As the sun began to set over the amphitheater, the remaining matches unfolded with equal fervor. Champions from Epirus, Corinth, Messenia, Euboea, Acarnania, and Elis faced off, each fight a testament to the diverse martial traditions of Greece. The crowd's energy never waned, their cheers growing louder with each clash of weapons and display of skill.
After the final match of the day, Diomedes was approached by a royal messenger.
"The king has summoned you, Champion," the messenger said with a bow.
Diomedes, who had just returned to his quarters to rest, rose without hesitation. He adjusted his tunic, ensuring he was presentable, and followed the messenger to the palace.
The corridors of the royal residence were illuminated by torches, their flickering light casting long shadows on the walls. The air was cool, and the faint hum of distant activity from the feast preparations filled the space.
Diomedes was led to the king's private audience chamber. King Cireus sat on a gilded chair, his posture relaxed yet regal. His expression was one of satisfaction, a rare lightness in his demeanor since the days of turmoil brought by Hades' wrath.
"Ah, Diomedes," the king said, his voice warm. "Come in. Sit with me."
Diomedes bowed respectfully and took the seat offered to him.
"You've done well today," Cireus began. "Not just as a champion for Argos but as a symbol of resilience for our people. They look to you and see hope, strength, and the favor of the gods."
"I am honored to serve Argos, Your Majesty," Diomedes replied humbly.
The king nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "You remind me of Perseus in many ways—bold, unwavering, and with a spark of something extraordinary. And your composure under the eyes of princes who envy you speaks volumes."
Diomedes inclined his head but remained silent, sensing the king had more to say.
"Argos owes you a great debt," Cireus continued. "I've decided you shall be rewarded handsomely for your service. Lands, gold, whatever your heart desires—name it, and it shall be yours."
"Your generosity humbles me, sire," Diomedes replied. "But my duty to Argos and the princess is reward enough."
The king smiled, a flicker of pride in his eyes. "Your loyalty is commendable. However, I insist. We shall speak of this again after the games conclude. For now, I extend an invitation—tonight, we feast in celebration of the second day of the agōn gamikos. I would have you sit at my table."
Diomedes hesitated briefly. While the honor was significant, he preferred to remain in the background, observing from the periphery. But declining the king's invitation would be disrespectful.
"I would be honored, Your Majesty," he said with a respectful bow of his head.
king Cereus dismissed Diomedes, he smiled at Diomedes back as he exited the throne room.
________________________________________
In the dimly lit halls of the palace, Prince Ageon of Athens moved like a shadow, his steps calculated and his eyes scanning every corner for potential witnesses. His mission was simple but crucial—to ensure the downfall of Diomedes without risking suspicion. The meeting he was about to attend was one he had carefully orchestrated after sending his men to gather information about Argos's most notorious figures.
In one of the farthest, most secluded corridors of the palace, Ageon found Lucius. The apothecary was waiting, his hunched figure leaning against the wall. His pale, bony fingers were clasped around a small wooden box, and his face was twisted into a sly grin, his crooked teeth gleaming faintly in the torchlight.
"Prince Ageon," Lucius rasped, stepping forward. His voice was as sharp as a blade, his demeanor as insidious as the poisons he brewed. "Your reputation precedes you. I hear the Athenian prince is not only cunning but daring enough to visit the dark corners of Argos. What can I do for you?"
Ageon didn't waste time with pleasantries. "I need a potion. Something discreet, not for killing but for weakening. It should sap the strength of even the mightiest warrior but do so slowly, over hours, without immediate suspicion. Can you do this?"
Lucius's smile widened. "Ah, not for murder, then. How virtuous of you, my prince." He chuckled, the sound low and unsettling. "Yes, I can craft such a brew, but it will not come cheap. Subtlety requires skill, and skill demands payment."
Ageon retrieved a pouch from within his robes, tossing it to Lucius. The apothecary caught it deftly, opening it to reveal a pile of gleaming silver coins. His eyes lit up with greed as he counted them.
"This will suffice," Lucius said, slipping the pouch into his cloak. "Follow me. The craft requires precision, and I trust you'll appreciate the effort."
Lucius led Ageon deeper into the palace's neglected wings, to a hidden workshop cloaked in shadows and filled with the pungent aroma of dried herbs, charred wood, and something faintly metallic. The room was cluttered with shelves, each lined with jars containing strange powders, desiccated plants, and liquids of unnatural colors.
"Watch closely, Prince Ageon," Lucius said, his bony fingers already at work. "This brew is a masterpiece, a slow poison that will weaken even the strongest bull. Perfect for your purposes."
He began selecting ingredients, each more sinister than the last. Belladonna leaves, aconite extract, powdered hellebore root—these were the tools of his trade. He ground them with a mortar and pestle, his movements precise and deliberate, muttering ancient incantations as he worked.
The concoction bubbled in a small cauldron, emitting a faintly sweet yet sickly aroma. Lucius stirred it with a wooden rod, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. After several minutes, he poured the brew into a small glass vial. The liquid inside was pale and unassuming, its true nature hidden behind its innocuous appearance.
"This," Lucius said, holding the vial up to the torchlight, "is your answer. A single drop in food or drink, and within hours, the victim will feel their strength ebbing away. Their limbs will grow heavy, their mind clouded, and their will to fight diminished. It is subtle but effective. Use it wisely."
Ageon took the vial, inspecting it closely. "You are certain it will not kill him?"
Lucius grinned. "I am an artisan, my prince, not an executioner. This will leave him alive, but not unscathed."
Satisfied, Ageon nodded. "Good. Your services will not be forgotten, Lucius."
Ageon returned to his chambers, the vial hidden securely within his robes. He summoned a young maid, one he had carefully chosen for her naivety and eagerness to please. The girl entered, her steps timid yet hopeful, her eyes bright with excitement at being summoned by the Athenian prince.
"You called for me, my lord?" she asked, curtsying.
Ageon gave her his most charming smile. "Yes, my dear. I have a task for you, one of great importance. You will deliver a drink to the Champion of Argos, Diomedes. Tell him it is a token of goodwill from the princes, a gesture of honor for his valor."
The maid hesitated, her brow furrowing. "But why me, my lord?"
Ageon stepped closer, taking her hand in his. "Because you are trustworthy, loyal, and beautiful. When I return to Athens, I will not forget your service. Perhaps you will join me there, as my concubine. You would be cherished and cared for, I promise you that."
Her cheeks flushed, her eyes widening with a mix of awe and anticipation. "I... I will do as you ask, my prince."
"Good." Ageon handed her the vial, his tone soft but firm. "Mix this into his wine. It is a rare spice, meant to enhance the drink's flavor. He will appreciate the gesture."
The maid took the vial, clutching it tightly. "I will not fail you, my lord."
As she left, Ageon's smile faded, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. "Let us see how invincible you truly are, Diomedes," he murmured to himself.
The grand dining hall of the palace was alive with celebration. Golden candelabras illuminated the room, casting a warm glow over the dignitaries and champions seated at long tables adorned with silver platters of roasted meats, fruits, and delicacies. Music played softly in the background as servants moved deftly between the guests, refilling goblets and bringing fresh trays of food.
Diomedes, dressed in a striking black-and-white robe, sat at the champion's table. This was only the second time he had participated in a palace feast, and though the occasion was grand, he remained grounded, his thoughts divided between the games and the suspicious activities he had noticed earlier. Around him, the other champions raised their goblets in his honor, congratulating him on his victory over the Cretan Bull.
"To Diomedes, the Hero of Argos!" one champion roared, his voice carrying across the hall.
The others echoed the toast, their voices a chorus of camaraderie and respect.
Diomedes smiled, lifting his goblet in return. "To the strength of all warriors and the glory of the gods," he replied, taking a measured sip.
Seated near him was the Spartan champion, a rugged man with a scar running down his cheek, his presence exuding discipline and strength. He studied Diomedes with a keen eye, his expression thoughtful.
"You don't look like an Argive," the Spartan said, his voice low but clear. "Your build, your demeanor—it's different. Where do you hail from, truly?"
Diomedes chuckled lightly, evading the question with a diplomatic smile. "Argos is my home, and its honor is mine to defend. What more is there to know?"
The Spartan nodded, though curiosity lingered in his gaze.
At the royal table, Prince Ageon of Athens sat among the other princes, his demeanor outwardly relaxed but his mind calculating every move. The celebration provided the perfect stage for his schemes. His gaze flicked between Princess Andromeda, resplendent in a golden gown, and Diomedes, seated at the champion's table.
He raised his goblet, his voice carrying an edge of theatrical charm. "Your Majesty," he said, addressing King Cereus, "would it not be fitting for Princess Andromeda to honor her champion with a toast? After all, his victories are as much hers as they are Argos's."
The king, in high spirits, laughed heartily. "A splendid idea! Andromeda, my dear, toast your champion. Let all see the bond between Argos and its hero."
Andromeda, though slightly caught off guard, nodded gracefully. She signaled to a nearby maid to prepare a goblet of the finest wine for Diomedes. Unbeknownst to her, this maid was the very one Prince Ageon had deceived earlier.
The maid approached Diomedes with the poisoned goblet, her hands trembling slightly as she placed it before him. "From Princess Andromeda," she said softly, bowing before retreating quickly into the crowd.
Diomedes looked at the goblet, the rich aroma of the wine wafting upward. With no reason to suspect anything amiss, he raised the drink in Andromeda's direction, his expression warm.
"To the honor of Princess Andromeda and the glory of Argos," he declared, his voice strong and clear.
The hall erupted into cheers as Diomedes tipped the goblet back and drank deeply, the sweet yet subtly metallic taste of the wine unnoticed in the celebratory atmosphere.
Prince Ageon watched intently from his seat, satisfaction flickering in his eyes as Diomedes drank the poisoned wine. Masking his intentions, he rose from his place and approached the champion's table, weaving through the crowd with an air of casual camaraderie.
"Diomedes!" Ageon exclaimed, his voice dripping with faux admiration. "A toast well-earned. Few could stand against the Cretan Bull, yet you made it look almost effortless."
Diomedes set his goblet down, turning his sharp gaze toward the Athenian prince. Though Ageon's words were flattering, there was something in his tone—a subtle insincerity—that did not sit well with him.
"It was a challenging fight," Diomedes replied evenly. "The Bull of Crete is a formidable opponent."
"Indeed," Ageon said, clasping a hand on Diomedes's shoulder with an overly familiar grip. "But one must wonder, what drives a man like you? Such skill, such precision—it seems almost godlike. Are you truly a mortal like the rest of us, or has Olympus favored you with its gifts?"
Diomedes raised an eyebrow at the remark, his instincts pricking at the unusual attention. Still, he gave a polite smile. "We all have our roles to play, Prince Ageon. Mine happens to be on the battlefield."
"Ah, humble as well," Ageon said with a chuckle. "Argos is fortunate to have you, truly."
As he walked away, his smirk deepened, hidden from Diomedes's view. The seeds had been sown, and now all Ageon needed was time for the poison to take effect. Meanwhile, Diomedes returned to his drink, unaware that every move he made was now being watched by more than one pair of scheming eyes