Fan Fiction ❯ Sparta ❯ Chapter 1

Sparta

"Charge!" In response to the Spartan king's command, thousands of infantry soldiers assailed the fortified city. As the approaching army came closer, the defenders quickly opened fire with volleys of arrows. The advancing soldiers fell like dominoes under the barrages of enemy fire. Still, more soldiers kept on progressing toward the enemy walls. Loud explosions rang throughout the air as Spartan catapults and trebuchets smashed the bastion's fortifications.

"Lord Hector, our men have breached the Minoan city's walls, and are swarming into the city."

"Good," Hector coolly replied before he drew his blade and charged along with his forces. As the Spartan army entered the holes of the walls, from the ramparts Minoan men spilled boiling water and hot coals on the attacking soldiers. The remaining Spartan forces who managed to enter the citadel met with thrown rapiers and javelins. Eventually the Spartans pressed another assault, and their adversary was forced to retreat further into the city. Thus the Spartans began a slow house-by-house advance, trying to avoid mass casualties from sniper fire.

Hector hastily entered a large building and cut down a Minoan soldier guarding the door. Looking out a small window, he saw that the king's palace resided in the center of the fortress. Hours passed by with Minoans and Spartans fighting for every inch, but soon the Spartans reached the steps of the palace. The guardian of the palace, Minoan commander Phillipus, rushed out headlong to meet the intruders led by Hector. Phillipus slew several Spartans before Hector reached him. Phillipus rapidly swung his blade at the Spartan commander, which was blocked by his opponent's shield. The fight continued for several minutes, with neither gaining the upper hand. Suddenly Phillipus managed to slam Hector down onto the steps with a hard swing; he lifted his blade for the win but then Hector swiftly threw his shield at Phillipus' ankle. The shield shattered the commander's bones, and as Phillipus fell, his chest landed upon Hector's upright swordpoint.

Upon slaying his foe, Hector rushed into the palace to capture the Minoan king, Tarsus. Hector arrived at the throne room, only to find the Minoan ruler had disappeared. He further searched the huge hall, and soon discovered that Tarsus had taken with him the jewel mark of his kingdom, a perfect round turquoise stone. Shaking his head, Hector was about to leave the palace, when a Spartan general approached him.

"Sir, we have a situation; I need you to come with me." Hector nodded and followed the officer. The general led him to the palace courtyard, and upon arriving Hector saw that a battle had taken place. Looking on the ground, Hector saw all five of Tarsus's sons lying dead among the bushes.

"We caught them trying to flee and ambushed them. We left only one survivor," exuberantly proclaimed a soldier. Hector raised his eyebrows as the warrior pointed to a beautiful woman on the edge of the courtyard. "Melian, the princess of Minoa, Tarsus' only daughter."

Hector smiled contently as he ordered, "Give the princess to my younger brother, Markus. He should be on the hill overlooking the city. Though he has been prohibited from joining the battle, he would have watched our attack." The soldier nodded as he led the young Minoan princess toward a youth on a hill, with dark black hair and eyes.

3 years later……………..

Darkness had overshadowed a beautiful marble-lined city. It was entirely quiet, as most of its citizens were sleeping, except for voices that came from a large palace bedroom. A faint lit candle on the windowsill outlined two figures, a young man and a woman. The man was dressed in royal robes, and looked to be extremely handsome. He also had features that described a warrior. His black hair, dark piercing eyes and dense muscles made sure of that. The woman was also dressed in royal colors, though a tad less extravagant. Her blonde hair, attracting eyes, and beautiful body made her a woman most men would fight to the death for. Snow-white teeth and a delicate frame also added to her complexion. A conversation has ensued between them.

"I do not understand why you still stay here at Sparta; why not go to your uncle in Greece, Melian. Besides, my father Prium doesn't like foreigners residing here for long periods of time."

"Both he and my father never cared for me, Markus. They only cared for their "heirs". And don't worry about your father; I can make amends with him."

"But you are the last of your father's line, your brothers are all dead and your father has disappeared into the unknown. Surely now your uncle will accept you and treat you well."

"My father treated me like dung, and I am not finding refuge with any of his kin. I would rather live my days out here in Sparta." The man sighed and then left the room.

In Athens, Greece, an old-looking haggard man walked slowly on the main road of the city. The man looked around and saw his destination: The king of Greece's palace. As he walked up the steps, he heard a harsh demanding voice.

"Oy! You there! What's your business here in the palace?" A palace guard had seen him.

"I'm King Tarsus of Minoa, brother to King Meneltarma of Greece. The guard was taken aback and flushed red for a moment, but slowly regained his composure.

"How can I be sure you aren't an imposter, eh? Besides, ye look more like a stupid beggar rather than a king. Give me proof that you are really him, or can you?" The old man took out a small but blue and radiant jewel, and exclaimed, "The stone of Minoa, the turquoise stone. Any other questions?"

The guard hurriedly rushed inside and whispered to the Grecian king's ears. Then he proclaimed, "Let him in." As the old man walked in with the turquoise stone around his neck, Meneltarma asked, "What brings you here, brother?"

To most casual onlookers this conversation would seem awkward. They called each other brother, yet they could not look more different. Meneltarma was a tall, handsome king in the prime of his life. Tarsus looked like the years had caught up to him a century ago, and he was dressed in discolored and torn shirts, while Meneltarma wore royal robes. The conversation continued.

Tarsus quickly replied, "I want vengeance and revenge. The Spartans have destroyed my country, ruined my capital, and killed off all my sons."

"What do you wish me to do then?"

"Will you go to war with me, brother?" Meneltarma pondered for a moment, and then announced his decision.

That very day preparations were being made in Greece for warfare.

Tarsus came into the throne room, finding his brother submerged in deep thought.

"You have the greatest army in the world, the most advanced weapons, and a navy that undermines any other, why are you worried, brother?"

"Failure is possible if I don't have a great commander to execute the attack. I do not have many generals who stand much of a chance against Troy. I need to make victory certain, Tarsus."

"Hire one then. Onn the Saracen has never lost a battle to anyone, no matter what the odds were. He will make total and complete victory over Sparta a reality for you."

"Onn cannot be controlled or contained. He also is the most arrogant of his sort, and looks on contempt upon me."

Tarsus grinned. "Do not refuse the chance of a lifetime just because the potential partner is disagreeable; with your army and Onn's combined, your force will be without comparison in the entire world."

"Do you really think I should do this?" Meneltarma inquired.

"Yes, just leave the entire campaign to Onn. But after he succeeds, assassinate him. He will be a further threat to us after this war."

Meneltarma rubbed his chin in thought, and then replied, "I will do what you ask, brother. But my fleet is ready and I will not hamper myself with delays. My navy will still sail out today, and begin the advance on Sparta!"

A messenger came to Markus's bedroom. He knocked on the door, and heard "Come in." He did, and then announced, "Your father, High King Prium of Sparta, would like you to attend a feast tonight.

Markus raised his eyebrows. "A feast, huh? What is the special occasion that my father would throw a feast for?"

The messenger replied, "The fifth year anniversary of the sack of Minoa, in which your lordship's brother Hector participated in."

"Tell my father that I accept his invitation." The messenger bowed and then left the room. Once the messenger left, Markus turned around to a woman who suddenly emerged from the shadows behind him.

"What do you think of the feast, Melian? Will you go?"

"Yes, it will be a perfect opportunity for me to woo your father."

"Well, I sincerely hope you will succeed, for if you fail, it will be much harder for us to get married.

The radiant woman smiled. "Don't worry. I have my ways."

To most people who knew Patrimius, he was a simple old hermit who spent his days fishing on his little island. They knew naught that he was a Spartan patrolman in times of peace but a general in times of war. His tiny island had a large hill, from which he could scout.

It was dinnertime, and he had yet to catch one more fish to complete his evening meal. A fish soon fell for the bait, and Patrimius heaved the fish out of the water with his fishing rod. He expected to see the evening horizon's rays to glisten off the fish's scales, but it did not. Patrimius looked quizzically at the horizon, discovering many dark specks littered it. His first thought was a bird flock, but it was not. Patrimius' expression darkened and his hands grew sweaty at the realization that it wasn't flock that blocked the horizon light, but an enormous fleet.

He rushed up the topmost hill, praying that it was a peaceful trading fleet, not a navy fitted for war. Even his worst expectations did not prepare him for what he saw. A Grecian trireme armed for battle. Its stern engraved like a dragon, ready for use as a battering ram. Its flag engraved in the likeness of a serpent fluttering in the mighty wind, with over 50 occupants and parts of siege machines on the ship. Only that it wasn't one warship, there were hundreds of triremes and galleons to be seen.

Patrimius hurriedly bounded down the hill and rushed onto his own little ship. Patrimius' boat had never lost a ship race, which was beneficial since haste was currently an important necessity. Patrimius quickly loosened the rope that tied his boat to the dock, and sailed for the Spartan capital as fast as he could.

The feast had started, and everyone was enjoying themselves. King Prium has started the feast with a few opening words of welcome, and then declared the start of the banquet. Markus was pacing in the outer courtyard when his brother approached him. "What troubles you, brother?" asked Hector.

Hector had always been the favorite of the royal family. He was a natural born fighter, and had never lost a duel. Unlike Markus, Hector had facial hair with a black-cropped beard, enhanced with a splash of gold. Also, Hector was taller than Markus, and looked even more muscular than his younger brother. Though he had all these masculine features, Hector was as nice as Markus in heart. Hector never liked battle, but felt it was necessary in many cases.

Markus replied, "There are two items that bother me. First, I have not fought in battle yet, though I can fight. I want to feel what combat is really like. Second, Melian is not known to my father, and without his consent, we cannot stay together."

Hector smiled grimly. "I cannot help you on your first wish, as I cannot control who fights in battle and who doesn't. I think you should not want to experience battle. But concerning your second wish, listen, I think our guests inside are enjoying your girlfriend." Hector turned and nudged his shoulder in the direction of the Great Hall, where laughter and merriment could be heard.

Markus strode into the Great Hall to find Melian dancing in a crystal white dress on a makeshift stage, with her audience captivated by her sight. As Markus looked toward his father, he saw that even the king couldn't resist Melian's dancing. When Melian finished dancing, a thunderous applause greeted her, which lasted for a full ten minutes. The king exclaimed to Markus, "I would love to have this girl related to me, and as your older brother is already married, I surely hope you will marry her." Markus smiled and nodded slowly.

Suddenly, the doors of the Great Hall burst open, and Patrimius stumbled into the hall, crying "Heaven's fury has fallen upon us; the Grecians have assembled and sent their great army against Sparta." The reaction to his statement was enormous. Some people shrieked in fear, while others started to yell for defenses, or to inquire whether Patrimius' brain had spent too long in the sun. Prium motioned all to be quiet. "I will not tolerate uncivilized behavior. I urge you all to stay calm. In the meanwhile, I will send Hector to find out how large this army really is."

Prium turned to his eldest son with a few words of caution. "Do not provoke battle unless absolutely necessary." Hector nodded and set forth to the main port of the island. Along the way, Markus went up to his brother. "May I come with you?"

Hector shook his head. "I will not risk you in this dangerous mission, maybe later, but not now. Sorry." Markus sighed and returned to the main palace.

Since the Spartan navy had forewarning knowledge from Patrimius about the Grecian attack, the Spartan fleet was almost ready to sail when Hector pulled into port. Hector soon set sail along with Patrimius and started pondering on how to approach the Grecian navy. Patrimius said that the Grecian fleet was a day's sail from Sparta, but Hector ordered his fleet to sail with haste. From studying Spartan maps, Hector realized both fleets would meet about 500 leagues east of his current position. Nightfall soon overcame Hector's navy.

A hefty Saracen guard growled and bared his teeth. "You may not come into Onn's tent unless he permits it,"

"And do you think I care?" challenged an irate Meneltarma. "He has created enough troubles for me by refusing to make deals with my messengers."

"And I assure that you will meet the same fate as them if you do not scram before I finish saying this sentence," the Saracen barked as he drew his sword. Meneltarma's bodyguards quickly did the same.

Just a split-second before the situation became ugly, Onn's voice rang out. "Let them pass." The guard unhappily sheathed his weapon and stood aside. Meneltarma angrily burst inside Onn's tent to find Onn smirking. "Ah, Meneltarma. How gracious of you to meet me face-to-face."

"You're more trouble than you're worth, Onn. Gracious? You forced me to. Why did you not conduct the business with my messengers?" inquired Meneltarma.

"Their superior attitude annoyed me. That is why they never even came back to you," replied Onn.

"Never mind now, will you now do business with me personally." Onn chuckled as he saw Meneltarma seething with anger.

"Okay then, what is your proposition?"

In the morning, Hector was roused by a warning shot from his head patrol boat about 350 leagues east of the Spartan port. The Grecian navy was right in front of them. Hector jumped upright and quickly roused all of his soldiers. It became evident that he could not avoid battle, as both fleets were bearing down on each other quickly. Ordering to prepare for battle, Hector himself drew his own sword and got ready to fight.

Archers fitted their arrows onto their bowstrings and stretched them. Swordsmen had drawn sword and shield and were making obscene gestures toward the other. Both sides were ready for battle and armed to the teeth. Silence overtook the scene, neither side willing to fire the first bolt. Then, suddenly, the whistle of an arrow sung through the air, and then a splash was heard as a dead Grecian soldier toppled overboard with an arrow in his breast. The sky soon began to turn dark as thousands of archers fired their bolts, and then the sea rippled with splashes from the arrows' targets. Magazines of arrows zipped through the air and into the ships of the opponents. Even with just a few volleys, a good many Spartan and Grecian soldiers had already met their doom.

The battle intensified as the fight shifted from archery to hand-to-hand combat. Soldiers got ready to jump from ship to ship, only to meet their demise at the hand of thrown spears and javelins. Bone-sickening crunches were also heard as ships rammed into each other with its front, completely destroying the other. Suddenly Spartan soldiers screamed as their boats and bodies were ravaged by Meneltarma's prized ship: The fast fire ship. Using some secret art, Meneltarma had created a dangerous mixture which ignited in contact with air. The mixture was then put onto ships and squirted out through hoses, creating a devastating attack. Many Spartan ships crackled and burned from the fast fire ship's fire.

Hector and Patrimius fought their way through dense ranks of Grecians, hoping to get close enough to sabotage a fast fire ship. A Grecian controlling a hose noticed the duo and aimed the fire at them. Both Hector and Patrimius managed to avoid the searing flames by jumping into the sea. As the soldier glanced around haltingly, Hector suddenly jumped out of the water with a spear in hand, and threw his projectile at the container which held the volatile mixture. Hector's weapon punctured it cleanly, and fire spewed out onto the trireme, effectively burning the ship to a crisp. Though Hector had succeeded in burning the fast fire ship, it did not help much; many other flame-throwing ships still wreaked havoc upon the Spartan navy.

Hector knew the battle was lost, though he knew he could do one more feat before ordering the retreat. He drew his sword and walked toward the commander of Meneltarma's frontal navy. The commander spotted Hector and rushed him with his sword upraised. Hector dodged the first deadly swipe, and then launched a combination of his own sword attacks. The commander parried Hector's attacks, and then started to attack from a distance with a pike. Hector's opponent raised the pike for a downward kill, but Hector rushed under the slash and knocked the pike away from the commander's hands. Hector then created a renewed assault on his enemy, hacking and slashing with his sword. The commander soon tired, but suddenly plucked out a spear and heaved it at Hector with dangerous accuracy. Hector caught the spear with his shield, and then threw his sword at his opponent with all his might with even deadlier accuracy and results.

After retrieving his sword from his dead adversary's carcass, Hector ordered a retreat from the battlefield. Leaving Patrimius in charge of the Spartan fleet, Hector returned to Sparta. Upon returning, Hector immediately ordered a military counsel.

The king of Sparta quickly asked, "How did the scouting trip go, my son?"

"Badly, I was caught unaware and forced to fight a skirmish battle, which I lost. Meneltarma's navy men and sailors must number 100,000-strong."

"Bad tidings come from our southern front as well," exclaimed Aesir, another general.

A drop of sweat trickled down King Prium's cheek. "What about our southern front?"

"Meneltarma has hired a Saracen army from Egypt. It is currently marching up the African coastline and will be poised to attack our southern cities in a week. I estimate it is about 70,000-strong."

Prium's hands started shaking uncontrollably. As he looked around, he saw that most generals also looked very uneasy. "We must call for help quickly. Send messengers to Morocco and Byzantine."

"Nay, neither can help," replied another general. "Byzantine is across the Mediterranean, with the Grecian Navy between us. The Byzantines cannot help us."

"What about Morocco?" asked Hector.

"It is currently being besieged by black ships from across the Great Sea. Morocco cannot avail us either."

Hector sighed. "Then we are alone," Hector said solemnly.

A Grecian general walked into Meneltarma's throne room. "How goes the war in Sparta?" the Grecian king asked.

"Onn has been doing well, my lord. His Saracen army has taken several southern islands, and has won every skirmish.

"Any shortcomings so far?"

"Only one, Patrimius has holed up his Spartan navy behind underwater reefs, and our fleet can't get past that blockade," replied the general.

Meneltarma thought for a moment. "Send the Saracen army to attack Patrimius from behind, and finish him off."

"Ay, my lord. But……., Onn has already ordered that." The general then walked out as Meneltarma looked far from pleased.

A messenger approached Hector and Markus in Hector's room. "Lord Hector, we have reports that Saracens are heading for the rear of Patrimius' navy. We also have rumors that Onn is leading them."

Hector shook his head and sighed. The war had been going bad for the Spartans, and this complication made it even worse. Without Patrimius' blockade, the Grecian navy could easily overwhelm Sparta. Also, Saracens were tough African mercenaries who were much stronger than the average Spartan, and their commander, Onn, was a distinguished Saracen commander who was known for conquering northern Ethiopia. Hector started to give the order for Patrimius' retreat, when Markus intervened. "I have an idea.

Hector turned to his younger brother, "What is it?" Markus grabbed a scroll and started writing down battle plans on it. Hector's face suddenly brightened immensely and started grinning. "Markus, you are the most brilliant tactician I have seen in a long while."

Hector then ordered the messenger, "Give these plans to Patrimius with haste. Time is important."

"Ay!" the messenger replied and then he left the room. Hector turned back to Markus. "I sure hope your plan works."

A Saracen general barked out orders. "Ahoy! Men at arms! The Spartan navy lies before us."

"It looks like they are ready for us though," remarked a colonel.

"No matter. That'll just make destroying them a whole lot more fun, Charge!"

Muscular Saracen archers crowded the sterns of their warships, anxious to fire their bolts. Other Saracens prepared their spears, shields, and grappling hooks. Onn himself stood at the front of his own galleon, smirking while fingering his long sword.

"Look how tiny the Spartan navy is, this will be like beating up an old hag," shouted a Saracen. The men around him laughed and nodded. Onn shouted, "Get ready to fire." The archers stretched their bows for the shot, but then suddenly, an enormous rock hurled through the air and buried itself in a Saracen galleon. The warship snapped in two, and sunk like a stone. The Saracens looked around bewildered.

"Who fired that," yelled Onn. A nearby general replied, "Dunno." Moments later, another rock rocketed through the air, and soon the sky was filled with stones, ballistics, and arrows. Rocks smote ships from the side, sending many Saracens flying overboard, only to be hit by arrows. The Saracen archers shot wildly, but to no avail. More confusion was added to the Saracen fleet as Patrimius' soldiers opened fire with magazines of arrows. Seeing that he was caught in a deadly trap, Onn ordered an immediate retreat.

On seeing the Saracen warships turn around, Patrimius' navy immediately charged forward to overtake the Saracens. Though badly beaten, hardy Saracen troops shot hails of bolts at Patrimius' ships, taking out many Spartan soldiers. Soon Patrimius' ships stopped the pursuit. The Saracens breathed a sigh of relief, but their eyes suddenly riveted toward small boats sailing amongst them. Onn suddenly froze when he realized the boats were carrying barrels of gunpowder. His eyes darted to Patrimius' soldiers, who were now ready to fire hundreds of fire arrows.

"Oh, crap." Onn quickly jumped overboard as the Spartan soldiers fired. Huge explosions soon rippled through the entire Saracen fleet, ravaging and completely destroying the warships. Men and their body parts flew fifty feet into the air from the forces of the explosions. After the smoke cleared, over three-quarters of the Saracen navy had been obliterated. Patrimius' navy surged forward in hope to finish off the remaining damaged Saracen ships.

Onn quickly started swimming to the nearest island, as did many of his surviving troops. They were soon met by arrows fired by soldiers led by Hector and Markus. In an effort to dodge the lethal arrows, Saracens started swimming underwater towards the island. In spite of many Saracens being shot by arrows, quite a few Saracens reached the shore of the island, including Onn.

Onn savagely beheaded a Spartan soldier and then sliced another's arm off. Hector noticed Onn and charged for him, waving his gleaming sword in the air. Markus also tried to charge Onn with his sword, but he was stopped by a large and angry Saracen with a large broadsword. The Saracen swung his sword to dismember Markus, but Markus avoided it by ducking underneath. Markus then aimed his sword at his opponent's belly, but the Saracen jumped to the side.

Hector meanwhile had been pressing a huge frontal sword attack on Onn, but all his attacks had been parried. Deciding to wear his opponent out, Hector started to become defensive. Realizing this, Onn took out a Spartan soldier behind him, and started walking slowly backwards. Hector took Onn's actions as cowardice and charged Onn. Onn immediately grabbed a hidden axe from his belt and threw it at Hector. The axe was nicely aimed, and smote Hector on his shoulder. Hector then flew backwards onto the sand, and lay still.

Seeing his brother fall, Markus tried to get to Hector, but kept on being blocked by the huge Saracen. Markus's adversary decided to land the final blow and ran directly at Markus. He suddenly scooped up a bunch of sand with the tip of his sword and threw it at Markus's face. Markus was momentarily blinded, and his opponent swung at Markus with all his might. The surprise of the Saracen was great when he saw Markus fall backward onto the sand, and roll. The broadsword slammed into the sand harmlessly, and Markus cleared the sand from his eyes; he then dealt a crushing blow to the Saracen's forehead.

After killing the big Saracen, Markus rushed through piles of dead bodies to try to get to Onn. Onn saw Markus coming and got ready for another conflict. Blocking Markus' first thrust with his sword, Onn then delivered a slice to Markus' arm. Markus ignored the wound and kept on engaging the Saracen commander. After parrying many of Markus' swings and thrusts, Onn quickly swung and dealt another injury to Markus' leg. Upon seeing that his opponent was no longer in a condition to fight, Onn started to walk away.

Suddenly Markus sprang up and threw a javelin at Onn with all his strength. Onn quickly jumped to the side, but the javelin pierced his armor and injured his thigh. Taking out the javelin from his side, Onn advanced angrily on the injured Markus. Onn muttered angrily, "I spare your filthy life and you try to kill me? Now you will die." Onn smirked evilly and raised his sword up in the air for the kill.

An axe whistled through the air and hit Onn deeply on his back. As Onn turned around, Onn saw Hector grinning with his arm outstretched, the axe gone from his shoulder. Onn slowly walked toward Hector and aimed the javelin at his heart. There was no way Onn could miss. But as Hector watched, the tip of a sword suddenly came out of the stomach of Onn. Hector looked behind Onn, and saw that Markus too had flung his weapon, with deadly accuracy. Hector smiled back and fainted. Onn made a horrible grimacing face at Markus, and then flopped down upon the sand and moved no more.

"Someone is here to visit you, my lord", a nurse remarked to Hector. Markus strode in and greeted Hector. "How's your wound coming along, brother?"

"Fine, and yours?"

"Well, I don't really trust my doctor. He says I need a week's rest, and shouldn't do any physical exercises for a month. My arm and leg feel fine, and I don't need anymore rest."

Hector chuckled at Markus's obstinacy. "So how did you think of your first battle?"

"It was really frightening to see you fall, never do anything like that again. War is horrific, I never want to clash again," Markus replied.

"You might not have to. Meneltarma is now a puppeteer without puppets, the Saracen legion has been destroyed, and the Grecian armada has fled from our coasts."

"So all is well?" inquired Markus.

"Yes, it is, my brother. Yes it is."

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