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Horatii
“Now, be gone mine sons and in answering the Spartan call may you return with your shields or upon them!” Adrastos ceremoniously handed the finely wrought swords, of the House Admes, to his young fresh-faced sons. The uneasy warriors took the swords tentatively, unsure whether to follow their father’s will. Calisto, Kelt and Zenas clung anxiously to each other, fearful of the impending war which they had been reluctantly drafted into. The evening sun sat low on the horizon, the last glimmers of light falling softly on the gathered assembly. The air was eerily hushed, like the calm before a storm, waiting in anticipation for the Spartans to march to war.
The decorative courtyard loomed overhead boldly, as the soft lamentations from the mourning women drifted out into the dusk. Their pleas were echoed by the walls, fearful for their sons and brothers macabre fate. The gathered women leaned on each for support as they forlornly listened to the speech Adrastos bellowed pompously at his sons. “When the foe flees before our great warriors, like the dogs they are, grant them no quarter till the dirt is sodden with the blood of their dead!” Sheathing their swords clumsily, the three brothers stared pensively at their mother and sisters who met their stares with hopeless expressions. The mourning women began their lamentations and pleas with renewed vigour as the hour drew near for the brothers to leave the household. The air was eerily hushed, like the calm before a storm, waiting in anticipation for the Spartans to march to war.
The group remained in silence until the youngest daughter of Adrastos was stirred by her pity to take action. Spurred on by her brothers’ plight Anusia pushed her father to the side, vainly groping for the extended arm of Zenas. Adrastos fell harshly, grazing his hand on the coarse stones. He swore reverently to the Gods, as his wife helped him to get up off the ground. Anusia had not yet embraced her brothers properly before she was pulled back by Adrastos, whose expression had grown to be as crimson as his luxurious mantle. “You onerous wench, how do you encompass the impudence to affront me in my own residence? What drove you to such lunacy? Be seated before I cast you out from this family!” Adrastos gripped Anusia’s arm in a vice like hold, his eyes staring at her, the loathing seething from his very core. She shrieked in pain as Adrastos flung her to the floor, spitting at her, on the brink of losing control.
Picking herself up off the floor with as much elegance as she could manage; she once more approached her father saying her piece in a fearless manner. “No father. I will not tolerate it; you will not sentence our proud family to demise because of your mindless notions. It is you who ought to be cast away from our family.” The air was eerily hushed, like the calm before a storm, waiting in anticipation for the Spartans to march to war.
The mood in the courtyard was distorted beyond recognition; as each person waited for Adrastos’ reaction. The mourning women feared for Anusia, both livid at her actions however still sincerely in agreement with Anusia’s point. Zenas glanced frantically at Kelt, beseeching the eldest son to step in but Kelt did not stir. The courtyard remained silent. Everyone silently baited their breath. The soft sound of howling wolves sounded like a dirge as it drifted over the top of the courtyard; the full moon peaking into the heavens which was already dappled with attractive glowing stars. The last sounds of the slumbering city became distinct, the bazaar vendors hawking their final wares. Juvenile children shouting and playing before their mothers called them in from their enjoyment to slumber. Another noise also troubled the strained silence within the courtyard. The sound of the war drums starting up. The call had begun. It was time. Bang. Bang. The air was eerily hushed, like the calm before a storm, waiting in anticipation for the Spartans to march to war.
“The outrage! The disrespect! I can’t believe it Anusia; you have been a spike in my side for years now. I’m thankful your mother is dead because now you can unite with her and Hades in the underworld!” Adrastos’ fury was in full swing, the war drums summoning the ruthless warrior he grew up to be. Zenas rested his moist hand on the hilt of his blade, judging whether to guard his dearly loved sister against his father’s wrath. He once more glanced at the faces of his brothers. They were set in stone, giving away no aspect of their emotions. The silence was broken only be the sound of steel being drawn as Adrastos twisted to face Anusia once more. The war beats sounded. The beat continually pounding. Bang. Bang. It was a tense moment yet the air was eerily hushed, like the calm before a storm, waiting in anticipation for the Spartans to march to war.
Adrastos swung his falchion at Anusia’s head and he staggered faintly when he made contact with Zenas’ blade. “No father. No more blood shed. It will not be done!” With this rebellious proclamation, the two warriors faced each other diagonally across the courtyard. A swordfight was about to begin which had been noiselessly accepted by both participants. Adrastos’ mantle slid swiftly to the floor, as he took up his place, ready for the encounter. Zenas visibly steadied himself, removing his own headdress and plain cloak. Both father and son stared at each other without blinking, as the women began to beg both to relinquish this rash resolution. Kelt and Calisto ushered the broken-hearted women into the manner with out a backward glance. The screams for a peaceful conclusion fading as the bulky timber doors slammed shut. Father and son faced each other, steeling themselves for what they were about to commence. The moon cast a tranquil glow around the courtyard illuminating the combatants. The war drums ceased. It was time. The air was eerily hushed, like the calm before a storm.
WRITTEN BY BEN S (10W)