-Greece, 390 A.D.-
Today was the selection for new students. Any child under the age of fifteen that had the guts was coming to Sophianos’ small complex to bid for a spot among his pupils for up to a decade of training in various skills. He made selections every seven years or so, accepting up to five disciples at a time. Sometimes he accepted more if that cycle’s batch was particularly talented, less if they weren’t.
Many of the prospective disciples were the sons of important military leaders, great artists or writers, or government officials. Unfortunately, many of these bright, advantaged boys assumed that, as with most everything else, they could use their status to win a place in Sophianos’ little school.
They were wrong.
Sophianos selected students on merit. Any who tried to bribe him or use their father’s status as a reason to accept them, were immediately thrown out. Over time, word had gotten out about this, so very rarely did Sophianos encounter such arrogance anymore. That suited Sophianos very well, though he would never admit that he took great pleasure in putting the little brats in their place. As someone who had grown up in the worst of conditions, looked down on by boys just like those he now taught, Sophianos enjoyed knocking them down a peg. Not in a harsh way, of course, he wasn’t cruel, and they were just children who had the misfortune of having arrogant parents. But seeing their confused faces as he refused their bribes or boasting, instead requiring them to compose a poem or execute a difficult sword maneuver to be his student, was undeniably satisfying.
The government had awarded Sophianos a full courtyard in which to live and teach disciples. Aside from his own rooms, there was a training field, a classroom, and a small dormitory for the students. Few other mentors were given such space or respect. Of course, other mentors were nowhere near as good at molding mediocre youths into exceptional adults as Sophianos.
Fourteen boys stood in a line in the complex’s training field. Sophianos observed them calmly, silently waiting for the first one to get tired of the silence and break.
The boys ranged in age. The youngest was barely nine, the oldest pushing fifteen. Their clothing was generally uniform, each wearing just a standard tunic made of light material to withstand the summer heat; however, it was easy to tell which boys came from affluent families and which didn’t. Those with tunics of higher quality material, not frayed or tatty, looking bright as if it had been made that day and not washed hundreds of times, those were the rich ones. The others, with faded cloth tunics, sporting small tears, made of cheap fabric, were the poor ones.
Some were confident, staring straight ahead, heads held high. Others fixed their gazes to their feet and kept them there. There were more looking away than looking at Sophianos.
Sophianos was used to that. He had a reputation for being strict. He had become more of a legendary figure than a real, living person to many of these boys. The stories passed around about him were ninety percent untrue, but a hundred percent intimidating. Many took a single fact about him or something he’d done and turned it into a complete fable, making a Herculean tale out of a trip to the market.
For example, Sophianos had once helped a small beggar child buy medicine for his sickly mother, even going so far as to send a doctor over to tend to her. Somehow this became known to the general public and now the story had become a heroic tale of Sophianos single handedly saving the mother and child from the maw of a vicious beast using his superior sword skills. The young mother was accidentally poisoned by the beast’s venom, and according to the story, Sophianos had cobbled together a cure from plants in the woods, carrying her and her child in his humongous, muscled arms back to safety.
Sophianos had no idea why people were so keen to embellish something so small. But what was inconvenient about this strange hero worship was that it set up a lot of expectations in his students’ minds. Most assumed he was as tall and thick as a tree, in his forties, and strong enough to crush boulders with just two of his fingers.
If only. Sophianos was actually only twenty-three, he had a slender, lightly muscled build, and though skilled in the sword, he certainly wasn’t strong enough to go around crushing boulders. This was sometimes a source of disappointment for students who had been expecting a wolf and received a kitten with particularly sharp claws.
As Sophianos paced back and forth in front of his potential students, he could tell that some of them were experiencing this disappointment. A handful of them kept sneaking glances at him, evaluating his build and comparing it with the image in their heads. He could tell that those few were reconsidering their decision to come today because of it but stayed if only because of Sophianos’ reputation.
Sophianos examined each student in turn, silently cataloguing a wealth of information despite the fact that none of them had introduced themselves or demonstrated any skill. As he came to the end of the line, however, Sophianos’ mouth twitched in surprise.
Well. At least there was one ballsy student in the bunch. A spindly boy, with black eyes that dominated his small face, perhaps ten years old, was staring right at him. It wasn’t a stare focused off in the distance, either. This boy tracked Sophianos’ movements diligently, and when Sophianos looked at him, the boy met his gaze, perking up like a little dog called to attention.
Sophianos suppressed an amused snort. He walked toward the brave boy, startling all the other students with his sudden movement. The boy who’d been watching him stiffened, mouth tightening, as if he expected to be disciplined for his insolence.
But Sophianos just stopped in front of him, hands clasped behind his back.
“You. What’s your name?”
The boy shuddered slightly at the sound of Sophianos’ voice. “A-Alexei.”
“Hmm,” Sophianos hummed. His voice was pleasantly deep and calming. “And how old are you, Alexei?”
“Thirteen.”
Thirteen? Sophianos thought with a slight frown. He looks too small for thirteen. Malnourished, probably.
“Why are you here today, Alexei?”
Some of the boys farther away, snickered, assuming Sophianos was ridiculing Alexei for even bothering to come to the selection when he was so scrawny, so weak. Sophianos hadn’t meant that at all, of course. He was simply curious. This question was also one of his little tests.
Those that answered that they wanted to get a good job were kicked out immediately.
Those that said their parents had forced them to come were kicked out too.
Those that came because they wanted to become famous were brutally removed as well.
The young boy, Alexei, didn’t seem to hear the other boys’ snickering. He lowered his head in respect, hands twisting together nervously as he answered in a small voice.
“I want – I want to be strong.”
“Why do you want to be strong?”
Alexei froze for a minute, not expecting a follow up question. The boy’s gaze slowly slid up from Sophianos’ toes, up the length of his body and finally to his patient expression. Perhaps the heat was getting to the boy, because his cheeks suddenly showed a slight flush through his olive complexion.
“Because you’re strong. I want to be stronger than you,” Alexei said. Immediately after the words left his lips, his expression showed a trace of panic, jaw clenching as he awaited a reprimanding slap, or angry shouting for him to leave. Dead silence fell over the training field.
He wasn’t expecting laughter. He was expecting a hand ruffling his hair even less. He peeked up hesitantly, only to be greeted with a genuine smile. Alexei stared blankly.
“Alright,” Sophianos said. “Let’s make you strong.”