Styxx ignored her and went to his room where the valet was waiting to snatch him around and "accidentally" pinch and bruise him while he righted Styxx's attire.
Tsking over the missing brooch, his valet dug the old tin childhood fibula out of Styxx's wooden chest. The valet had just returned the chlamys to its proper drape when his father joined them.
"Leave us."
Styxx held his breath in fear of his father's sharp tone.
"Since you've proven yourself so irresponsible, I'm sending your birthday gift back to the merchant. There's no need in giving you anything until you learn to appreciate the cost of things."
Styxx opened his mouth to protest then caught himself. His father wouldn't listen. "Yes, Father."
"Master Praxis is in your study. I suggest you don't keep him waiting."
Taking care not to run because only peasants did so, Styxx went to his room down the hall where his tutor sat with a stern glower.
"Why didn't you tell your father what happened to your fibula, prince?"
Because a lost brooch would cost Styxx a birthday present. A bartered one would mean a harsh beating. "Only peasants barter. He would have been furious had he learned that I went shopping without sufficient coin."
"That was hardly insufficient, Highness. The cost was extravagant and I'm baffled why you didn't get her something else."
Styxx let out a weary breath of frustration as he explained his dilemma to his tutor. "Had my father gone in to buy them-which he would have, given Ryssa's propensity for extreme nagging-and been told that I passed on them for something less expensive even though Ryssa had clearly and dearly wanted them-which Claudius would tell him he told me-I would have been in a lot more trouble. While my father expects and accepts that Ryssa will have to ask about purchasing jewelry, it's not acceptable for me to do so. A prince must always be seen as affluent and respectable. This," he pointed to his cheap fibula, "was the lesser evil."
His brow furrowed, Master Praxis sighed. "Our lesson today was about Scylla and Charybdis, but I think we shall move on. You are already well versed in being caught between a rock and a hard place, Highness, and having to successfully navigate the treacherous waters that divide them."
June 21, 9537 BC
Styxx sat in the study with his father and Master Praxis, reviewing his weekly progress, when Ryssa came storming into the room. At first, he feared she was angry. But as she came closer, he saw the bright smile on her face.
"Father! Look what a messenger just brought!" she gushed as she opened her hands to show him the combs Styxx had purchased. "Acheron sent them to me! Is he not the best brother ever?"
Master Praxis gaped as he met Styxx's gaze.
Subversively, Styxx touched his finger to his lips to implore his tutor not to out him. "They're beautiful, Ryssa."
Scoffing at him, she put them in her hair and turned back to their father. "I shall wear them tonight at banquet! And at every banquet from now on. How did he know I wanted them? Are they not gorgeous, Father? I can't wait for Matisera to see them!" She rushed out of the room to show their mother.
His father glowered at Styxx. "What did you get your sister?"
"I didn't have time, Father. I'm sorry."
The look on his father's face promised him the retribution of the Furies. "Then I suggest you find something. Fast! And we will talk about this later."
Euphemism for a beating to come. "Yes, Father."
"Go. Get out of my sight."
Styxx gathered his scrolls as Master Praxis escorted him from the room.
"I am extremely nonplused, Highness."
Styxx jerked his chin to where Ryssa stood showing off the combs to one of her maids. "Had I given them to her, she wouldn't be so excited, I promise you. She would have placed them in a box and never worn them again. They mean much more to her coming from my brother."
"But you paid dearly for them, and not just in coin...." His tutor's gaze dropped to Styxx's side where his chlamys had fallen away and exposed his bruised skin.
Styxx jerked it back into place before anyone else saw it. "Gifts are for the delight of the recipient, not the giver, Master Praxis. And if I have to pay such a dear cost, I'd rather see her enjoy her combs than not."
"You're a good boy, Highness. And I hope her gift to you is half so noble."
Styxx bit back a derisive snort. Ryssa had already given him his present ... a scalding lecture on why he wasn't worthy of one this year.
But that was fine by him. Unlike his sister, he placed no value on objects that, sooner or later, would be taken away or destroyed as punishment.
August 30, 9536 BC
One year later
"Get up, you worthless suagroi!"
Styxx saw red at the insult that accused him of molesting pigs. Pushing himself up from the ground where he'd been violently thrown, he glared at Galen, his hoplomachos-fighting instructor. He lifted his blank, bowl-shaped shield and wooden sword, and readied himself for their next round of Stomp the Prince into Oblivion. "Suagroi? Sorry, Master Galen, but your wife's far too old for me."
That got the desired reaction. Galen went crazy on him as he attacked.
Fast and furious, raining down lethal blow after lethal blow, Galen rendered Styxx's xiphos blocks useless as the older man shattered the inch thick wood backing and bent the metal part of Styxx's hoplon around his arm with strikes that would fell a thick tree. Something that said it all about Galen's legendary strength. It was all Styxx could do not to die. He finally gave up and dropped his xiphos, which wasn't helping him hold his ground even a little then used both of his arms to angle the shield to keep from being murdered by the ancient soldier who was more than a foot taller and six times his weight. For that matter, one of Galen's beefy arms was the same diameter as Styxx's waist.
So much for his hoplon being more of a weapon than a source of protection....
His weakened left arm that was still healing from when Galen had broken it during practice several months back ached and threatened to give way under the vicious assault.
Bellowing in rage, Galen kicked him so fiercely it lifted him from his feet and slammed him to the ground, flat on his back. Styxx hit the dirt so hard, his breath left his lungs with such force that it felt as if both lungs had collapsed.
Stunned from the pain, Styxx stared up at his trainer through the cheek guards of his bronze helm. Galen painfully wrenched the hoplon from his arm and threw it aside then started kicking him mercilessly in the ribs with all his stout strength.
His arms were so numb and battered from the earlier blows, Styxx couldn't even begin to protect himself from the kicks.
"Is that your answer, boy, when you're attacked? Drop your xiphos and then cower behind your hoplon like a cornered mouse? What do you think an enemy would do to you in battle?"
If I'm lucky, kill me.
"Tell me, where's your smart mouth now?"
It wasn't his mouth that was damaged. Rather he had yet to draw enough air into his lungs to speak.
"Enough!"
Galen delivered one last stomp to Styxx's groin before he heeded the king's shout.
Cupping himself, Styxx saw stars as bile rose in his throat. Damn, that hurt. The old man kicked like a stampeding rhinoceros.