“Yes. Immediately!”
The Phocian still hesitated, but Dienekes gestured sharply. “Let’s not waste any time. I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry, and neither of us is going to get a bite until we’ve seen this trail.”
With a shrug, the Phocian turned and led Dienekes back through the West Gate, while Leonidas continued looking out in the direction from which the enemy would come. His companions waited until the Phocian was out of hearing, and then Demophilus risked the question: “Does this mean we have to abandon Thermopylae? That it is not defensible?”
Leonidas considered the Thespian nobleman, noting the desperation in his eyes. There was literally no place between here and Thespiae where the Greeks, with their inferior numbers, had a fighting chance against the overwhelming might of Persia. For Thespiae, a successful defense of Thermopylae was the last and only hope of retaining their freedom and independence. They had already sent their women, children, and aged parents to Lacedaemon for safety, but the city itself, their homes, temples, shops, and fields―the basis of their livelihood and their identity―would certainly fall to the Persians if Thermopylae were abandoned.
Leonidas shook his head and said firmly, “No. This does not make Thermopylae indefensible―only more difficult to defend. We will have to detach troops to guard this mountain trail, and that will reduce the number of men we can deploy here in the Pass. We’ll have to await Dienekes’ assessment of what size force is necessary up there. Meanwhile, let’s work out how we want to organize our defense here.” Leonidas gestured for the others to retrace their steps through the West Gate, but lingered and cast a final look over his shoulder at the empty plain before following them.
At the ruined Phocian wall, they encountered the commanders of the other allied contingents conducting a reconnaissance of their own. These men were noticeably impressed by the terrain―and already squabbling over the best strategy for stopping the Persians. Some of the men argued that they should fight as far back as possible, forcing the Persians to first file through the West Gate, then clamber over the wall, and finally file through the East Gate―by which time, these strategists suggested, they would be so disorganized that the Greeks could just pick them off.
“How many of our hoplites can we deploy in the East Gate at any one time?” Leonidas asked.
“Oh, five or six,” one of the advocates of this theory answered readily.
“So against a million Persians you want forty men to stand alone?” Those who had opposed this strategy immediately picked up on Leonidas’ implied criticism. “That’s just what I was saying!” “If we let them walk through the West and Middle Gates, then we have no second line of defense!”
The Corinthian commander started arguing, “We should meet them right at the West Gate! It’s just as narrow as the East Gate, but if it’s breached, then we have two more fallback positions.”
“And you’ll be in the front rank, I presume?” Leonidas asked. “You and four of your best friends to face a million men? While the Persian mountaineers climb easily over that hill and outflank you?” Leonidas’ tone was soft and polite. He did not mock or sound sarcastic. He didn’t have to. The Corinthian caught his breath. Leonidas continued, “Or did you think that was my place? That the Spartans should stand up there while the rest of you waited in the fallback positions? If that is your notion, then consider this: we would not last five minutes up there, and then it would be you and your friends after all, wouldn’t it?”
“So what do you Spartans propose?” the Mycenaean commander asked in an exasperated tone. As a city that had sent only eighty hoplites, he did not expect his own opinion to carry any weight. His city was allied to Sparta to keep the Argives away; in exchange they followed wherever the Spartans led and took their orders from Spartan officers.
Leonidas pointed to the wall. “We’ll take our stand here, at this wall.” The others looked at the ruins a little dubiously, so Leonidas expounded. “We need to rebuild it first, of course, and shore it up, but six thousand men should be able to manage that in half a day. We can keep our reserves behind the wall, out of reach of Persian archers, and fight in relays in front of it. The need for the Persians to funnel through the West Gate will, as you noted correctly, both slow their advance and disrupt their formations, but by fighting in front of the wall in the wider area,” he gestured, “we can bring more of our own men to bear.” He paused to size up the field, his head swinging from side to side. “Either one hundred twenty-five by eight or one hundred by ten.” He paused to let the others look back and forth across the field, squinting and making their own mental count of possible ranks and files. They started to nod.
“That means we’d only deploy a thousand men at a time?” the Mantinean asked.
“Correct,” Leonidas agreed. “The Persians will never tire. Their dead, wounded, and exhausted men will be replaced from their inexhaustible supply without pause. Only the hours of darkness will force them to suspend fighting. We, on the other hand, need to husband our strength, because we’ll have no relief here until the sixth day after the full moon, when the full Spartan army will arrive. If we fight in relays of one thousand men at a time, each unit fighting for one hour at a time, no unit will need to fight more than two hours a day―three at the extreme―with time to rest, drink, and dress wounds in the intervals.”
The others grunted approval, nodding and looking around themselves and the battlefield. Leonidas thought he detected greater confidence in their expressions than a few moments earlier. “Let’s post lookouts, rotating among the units just as we’ll rotate the burden of fighting, and put the rest of the men to work on rebuilding the wall.”
“But we only just got here!” someone protested, while another objected, “The men are exhausted from marching!” And someone added, “We all need a meal.”
“And that,” Leonidas turned and pointed behind him, “is the dust of Xerxes’ millions blowing across the mountain face. You rest now, and you’ll rest in Hades tomorrow!”
Even Oliantus started and looked over his shoulder in alarm, as did Demophilus and Isanor.
“Are you sure?” one of the others protested. “It looks like haze to me.”
“Are you sure?” Leonidas countered. Then he walked away, giving orders to Oliantus and Isanor to put the troops to work repairing the wall near the coast where it was most ruined. By dusk it was clear that Leonidas was right. The “haze” had increased all afternoon, and the plain darkened, like a blanket slowly soaking up water from the far edge. Then as daylight faded, pinpoints of light started appearing, not only on the plain but on the flanks of the mountains beyond. Work on the wall became correspondingly energetic and continued at a fevered pitch until it was completely dark. Instead of returning to their camp at Alpeni, however, many of the men spilled through the West Gate to stare in wonder at the multitudes mustered to destroy them.
The enemy fires were still multiplying. “There are more fires than stars in the night sky!” a young man exclaimed in amazement.
“And each fire represents what?―Ten or twenty men?” an older man grunted.
Leonidas, too, was trying to mentally calculate the enemy numbers. He chose a single square of blackness, counted the dots of light, and then attempted to calculate how many such squares were lit by distant fires. It was too much for him.
Dienekes came up behind him, smelling of sweat-soaked linen and leather. Leonidas turned to him with an unspoken question. Dienekes shrugged. “As the Phocian said, it’s rugged terrain. Impossible for horses. But good foot soldiers can manage it easily―especially troops from the mountainous regions of Xerxes’ empire. The good news is that it should be possible to hold a raiding force of, say, two thousand men with a defensive force of four to five hundred. We could send some of the Arkadians. They’re mountaineers.”
“And not defending their homes yet,” Leonidas countered. “Furthermore, the Persians never do anything by half. If they send a raiding party, it’s more likely to be five
thousand than two thousand strong.”
“That’s assuming they find the trail at all,” Dienekes pointed out. “After seeing it, I think it unlikely they’ll discover it on their own.”
“They don’t have to. It only takes one traitor.”
Dienekes had no answer to that.
“The Phocians have the most to lose in a defeat here,” Leonidas noted. “They are also the most familiar with these mountains. I think putting all one thousand of their men on the track would be the best means of defending it―provided a thousand men can deploy effectively?”
“They could, but if we position all the Phocians up on the trail, we’ll not have them here. Can we afford to reduce our force here by one-sixth?” Dienekes countered, with a telling glance at the hundreds of thousands of fires lighting up the plain.
“We won’t deploy more than a thousand men at a time. If each contingent of a thousand fights an hour, they have four hours to rest before they are on the line again. It should be enough.”
Dienekes nodded slowly, but he was frowning, evidently not convinced. “What about sending the perioikoi to hold the trail? We know their quality. We’ve never seen the Phocians fight.”
“True,” Leonidas agreed, thinking the plan through a second time, “but we also don’t know they will have to fight. Maybe no one will betray the path. The Phocians are essentially a trip wire. Their job is to hold the Persians long enough for us to reinforce them. How long would that take from here?”
“Three to four hours,” Dienekes judged.
“If the Phocians have good forward scouts, they should be able to detect an approaching Persian army at least one, possibly two, hours before contact is made. They would only have to hold their own for an hour or two.”
“Assuming we can spare troops from here,” Dienekes pointed out.
“If we’re about to be outflanked, we’ll have to spare them. But until there is some indication that the Persians have found out about the trail, I’m reluctant to deploy some of my best troops. Except for the Thespians, Tegeans, and perioikoi, I don’t know how anyone will fight.” He looked at the men around them, who were still mesmerized by the Persian forces.
“Well,” Dienekes gestured toward the increasing number of lights spreading in the darkness, “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.”
The two Spartans looked again at the men jostling one another, pointing and discussing the awesome Persian force. They overheard a man remark in a loud voice, “There are so many of them, when they shoot their arrows, they will darken the sun.”
Before Leonidas could respond, Dienekes called out, “Good! Then we’ll fight in the shade!”*
Everyone within hearing turned around and strained to see who was speaking, belatedly realizing that the Spartan king and one of his officers were standing among them. They laughed nervously, from discomfort rather than amusement. Leonidas and Dienekes exchanged a glance; they could feel panic spreading.
Within two hours, several allied commanders were demanding a conference to “make a command decision before it’s too late.” Leonidas had been taking a meal around his own fire with the other Spartan officers and the seer Megistias. When the request for a council reached him, Bulis at once muttered contemptuously, “Cowards!”
“Watch your words,” Leonidas warned Bulis. “Or do you want to find yourself here alone with the perioikoi?”
Bulis swallowed down his reply. Leonidas got to his feet. He stepped over his kit, which he had been using as a seat, and headed toward the wall where the other commanders had gathered.
As he moved, Leonidas became aware that two men were flanking him. He stopped. They stopped. He looked to his right and left but could not identify the men who were shadowing him. The campfires disrupted night vision by providing only small circles of unsteady light between which stretched greater darkness. Leonidas guessed, “Maron?”
“Yes, sir?”
“I don’t need an escort. These are our allies.”
“Yes, sir.”
Leonidas took another step. The guardsmen kept pace on either side.
“That’s enough.”
“We have our orders, sir.”
“From whom?”
“Dienekes, sir.”
Dienekes had been given command of one of the three companies of the advance guard. His company was composed of the eighty-seven guardsmen who had living sons, plus men like Bulis and Alpheus who had been absorbed into the company to bring its complement up to one hundred. Leonidas was perfectly aware that―oracle or no oracle―they were determined see that he died at the last possible moment, so that the command did not fall to someone less competent.
“Then be more discreet about it,” Leonidas advised and continued.
When he reached the other commanders, he heard the Corinthian commander arguing passionately for a withdrawal. “This is madness! No one can withstand such a multitude!”
Demophilus countered hotly, “Medizing already? Why did you bother to come at all? To try to destroy the morale of the rest of us?”
“What do you Thespians know of war? Do you think the Muses will help you here?” the Corinthian sneered.
Leonidas clamped his hand on Demophilus’ arm before he drew his sword. He pulled Demophilus back forcefully, stepping between him and the Corinthian. “We can use all the help we can get―from the Muses, too. Surely you know we Spartans honor the Muses second only to Athena? So. You wanted to talk to me?” He looked around the circle of allied commanders.
“Look.” One of the Arkadians gestured vaguely to the headland visible across the Malian Bay. “There are more men out there than I can count! How can we possibly fight them?”
“I don’t think that looks like more than a million men,” Leonidas retorted. “Didn’t our intelligence talk of a million and a half? Or was it two million?”
“This is no laughing matter!” the Corinthian protested indignantly.
“Am I laughing?”
“You only brought three hundred men!” the Mantinean burst out. “How do you expect to fight all that with so few?”
“If we are to rely on numbers, then all of Greece is not enough to stop the Persian foe. But if courage is what counts, then we are enough.”† Leonidas looked around the circle, forcing each man to meet his eyes or look down ashamed.
At last the Megaran remarked uncomfortably, “No one is questioning Spartan courage, but let’s face it: that force out there is more than we can manage. We need to fall back on the Isthmus and―”
“Fall back on the Isthmus?” The outraged question erupted from Phocian, Trachian, Theban, and Thespian throats in a single roar.
“You would abandon half of Hellas just to save your own backsides?” the Phocian demanded furiously.
“Is this all your promises are worth?” Demophilus demanded, red with outrage. “I was present at the Confederation conference where you vowed to send as many troops as possible to hold the Persians here! Are you going back on your word?”
“We’re here, aren’t we?” the Corinthian pointed out, “And out there! We aren’t just providing hoplites, but triremes as well!”
“Yes, and what would the Athenians think if they learned you Peloponnesians want to turn tail and scamper back behind your Isthmus?” the Phocian demanded angrily.
“This is pointless chatter,” Leonidas cut the recriminations short. “We knew before we came that we would be massively outnumbered. That is not the point. We chose this position because the terrain here favors the defenders. I am far happier standing here, with you, than I would be in Xerxes’ shoes with all his millions.” He paused to let that sink in. Then, ignoring their skepticism, he announced bluntly: “Lacedaemon stays.” He looked pointedly at the Phocians, Trachians, Thebans, and Thespians. “We are honored to fight with free men defending their freedom here, and―” he pointed out to sea, “at Artemisium.” He turned and walked away.
Behind him there was some muttering, but that was all. The other commanders retu
rned to their own troops. There was no more talk of abandoning the Pass.
As always when in the field, the Spartan army kept a watch that patrolled the perimeter of their camp. Every four hours the watch changed. Half an hour before dawn, the watch woke Leonidas and the other officers. While they combed out their hair and put on their arms and armor, their attendants fetched water and helped their masters with their hair. The helot in charge of the sacrificial animals in the baggage train brought forward a kid. Leonidas performed the sacrifice and Megistias read the signs as the other men started to wake up around them.
“Well?” Leonidas asked.
“Totally unremarkable. As if today will be a day like any other,” the seer announced, sounding baffled.
“Maybe it will be. So far Xerxes has shown himself a methodical man of careful planning and dogged determination―but not exactly a man marked by audacity and unpredictability. I expect he’ll settle in and try to get our measure. He’ll reconnoiter as far forward as possible, maybe even send a herald demanding earth and water.” Leonidas paused and looked around until he spotted his deputy. “Oliantus, who has the watch on the wall at the moment?”
“The Tegeans.”
“Good. We’ll go forward for our morning gymnastics.”
Leonidas led all three hundred Spartiates forward from their camp, leaving it to the helots to guard their equipment and supplies. At the wall, they stripped out of their armor and arms, left them behind the wall, and went naked into the broad field between the wall and the West Gate to exercise. Leonidas set the tone by challenging Bulis to a wrestling match, and others followed his example. Alkander and Sperchias jogged side by side around the perimeter of the field. Maron and Alpheus started informal sprinting races. Prokles found some javelins and started hurling them in the general direction of the Persians, but so casually that it did not seem threatening. Soon the wall was lined with their allies, staring at them in disbelief.
“I think we’re causing a sensation,” Alpheus remarked to Maron, as the brothers sat catching their breath and rebraiding their hair.
A Heroic King Page 50
