Marathon

by Christian Cameron

  was coming ashore for us.

  Some men took some hide boats they found there – Tyche

  favours the brave, or so they say, and thirty men made it away in

  the smal boats. But the fighting was intensifying, and I could hear

  the enemy getting into a line, their shields tapping against each

  other in the dark, and the fires behind them showed me how fast

  they were building the shield wal.

  The enemy hoplites were backlit by burning ships, and mine

  were hidden by darkness. ‘One quick charge!’ I told the men I

  could find. ‘On me, on me!’ I caled, and I picked up a heavy

  rock. ‘Get close and throw,’ I said. ‘Put one man down, and run

  for the ship. Don’t stay and fight!’

  Maybe a dozen men listened to me and obeyed. We ran

  down the dune out of the darkness, and just a pace or two from

  their shield wal I threw my rock – a big rock, I can tel you. My

  rock caught my foe in the shin and he went down, and I jumped

  through the gap in their line and plunged my spear into the

  unshielded side of the man next to me.

  Then the night was ful of shouts. Fighting at night is nothing

  like fighting by day. Men fal down when no foe assails them –

  they lose their way in the melee. I turned to run and somehow

  found myself deeper in their line.

  I came upon Archilogos as another ship burst into pitch-

  soaked flame behind my former friend. I think he recognized me

  as soon as I recognized him. Neither of us had a helmet on – no

  one wears a helmet at night.

  I knew that if I stopped moving, I was dead or taken, so I

  I knew that if I stopped moving, I was dead or taken, so I

  shoved him – he had a shield and I had none. I had sworn to

  protect him, so I couldn’t try to harm him – such a thing would

  haunt me for ever.

  He roared and cut at me with a long kopis – the sword flared

  like flame over my head. I tangled his blow with my spear and

  jumped back, slamming into a man who had no idea whether I

  was friend or foe. I fel, lost my spear and roled, and another

  man fel on top of me.

  That should have been the end.

  Archilogos caled ‘Doru! Stand and face me!’ and he cut at

  the man I’d tripped over. That’s fighting in the dark. I saw the

  flash of his blow and heard it thunk home in another man’s

  shield.

  I gave up trying to find my spear, or even getting to my feet. I

  crawled and then I roled, and at one point a man stepped on my

  breastplate in the dark. The hinges gave, but held, and he

  stepped away, thinking me a corpse.

  There was shouting behind me, where I’d been. I reckoned

  that the Ionian Greeks were fighting each other. Later I heard

  that the Greeks and Phoenicians started fighting. Many men were

  forced alies of the Persians, and not sorry to kil a Tyrian in the

  dark, I can tel you, and it may be that we only lived because the

  Ionians helped us.

  At any rate, I got to my feet after what seemed an eternity of

  being helpless, tore my chlamys from my neck, cast it at my feet

  and ran to the beach.

  Storm Cutter was already backing water.

  Storm Cutter was already backing water.

  I was out of my breastplate even as I ran – I cut the straps

  with my eating knife, running paralel to the ship’s course, easily

  outpacing it as it backed water. I dropped the thing on the sand

  – a fortune in wel-tooled bronze, but a smal price to give the

  gods for freedom – and I ran to the edge of the sea and dived in

  without pausing on the shingle, my knife stil in my hand.

  Four strokes out, I got my arms around an oar and caled for

  the rowers to pul me in. Something hit me in the head and I

  started to go down – I took another blow between the shoulder

  blades, and my last thought was that their archers had got me.

  5

  Wel, I wasn’t dead. Does that surprise you?

  Idomeneus and Philocrates hauled me up the side. I’d been

  hit on the head by an oar, and when I awoke I had a rip on my

  scalp and a bruise on my side as if I’d been hit with an axe.

  We lost sixteen men – heavy casualties from the sixty or so

  raiders who’d started the night together. Later I learned that six

  of them turned back from the swim and remained in Miletus. The

  rest were kiled. Two of them were marines, men who had been

  with me for years.

  On the other hand, we were free. In those days, we seldom

  stopped to mourn the dead, although it was a humiliation to me

  to have left their bones behind. Greeks pride themselves on

  retrieving their dead – even on a raid. The sun was wel up in the

  sky before I could think, but my first thoughts were ful of joy –

  joy at the cleanliness of the sea and the blueness of the sky.

  joy at the cleanliness of the sea and the blueness of the sky.

  Sieges are ugly.

  The sea is never ugly, even when he means to kil you.

  We made our way north, up the Samian channel, and we

  took our time because we had three crews packed into two

  ships, with a dozen Milesian archers thrown in for good measure.

  They were good men. Teucer was their leader – when a father

  names his son after the greatest archer in the Iliad, he must

  expect the boy to grow to pul a bow, eh? Teucer and

  Philocrates were friends almost before he had his sandals off,

  and they could be seen throwing knucklebones by the

  helmsman’s station al through the day, as neither had a station

  except in combat.

  We stopped for meals and we set good lookouts, but the sea

  remained empty until we were off Ephesus.

  There, out in the roadstead, we caught a pair of Aegyptian

  ships with a pair of Cilicians for escort, or so we thought. Now,

  the Cilicians were great pirates – they preyed on everyone, but

  as the Ionian Revolt grew, they took service with the Great King

  because preying on the Ionians and the Carians promised the

  richest pickings.

  Cilicians seldom use triremes. They are poor men, and they

  prefer smaler, lighter ships, like the hemiolia, a bireme with a

  heavy sailing rig and a third half-deck in the stern. The two

  Cilicians in the distance were hemioliai. Their raked masts

  marked them for what they were.

  My head hurt as if a horse had stepped on it, and I had to sit

  My head hurt as if a horse had stepped on it, and I had to sit

  on the bench by the helmsman and watch as Idomeneus and

  Stephanos planned our attack on the little convoy.

  Closer up, we could see that the two Cilicians were not

  guarding the Aegyptians. They were taking them. One of the

  low merchant ships had already been grappled and there was

  blood in the water.

  Naturaly, the Cilicians thought we were Phoenicians. Not

  that they cared. Cilicians are against every race.

  They ran – north.

  We let them go and took the Aegyptians for ourselves. One

  of their ships had already been taken and abandoned, and he

  was empty of life, decks red with sticky blood and already
/>   breeding flies, but the cargo was mostly intact – raw hides and

  ivory.

  The second ship ran, and Stephanos showed me how fast the

  former slave ship realy was. The sun was not yet at its height

  when Stephanos caught the Aegyptian over against the Asian

  coast and brought him back to where we were grappled to the

  first capture, the oarsmen blessing the gods for the luck of a

  cargo of ivory and praying that the other ship was as rich. It was,

  laden with ceramic bottles of perfume and bales of ostrich

  plumes, an absurdly rich cargo that made us al laugh for sheer

  joy.

  We landed on the beach at Chios with the two prizes in tow

  and the Aegyptian captain stil cursing his poor luck at being

  attacked twice in a single afternoon. I loaded al the valuables

  into one ship, gave the hides to the Chians as payment for their

  into one ship, gave the hides to the Chians as payment for their

  hospitality and let the Aegyptian crew take the empty ship south

  for home, unharmed – my thank-offering to Apolo, twenty-six

  sailors alive who I’d usualy have kiled. The Chian fishermen

  told us that their lord, Pelagius, and his nephews had visited, and

  that the whole fleet of the rebelion was gathering at Mytilene.

  Then we were away, up the coast of Chios, across the deep blue

  to Lesbos.

  We made Mytilene under a tower of cloud, and the beaches

  were lined with ships.

  At last, we’d found the rebel fleet.

  Miltiades had done the work. He’d gone from island to island,

  ralying the rebels to make a stand. He’d assumed I was dead,

  until he heard of my first load of grain going into Miletus.

  We were sitting in the great hal, the Boule of Mytilene, and

  men toasted me like a hero, and it went to my head like neat

  wine.

  ‘You saved the rebelion,’ Miltiades said, in front of a

  hundred captains. Epaphroditos was there, grinning from ear to

  ear. Paramanos shook his head and raised his cup to me, and

  Cimon stood at my shoulder and pounded me on the back,

  which made my head hurt.

  There were other captains and lords I knew wel enough –

  Pelagius of Chios, a few Cretans and a dozen Samian captains.

  But there were men I’d never seen before. One was a tough-

  looking bastard caled Dionysius, who carried a kalyx krater on

  his shield and claimed descent from the god of wine. Miltiades

  his shield and claimed descent from the god of wine. Miltiades

  took me around the hal and introduced me to al the leaders.

  It was like a whole new rebelion. And Miltiades had done it,

  for al the praise he lavished on me, taking his ship from inlet to

  inlet al through the autumn, wheedling, cajoling and threatening

  the Ionians and the Cretans and the Samians until they put

  together a fleet.

  ‘We drove the Medes from the Chersonese in a week,’

  Miltiades bragged. ‘And you kept Miletus alive at our backs. In

  a few days, we’l run down the coast and flush out their

  squadron, and then we’l fil Miletus with grain.’

  Everyone smiled. It was a turning point in the rebelion, we al

  agreed.

  Next day, I sold my ivory, my ostrich plumes and my fine

  Aegyptian glass to the same merchants who had sold me grain.

  I’d brought two sacks of gold darics from Miletus, and now I

  added a quantity of lapis, a stack of gold bars and a pile of silver

  to my hoard.

  With Idomeneus and Philocrates and Stephanos and Galas

  and Mal and Teucer to help, I carried it al across to Miltiades’

  great ship Ajax. I laid it out on the sand and divided it in half.

  ‘Choose, lord,’ I said.

  He shook his head. ‘You are the best of my captains,’ he

  said.

  ‘He says that to al the girls,’ Cimon added. ‘Thank the gods

  you earned some gold. We earned nothing but abuse, sailing

  about like busy mice. I took a good prize over by Cyprus, but it

  turned out to be the property of one of our “alies”, and we had

  turned out to be the property of one of our “alies”, and we had

  to return it.’ Cimon glowered at his father, who shrugged.

  ‘May al the gods bless you, Arimnestos,’ Miltiades said.

  Then, my debts cleared, I paid my oarsmen. By common

  consent, we included our Milesian archers in the payout. Most

  men received a pair of gold darics and some change. I’d seldom

  managed such a rich payout, and Stephanos and I watched with

  unconcealed glee as our boys went up the beach, roaring like

  fools, determined to spend it al in a haze of wine and fornication.

  Then I paid the officers. Galas and Mal counted as officers

  now, and they were unable to believe their good fortune, and

  young Teucer, a mere archer, looked at his wool hat ful of silver

  and shook his head. Stephanos the fisherman was doing the

  same. ‘Never had so much money in my life,’ he said.

  ‘Save it, brother,’ I said, putting my arms around him.

  ‘You’re a captain now. You’l need to keep treasure against a

  rainy day – when I take an arrow, or when you go your own

  way.’

  He might have protested, but instead he gave me a serious

  nod and went off. He sent almost al his money home to his sister

  in a fishing boat commanded by his brother.

  Teucer gambled. When he was poor, it wasn’t an affliction,

  as he and Philocrates played for stones from the beach and

  shels, but once he had money, he was a terror – the more so as

  he won. Constantly.

  I put a waxed-linen walet ful of lapis and gold and a fine,

  gold-worked bottle of rose scent into my leather bag, and shook

  gold-worked bottle of rose scent into my leather bag, and shook

  my head. It is easy to be rich, if you take other men’s wealth. I

  had the value of my father’s farm and forge in my bag – ten times

  over. Those Aegyptian merchants had a year of the value of my

  crops in every pair of ivories. But even as I grinned at my wealth,

  I saw the lawless men on the mountain at Cithaeron – the bandit

  gang I’d broken – and I knew that I was no different. It was a

  sobering thought. And one I dismissed as quickly as I could.

  That afternoon, we had a council of al the rebel captains and

  lords at Boule. The seams in the rebelion showed a lot faster

  when there wasn’t any wine to drink. The Samians felt that

  Miltiades had wasted them, taking them north to the Chersonese.

  The Cretans wanted a battle, and cared nothing for the odds.

  The Lesbians and the Chians seemed to me to be the only men

  who actualy cared about the rebelion – they were the one

  contingent that thought in terms of the good of al. Perhaps it was

  because they were between the northern Chersonese and the

  southern Cretans – the men in the middle. Everyone argued

  about the loot that had been taken.

  Demetrios of Samos rose in late afternoon and pointed at me.

  ‘This boy took two ships ful of ivory, but he has not shared with

  the rest of us,’ he said.

  I hadn’t expected it. To be honest, I’m always s
urprised by

  the foolish greed of men, and their envy. I thought I was a hero. I

  expected everyone to love me.

  So I just looked at the felow.

  ‘See something you like, boy?’ he sneered. ‘Let’s have a

  share of your precious ivory. Or did your lover Miltiades take it

  share of your precious ivory. Or did your lover Miltiades take it

  al for himself ?’

  I stood there, angry as Orpheus in Hades, gulping like a fish.

  I wanted to gut him on the spot, but I couldn’t think of a thing to

  say. Miltiades glared at me. He didn’t want to step in – that’s

  what the Samian wanted, to show that Miltiades was my master.

  Finaly, my head began to work. ‘I’m sorry, my lord,’ I said,

  my voice low, to force men to be quiet. I bowed my head in

  mock contrition.

  ‘You are?’ he said.

  ‘If I had understood that we were to share prizes taken

  before we joined the fleet,’ I said, ‘I owe a great deal more than

  just two ships’ worth of ivory. And painful as I wil find it to hand

  over my gains, I’l comfort myself that at least I contribute

  something besides hot air!’

  He leaped to his feet. ‘What the fuck are you saying?’ he

  snarled. ‘That I can’t earn my keep? Is that it?’

  I shrugged. ‘I gather you’ve never actualy taken an enemy

  ship,’ I said in my softest voice. ‘As you seem to need to pay

  your crews from my profits.’

  Dionysius’s great bely laugh carried through the hal. ‘Sit

  down, Demetrios! No man needs to share what he took before

  he came to the fleet, as our young Plataean knows ful wel.

  Don’t be an arse. What we need to decide is a strategy.’

  Voices came up from every part of the hal. ‘Miletus!’ some

  shouted. ‘Cyprus!’ caled others. Not a few insisted that the fleet

  should make for Ephesus.

  Miltiades’ son Cimon appeared at my elbow. ‘My pater

  Miltiades’ son Cimon appeared at my elbow. ‘My pater

  wants to see you tonight,’ he said. ‘To plan for the future.’

  I nodded.

  Cimon slapped my back and went out, apparently

  uninterested in the fate of the rebelion.

  A cynic would say that Miltiades had spent the summer and

  autumn ralying rebels so that he could use them to reconquer his

  holdings in the Chersonese. And a cynic would be correct.

  Miltiades needed the power base that the rebelion offered him.

  He needed the rebelion to continue, so that when he dealt with