IRENE EMPTIES HER bag, checking over its contents again since they had stopped at Skandeia Harbor in Kythera. A bronze box packed with dry tinder and kindling. A flint and iron. Fish hooks and animal gut for stitching wounds. Various medicinal herbs –honey, sorrel leaves, yarrow and seeds from the poppy. A roll of linen bandages, needles and hemp thread, and a small iron for cauterizing wounds. Before her is the difference between life and death.
The Adrestia docks in Korinthia after many days at sea. Korinth is a city rank with corruption even under Spartan law. Whispers say the Monger –a brute with lust for violence– controls the city with terror and blood. Others tell them Anthousa and her hetaerae are the true leaders but are stranded at the Spring of Peirene near the Temple of Aphrodite on the Akrokorinth, having fled the city for fear of the Monger and his thugs.
Regardless of who the city's true leader is, Alexios turns his gaze toward the Akrokorinth –that is where he will find answers about his mother. Irene adjusts her loculus after having stopped at an apothecary to purchase silphium and oak gall. The short pause in their pace had allowed Alexios to scan over the vendors and shoppers –what he sees brings a deep frown to his lips. "We're being followed," Alexios notes in a hushed voice, eyes darting around the busy agora.
Irene has felt the lingering gaze of strangers too. She's been at unease since stepping off the Adrestia. "Hunted, more like," she amends, stepping closer to the misthios –their arms brush together with each step. A lifetime of being hunted has made her senses keen enough to spot those who wished to go unseen. "Two on our right," the princess mutters.
"At least three behind us and another to the left," Alexios supplements, slowing to almost a stop. If they continued on their current path the men following them would decide to strike or move forward to set a trap. "Get to the temple," he tells Irene. Only a fool would attempt spilling blood in Apollo's temple with Spartan sentries keeping vigil. "I'll fall back and see exactly how many there are." A jerky movement out of the corner of his eye catches his attention. Their pursuants are quickly closing in. Alexios grips onto Irene's wrist. "Cause a scene," he breathes.
The princess twists around, glaring at him with brows pinched together. "Why do I have to be the one to make a scene?!" She challenges in a low hiss. Though seconds later her expression shifts to heartbreak and betrayal –the effortless transformation can put even the best actors to shame. "How could you?! You swine!"
Irene's arm rears back and then her hand is connecting with his cheek. Alexios has no time to react and the slap echoes through the crowded agora. He stumbles at the sudden and unexpected impact. People stop and stare at the commotion. Those meant to be pursuing them are thrown off by the spectacle. "I loved you!" Irene cries, hiding her tearful gaze as she absconds the market toward the Temple of Apollo.
"Wait!" Alexios shouts, cheek burning with the aftermath of her touch. He gives pursuit but once she climbs the crepidoma of the temple, he slips into the crowd. The men all gather at a warehouse on the western docks. Guards standing at the entrance are neither Spartan or Athenian –but are more akin to bandits. After seeing their meeting location, Alexios turns back toward the heart of Korinth.
Spartan sentries give him wary glances as he climbs the Temple steps. Mercenaries weren't known for their piety. He kneels before the statue of Apollo at the center of the noas. "That worked surprisingly well," he remarks, humor lacing his tone. She'd played the part well and had saved them from a confrontation in the streets.
Irene glances at him and frowns –there's a red mark on his cheek the same size as her hand. She aligns her fingers with the welt and feels guilty for not warning him about her intentions. "I didn't mean to hit you that hard," the princess admits with a grimace. Alexios turns his cheek farther into her hand, a faint smile pulling at his lips. Her fingers unintentionally slip upward, following the scar below his left eyes.
Shouting from one of the sentries breaks them both from the trance. Irene pulls her hand away and glances around the temple to avoid meeting his gaze. "How many?" She asks.
"Nine," he answers, "they're at a warehouse near the docks." The princess glances at him -her deep blue eyes have gone cold with determination. Sooner or later they would have to confront those men. Irene would prefer it be sooner.
IT IS NOT Anthousa who Irene and Alexios come across upon initially arriving at the Akrokorinth, but Alkibiades. By pure luck, he had decided to sojourn there and visit his muses. Athens had been a mess as of late with Kleon continually stirring the mob and publically dissenting against Perikles' will. Irene suspects a courtesan visit is not the only reason he has come to the land of beautiful corruption.
Her suspicions are proven correct when he asks Alexios to bring a parcel to the Spartan named Diodoros at the fort. "I'll deliver it," Alexios says, taking the wooden box.
"Do handle it with care and discretion, misthios," Alkibiades remarks. The two old friends watch him leave on the errand. So long as the Eagle Bearer sticks to the shadows of Akrokorinth Fort, it will not be a hard task to complete. Allie tugs on a lock of Irene's black hair. "I do hope Diodoros enjoys that," he muses after Alexios is out of sight, twirling the same lock around his finger, "-it took me several times to cast one that truly matched my likeness."
Irene scoffs, rolling her eyes. He's done something similar to this before, though he had not gotten the results he'd wished for when the messenger slipped up and said the delivery was from him and not Hylios. She had to take care of the angered general after that in such a manner that it looked as though the gods had struck him down by chance. "I could cast one for you if you'd like," Alkibiades proposes with a sybaritic tone.
"What is Alexios like?" He finally asks -it's a question he's been dying to know the answer to since laying eyes on the misthios at Perikles' Symposium.
Had anyone else asked the question, the princess would have answered honestly. He's a good person, quick to anger but quicker to laugh. But this is Alkibiades and there only ever seems to be one thing on his debauched mind when speaking outside of political matters. Irene's cheeks flush. "You have no sense of decorum!" She accuses, crossing her arms.
"Guilty," he replies. "Now answer the question. You've sailed across the Aegean with him. I know you must have had a taste of his spear." Her cheeks burn bright red under his scrutinizing gaze -and the thoughts that begin to slip into her mind. "I hear Spartans know how to wield them best," he adds with a titillating smile.
"Allie!" Irene scolds. She's never been one to speak openly of such private affairs. And even if she had been with Alexios, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing those intimate details.
"But you have thought about it haven't you?" He goads, nudging her playfully.
Between the hesitation and the way her eyes widen, Alkibiades has his answer. His smirk is infuriating. "You're unconscionable," Irene grumbles, "asking a woman of her sex life, sending the Eagle Bearer to deliver a cast of your cock to some poor man."
Alkibiades shrugs and takes the hand of one the priestesses leaving the Temple of Aphrodite -it was time he made an offering to the Goddess of Love. "Life's more interesting that way, my sweetling." He winks at the princess before turning his attention to the hetaera.
Irene turns away from the temple and faces the Gulf of Korinth. The sweeping vista as the light of day fades into the west is a glorious sight to behold. Korinthia truly was one of the most beautiful places in the Greek world. A full moon rises over the water and the city below takes on a cold glow.
There's a tug at the edge of her chiton -she glances down and is surprised to see a familiar young face looking up at her. "Phoibe?" The girl grins. "What are doing here?" Irene asks. Korinth was no place for a child to be running about if rumors circulating the city were true.
"Aspasia sent me as an-" Phoibe pauses and thinks hard about how to say the right word "-an emissary."
The princess isn't sure she likes the idea of Aspasia using the girl for her political gains, but Phoibe seems happy with her mission and appears well looked after. "Does Alexios know?" Irene inquires. Phoibe's eyes light up at the mention of the misthios.
"Do I know what?" A deep voice asks from behind a stone column. Phoibe turns from Irene and races toward the Eagle Bearer, launching herself into his arms. The impact causes him to stumble back, falling against the steps of the temple. "It's good to see you too, Phoibe," he laughs. As Irene looks upon the sight, something stirs deep in her chest, though she cannot place what it is.
