Alexis of Sparta (Book II) - Unedited, first draft*

θ′ - Eneah

Nine

The Myrmidon. My stomach dropped as the name surfaced. The feared army led by Achilles. They were undoubtedly who lined the walls of the training courtyard, two rows deep with impeccable synchronicity. The yard itself wasn't huge to start with. With the rows of men lining the walls, it was claustrophobically small. Some had to stand around the equipment that sprawled the sand.

Each warrior was a solid mass of muscles, leather armour and freshly polished helmets. None of them blinked when Patroclus and I approached, which was both impressive and frightening. They stood like statues. I would be shifting foot to foot but no one even scratched an itch. It was probably the most intimidating thing I'd encountered so far, and I'd had my fair share of intimidating encounters (remember the cannibals?).

Achilles wasn't alone in the middle of the yard, and it took me a moment to realize his opponent was Bacchus. I'd had no idea that the boy was part of the Myrmidon army, let alone training with Achilles. I figured he was just a palace guard. He was young, way too young, in my opinion, to be fighting with those goliaths. Achilles dwarfed the poor boy in both confidence and muscle mass. He prowled the ring like a lion cornering a lamb. How could he put Bacchus in that position?

"He's going to hurt him," I gasped, taking a step forward, only to be jerked backwards.

"Just watch," Patroclus said.

I opened my mouth to protest, though a clash of steel on steel echoed through the courtyard, snaring my attention. Achilles lunged at Bacchus, slashing his sword with such power that when his sword hit Bacchus's shield, the boy stumbled back and onto his butt. Sand sprayed up around him, coating his armour and skin.

Bacchus was on his feet in an instant and running at Achilles with such ferocity I didn't recognize him as the same boy who was terrified of me. His lips were drawn in a tight line, his eyes narrowed with concentration, he swung his sword as he hoisted his shield to block Achilles's swing. The boy grunted and staggered under the hit, knees buckling. It slowed him down for half a second. Then he was on his feet again, charging forward.

Meanwhile, Achilles moved like a lion. Each slash of his sword was precise. Each step was strategic. He knew when and where Bacchus was going to strike even before the boy knew himself.

Achilles lived up to his reputation even in sparring.

The boy somehow managed to keep up, but only just. When Achilles called for a break, sweat poured down the boy's face. The hero didn't even appear winded.

"What did Bacchus do wrong?" Achilles called out after he took a swig of water. He handed the boy the ladle, which Bacchus took thirstily.

"Bend the knees!" his men responded in unison.

Their voices were a boom in my ears, and I couldn't help but cringe. Their voices rumbled through the ground, and I felt it crawl up my legs. Suddenly, war seemed all the more real.

"That's right." Achilles turned to Bacchus. Even though the boy was drinking his weight in water, he listened to the hero intently. "Bend your knees, crouch and ground yourself. Your shield will protect you, but you will not fall if you are steady."

He lifted his hand, beckoning for Bacchus to try again. Bacchus only hesitated for a moment, the exhaustion apparent in his eyes, before he lunged at Achilles. His sword caught the hero's shield with a hollowed thunk. A feather could have hit Achilles for all the good Bacchus did, but the hero looked proud.

"Good," Achilles smiled, the praise lighting up Bacchus's face. "Your training is coming along well."

"How about you give your men a real show!" a deep, warm voice suggested. "Fight someone of your status."