The Exploits of Xenophon

by Geoffrey Household

  2. The Battle of Cunaxa

  The Greek line of heavy infantry was just as supreme in battle as the armoured division is today. It could not be beaten unless the enemy got round its flanks or cut it off from its supplies. The four-deep line appeared as a solid mass of shields, with the long spears sticking out in front. The heads and legs which were above and below the shields were protected by crested helmets and leg armour of bronze. And the men themselves were so athletic and so perfectly trained that, in spite of the weight they were carrying, they could charge at a run without losing formation.

  It was nearly time for the mid-morning halt on September 3rd when Pategyas, one of Cyrus’ Persian staff officers, came galloping at full speed over the plain, shouting in Persian and Greek that Artaxerxes was upon us.

  It looked as if we had been caught on the wrong foot, and there was a lot of confusion. However, Cyrus’ headquarters managed to get out the orders promptly, and we disentangled ourselves and fell in. We saw Cyrus himself strapping on his breastplate and leaping on to his charger with a sheaf of javelins in his fist.

  Greek Infantry

  Clearchus was on the right wing with his flank protected by the Euphrates. Menon was on the left, and Proxenus and the rest of us were in the centre. Out in the desert, to the left of the Greeks, was Ariaeus, Cyrus’ second-in-command, with the native troops. Cyrus and his 600 royal horse guards were in the centre of the whole army. The chests and foreheads of the horses were armoured. The troopers carried the short Greek sabres and had armour on body and legs. All wore great helmets except Cyrus, who went into battle bareheaded.

  In the afternoon we saw a cloud of dust approaching. First it was white, and then, as it rose in the heat, it formed a dark pall over the plain. Through the haze flashed the spear points and the bronze of armour.

  At last the enemy formations could be distinguished. Facing the Greeks was a cavalry division in white breastplates under the command of Tissaphernes. To their right were the wicker shields of light infantry, then the wooden shields of heavy Egyptian infantry, then a mass of more cavalry and archers. The King’s army marched in deep columns, each from a different nation of the Empire, and Cyrus was quite wrong about the shouting. They came on in silence, their feet falling softly and evenly in the dust. Pacing in front of all was a line of chariots, with scythes sticking out from the axletrees and the drivers’ seats. These were meant to charge the Greeks at a gallop and cut right through them.

  King Artaxerxes with his household troops was in the enemy centre. Since his line was vastly longer than ours, that put him well outside Cyrus’ left. Cyrus rode over to Clearchus and told him to wheel round and attack the King. But that was all against the drill-book and would have left our flank unprotected. So Clearchus politely answered that he would see everything turned out all right.

  While the enemy was coming on in this majestic silence and we were still getting the late arrivals into line, Cyrus was galloping about to make a final appreciation. I rode up to him (for I was one of the few Greeks to have a horse) to see if there were any last-minute orders. He reined in and told me to let everyone know that the army chaplains were very pleased with the appearance of the sacrifices.

  As we talked, he heard a murmur of voices running down the Greek line and asked me what it was.

  ‘The watchword being passed along the front,’ I replied.

  ‘I didn’t give any,’ he said. ‘What have they chosen?’

  ‘Zeus our Saviour, and Victory.’

  ‘That will do very well. I like it,’ he answered and rode off to his own station.

  The armies were less than half a mile apart, so the Greeks began to chant the battle hymn and advanced. We were a little too eager, and the line was not straight. Those who were sagging behind started to run. The rest took their pace, and then all charged, yelling the war cry, ‘Eleleu! Eleleu!’ and clashing their spears and shields together to frighten the horses.

  It was too much for the natives. Tissaphernes attacked along the river, scattered our light troops without doing any damage and then rode off. But the rest of the enemy on our front broke before they ever came within bowshot. The scythed chariots rushed all over the place, some of them going back through the enemy’s lines and some—when the horses bolted—through ours. We opened up and let them through, and only one of our fellows, who was standing still and staring in surprise, was knocked over. But even he wasn’t hurt; and in fact we lost only one man, who was hit by an arrow.

  Meanwhile, King Artaxerxes in the enemy centre began to wheel round to get behind us. Cyrus had been waiting for this and charged the King’s horse guards with his own—600 against 6,000. He cut down their colonel with his own hand and chased them off the battlefield. Then Cyrus caught sight of Artaxerxes and rode at the royal bodyguard with no troops but his own personal staff. He wounded his brother in the breast, but himself took a javelin under the eye. The guard killed his companions one after another, and at last pulled out the body of Cyrus from under theirs, and cut off the head and the right hand. Ariaeus and the native troops then fled right through their own camp and didn’t stop till they were twelve miles away.

  At the time we knew nothing of this, for we had lost touch with the enemy. However, it was not long before we heard that Artaxerxes had passed right round us and plundered our camp. He himself found Tissaphernes there and learned that his left wing had been totally defeated.

  It looked as if the battle would begin all over again, so this time we got our backs to the Euphrates. The King advanced on us just as he had done before, but once more his Persians refused to stand our charge. Artaxerxes was left on a little hilltop with nothing but his cavalry and the royal standard, a spread-winged eagle of gold perched on a lance. We attacked again, but we couldn’t catch cavalry. And that was the last we saw of them.

  The sun set and we marched back to our camp for supper. But there was no supper. All our wagons of food and wine had been burned and looted. We had had no time for breakfast, either. So it was not a very victorious night.

  In the morning we got the news of Cyrus’ death. That was a terrible blow. Clearchus at once sent word to Ariaeus that there was no force in the field but ours, and that we were prepared to go through to Babylon and make him king. While we waited for Ariaeus’ reply, we set about getting a meal. The transport animals were slaughtered, and we collected the arrows and the wooden shields from the battlefield, and smashed up the chariots. This wood we used to make big fires to boil the meat.

  We were still eating when heralds arrived from the enemy—all of them Persians except for a Greek called Phalinus, who had somehow managed to sell himself to Tissaphernes as an expert on heavy infantry tactics. They rode up to our camp and delivered the following ultimatum:

  ‘The Great King has won the victory and slain Cyrus. He orders the Greeks to surrender their arms, to proceed at once to the gates of the Palace and there to request the King for terms.’

  Clearchus was in the middle of praying and sacrificing, and refused to be interrupted. He just said that he had never heard of conquerors surrendering their arms and told his fellow-generals to keep the Persians talking.

  The oldest of them, Cleanor the Arcadian, said bluntly that we would die first. Proxenus was more subtle.

  ‘If the King demands unconditional surrender,’ he said, ‘let him come with his army and see if he can take our weapons away from us. But if he wants us to do him a favour, let us hear what he has to offer in return.’

  ‘The King’s attitude is this,’ Phalinus answered. ‘You are in the heart of the Empire, surrounded by impassable rivers. Now that Cyrus is dead, you cannot start a revolution. And it does not matter how many battles you win. You will still be surrounded by masses of enemies. You cannot get out and you cannot get food.’

  ‘That’s true, Phalinus,’ I said. ‘You have the power and we have the courage. But as long as we have our arms, we can do quite a lot with our courage, and you can do very little with your power.’


  ‘One can see you went to school at Athens, young man,’ Phalinus answered. ‘All the same you’re off your head. I wish courage could help you, but it can’t.’

  Some of the others suggested—rather weakly—that the Greek army might be worth as much to the King as to Cyrus. With our help he could recover Egypt, which had revolted from the Empire.

  Just then Clearchus came back, and Phalinus ran over our arguments with him.

  ‘Well, look here, Phalinus!’ Clearchus said. ‘You’re a Greek. Some day they are going to talk of this at home. They will say that a man called Phalinus was sent to a Greek army to demand unconditional surrender and the generals asked him for advice and he told them this, that and the other. Now, what advice do you give us?’

  ‘Frankly,’ Phalinus replied, ‘if you have one chance in ten thousand of saving yourselves by battle, don’t give up your arms! But you haven’t. So my advice is to save yourselves in the only other possible way and surrender.’

  ‘All right,’ said Clearchus. ‘Then here’s our answer. If the King wants our friendship, we shall be a lot more useful to him with our arms than without. And if he wants war, we shall need them.’

  ‘The heralds will report your answer,’ Phalinus replied. ‘Meanwhile, I am commanded to tell you this. While you remain where you are, there is an armistice. But one step forward or one step back, and it is war. Will you stay or not?’

  ‘Well,’ said Clearchus, ‘I entirely agree with the King.’

  ‘But which is it to be?’

  Clearchus wasn’t going to give anything away.

  ‘Armistice if we stay here. War if we move,’ he replied.

  When the heralds had gone, our messengers came back from Ariaeus. He refused to let us make him king. He said that it was hopeless, that the Persian nobles would never accept him. So that was that.

  All the same, the only sensible move was to join forces with him. Clearchus ordered us to march that night and to turn out instead of turning in as soon as we heard the bugles sound the last post. Clearchus was now in sole command. No one elected him but the other generals saw that he knew his own mind and had more experience than the rest of them.

  That scoundrel Ariaeus and his officers swore a solemn oath to be faithful to us, as we did to them; and we decided to retreat together.

  Ariaeus advised against going back the way we had come, because we had already exhausted the supplies of food. So we agreed to follow him on a more roundabout route, and in the morning both armies moved south-east into the villages around Babylon. We did not get much to eat there, for the royal armies had burned even the woodwork of the houses. But we did put the Great King into a panic. He sent us another lot of heralds, and this time there was no talk of surrendering our arms. They asked straight out for an armistice.

  Clearchus bluffed.

  ‘Tell the King we have nothing for breakfast and we’re going to fight till we get it,’ he said. ‘It’s no good blathering about an armistice to Greeks who haven’t had any breakfast.’

  The heralds were back in no time—which was proof that the King or somebody in authority was close to us. They told us that the King considered our reply very reasonable and that, if we agreed to an armistice, they had guides with them who would lead us at once to a district where we could buy food.

  This was great news, but Clearchus kept the heralds waiting a long time before agreeing, just to frighten them. Then we marched off to our food in battle formation.

  The country was appalling—full of ditches and canals that could not be crossed without bridges. Ahead of us, we knew, was the river Tigris, and behind us the Euphrates. And they couldn’t be crossed at all.

  Clearchus showed up magnificently, as he always did in an emergency. He had a spear in his left hand and a stick in the other—and if there were any delays in the bridge-building, he would pick out the slackers and down would come the stick! Nobody could resent it either, for he himself plunged into the mud with us younger men and lent a hand. What was bothering him was a suspicion that the King had opened the irrigation sluices to show us that in this sort of country we were at his mercy.

  The meal was good when we got it—wine and corn and dates. There was also some nasty soft drink that they made by boiling all three. But the dates were wonderful, and they looked like great, golden lumps of amber. The Persians considered that the kind we knew in Greece were fit only for servants. The palm crowns, too, were delicious, but seemed to give one a headache.

  We stayed here three days and received a really high-powered embassy from the King, including his brother-in-law and Tissaphernes. Tissaphernes showed himself most friendly.

  ‘My Greek friends,’ he told us, ‘I cannot say I am sorry you have got yourselves into this mess. It’s a godsend for me, you see. Here I am, your next-door neighbour, governing the Imperial provinces on the frontiers of Greece, and most anxious for your friendship. Now, I have a very good plan for getting you back to your country, and I’m very ready to put it to the King. He owes me a favour. I was the first to tell him that Cyrus was really marching against him, not me. And my troops were the only ones who did not run away at Cunaxa. Now, all the King wants to know is why in the world you marched against him. Do give me a polite answer to take back to him, and I shall be able to help you.’

  After we had discussed this offer in private, Clearchus replied for us. He had only to tell the truth: we had never had any intention of marching against the King, and Cyrus kept on giving us different excuses for the expedition. When at last we did find out what Cyrus’ plans were, we disapproved; but since we had enlisted in his service, we were ashamed before God and man not to keep faith.

  ‘What we want now,’ Clearchus said, ‘is to march straight home. If anyone tries to stop us, we will fight. But anyone who can help us will find us grateful.’

  Tissaphernes kept us waiting three days for the King’s reply. Then he came back and told us that he was going to lead his army home to his own province, and that he had permission from the King to take the Greek army, too. But he would take us only on condition that we behaved as if we were in friendly country and swore not to loot supplies.

  For twenty days we marked time, and the delay was bad for the morale of the army. None of us trusted Tissaphernes. Still, it seemed pointless that the King and he should take a solemn oath to let us go if they did not mean to. And the more we thought of it, the more we saw it was our only chance. We did not even know the geography of the country, or how many rivers we had to cross.

  As for Ariaeus, we had no longer any faith in him at all; he was too busy trying to make his peace with the King.

  At last Tissaphernes and his army arrived, and we started home with them. On October 5th we all crossed the Tigris by a pontoon bridge made of thirty-seven boats, and in the next two weeks we marched 200 miles up the river. All the time we were suspicious of each other. Tissaphernes could never forget that we were able to defeat and scatter his army whenever we chose. And we, on our part, knew very well that with every day which passed it was becoming easier for him to desert us and leave us to starve.

  I myself never liked the truce. There were the Persians marching through their own huge, rich empire, with heaps of provisions and cattle, fine clothes and servants and gold. And camped alongside them, just looking on helplessly at all this, were our own soldiers with little food and no money, yet bound by oath to buy what they needed and not to loot.

  Clearchus was far too confident. He thought he had found in Tissaphernes the kind of friend he wanted, who would employ him and his men on all sorts of profitable adventures. This played right into Tissaphernes’ hands. He pretended to Clearchus that he was tired of the people who were causing suspicion between them. If all the Greek commanders would come and have dinner with him, he said, he would tell them publicly who the mischief-makers were, and both sides would have a bit of peace.

  We were then camped in the angle where the river Zapatas runs into the Tigris—a very nasty
place to get out of. Most of us didn’t at all like this proposal of sending our commanders into Tissaphernes’ camp. But Clearchus insisted, and it was finally agreed that he, Menon, Proxenus and two other generals should go. Twenty of our battalion commanders and an escort of about two hundred men would accompany them.

  So they went. And the next thing we saw was that horsemen, in the far-off Persian camp, were galloping about on some very odd manoeuvres. Then, running for his life across the plain, came an Arcadian called Nicarchus. He stumbled into the camp, ripped up, holding himself together with both hands, and told us, before dying, what had happened.

  On arrival at Tissaphernes’ tent, the generals entered and the other officers remained outside. A signal was given. Instantly the generals were seized and the officers overwhelmed and murdered. The escort, who were on their way to the market to buy supplies, were chased and cut down by the Persian cavalry. That was the galloping which we had seen.

  We formed up at once, expecting to be attacked. But the only enemy who appeared was that crook Ariaeus with 300 horse guards. I rode out to meet him with some of the others—for I was very anxious to hear what had happened to Proxenus—but all he told us was a lot of lies. And then he had the impertinence to deliver the old ultimatum all over again: that we must lay down our arms and surrender unconditionally.

  It was a terrible night. There we were, leaderless, a thousand miles from Greece, without even a guide to show us the way. We had no means of crossing the rivers. We had no cavalry. And that meant that even if we won battle after battle, we still could not catch our enemies and destroy them.

  Few of us had the heart to eat that evening. Few of us even took the trouble to light a fire. Many a man could not bear the camp and wandered off to lie alone on the hard, open ground. We lay awake in misery, for none of us expected ever to see again our homeland and our parents, our wives and our children.