The Spoils Of War

Beggar Boy

The story which rang true on the streets was thus; Alexio's father, Myron, had possessed a vile temperament, and a penchant for whoring and gambling and engaging in all sorts of depraved acts. One evening, after getting particularly drunk, he had tried his luck at a game of dice with a fellow noblemen at a local tavern. They had gambled their money away until late in the evening, by which time one or the other declared the wonderful idea to play for their wives instead of drachmas.

A foul idea from the start, however in their drunken spirits both men had agreed. Myron had won, and when he demanded to feast his eyes on the prize, his opponent had refused in anger, claiming him to have cheated. A fight broke out, during which time Myron underestimated his strength and pummeled the other man to a bloody pulp.

If he had murdered a slave or a beggar boy it would have been a different matter. However, his victim had been a wealthy man with acres of land to his name, and his death would not go unpunished. Myron was stripped of all his land and his titles and forced to leave Athens. Before departing however, his wife, Elpis, gave birth to a son.

The couple had no love for the boy, and left him behind when they fled. Alexio grew up a beggar on the streets, fighting for a crust of bread and sleeping in the gutters with the rats. He learned how to fight however, from the blacksmiths he'd apprentice for. They would feed him and teach him how to wield a sword, and in exchange he'd forge metal. He grew to be quick and lethal. His speed served him well in the streets when it came to escaping the merchants and traders at the local bazaar.

One day however, his speed failed him.

He'd been caught pilfering a handful of figs and dates from a plump, coarse looking vendor. The Athenian guards roaming the streets had apprehended him. His young age did not matter to them. The punishment for thievery was twenty lashes, and he was to receive it as any man twice his age would be forced to.

He'd endured the first five lashes without protest, though he'd had to bite down hard on his knuckles to keep from crying out. After the fifth lash, a booming voice cut through all other noise in the square.

Alexio had been shaking, his knuckles raw and bloody, and his back resembling a slab of meat marred with angry, red slashes. Everyone had gone silent and turned in awe to see King Octavius in the center of the square, lined on either side by his guards. Alexio had never set eyes on the son of the king who had exiled his parents, but he had never been more grateful to see a man in his life.

Octavius demanded a tall, bald man with the build of an ox to take him and make sure that his wounds were attended to. Alexio was ushered into the castle, and his knees had gone wobbly at the sight of the immense hall.

The royal physician had washed his cuts with water and spread a strong, bitter scented salve over top of them before bandaging them with linen cloth. Alexio had been given a goblet of water and a platter of olives and brown bread and was later ushered into the royal hall before the king. Despite being a beggar boy, he knew royal decree. He had bent down on one knee and bowed his head before the king.

King Octavius had spoken calmly.

"I knew your parents boy," He'd said, "I was already a man when my father banished them from Athens. What would they say now, if they saw you pilfering the streets for a mere pieces of bread." Alexio's eyes had stung and the cold stone of the floor had bitten into his knees.

"They would probably flog me themselves...my King," His voice had been quiet and meek and it had softened the King's eyes. He commanded him to rise and looked upon him in curiosity.

"I see promise in you Alexio. Far too much promise to be wasted on the streets. Tell me, can you wield a sword?" Alexio had wet his dry lips.

"Better than most boys my age," He'd said. Octavius had smiled, crinkles forming around his eyes.

"Very well then. You shall remain here, as my ward. I shall see to it that you receive proper training, and in turn, when you are a man grown, you shall serve in my army. In exchange I offer you shelter, food, and companionship. I trust you have no such offers from other sources," Alexio had quickly shaken his head, stunned. "Very well then. It is decided."

And so Alexio grew up inside the castle walls. He trained with Ajax, a Moorish slave who was also his closest companion. He grew to be a force, deadly with any weapon, and made true on his promise. When he turned sixteen he joined the Athenian army, swearing his allegiance to the shield.

Over time he rose in the ranks, and the pride King Octavius held for him was akin to the pride a father possessed for his own son.

That is why, perhaps it was not too radical, when King Octavius pulled him aside before he was to lead an expedition into Persia, and informed him that upon his return, he would offer him his only daughter's hand in marriage.

Alexio had smiled politely, bowed before the king, and thanked him for the honor, when truly all he felt was dread.

The only positive thing he'd managed to derive from being abandoned by his parents was that he'd be free to live his own life as he wanted. Yet now, he was being roped into marriage to the princess of Athens, a girl he'd only glanced upon from far away when she'd been either a babe or a pimply, awkward adolescent.

The idea of marriage had not been a pleasant one to Alexio, and it was the prospect of matrimony which plagued him that day on the beach. He lay in his hammock, gazing at the stars, thinking of the bride awaiting him many leagues away, and felt his heart sink at the thought.

He considered, if it was possible that the princess Cassia, shared his doubts.