Read Memnon for Free Online Page A

beaded with sweat. Patron frowned. “What is it, Zaleucas?”
    “It’s t-the mob! T-They’ve murdered Diogenes!”

     
    M EMNON’S WEAPONS GLITTERED IN THE LAMPLIGHT—A SWORD, A KNIFE, A pair of javelins—their polished iron edges less cold and unyielding than the eyes watching his preparation. At his back, Patron paced like a caged wolf; Thalia sat on a divan in icy silence. Despite his inexperience in the arena of war, Memnon handled his weapons like a veteran, checking balance, heft, and haft. Satisfied, he placed them on the bed and lifted an oilskin bag off the floor. From it, he pulled a leather corselet.
    “Dammit, Memnon! Use your head!” Patron said. “No man can predict the actions of a mob! They’re like a pack of feral hounds, driven mad by the stench of blood. There’s no reason to their movements.”
    “I am using my head! This mob is guided, Patron! The oligarchs are using them to dispose of their enemies! Who do you think they’ll go after next?” The supple corselet, reinforced in the chest and abdomen with bronze studs, slid easily over Memnon’s head. He tied off the thongs that laced down his left side. “Diogenes was one of my father’s staunchest allies. Logic dictates their next victim.”
    “Say it’s true, say they’re going after Timocrates, what do you think you’re going to do? Storm into his home and drag him down to the harbor? Zeus Savior! His own people will kill you if you try that! Then there’s the oligarchs … will you hold them off single-handedly? You’ve fought in one skirmish with pirates! One skirmish! You’re not Achilles, boy! Get out there in that mob’s way and they’ll tear you to shreds!”
    “So, help me!” Memnon said through clenched teeth. “Or were all those hours spent listening to you go on about our brotherhood just wasted time?”
    Patron looked away, stung. “I’ve got a ship to think about, a commission to fulfill, and forty-nine other lads who look to me for guidance. I can’t abandon them and I can’t squander them in a street fight. Not now.”
    Memnon tucked his knife into his belt, slipped the baldric of his sheathed sword over his head, and took up the pair of javelins. “And I can’t leave my father here to die,” he said. “I’ve got to get to him, convince him to come with us. Artabazus will offer him asylum, I’m certain. We—”
    Patron caught him by the arm. “Listen to yourself, Memnon! You’re a fool if you think you can pry Timocrates from Rhodes in her time of need! Not the gods, not the Furies, not even the golden hoard of Midas could sway the man! This is what he’s been preparing for! This is his Great Battle, and he’ll not stop till it’s over!”
    Memnon wrenched free of Patron’s grasp. “I won’t leave him to die! How can I face Mentor if I don’t at least try? What will he say to me when he asks for news of our father and I answer ‘I do not know, brother, for I left him to be slaughtered by a mob’? I have to try, Patron!”
    Patron exhaled, recognizing the futility of further argument. “We all have our fates, Memnon. Perhaps this is yours; perhaps it’s your father’s fate to die here. I cannot say. I promise you this, though: I will keep
Circe
here as long as I can. Grab Timocrates and get him back to the ship, if you can.” The two men clasped hands. Patron let himself out, leaving Memnon alone with Thalia.
    She sat in silence on the divan, her body wrapped in the bedclothes, her fingers knotted together. Tears wetted her cheeks. When she finally spoke, her voice trembled. “You spoke of logic earlier. Does your logic dictate that you throw your life away to save his?”
    “No, but my blood does,” Memnon said. “He’s my father, Thalia. I have a responsibility to him. I don’t expect you would understand, since—”
    “Since I’m a woman?” she snarled.
    Memnon paused, at a loss for the words to make Thalia comprehend the sense of duty a son possessed for his father. This