Marathon

by Christian Cameron

  reputation as a great warrior, you must support it constantly. I

  reputation as a great warrior, you must support it constantly. I

  could no more sit in the acropolis while the men raided than I

  could abstain from eating.

  The city was wel appointed with regard to armour, and Lord

  Histiaeus gave me a bel corslet and a fine Cretan helmet with a

  magnificent horsehair plume. It was a bit like living in the Iliad. I

  took my marines, and Philocrates the Blasphemer, who had

  settled into the life of piracy like a veteran. I got him arms as

  wel, a ful panoply.

  ‘You look like Ares come to life,’ I said to him, when he was

  dressed in bronze.

  ‘Ares is a myth to frighten children,’ he said.

  ‘I see that a storm at sea and a life of war is not enough to

  restore your respect for the gods,’ I said.

  He shrugged. ‘You can’t respect what ain’t there.’

  I stood back a little and regarded him. There was something

  frightening about him. He ignored portents, laughed at talismans

  and caled the gods by foul names. At first only the Iberians

  would eat with him, but as he continued to blaspheme and the

  skies never swalowed him up, other men began to accept him.

  That said, I have to say that he had changed. I couldn’t put my

  finger on why, but he explained it himself later, as you’l hear, if

  you come back for more of this story tomorrow.

  At any rate, sixty of us went out of the postern gate nearest

  the harbour. It was pelting down with rain – we slipped on the

  mud, and I blessed my good Boeotian boots even as the other

  men cursed their open sandals. The ground in front of the wals

  had been churned to a froth by the passage of thousands of men,

  had been churned to a froth by the passage of thousands of men,

  slaves and soldiers, and both sides dumped their waste and filth

  into that no-man’s-land. It was foul.

  You’d think that after a hundred of these raids, the Persians

  would have set a watch, but of al their contingents, only the

  Aegyptians kept a regular guard. Most of their crack troops

  were cavalrymen who disdained such rigorous pastimes as guard

  duty, and who am I to comment? I never knew a Greek who

  was wiling to stand a night watch.

  We crossed the mud and the ordure in the lashing rain, and

  then we went over the fresh brush they’d piled in lieu of a wal

  around their camp. No hope of lighting a fire on this night, but we

  had a different goal in mind.

  We weren’t after Artaphernes. If he’d been at the siege, he

  might have had Briseis, and my approach would have been very

  different. Indeed, since I’m trying to tel the whole truth here, I’l

  add that I didn’t feel any particular commitment to the rebels.

  They weren’t Plataeans, for instance. I was loyal enough to

  Miltiades, but you’l note that I wasn’t criss-crossing the seas

  looking for him. Nor was I sailing up and down looking for the

  rebel fleet to offer my services. Mind you, once I was trapped in

  Miletus, my options were limited. But I wasn’t an idealist. I was

  a Plataean, and I was Briseis’s lover – or rather, the same, but in

  the other order.

  But neither the satrap nor his new wife was at the siege that

  autumn. Datis was Artaphernes’ lieutenant, and our aim was to

  kil him. His great red and purple tent showed clearly across the

  lines by day, and we’d worked out a couple of sea-marks –

  lines by day, and we’d worked out a couple of sea-marks –

  torches mounted at two different heights in the town – to guide

  us to his tent. He was a relative of the Great King – Artaphernes

  was one of the king’s many brothers, and this Datis was a

  cousin, or some such, and a famous warrior, and the rumours

  were that when he took Miletus, he’d be sent with a great fleet

  against Chios and Lesbos – and perhaps Athens. Or so men

  said.

  No one expected us to succeed in kiling him, but it was this

  sort of constant pressure that kept the besiegers on edge and

  encouraged them to pack it up for the winter and head home.

  We crept through the dark, soaked to the skin, squelching in

  mud, turning frequently to get our line of approach from the

  torches on the wals, and we crept forward, cursed by men in the

  tents whose ropes we bumped – little knowing, of course, that

  we were mortal foes. I wondered if this was what Odysseus had

  felt when he left the Trojan horse to sneak into the town of Troy.

  The Iliad is very real at times – but no one ever seems to be wet

  or cold, or have the flux. I find that these three are the proper

  children of Ares, not Havoc and Panic and whatever else the

  poets ascribe. Who ever had a war without wet and cold?

  We were in the middle of the column, so we had no idea

  what – or who – alarmed the camp, but suddenly we were

  discovered. It was raining so hard that no one could light a torch,

  and as soon as the enemy came out of their tents, they lost al

  sense of the situation.

  Our men kiled the first to come close to them, then scattered.

  That’s what we’d planned. The Milesians simply vanished. They

  had raided the camp before and knew it wel enough. My

  marines were not so lucky, and in the dark we folowed the

  wrong men. We thought we were folowing Milesians and we

  ended up in the horse lines, where a dozen conscientious Persian

  troopers had run to protect their mounts. Our men started

  fighting them with no cue from me. My marines were armoured

  and the Persians were unarmed, and they died – taking two of

  my men with them. Persians are brave.

  ‘Cut the halters and undo the hobbles,’ I ordered. My

  survivors spread out and caused chaos on the horse lines, ripping

  pickets out of the ground. I ran to the top of a low hil and

  looked back at the city, and only then did I realize that we had

  the whole width of the enemy camp between us.

  More immediately, men were boiling out of the camp, backlit

  by the lights on the city wal. Persians love their horses. My ten

  men weren’t going to last a minute against a regiment of Persian

  cavalrymen.

  I thought of stealing horses and heading inland, but that sort

  of thing only works in epics. In real life, your enemies have more

  horses and native guides, and they ride you down. Besides, my

  men were sailors in armour, not cavalrymen. Most of them had

  probably never forked a horse.

  I was out of ideas, but Poseidon stood by us. Horses

  scattered in every direction, and I didn’t have to be Odysseus to

  reckon that we could escape with the herd. A few of us

  mounted, and others simply clung to manes, even tails – and we

  mounted, and others simply clung to manes, even tails – and we

  flowed with the horses, moving west and north, back towards

  the city. I got mounted, lost my bearings and my companions,

  and spent a watch among the rocks south of the city, where my

  horse left me.

  The gods help those who help themselves, or so I
’ve heard it

  said, and while I lay in the rocks watching the city and the force

  of Persian archers between me and the wals, cursing my fate, I

  realized that it was a six-stade walk along the ridge of rock to

  the beach opposite Tyrtarus. And not a sentry on the way.

  I took the time to poke along the ridge of rock. Every piece

  of waste ground has trails, if you know where to look – goats

  make them, and shepherds, and boys and girls courting or

  playing at being heroes. The moon came up late and the rain

  ceased, and I walked to the beach opposite Lade, stripped to

  my skin and swam to the huls opposite – realy just a few horse-

  lengths, wel less than a stade. I rose up, dripping, by the black

  huls, close enough to the enemy camp to hear the snores of

  Archilogos’s oarsmen, or so I reckoned. Then I swam back and

  picked my way among the rocks. As I had expected, the

  Persians had gone back to bed. I crawled through the mud and

  shit to the wals of the town, and wasted another half an hour

  persuading the sentry to let me climb the wal without gutting me.

  Oh, the romance of siege warfare!

  I was the last man back from the raid, and my sword had not

  left its scabbard. There were men in the upper city who were of

  a mind to laugh at me. I let them laugh. I was no longer a hot-

  blooded boy, and I didn’t need a blood feud in the town. I

  blooded boy, and I didn’t need a blood feud in the town. I

  wanted to take my gold and go, although I was keen to show

  Istes what I was made of. He’d kiled three Persians, and

  brought in their bows and arrows as proof.

  I slept wel enough. In the morning I ate honeyed almonds in

  the upper city and took a long bath to kil the smel of the mud.

  Histiaeus and Istes joined me.

  ‘Your men accomplished a miracle,’ he said. ‘Not a slave is

  working on the siege mound today. They’re al out searching for

  the horses.’ He smiled grimly. ‘We didn’t get Datis, but we hurt

  them – a deserter says we kiled fifteen Persians and some

  others.’

  I nodded. None of this interested me much. This war of tiny

  increments was not something I could realy appreciate. To me,

  the city looked doomed, and I wanted out before I was sold into

  slavery again.

  ‘Wil you raid again tonight?’ I asked.

  He shook his head. Even he – the best-fed warrior in the city

  – had circles under his eyes like shield bags, and the lines on his

  face were as deep as new-ploughed furrows. ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘We’ve been out two nights in a row. We can’t keep it up. The

  fighters are exhausted. The real fighters – the men of worth.’ His

  eyes flicked to Istes, who also looked like a man at the edge of

  exhaustion.

  ‘I’m leaving tonight,’ I said.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t recommend that,’ he said. ‘Mind

  you, if you stay much longer, I’l be seling you your grain.’

  ‘I’d appreciate a dozen of your archers to help me get clear,’

  ‘I’d appreciate a dozen of your archers to help me get clear,’

  I said. ‘I’d bring them back on my next trip.’

  ‘You plan to shoot your way out?’ Istes asked. ‘Archers are

  our most valuable troops.’ He shrugged. ‘You are the best friend

  this city has made in many months – but the loss of ten archers

  would be a blow.’

  ‘I understand. But I need the archers for my diversion, and

  I’l leave you a trireme as surety – the Phoenician I took on my

  way in.’ I pointed to the hul. ‘On a dark night – you might use

  her to get some people out.’

  He shook his head in puzzlement. ‘Why leave a ship?’ he

  asked.

  I grunted. I didn’t want to tel him. As in any siege, the town

  was riddled with deserters, traitors and double agents, I had no

  doubt. ‘We’l be away in the dark of the moon,’ I said.

  ‘Poseidon bless you, then,’ the tyrant said. But his eyes

  flicked to his brother, and something passed between them that I

  didn’t like.

  Oh, I was eager to be gone.

  I slept most of the day and mustered al my men – marines,

  oarsmen, deck crews – at dusk. I put my plan to them as the sun

  vanished into clouds, and enough men volunteered to give me

  hope. I wish I could say that they al volunteered, but a week on

  half rations in a doomed city is enough to sap anyone’s morale.

  I took my party out of the harbour saly port when the rain

  started. We made the rocks south of town in the end, although I

  had an anxious time finding them in the dark. It is always easier

  to go to a town than away from it.

  We were soaked through and shivering by the time we made

  the rocks, and then we crept along, spear-butts sounding like

  avalanches as they scraped the stone. Philocrates cursed

  steadily. When we were on the beach opposite Lade, we

  stripped and swam, clinging to our spears as best we could.

  We missed our way – the darkness was deep and there was

  no moon. Let me just say that swimming in the dark – no sight of

  anything, cold through, so that you shiver, clinging to your

  weapons – is perhaps the ultimate test of the warrior. Men

  turned back. And who am I to blame them?

  We ended up on the rocks east of the ships, and there was

  nothing for it but to crawl. I’d explained this part, but the

  execution was much harder than I’d anticipated. Try crawling on

  a rainy night, naked but for a wet chlamys, and keeping a spear

  with you, across broken ground thick with brush.

  Hah! We sounded like a herd of cattle. But fools that we

  were, and inept, the enemy were as bad or worse.

  I made the most noise as I was wearing Histiaeus’s gift, the

  bronze cuirass. I wore it swimming, and it wasn’t bad, but when

  I crawled across rocks it was loud and the flare around the hips

  caught on everything.

  That was one of the longest, darkest hours of my life. I had

  not reckoned on losing my way again – we only had a stade of

  open ground to cross – but I did. In the end, I had to rise to my

  feet, stumbling like a drunkard, and turn slowly – in ful view of

  feet, stumbling like a drunkard, and turn slowly – in ful view of

  the enemy sentries, if there had been any – to realize that I had

  crawled right past the enemy encampment.

  Too late to correct my course. I was wel south of my target,

  but I could see the black huls of their triremes just to the left,

  shiny in the darkness. I had at least a dozen men with me – men

  who had chosen to folow me even when their sense said they’d

  gone wrong – and now we crept across the dunes, then clattered

  across the tongue of rock that separated the mudflat from the sea

  until we were crouched by the ships.

  Most of the men had packets of oiled cloth and pitch, or even

  bitumen – there was plenty of it in Miletus – and we built a pile

  of the stuff under one hul.

  Although there was no moon, the rain abated while we

  crouched there. The camp had fires – most
ly coals – and several

  Iberians crept between the boatsails erected as tents and lit their

  torches at the fires. By now there were thirty or forty of my men

  among the huls of their ships, and we al caled ‘Alarm! Alarm!’

  in Greek for al we were worth. Our Iberians ran through the

  camp with lit torches before thrusting them into our prebuilt pyre.

  And then chaos came.

  The fire roared up in the time it would take a man to run the

  stade – from a few flickers of flame to a conflagration twice the

  height of a man’s head and as loud as a horse race. The ship

  caught immediately – huls coated in pitch are an invitation to

  flame, even in the rain. My sailors ran back and forth, feeding

  sails and oars into the inferno, and then throwing the lit wreckage

  into other huls.

  into other huls.

  Men came out of the tents, and we kiled them. As we were

  the ones caling the alarm, they kept on coming to us for many

  minutes, unarmed or with buckets to put out the fire, and we put

  them down.

  By then we had three ships alight, and my two were out in the

  channel, already running free while the archers on their decks

  shot fire arrows into the black huls. A fire arrow is a feeble

  thing, and none of them caught, but it provided further

  distraction. The enemy was misled – again – into believing that

  the fire arrows were the cause of the fires. It took them a long

  time to realize that we were in amongst them.

  I had no idea how many men I had under command, or how

  much damage we’d done, but I knew that it was time to go. I

  had a horn – the gift of Istes – and I ran clear of the flame, the

  men closest to me folowing, and I stopped in the dark to sound

  the horn, but the only sound I made was the bleat of an old ewe

  looking for her last lamb.

  ‘Give me that,’ Philocrates said, and he took it and blew a

  mighty blast. There was the sound of running feet, and we

  braced ourselves – we had no shields, and we were going to be

  reaped like ripe grain if the enemy had a phalanx to set against

  us.

  But it was Idomeneus, laughing like a hyena, with fifty of our

  sailors and marines on his heels. Towards the back of his rout,

  there was fighting, but so far our enemies were disorganized.

  ‘Get them into the ship!’ I caled – because the Storm Cutter

  was coming ashore for us.