Arkadia

Under the chaste brilliance of a summer sky, a glittering body of heavily armed and superbly disciplined warriors, the proud “Array of Arkadia”, awaited the annual appearance of the clans of the “Bem barbarians”, a population of forty thousand all of them pledged to eternal hatred of the Arkadian people. To receive this host the Arkadian Array composed of twenty-thousand horsemen known as “The Riders of the Realm” and one thousand pike-men called “The Phalanx”, as well as numerous slinger auxiliaries, was drawn up along the north bank of the River Bradys within the strip of territory known as “The Forbidden Zone” from which the Bem were ordinarily barred. On any other day the approaching Bem would have encountered the Arkadian Array columns of mounted warriors and heavy infantry prepared to bar by force the Bem horde from the “Zone” and access to the river. But this was not “any other day”; this was the day of the annual “Passing” ritual when the Bem clans were to receive permission from the Arkadian ruler, the Hegemon, to enter the Zone for a period of ten days during which time they would be free to engage in their “sacred rites” at their old “holy sites” along the bank of the Bradys. Thus the day of the Passing was designated a “ceremonial occasion”. Accordingly, the Arkadian troopers, though fully armed as a contingency measure, were positioned more for display than for battle, that is, they were assembled on the north bank in a long line only two ranks deep—Riders on the left wing, Phalanx and auxiliaries on the right. Moreover, the troopers were placed so they were facing away from the river, and towards the expanse of the Zone itself. Although their formation was suited well-enough for the parade grounds it made the Array’s young soldiers nervous for they understood how quickly some insignificant act or word could incite the Bem to violence. True, no serious outbreaks had occurred during any of the previous Passings but the Arkadian soldiers knew that fact was no guarantee that the Bem would keep the peace today. Also contributing to the disquiet in the Array was the realization that, in another perilous deviation from normal practice, the Hegemon’s white and gold royal war chariot was stationed in the open well in front of the Riders’ line instead of occupying its customary position behind the pike-men of the Phalanx. Further, in a truly extraordinary act of the self-imposed daring that he always accepted as part of these Passings the Hegemon himself stood motionless along with his driver within his fragile chariot. Thus Agathon—the fifth Hegemon of Arkadia to bear that name—was not only in full view of his own worried troops he would also be in full view and within easy reach of the oncoming throngs of barbarians when they arrived. This Hegemon, Agathon by name, was a man of fifty, gravely handsome and beardless. A mane of white hair fell in waves down his back. Attired in the white robes of his office and wearing across his brow the plain gold circlet which denoted his rank, Agathon was acutely conscious of his obligation to uphold the dignity of the Hegemony. For this reason he betrayed no fear as he waited though he was aware that every barbarian who would soon appear at the entrance to the Forbidden Zone would rejoice to see him dead and Arkadia destroyed. Agathon also knew, however, that should he manifest even the slightest uneasiness to the oncoming barbarian throng might be to invite them to attack. A retaliatory massacre by the Array must then follow, inevitably demolishing, perhaps forever, all Agathon’s hopes for a future era of peace between Arkadia and her perennial foe. And so Agathon maintained a rigid immobility even when his charioteer, clutching the reins tightly in both hands, gave them a tug from time to time along with a murmured s-s-s-s-s!to control the restlessness of his pair of spirited grays. Few of those beholding the Hegemon of Arkadia on that radiant afternoon could have imagined that Agathon’s iconic public demeanor was in fact so foreign to his natural inclination toward merriment and good-fellowship that he privately lamented the necessity of it. Nevertheless he had long ago realized that the pose was necessary not only to impress the Bem but also to retain the confidence of his people. Hence the Hegemon of Arkadia had to appear knowing and imperturbable at all times, had to seem more than a mere man, though “a mere man” was what Agathon knew himself to be. Always sensitive to the mood of the young men of the Array, Agathon perceived the anxiety that they always felt at these Passings because of the risky nature of the event and to the peril to their Hegemon. But this year the level of disquiet struck Agathon as even higher than previous years. The reason for this seemed obvious to him. It was the presence at the Passing for the first time of Agathon’s sixteen-year-old son, Milo, Heir to the High Bench of Arkadia. Milo, the elder of Agathon’s two sons, was a handsome boy with curls of bright yellow hair. Garbed in the white leather tunic and blue cape of a Cadet of the Rider Regiment, Milo was mounted on a well-behaved white mare and posted on the left side of the royal chariot where he was doing his best to emulate the poised dignity of his superb father. Milo himself was also acutely mindful of the fact that three others, each an important figure in his life, were nearby and closely observing his deportment. These three were, in descending order of his affections, his much-admired best friend, sixteen-year-old Phylax, his aged tutor, Megistes, and his irritating younger brother, twelve-year-old Darden, who was also present for the first time, by special dispensation, at this potentially dangerous assembly. Both Phylax and Darden were mounted on frisky palfreys, while ancient Megistes squirmed on a soft-back mare especially chosen in the hope of sparing the old man’s aged bones. Milo was also aware that, although Phylax and Darden had been cautioned by Megistes, their tutor, to keep themselves “inconspicuous” among their slinger guards, he had only to look back over his shoulder to spot his best friend Phylax at once, definitely conspicuous by virtue of his height and bearing among the slinger-guards. Furthermore, Milo did not doubt that if he looked back at them, he would find that Darden and Megistes and Phylax, of course, would have their attention focused on him to check the behavior of the “Heir” making his first important public appearance. Good old Phylax, Milo knew, would be wishing him well. Megistes would be swelling with pride in his royal pupil. Runty Darden, of course, would be scowling with jealousy. Suddenly Milo felt a strong urge to cast a quick glance back at the trio behind him just to verify his assessment of their interest in his conduct. He managed to fend off the temptation, however, when he realized that to succumb might shatter the solemnity of the rite in which he was still to play a notable part that would be his first public act of responsibility as Heir to the great Agathon. Accordingly, Milo forced himself to continue staring ahead in order to maintain his own version of his father’s imperturbable appearance. Milo’s strong young heart, however, was beating in his ears like a pike-man’s signal drum. Nor could he help but wonder again and again: Where are the barbo warriors? When will they get here?