Is this how far the people of Macedon has fallen? Is this the legacy Alexander has left us? They speak of Alexander…
He comes across a group of rough-looking men, their armor patched and weapons worn. They sit around a campfire, sharing a meal and swapping stories. He recognizes the look in their eyes – the hunger for gold and glory.
There's 200 of them give or take, living in the outskirts of a primordial forest.
"Who's in charge here?" Euenios calls out, his voice carrying over the crackling fire.
The men look up, sizing him up. One of them stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He's tall, with a scar that runs from his left eye to his chin. His name is Dionysios, a Spartan mercenary.
Euenios approaches, his hand extended. "I am Prince Euenios of Corinth. I've come to offer you a chance at wealth beyond your wildest dreams!"
Dionysios looks at the outstretched hand with skepticism, his eyes narrowing as he takes in the prince's finery. "What's a pretty boy like you know about wealth and war?" he sneers.
The other mercenaries laugh, but there's a glint in their eyes that tells Euenios they're interested. They're desperate for work, for a cause that will fill their coffers and maybe give their lives some meaning.
Their families are long gone.
"More than you think, Dionysios. I need your swords, your ships, and your loyalty. In return, I will pay you handsomely and share with you the riches of Iberia!"
Dionysios crosses his arms, his muscles flexing. "I've heard of Iberia, but I've also heard of many a fool's quest for treasures that don't exist. Why should I trust you?"
Euenios looks him in the eye, his gaze unwavering. "Because if you don't, we're all doomed. Corinth will fall, and with it, the last vestige of our great empire!"
"Our? Our great empire?"
The mercenaries laugh, making Euenios blush in shame.
"We are not Macedonians! We're Spartans, Athenians, Greeks from the Peloponnesus, we are no Macedonian. How dare you, how dare you compare us to you barbarian foreigners, subjugators!"
"Well what did the Greeks do for themselves then? Where are your great leaders? Is there another panhellenist like Alexander!"
"You speak of Alexander, there is no Alexander! There is only Antigonos II and a crumbling empire get your head out of a swivel boy!" Dionysus spits on the ground.
Euenios stops himself from speaking, his gaze as hard as steel, staring into the mercenaries' eyes.
"Dionysus, why are you here outside Thessalonica."
"Get off your horse boy, we can talk in level ground." Dionysus points his sword to him, causing the royal guards to unsheathe their own swords.
"Or are you afraid you'll be assassinated?"
Euenios raises his hand, and hops off his horse.
"Fine, I'll talk."
…
The fire casts flickering shadows on Dionysios's face. "I was born in Lamia, but grew up in Sparta. Yes I know you have stories of Spartans but that is history. Now is now. My father was killed by the Illyrians when I was a young kit, my mother and sister sold into slavery. Like locusts, the barbarians ravaged the land, Sparta, Athens, they were powerless. I was powerless. Now I am a sell sword after a ran away in battle."
Dionysus of Lamia looks at the Prince.
"A down on their luck mercenary huh. Promise me the money and I'll follow you, we've got nowhere to go."
"I promise you-"
"Don't just say it, look at me, look at my face your highness, the face of your subject. Say I promise then."
Euenios looks straight at his brow, his olive eyes, uneven sideburns, and collarbone, seeing the vestiges of a weathered, battle-hardened Greek far from the pomp and circumstance in the Forums.
"I promise, to bring you glory."
…
..
.
Euenios rides back into Thessalonica alone, after being here for three days he easily finds his way to the inn he left Lysandra. The horses hooves clatter on the cobblestone streets, echoing through the quiet night. The moon casts a silver glow over the city, highlighting the grandeur of the palace in the distance. His thoughts are a whirlwind as he considers his newfound allies and the weight of his promise to them. He can't help but feel a twinge of doubt. Can he truly lead these men? Can he be the savior he claims to be?
As he dismounts and ties his horse to the post, he takes a deep breath and straightens his tunic. He must put on a brave face for Lysandra. He must convince her of the necessity of their cause, even if he's not entirely convinced himself.
He feels like a madman. Really? Betting everything on a dream? This is insanity, but wasn't Alexander insane when he crossed the Hellespont?
The door to the inn creaks open, and he steps inside, the warmth and the smell of roasting meat enveloping him. He scans the room, his eyes finally settling on Lysandra. She sits at a table in the corner, her hands folded in her lap. She looks up as he approaches, her full lips curling into a smile of relief.
"Your Highness!" she exclaims, standing up.
He nods curtly, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt. "Lysandra, we need to talk."
"About what?"
"You need to go… I need to focus on this, and it's going to take a long time. You need to live your life."
"What.."
"You heard me Lysandra… You're a normal girl, maybe you'd meet someone, have kids, and all that." Euenios looks straight at her, her eyes glistening as she looks back, but Euenios sighs and pats her shoulders.
"Live well Lysandra, I don't want you to be cooped up in this trouble with me."
Euenios walks away as Lysandra sobs behind him. He can feel the weight of his decision, but he knows it's for her own good. The fate of Macedonia is in his hands, and he can't risk her getting caught in the crossfire of his ambition.