The Lost Army

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

There must have been some barrier between our men and the Carduchi position. I couldn’t see anything, but Xeno had stopped and was trying to get first up one side and then up the other, without making any headway. Each time they tried to advance, the enemy rolled big stones and boulders at them and the violent barrage set off further landslides of stones and pebbles and rock splinters which were carried off by the turbulent streams of water formed as the rain pelted down on the mountainside. It was a terrifying sight, made even more sinister by the sudden flashes of lightning. A big bolt directly hit a colossal tree which fell to the ground with a huge crash and then caught fire all at once like a torch, spreading a haze of vermilion light over the entire valley.

  Xeno waited until the worst of the fire had died down, and then continued to launch one assault after another, keeping the enemy busy till late that night. He finally returned to camp because his men were exhausted and couldn’t see a thing. Many of them had not even been able to get a bite to eat, and they didn’t have a single spark of energy left in their bodies.

  I watched them coming back and my heart felt as if it would break. They were covered in mud, many were bleeding from gashes and cuts, others were leaning on their comrades and trying to stop the blood seeping from their wounds. The expression in their eyes was difficult to describe but impossible to forget.

  Xeno arrived last, after all the men who had gone out with him had already returned, and reported to Sophos to find out if there had been news from the other group.

  By then Agasias and his bunch should have reached their destination and seized the rise from which they could control the second pass. Perhaps the next day we’d be able to escape the vengeful Carduchi. I looked at the pregnant girl and thought that she’d be getting her last rest. As soon as we got the signal, we’d have to march at the same speed as the men, face the same risk of finishing up under an avalanche of stones or being targeted by their archers. Our men had brought back several of their arrows: they were two arm’s lengths long and looked like javelins. When they fell from the sky, the effect was deadly.

  There was a solution, I thought, but I’d have to make it a surprise attack, a word that made me smile in view of what I was planning. Xeno left to join the others for a meeting. I went to take care of the girl, bringing her blankets and something to eat.

  ‘What’s your name?’ I asked, realizing that I didn’t even know that much about her.

  ‘Lystra.’

  ‘What kind of a name is that?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s what my owner always called me.’

  Her Greek was worse than mine and she spoke with a strange accent, using words cobbled together from many dialects and jargons.

  ‘Where are you from?’

  ‘I don’t know. I was very little when he bought me.’

  ‘So you don’t even know how old you are.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And do you know how soon your child will be born?’

  ‘No. What difference does it make anyway?’

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  ‘Listen well. Eat now, and get some sleep. Try to get as much rest as you can. Look, you can lie down under that spur, so that if it starts raining again you won’t get wet. It’s stopped now but you can never tell around here.’

  The girl started eating without my asking twice.

  ‘Tomorrow will be the worst. If we manage to get through tomorrow, I can’t promise you we’ll rest easy, but at least we won’t have to be scared to death all the time. Tomorrow anything can happen, and each of us will have to take care of herself. We can’t expect help from anybody. I don’t know if it will be better or worse than what we went through today, but you just hang on tight to that mule’s tail. If you have to let go, yell for me and I’ll try to give you a hand, but there’s no saying I’ll be able to.’

  Lystra looked at me with that frightened-animal look of hers.

  ‘I’m not saying that we’re going to die, we might make it. But you can’t count on anyone, not even me. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do,’ answered the girl without changing her expression.

  I gave her another piece of bread. It was stale and hard, but it was still bread.

  ‘Keep this for tomorrow, and don’t eat it until you know you can’t go any further. No situation is so bad that it can’t get worse. Do you understand?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Go to sleep now.’

  I turned to walk away and nearly bumped into the iron breastplate of a young soldier.

  ‘So I’ve found you then! Sorry I couldn’t get here any sooner, there was a fight to be seen to. But I can see that you’re both all right and I’m happy about that. I didn’t mean to knock her down.’

  ‘Nicarchus of Arcadia. Who would ever have guessed? You know, I helped take care of you when you were more dead than alive.’

  ‘I was thinking you looked familiar.’

  ‘Try not to get your belly slit open again; it wouldn’t be easy to sew you up the second time around.’

  The unwitting hero gave me the broad smile of an overgrown adolescent, then went off to join his unit.

  I had the tent set up and started a fire. It wasn’t easy, because all the wood I could find was damp. But there were slaves in every unit that kept a fire burning, day and night, inside a jar that everyone could draw from. I finally managed to build up a steady flame that wasn’t too smoky and I cooked something hot for us, barley soup flavoured with olive oil. I still had a small reserve that Xeno guarded like a treasure. I was very careful to use it as little as I could. I even brought Lystra a little.

  Xeno came back from the meeting with the other commanders. They had planned out every stage of the next day’s operation for each of the units.

  It felt as though we were suspended in a strange, still atmosphere. Unintelligible noises wafted down from above, shouts and cries in a language none of us understood. Every now and then the sound of cascading pebbles let us know that someone was out there in the dark, keeping an eye on us.

  Our sentries were on the alert. They were calling out to each other constantly and this spread a sense of apprehension that was almost tangible. All at once there was a loud whistle, and an enormous arrow struck the trunk of a nearby tree with a dull thud. It would have gone straight through a man.

  And soon one did. Another whistle, followed by a scream of pain. Then Xanthi’s voice, shrill as an eagle’s shriek: ‘Take cover! Everyone take cover!’

  An ear-splitting roar tore through the night air: the sound of hundreds of arrows piercing the air. Xeno jumped to his feet and covered me with his shield: one arrow hit the rim, a second was deflected by the boss and fell to the ground. Shouting everywhere, utter confusion, calling and screaming.

  We wouldn’t be able to count the dead and the wounded until the next morning, when the sun came out. So many had fallen!

  We were encircled by an invisible enemy who had been caught by surprise once, but then instantly adapted to our style of fighting, our weapons, and were striking back with all the strength and courage they were capable of.

  The coming day would bring even greater challenges. I shuddered to think of how many obstacles they’d put in our way, of the superhuman energy and valour our men would need to defeat them. Everything was at stake, and if, at the end of the day, our forces had succumbed, the survivors would have no choice but to fight to the last breath and the last drop of blood, or be massacred like animals in a slaughterhouse.

  The surgeons were already at work to save our wounded.

  Xeno had taken off his armour and laid down his sword, and was writing by lamplight.

  18

  AS WE TRIED to get some rest, our contingent was still advancing, led by the guide they’d captured, along a path that led to the second pass. They moved in silence, careful not to make a sound or to set stones rolling. They arrived at the top of the hill as the enemies who guarded it were preparing to turn in for the night. They were taken by surprise and sla
in; the few who managed to save themselves ran off. But mountain terrain is deceptive: the point they’d reached wasn’t the one that overlooked the whole valley. They realized that there was another rise in a higher position with another group of Carduchi guarding it, but it had become too dark to attempt an assault and our men stopped.

  At dawn they started out, as we too had begun our march, and headed towards the second hill. A damp mist had risen during the night, like the clouds we had walked through the day before, but coming from the ground rather than the sky. It slid ghostlike into the ravines and hovered over the gorges, letting only the tops of trees and craggy cliffs emerge. Our warriors made their way through this milky, billowing veil without being seen. By the time the enemy saw that they were there, our forces had come so close that they mowed them down without a fight.

  The fog had perhaps been sent by one of the gods who protected the red cloaks, as they moved at will through the most hidden reaches of the sky.

  That was when we heard the trumpet blast calling us to the peak. I had slept very badly and everything hurt. That shrill sound pierced my ears, but it gave me the burst of energy I needed to forge on. The second blast sounded more like a cock’s crow announcing the rising of the sun to a sleepy village.

  Lystra, my pregnant friend, had woken up early and was bravely tagging along after the mules. The sky was almost clear of clouds but the cold air quivered here and there with bluish shimmers.

  Xeno was gone, and I hadn’t seen his horse either. That was fine with me, I’d have more freedom to move at my own pace.

  As we started our march, I realized what the plan of action was. Most of the men, led by Sophos, were climbing the slopes straight up towards the rise that our men had occupied. I could see the other commanders – Timas the Dardanian, Xanthi with his long hair, Cleanor gleaming with sweat – seeking other paths to scale the steep mountainside. They were urging on their men, who were pulling each other up using their spears.

  We stayed on the wide path that allowed the baggage animals to pass as well.

  At last I saw Xeno. Behind us, like a sheep dog with his flock, he was making sure that no one was left behind or got lost.

  We were protected on the right and from behind, and the enemy arrived from the left: groups of screaming Carduchi armed with their gigantic bows. Xeno yelled out as well, calling his men to him. They immediately lined up in parallel columns and attacked the rise on which the enemy had appeared. They drew off the enemy’s arrows and stones so we could continue to ascend in our long, winding train. He could have deployed his columns in a pincer formation but he didn’t do so: it was evident that he wanted to leave the enemy a way out if they decided to retreat. In a certain sense he made war while offering conditions for peace, which seemed like a contradiction. But the Carduchi did not understand this benevolence or, if they did, refused to accept it.

  As we climbed, I never lost sight of Xeno and the manoeuvres he was conducting, and my mind wandered to the interpreters who’d got us into this situation. I remembered having thought that someone had managed to find them. That was ridiculous, I realized. Who could have done that, where had they been found, and how? When had there been the time? The Persians had always been on our heels and now it was the same with the Carduchi, who gave us no respite, not even now that we’d left their villages. If I’d been a man, one of the generals or the captains, I would have demanded to know more about those interpreters. But no one had ever taken my warnings seriously, not even Xeno when I told him how worried I was about our commanders meeting with Tissaphernes. And we’d lost all five of them . . .

  Before we’d arrived at the third bend in our path, Xeno had occupied the rise and routed the enemy. The road to the pass was free. And the sky was still clear. Just a little cirrus cloud now and then, light as a tuft of wool, floating off behind the peaks. Xeno maintained his formation halfway up the hillside with the peltasts in front and the heavy infantry behind. He didn’t dare return his men to the rearguard.

  He was right: soon we were attacked again from another rise. I was afraid that this would never end, that they’d attack us again and again without ever letting up, materializing from every gully, pouring out from behind every cliff. There would be no end to their attacks, we would never have peace as long as a single one of us was left alive.

  A third attack, then a fourth. I soon lost count. At every turn in the road, at every saddle between the hills, they’d appear out of nowhere and let fly with clouds, no, storms of arrows, whistling on their way up and falling from on high like murderous hail. And stones, an endless rain of stones as well.

  I glanced back at Lystra and could see that she was panting hard. I called out, ‘Grab on to the mule’s tail!’ but maybe she had become afraid of the animals, who were agitated and skittish because of all the uproar. She was stumbling along on her own, trying not to fall behind.

  We laboured on, and each time that Xeno took another position he left troops behind to defend it and moved on to occupy the next. But we knew that we had to reach the others, or we would be cut off and left at the enemy’s mercy.

  Xeno launched his third attack against a rise occupied by the enemy and succeeded in driving them away. It seemed that an end to our struggle was close at hand, when a couple of our warriors ran towards Xeno, shouting to get his attention. Xeno galloped towards them. ‘What’s happened?’ he asked, even before he’d reached them.

  ‘The enemy has retaken the first hill,’ one replied, gasping for breath. ‘There were thousands of them, we couldn’t hold it. We lost many of our men, others are wounded. Look, they’re up there.’

  Xeno turned towards the hill, where the Carduchi were raising their war cries, celebrating their victory with shrill, syncopated shrieks, like the sounds made by a bird of prey.

  Xeno scanned the troops until he saw his adjutant and called him over with a whistle. ‘Bring me an interpreter,’ he ordered as soon as the man approached.

  The interpreter soon arrived.

  ‘Go up there,’ Xeno ordered him, ‘and tell them I’m requesting a truce so that we can gather our fallen.’

  Xeno never failed his convictions: he made war, he wounded, he killed just as the others did, but he observed certain rules, certain rituals, that made him feel like a human being rather than an animal. The last rites for the fallen were especially important to him. Leaving a comrade unburied pained him exceedingly, and could torment him for days.

  While those negotiations were going on, a great number of enemies joined those who had seized the hill, and the two branches of our army – those who had occupied the pass and those struggling to make their way up – were trying to join forces. But accepting our offer to negotiate was apparently just a ruse on the part of the Carduchi. They suddenly attacked en masse, letting out wild yells and rolling huge boulders down the slope. I ran towards Lystra and pulled her to the ground beyond the edge of the path.

  ‘Your head!’ I shouted. ‘Keep your head down!’

  A stone struck one of our mules full-on and knocked him down. I watched as he tried laboriously to get back up onto his feet and I realized that his backbone was broken. I’ll never forget the look of panicked terror in his staring eyes. One of the warriors passing alongside planted his javelin at the base of his skull with a clean blow and killed him. It put him out of his misery and allowed the column to press on.

  As soon as the stones had stopped flying I raised my head and saw Xeno in the middle of the field leading his men in a counter-attack. He was racing madly towards the top of the hill on foot, enjoining his men to charge. There was no limit to his courage! He was ahead of them all, heedless of the volleys of arrows pounding into the ground all around him.

  All at once, the roar of the avalanche sounded again as the Carduchi released more boulders and rocks against our men. And Xeno was shieldless! Moving so quickly to lead the attack, he had left it hanging from his horse’s back. I watched as a huge stone struck a rocky cliff and broke into four de
adly projectiles. One of the men was hit full in the chest and hurled twenty paces away from where he was standing; another had his left thigh completely crushed. He fell to the ground howling in pain, but his cry was soon extinguished as the blood gushed out of his mangled limb in a matter of instants.

  I could feel my heart bursting as I scanned the hail of stones and arrows for Xeno’s white crest. There it was, waving recklessly in defiance of the ministers of Death who were trying to sink their fangs into him like rabid dogs.

  ‘He’s going to fall,’ I said to myself. ‘Now,’ I thought, at every stone that brushed his helmet, every arrow that penetrated the ground a palm from his foot or that flew between his neck and his shoulder, not even grazing his skin.

  I suddenly focused on a single arrow. It was sparkling, caught by a beam of sunlight, and I could perfectly make out its trajectory. My heart sank, this time I knew it would be the end of him, and of me, and Lystra and all those young combatants charging fearlessly up the hill behind him. The arrow sought Xeno’s chest, rushed towards it with whistling speed, but . . . never plunged into his flesh. It ricocheted, at the very last, off a plate of metal! A shield had been held out to cover him. A barrier of bronze, offered by a young hero to deflect the arrow, which thudded into the ground. Then, side by side, both of them protected by the gleaming shield, they made their way up behind the others. And the contingent that had occupied the pass the night before arrived to succour them as well. The ranks were drawn up in compact order, their red cloaks flaming in the midday light, their shields held high to blind the enemy.

  As they closed in on the Carduchi, the brutish faces of the enemy showed signs of terror. They were no longer the dark phantoms of the night, mysterious spirits of the peaks loosing avalanches. They were shaggy shepherds covered with hides who were fleeing in every direction, stumbling over the dead and wounded. I watched as Timas of Dardania urged his men on, waving a red standard on his spear shaft. There was Cleanor raging like a lion at the head of his Arcadian battalion. Xanthi’s long locks bounced on his shoulders with his every leap. The sound of flutes marked the cadence of their advance as they marched on and roared out their war cry, ‘Alalalai! Alalalai!’