My 6th grade Geography teacher inspired this story when he spent a week on Ancient Greece and...
Show full author's note »
Goodbye to the Greeks
After riding hard all the way back, three days gone in camp, nobody had missed me. I walked up to Permenion after tending Styra, and sighed.
“You did not tell Alexander did you?” I asked.
“Not a word Hippolyta.”
“Thank you my Lord.”
“I sense unrest in your countrymen Hippolyta, they want to go home.” He said.
“I do too, but I would rather not see my home burned down.”
“Alexander is nearly ready to go Hippolyta, your timing could not have been better.” He said, running his hands through his hair.
Hector and Paris, twins with brown hair and eyes to match, walked into Alexanders’ tent. I heard small conversation.
“The men miss you my lord.” Hector whispered.
“Yes,” Paris added, he was a man of few words by anyone persons’ standard.
“Help me up then men.” Alexander ordered. He walked out of his tent, aided by Hector and Paris, and he held his cloak closed with his fist over his heart. All the men, except the Greeks perked up a bit when he came out, even Permenion.
I walked away, and sat with the Greeks, it felt good to sit by people who shared a country story with me.
“They will follow you no further my lord,” Permenion insisted.
“Dispatch them then, no need to make them suffer any longer.”
“What of the girl? Can you afford to lose her skills?” he asked, looking straight at me.
“No, no keep her. She has only fought one battle alongside us, and I have a deal with King Agis of Sparta anyway, she can not leave lest I burn her city, that and I know Darius would like her in his army, and she hates me, she would as likely join him.”
“I shall tell them.”
“No need actually,” I interjected, “We heard the whole conversation my lord,” I directed the “My lord” at Permenion. The Greek men around me stood up, and began to converse happily, while I sat in anguish. I would have to stay here. The Greek men would have problems getting home; the walk is long and hot, and they have to carry everything with them and for men without Spartan training, it would be torturous. They did not seem phased at all though, as they prepared to leave.
“Your countrymen do not have the same level of respect for me as my men do.” Alexander sighed, watching them tromp away over the harsh landscape.
“Maybe it is because they do not feel that you respect them. Oh, and by the way, I would not join that fool Darius’s Army for all the gold in his treasury, not after that dagger incident.”
“I sense battle Hippolyta, the army should leave in the morning.”
“No Alexander,” I ordered, “Not after that kind of blood loss. I can respect blood loss. My uncle died of it.”
“How?” Alexander asked, genuinely wanting to know.
“Well,” I paused, remembering from a long time ago, when I was very small, “Your father killed him when he came to Sparta.”
“Oh, I am sorry.” He whispered, walking away with little joy on his face. He went back to his tent.
Permenion had a knife in his hand, and he tucked it into his robe. He entered Alexanders’ tent.