Ariston dodged the blade, pivoting on the ball of his foot to come behind Bion. He placed his foot at the base of the man’s spine and shoved. Bion pitched forward, but caught himself.
“Good,” Ariston called out. He narrowed his gaze, watching as Bion rallied.
The giant spun, his sword solid as it met Ariston’s. Their blades slid, the metallic grate rivaling the sound of the waves pounding the beach before them.
Ariston moved suddenly, planting his foot in the larger man’s chest and knocking him back. “Be mindful of more than your opponent’s weapon.”
Bion snarled, launching himself forward. Ariston stood his ground, side-stepping at the last moment and bringing his elbow forcefully into Bion’s side. As his opponent groaned in pain and frustration, Ariston caught sight of the sun.
It was near sunset… A surge of energy rushed through him – anticipation tightened his
chest.
But he lost sight of Bion. He did not realize he was beaten until he was sailing through the air to land solidly on his back.
A chorus of cheers went up, and he smiled in spite of his defeat. Bion held his arms high in victory, surrounded by those who’d watched the match. All shared in their comrade’s triumph, for few had knocked a warrior of Ariston’s skill from his feet.
“The savior of Laurium falls!” Someone cheered.
“He bears scars from Aeginian spears and Persian arrows, where is your mark, Bion?” another asked, laughing.
“Upon his pride,” Bion answered with relish.
Ariston’s smile grew as the men continued to congratulate Bion and clap his broad back.
It was good. If these men thought they might defeat him – a proven warrior, known and feared – they might believe they stood a chance against the Persians. And if they believed they might defeat their enemy, it might be so.
Ariston quickly waved a young attendant forward, shaking the sand from his hair as he did so. He plunged his hands into the basin the boy offered, splashing water on his face and chest. Once clean, he hurriedly laced his greaves onto his wrists and clasped his thick cloak about his shoulders. Only after he’d readied himself for the temple and collected his shield and spear did he call out, “Tomorrow I won’t go so easy on you, Bion.”
Bion laughed. “Then I’d do well to enjoy the spoils of my victory tonight.”
Ariston nodded, placed his helmet on his head, and sprinted from the hoplites’ encampment towards the Acropolis. Each step took him farther from the art of war and closer to his duty to the Goddess. He welcomed the change, the quiet tranquility.
While his blood hungered for the thrill of the fight, his time at the Temple of Athena Polias had stirred him as nothing else…
Once he stood on the steps of the temple, he removed his helmet and turned his face towards the retreating rays of the evening sun. His eyes closed as a cool breeze lifted the cloak from his shoulders. It promised to be a fine evening and a chill night.
His gaze swept the horizon, studying the temple paths and making note of any activity in the courtyard.
All was quiet.
He heard her arranging the day’s offerings within the temple. He turned, eyes narrowing as he searched the dim temple interior. Even in the flickering candlelight, she seemed to glide effortlessly.
She would leave with the sun, they both would. Duty required he escort her home. It was duty that brought him to Athens – to his country, his family, and his Goddess. And it was duty that required him to be graced by her loveliness each day.
Lovely or no, it mattered not. To think on her or grow distracted by her presence was foolish. He was not a foolish man.
He took a deep breath of the bracing air, clearing his head.
War would soon find them. The Persians’ marauding and skirmishes left no room for doubt. And when it came, his time here would be over. These sunsets, this sacred place, the company he kept, would be but a memory. Memories he would hold dear.
He gazed upon the Temple of Athena with appreciation. In all of Greece, in all of his travels, he knew the Goddess of Wisdom must find this shrine the most pleasing. It perched almost precariously at the edge of the rock, providing a key defensive observation point for the Goddess and her city.
His eyes wandered again, sweeping the white-capped waves of the Aegean far beyond before returning to the etched stones of the temple frieze.
A stone Gorgon mask, carved into one of the pillars, startled him from his inspection. It never failed to disconcert him, giving rise to a mix of fear and disgust.
Truly such a warning would be heeded by even the most wicked of villains.