Solon, a man on a mission

“I’m sorry Solon,” Calchas says as he sits propped up against the wall behind him, his legs splayed out across the dirty and chipped flagstones of the street so that you can see the cut on his leg, an inch-wide wound running across his shin just below the knee, the fabric of his trousers slowly turning damp and growing darker in colour as blood flows freely from the wound.

Saying nothing, you look back at the wall that you and your small detachment have just come across. There, the fighting still rages, even if the defenders are already bloodied and severely reduced, and with no chance of either escaping or receiving reinforcements. Before long, the soldiers of the united armies will have quelled the last local resistance and be in complete control of this section of the city walls, and you intend to have travelled much farther into Athenapolis by the time that that happens.

Nodding in recognition of Calchas’ words, you take stock of how many remain of the small group that you’re in charge of. There were twelve of you as you approached the city walls, and now there are only four, including yourself and not counting Calchas. You knew that some of you would perish in the ****, but finding yourself with two thirds of it out of action already was not what you had expected. Still, there’s little you can do but improvise and make do with what you have left.

You throw a quick glance at Calchas’ wound, and the experience that you’ve gained during nearly fifteen years of soldiering tells you that it’s not lethal, since the bleeding doesn’t look to be too considerable, and he should be able to get to keep his leg if it’s only cleaned and bandaged before too much time’s passed.

“One of those mouth-breathing pig-fuckers defending the walls got to him,” Peleus explains, having spotted you looking at Calchas’ leg, “He must have been wounded or something, because he was lying on the ground and then he made a swipe at Calchas as we moved past him.”

“You got the bastard?” Telamon takes a brief pause from looking up the street that cuts across the one that you’re currently on, and which runs deeper into the city, directing his question at Peleus, who replies to it by baring his teeth in a wicked grin at the same time as he squats down next to Calchas and pulls out a fresh bandage from his satchel.

If Telamon is one of the most physically imposing men that you’ve ever come across, as wide as an outhouse and easily standing a head taller than you, who are of above average height already, then Peleus is one of the meanest. It’s not that he’s cruel or particularly unpleasant to be around, but simply that he knows and has made use of pretty much every dirty trick which one can use in a fight, and he’s loyal to and highly protective of his friends.

“It doesn’t seem like anyone else made it,” Attalus cuts in, sounding as grim as ever as he adds “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Really, we hadn’t noticed,” Telamon replies before you get the chance to do so, drawing a few chuckles from the rest of you as Attalus looks back at him.

“No, I didn’t think you would,” Attalus’ voice is perfectly level as his face contorts into a familiar grin, one which is either suggesting annoyance or mild amusement. You’ve never been able to decide on which.

“Alright, that’s enough,” You interrupt Telamon just as he’s about to say something back, quickly letting your gaze sweep across each and everyone of your men before throwing another glance at the fighting still going on not more than a hundred feet or so away from where you are now, “we haven’t got time to stand around listening to the two of you all day.”

“And even if we did…” Calchas begins…

“…We’d sooner spend it looking for boils on a titan’s arse,” Peleus finishes off, just as he wraps up dressing Calchas’ wound.

“Captain,” Calchas looks up at you, “what about me?”

“Can you walk?” You ask, already knowing the answer even before he shakes his head.

“Then you’ll just have to stay where you are,” You decide, and Calchas doesn’t protest your decision, “that bandage should stay on till we come back and get you.”

“We won’t forget about you,” you calmly assure him, and Calchas recognizes what you’re saying through a brief nod of his head. You don’t like leaving him there, but you’re running out of time as it is, and can’t waste any by either carrying him along or searching for a cart or something on which to pull him. Granted, Calchas would probably be thrilled at the prospect of going into battle being pushed around in a wheelbarrow.

“The street’s clear?” You ask Telamon, who’s returned to peeking out beyond the wall that’s currently providing you with cover, surveying the street for any sign of trouble. His massive bow might still be strapped to his back, but you know for a fact that should he put down his axe and shield and draw it, he could deal with any potential target quite easily, long before they’d gotten the chance to become a threat.

“Yes,” He replies, without looking away from the street.

“Good,” Running a hand through your short-cropped flaxen hair, you then put your helmet back on, “then let’s go.”

“Good luck to you boys,” Calchas says as you and your men start to move, a tired smile appearing on his face as telltale sign that the adrenaline’s starting to wear off, “just my luck if you’d all manage to go and get yourselves killed!”

While your men do some good-natured grumbling at Calchas parting comment, you lead them out onto the street, with Telamon walking right next to you as you set off into the city, to go on with your mission.