They’d told him they wanted to witness the Marathon of Death, and Agesilaus had gladly assented.

  “This is a training field,” the ruler was saying. “When those assigned to palace duty aren’t required for specific tasks, they come out here to hone their skills. During the midday meal break dozens work out instead of eating.”

  Blade surveyed the field. A gravel track ringed the outer boundary, evidently for jogging and foot races. There were bales of hay set up at one point, stacked three high, to which targets had been attached. There were also practice dummies dangling from wooden scaffolds. Each dummy was the size of a ma
n and had white circles painted on its cloth surface to signify human vital points.

  “Do you see the men I sent out?” Agesilaus asked.

  The Warrior couldn’t miss them. Eight riflemen were positioned along the outside of the track, spaced equal distances apart. Between them they covered every square inch of the field.

  “If you try to flee, you’ll be shot,” the monarch stated gleefully. “If you break the rules, you’ll be shot. And if you don’t follow my instructions to the letter, guess what happens?”

  Blade glared and clenched his fists.

  “Allow me to explain about the Marathon of Death,” Agesilaus went on.

  “Occasionally a Spartan fails to perform his duties as required, or exhibits inferior ability in combat. If the violation is serious enough, as in a case of suggested cowardice, the offender is given the opportunity to prove himself by running the Marathon, If he survives the tests he’s redeemed. If he doesn’t, then it’s taken as an omen that he wasn’t fit to be a soldier, that the charges against him were true.”

  Curiosity compelled Blade to speak. “What kind of tests are you talking about?”

  “Ahhh. I have your undivided attention at last,” Agesilaus said sarcastically. “The tests are very simple, actually. Yost primary goal will be to run around the entire track.”

  “What else?”

  The ruler took a few steps and pretended to be studying the field. “Now let me see if can remember all of them.” He chuckled. “Yes. I think I do.”

  “Impossible,” Blade said.

  “What?” Agesilaus said, his train of thought disrupted. He glanced at the giant, clearly puzzled.

  “It’s impossible to think unless you have a brain,” Blade elaborated, and indulged in a self-satisfied smirk.

  The monarch glowered. “Is your petty witticism supposed to anger me?

  A man of my stature is above such trifling insults.” He turned to the field again. “Now where was I? Oh, yes. Your tests.”

  “Have you ever run the Marathon of Death?” Blade interrupted him again.

  Agesilaus, his resentment transparent, pivoted. “Don’t be absurd. Why should I submit to a lowly test of courage?”

  “I figured as much,” Blade said. “In fact, I’ll bet you’ve never even been in combat. You’re a coward, the kind who hides behind his royal office and lets others do his dirty work.”