Niko’s face was pushed into the arena floor—again.
His attacker was a young man the same age but built like an ox and a head taller than the young poet. Niko writhed under his weight, his hands pushed down his back, just above his chitoniskos. He spat out dust.
On any other day Niko would have felt aroused at the contact.
But today he was just pissed.
The man had made a mistake in leaving Niko’s legs free. Grunting, Niko twisted and kicked the other man in the guts, sending him stumbling backwards.
Niko forced himself to his feet, wondering how much more he’d have to endure.
The other man wiped blood from his lips. He was as undressed as Niko, only wearing the skirt-like chitoniskos around his waist. No boots, bracers, or helmets—on selection day the commanders only wanted to see strength and skill.
“Is that all you’ve got, little man?”
Niko tried to think of a witty retort but only coughed—he inhaled more dirt than he realized.
The other man laughed, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms. “The only place you’re destined is the afterlife.”
He charged, Niko managing to sidestep just in time.. Niko—not for the first time—cursed the officer who plucked his name out of a clay pot on conscription day. He understood that the city of Thebes needed new recruits for its army, but Niko didn’t understand why he—a nineteen-year-old who longed to perform ballads and epics in the city taverns—needed to be recruited. Perhaps he’d annoyed the wrong God?
His opponent ran at him again, this time making contact. The pair grabbed at each other’s shoulders, trying to wrestle the other for the ground. For a moment it seemed that Niko might prevail, but the man managed to wrap his leg around Niko’s and tripped him. This time he didn’t make the same mistake—he immediately fell on top of Niko, enveloping the poet’s lean and slender body under his and forcing him back into the dirt. Niko felt the stubble on the other man’s cheek rubbing against his face, his sweat running onto his back.
He slapped the ground with the palm of his hand.
“Gods, I submit. You win. Again.”
The man grinned as he rolled off Niko and stood up.
“That was a noble effort, Nikos, but congratulations, Doros,” said an older man standing next to them, observing the fight. He wore a bronze breastplate with a red cape fastened to the top—a veteran of the wars against Sparta.
“Doros, the hoplite command has already signalled an interest. Their commander has asked you to attend him at the tent in the corner of the arena.”
Even from his position on the ground he could see a number of heavily armed hoplites in front of a towering white tent watching them.
Well, clearly the hoplites didn’t want him. Fine.
Ignoring his aching muscles and the bruises that were already forming across his skin, Niko forced himself to his feet. But their observer had already walked off, escorting Doros to the hoplites tent.
“Fuck,” Niko muttered, looking around. Similar scenes were playing out around him—pairs of young men, all in their late teenage years or early twenties, vying for the attention of the Theban military commanders that watched on from the edges of the area. Almost all the different units in the army had a representative present. There were the hoplites, of course, as they were the mainstay of the Theban army. Their tent was the grandest, and they had the most officers present. Next to them was the cavalry—but every recruit needed to supply their own horse, and given Niko’s father was never going to give his third son anything, let alone a horse, he had no hope of joining their prestigious ranks. His best bet—at least to his mind—were the scouts, who would advance ahead of the main army armed with javelins and short swords. All of them seemed lean and small like him. But none of their commanders had spared him a second glance. There were a few other units—the royal guard, the auxiliaries, and several others too that Niko didn’t recognize.
No one was paying him any attention.
Niko jogged over to a water station at the side of the arena, using his hands to cup water from a barrel. Most of it ended up running down his bare chest. He scooped another handful of water and tossed it at his blonde, curly hair, trying to get the worst of the dust out of it. It wouldn’t necessarily make him fight better, but it helped get the dirt out of his face. Why they held these trials in the height of the summer months was beyond him.
His heart dropped when he returned his attention to the other pairs fighting. There were so few left, perhaps only a dozen young men out of the hundred that had arrived this morning. That meant everyone else had been recruited.
Niko felt panic grip him. There was no way he could return to his father having failed to be selected. The inevitable punishment would be worse than any military service he could be forced into.
He stumbled back towards the fighting men, trying to make eye contact with anyone willing to spar with him.
Should he try and trip someone up to free their sparing partner? No, the commanders wouldn’t look kindly at that kind of behaviour. A young man next to him was knocked to the ground, his opponent beating his chest in victory.
Two slaves ran from the edge of the arena, picked up the unconscious man and carried him away. The cavalry commander had already waved the victor over.
This was getting desperate.
“What is your name?”
Niko spun around, to see a tall man facing him. He wore a chitoniskos like him as well as a leather harness that criss crossed his chest. A red cape was attached to the leather that wrapped over his broad shoulders. Niko gulped—this man was also a veteran of the Sparta war.
“Niko, my lord.”
The man—who Niko guessed was at least double his age—scowled. “I am no lord boy.” His voice was deep and full of gravel.
The telling off sent shivers through Niko. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“No matter,” the man muttered, releasing the cape from his shoulders. Niko couldn’t help but gulp. Muscles rippled up and down the man’s body. Light hair covered his chest and plunged down his abdomen. His arms seemed larger than Niko’s torso. His thighs were somehow even thicker.
“I wish to spar with you,” the man growled, sounding almost frustrated.
Niko, distracted by this man’s body, thought he’d misheard him.
“Spar…with me?”
“Is that not what I just said?”
He looked at Niko as someone would look at a pile of horse dung.
“Alright,” said Niko, sure he was about to die.
But that was preferable to returning to his father a failure.
He raised his fists and relaxed his legs, as a tutor had once taught him years ago.
The man raised his eyebrow. “Surely you can at least pretend to attack me?”
Niko glanced around. They were one of the only pairs left.
Despite everything inside Niko telling him to run in the opposite direction, Niko half closed his eyes and charged, screaming as loudly as he could.
The man easily sidestepped, slapping Niko over the shoulders as he stumbled past. The young man spun on his feet.
“Is that it?” the older man asked, a bored look across his face.
Fuck. Him.
Niko charged again, this time knowing which was his opponent would sidestep. He compensated in advance, intending to crash into him and—somehow—try to force him to the ground. But the man stepped in the other direction. A cruel laugh escaped the man’s lips as Niko tried to slide to a stop without tripping.
Niko abandoned the idea of charging him. More angry than skillful, he marched right in front of the man. This time his opponent didn’t step away—infact he barely moved as Niko pulled his fist back and punched him as hard as he could in the chest. But his fist connected with the most solid mass of muscle he’d ever come across. He jumped back, clutching his hand as pain exploded up his arm.
But the man didn’t give him any time to recuperate. He wasn’t trying to hit Niko, but was making a point of touching his body faster than Niko could react. The young man stumbled backwards, trying to fend off his attackers hands and think of something to turn this fight in his favor.
His opportunity came as the man lunged, intending to grab Niko by the shoulders. Using his smaller size to his advantage, he crouched and rolled beneath the man, evading his grip. He jumped to his feet and landed a blow between the man’s shoulder blades.
The man clearly wasn’t hurt, but as he turned Niko could see he was pissed. Heart gripped in fear, Niko felt himself be lifted up off his feet—he didn't even try to resist—before being slammed onto the ground.
He closed his eyes expecting his back to break.
But the jarring impact never came. The man never let his body hit the ground, instead—inches above the dirt—he held Niko in midair before gently lowering him. When the young man opened his eyes, all he saw was his opponent staring at him. His eyes were amber and piercing - like honey. A short beard covered his chin, and his forehead was furrowed from years of fighting.
He was the most handsome man Niko had ever seen. For a moment he forgot that he’d lost the fight.
The man stood up, offering a hand to Niko. Reality crashed into him as he let himself be pulled onto his feet. Most of the commanders were leaving the arena. The hoplite tent was being dismantled. The successful recruits were likely already drinking and celebrating. His heart sunk, trying to formulate an excuse for his father that wouldn’t end in a beating.
The man grabbed Niko’s chin, forcing the young man to stare into his eyes.
“You said your name was Niko?”
“....yes.” He found himself lost in the man’s gaze, his heart beating faster than normal.
What is he doing to me? He hoped the man didn’t look down at Niko’s chitoniskos.
The man considered him for a moment before stepping away to retrieve his cape from the arena floor.
“Tomorrow you will join the Sacred Band of Thebes. You will be my partner.”
Thanks for reading! I will publish more in the days to come—things will get spicy. I’m a new author trying to get his work out there, so please let me know what you think or reach out at [email protected]. I’d love to hear from you. Also, I usually publish first on Wattpad - search me up there is you want to read what happens next before anyone else! Thanks x
If you enjoyed this story, consider supporting the author on Wattpad.
To get in touch with the author, send them an email.
