Spartan Run

CHAPTER FIVE

Blade froze. A muscular arm came around his left side and the Commando was pulled from his shoulder. A man stepped into view, moving in front of him, a strapping man attired in the most unusual military garb he’d ever seen.

For starters, the man wore a burnished bronze helmet completed with a dyed horsehair crest. A one-piece outfit snugly covered his sinewy physique. Boots adorned his feet. And clasped at the neck, flowing over both broad shoulders, was a light cloak that reached almost to his knees.

Strangest of all was the fact that the crest, outfit, boots, and cloak were all red. A black belt encircled his waist, and from it dangled the scabbard to the short sword he held in his right hand. Slung over his left shoulder was an Uzi.

The Warrior glanced to the right and saw Teucer prone on the ground, unconscious. At the edge of the porch stood Rikki-Tikki-Tavi, hands in the air, covered by two more men in red bearing Uzi submachine guns. Blade looked to the left and discovered three more men with their weapons leveled.

“What’s your name, big one?” demanded the man who’d taken the Commando.

“Blade.”

“I’m Captain Chilon of Spartiate Company C. You will consider yourself my prisoner until such time as may be decreed otherwise.”

“We come in peace,” Blade said.

“That has yet to be established. Kindly place your knives on the porch.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Blade responded in a firm tone. “No.”

“You will place your knives down now,” Captain Chilon directed. “When I give an order, I expect to be obeyed.”

A sharp retort almost issued from Blade’s mouth, but he decided to try diplomacy instead of antagonizing the Spartan. “With all due respect, I must decline. Warriors are duty-bound to retain their weapons at all costs.”

The captain’s eyebrows knit. “But I took your submachine gun.”

“Correction. I let you take the Commando, to buy time until I could ascertain the situation. Had you grabbed one of my Bowies, it would have been a different story. And now that I know all of you are Spartans, I have nothing to fear by refusing to turn them over.”

“You don’t?” Captain Chilon asked in surprise.

“No. Not if everything I’ve heard about the Spartans is true. Your people are fearless fighters, renowned for their discipline and dedication. Such men wouldn’t kill others in cold blood,” Blade stated with somewhat more assurance than he felt. He hoped subtle flattery would have the desired effect. If not, his next move would be to employ his Bowies.

The officer smiled and lowered his sword. “Your wit, big one, has disarmed my objections. By your bearing I can tell you’re a brave man, and Spartans respect bravery.” He paused. “But tell me. What are you doing in our domain?”

“I’m an official representative of the Freedom Federation,” Blade explained yet again. “I’ve been sent to present a proposal to your kings.”

“You’re ambassadors of some sort? Very well. We’ll escort you to the palace. You may keep your other weapons, but not any guns.”

“Thanks,” Blade said, glancing at Teucer. “I must check on him.”

“He’s fine,” the Spartan stated. “One of my men gave him a tap on the head.” He glanced at the two soldiers on the right. “Simoeis, revive the bow carrier.”

“Immediately, Captain.”

The screen door opened and out stepped Harry Johnson. “Hello, Captain,” he said. “It’s been a while.”

“Mr. Johnson,” the officer replied, sliding his sword into its scabbard.

“Have these men harmed your family in any way?”

“No. They’ve treated us decently.”

Rick Grennell materialized in the doorway, hatred contorting his visage. “They damn sure didn’t treat me decently! The bastards cut me!”

He stormed outside and pointed at Rikki. “That one there used a fancy spiked thing.”

Captain Chilon stared at the bandaged arm, then at Blade. “Attacking a Helot is a serious offense.”

“He attacked us first,” Blade explained. “We had no choice. Afterward, we treated his arm.”

“You applied the bandage?”

Blade nodded at the martial artist. “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi did. He’s quite skilled at rendering first aid.”

“Let me get this straight,” Captain Chilon said. “First the small one wounded Grennell, then he took the time to bandage him?”

Blade nodded.

“It doesn’t matter whether the son of a bitch helped me or not,” Grennell snapped. “The important point is that he cut me in the first place. I want to press charges.”

“I’m not certain of your legal standing in this respect,” Chilon stated.

“These men, being outsiders, fall under the special laws set down by the Lawgivers.”

“I know my rights,” Grennell insisted. “I demand that charges be pressed against these men. I’ll gladly testify against them.” He sneered at the giant. “I’ll even accompany you to Sparta.”

Blade recalled the information Erica had imparted concerning the possession of weapons by Helots. “If you’re going to Sparta with us,” he said calmly, “you’ll need your rifle.”

Grennell’s mouth slackened and his eyes widened.

“Rifle?” Captain Chilon repeated.

“Yes. He tried to shoot us with a Marlin 30-30. It’s in our transport,” Blade revealed.

The Spartan officer’s features hardened. “Is this true, Grennell?”

“No,” the Helot answered. “It’s a lie. They’re just trying to get your sympathy. It’s a lie, I tell you.”

“No, it’s not,” interjected a newcomer to the conversation, and Erica emerged from the house.

Blade noticed a curious reaction by the officer. Chilon’s stern expression shifted, becoming instantly friendly, almost regarding her with open tenderness and affection. The Spartan’s eyes seemed to drink in her beauty like a thirsty man quenching a parched throat.

“Ms. Johnson,” Chilon said formally.

“Captain,” Erica responded with equal formality.

“Are you saying these outsiders are telling the truth?”

“I am. They saved me from a mutation and were giving me a ride home when we ran across Mr. Grennell. He tried to shoot them.”

“You were attacked by a mutant?” Chilon asked, momentarily indifferent to the matter of the rifle.

“I’m fine, really,” Erica said softly. “The bowman over there shot it.”

Captain Chilon looked to the east, where his men were busy reviving the man in green. “Then we owe him a debt of gratitude. I’m almost sorry we had to knock him out.” He turned to Grennell. “So not only did you break the law about owning firearms, but you lied to me as well.”

“I didn’t lie to you,” the Helot said. “I’d never lie to a Spartan officer. She’s lying, just like them.”

“And why would Ms. Johnson lie?”

“Because she has the hots for that bowman.”

No one, least of all Grennell, anticipated what would happen next.

Captain Chilon abruptly clamped his right hand on the Helot’s shirt and lifted, actually raising Grennell into the air with just one arm. He spun and hurled the Helot from him, causing Grennell to sprawl onto the cement walk. “Take this man into custody,” he bellowed.

The three Spartans on the left side of the porch promptly ran around to the front. Two of them seized Grennell and rudely hauled him erect.

Blade checked on his companions. He was relieved to find Teucer awake and standing. Rikki stood next to a window, his arms at his sides, his eyes not missing a thing.

“Your fate is now in the hands of the Ephors,” Chilon was telling Grennell. “And you know the usual punishment for violating the firearms law.”

“But I’m a loyal Helot!” Grennell said. “I’ve never used the rifle against a Spartan. My family has owned a gun for decades, and not once have we used it to violate the law.”

Captain Chilon smiled grimly. “So your family has possessed an illegal gun for decades?” He faced to the west and called put, “Martin, get out here!”

Blade was surprised to behold another Helot appear. The man resembled Grennell enough to be his brother.

“Your older brother has informed me of the rifle your family owns,” the officer declared.

Martin Grennell gulped and wrung his hands together. He cast a despairing look at his sibling, gnawed on his lower lip for a few seconds, then blurted out, “The rifle belongs to him, not the whole family.”

“You lying sack of manure!” Rick Grennell shrieked. “Tell them the truth!”

“It is the truth, sir,” Martin told Chilon. “I don’t know where he got the gun. But as the Lord is my witness, the gun is truly Rick’s.”

“Leave the Lord out of this,” Chilon snapped.

“Martin, you scum!” Rick shouted. “You’ll pay for this! You always were worthless, you know that?”

Captain Chilon looked at the pair of soldiers restraining the older Grennell. “Shut him up.”

One of the Spartans whipped his right fist straight up, catching the prisoner on the jaw. Grennell’s eyelids quivered and he slumped in their arms.

“And as for you,” Chiton said to Martin, “you can run home and tell your parents the Crypteia will be paying them a visit soon.”

“But we’re innocent!” Martin wailed.

“I’m a soldier. It’s not my responsibility to evaluate innocence or guilt, I simply report to my superiors, and once they learn of this incident you can be sure the Crypteia will be dispatching men to your farm.”

Martin took an anxious step backwards.

“Go!” Chilon barked.

Like a frightened rabbit, Martin Grennell whirled and raced off.

“Miserable cowards,” Chilon muttered.

“Where did Martin come from?” Erica spoke up. “I didn’t realize he was here.”

The officer’s anger evaporated once he gazed at her. “We were on patrol on Highway 76 when we ran into him. He claimed he’d been out hunting with his brother, although he never mentioned anything about a rifle. Told us that he’d witnessed his brother being captured by strangers in a green vehicle. Said he hid in the woods when they jumped Rick. He also claimed you had been taken by the same strangers.” He paused. “Naturally, my first thought was to come here and investigate whether or not you were missing.”

“Naturally,” Erica said, her lips curling in a curious little grin.

Blade listened to the narration, able to piece together the missing pieces of the puzzle. Rick and Martin Grennell hadn’t been out hunting, as they asserted. Rather, they’d been following Erica, and he could readily imagine the reason. For now it would be better if he kept the secret to himself. Such information might prove valuable later on. He abruptly became aware of someone next to his elbow and glanced down at Martha Johnson.

“Captain, all this nasty business is very distressing. Would you care to come in for a cup of tea?”

“Thank you, but no. We must be on our way,” Chilon answered courteously.

“I have some already on the stove,” Martha said. “It wouldn’t be a bother. And we do so enjoy your, visits.”

“I wish we could stay for a while,” Captaia Chilon stated. “Our duty dictates otherwise. Perhaps next time we pass this way on patrol.”

“We’ll look forward to it,” Martha remarked.

“Excuse me,” Harry interjected.

“Yes?” Chilon responded.

“The Grennells are good friends of ours. What will happen to them?”

“I wouldn’t go around bragging about your friendship, were I you,” the captain advised. “As far as their punishment is concerned, Rick will either be put to death or sentenced to the quarry for life. Martin might receive a lesser sentence. Their parents may be placed on probation.”

“Thank goodness,” Harry said. “The parents are decent folks, not like their boys.”

“Perhaps,” replied Captain Chilon. “But it’s been my experience that inferior genes are responsible for breeding inferior offspring.” He gave a courtly bow to Erica, and walked from the porch.

Blade followed, Rikki a few feet behind. “How do you propose traveling to Sparta?”

“We’ll walk,” the officer answered.

“Why not drive in our van?” Blade suggested.

Chilon halted and studied the transport. “How do I know you’re not trying to trick me?”

“As one Warrior to another, I give you my word. There’s room inside for three of your men and Grennell. The rest can ride on the roof. There’s plenty of room to sit next to the solar panels. I also promise I’ll drive slowly.”

“It would save time,” Chilon mentioned thoughtfully. “All right. But we’ll have you and your men covered the whole time.”

“I understand,” Blade said.

“Then on to Sparta,” Captain Chilon commented, and motioned for his soldiers to move toward the transport.

On to Sparta, Blade thought, and hoped his diplomacy wouldn’t result in their deaths.