Marathon

by Christian Cameron

  about the night before Marathon.

  And when I thought of my wife – my glorious wife – al I

  could think was that if she were there, we could make love, and

  that would cheer me up. Except that she was wel along in

  pregnancy by then, and they say making love when the bely is

  round is bad for the baby. I don’t believe that making love is

  ever bad for anyone, myself, but people say these things.

  I think that’s when I fel asleep. Thinking of her.

  No, that’s a lie. My mind was its own traitor, and I’m here to

  tel the truth. My last thoughts were of Briseis. If we won . . .

  If we won, would I be closer to her? And where was she? I

  said Sappho’s poem to Aphrodite in the dark, for Briseis. And

  then I went to sleep.

  I awoke in the dark, and I could hear the snores – but as soon

  as my eyes opened, it al came in, the way animals come in an

  open gate when there’s food in the mangers and they haven’t

  been fed. Al my worries.

  I got up. The dog star was going down, and morning wasn’t

  far off, and besides, I was cold.

  far off, and besides, I was cold.

  Idomeneus had snuggled close in the night, and as I rose, he

  roled over. ‘Ares,’ he said. ‘Morning already?’

  I tossed my heavy himation over him. ‘Sleep another hour,’ I

  said.

  ‘Aphrodite’s blessing on you,’ he smiled, and went straight

  back to sleep, the Cretan bastard. Odd that he mentioned

  Aphrodite.

  I stirred our fire – my mess group had a fire, of course – and

  added an armload of wood that someone had left ready, like a

  proper soldier. The fire sprang up, and I was warm.

  My kit was neatly stowed under the leather cover of my

  aspis. Gelon had done it – he must have – after the muster of the

  freedmen. My corslet had been buffed until the scales shone, and

  the helmet was like a woman’s mirror, and the reflected gleam of

  the fire danced on the curved brow and the ravens on the

  cheekplates.

  Gelon came and knelt by my side. I hadn’t seen him get up.

  ‘Good enough?’ he asked, as he had on other mornings when

  he’d done a half-arsed job. This wasn’t half-arsed.

  ‘Splendid,’ I said. He’d even mounted my fancy plume – the

  one Euphoria had made me – and laid out the cloak, too.

  ‘Might as wel look the part, polemarch.’ He gave my arm a

  squeeze. ‘I gather from Styges that you brought my armour.’

  ‘I did,’ I said. ‘But I haven’t polished it for you.’

  He laughed soundlessly. ‘You’re al right,’ he said. ‘In the

  baggage?’

  baggage?’

  ‘With Styges’ mule. I didn’t want you to find it.’ I waved

  down the hil.

  In the east, the black-blue sky was moving towards grey.

  A thousand of us had only a few hours to live.

  I ate alone – a bowl of hot soup and a big chunk of pork from

  the feast the night before. I dunked bread in the soup, and drank

  two big cups of water and another of wine.

  Then, clad only in my arming chiton, a stained thing of linen

  that had once been white, I crossed the camp to where the

  strategoi met. The day was warm already, and promised to be as

  hot as my forge.

  I was the first strategos there. Miltiades was second, which

  says much about the state of his mind, and Aristides was third.

  Then the rest came in a clump, and this time we stood together

  with no regard to who voted for battle and who voted against. In

  fact, I helped Leontus tie his thorax while Miltiades spoke.

  Leontus had a beautiful white tawed-leather cuirass with a heavy

  black leather yoke and scales on the sides, and his armour tied

  with scarlet cords.

  ‘So,’ Miltiades said. He looked around in the half-light.

  ‘Today’s my day, and today we’l fight. As soon as the boys

  have food in them, we’l go down the hil. I want the Plataeans

  down first. They get their leftmost man’s shield up against the

  hils, and then we’l al form on them, so there’s no gap. And

  friends,’ he said, and he looked around, ‘al we need to do to

  win is keep the line solid from end to end. No gaps. No spaces.

  win is keep the line solid from end to end. No gaps. No spaces.

  Nothing. Shield to shield al the way from the hils to the sea.’

  Everyone got it. We al nodded.

  ‘You al know the order, left to right, yes? So each contingent

  goes down in order, and no rushing, and no pushing. Forming the

  line is the key to victory. Once we’re formed, we’re halfway to

  it. Fuck this up and we’re al dead men.’

  Aristides raised an eyebrow. ‘We get it.’

  Miltiades didn’t crack a smile. ‘See that you do. Next thing.

  When we reach the bowshot of the enemy – the range where

  they shoot – we charge. Understand? Dead run, and to Hades

  with the man who slows or fals.’

  That got them talking. ‘We’l fal apart!’ Leontus protested.

  Miltiades shook his head. ‘It works in the east. Young

  Arimnestos there once charged a hundred Persians al by himself

  —’

  ‘With ten other men!’ I said.

  ‘And the rest of the phalanx came in behind. It wrecked them

  – right?’ Miltiades said.

  I got the last of Leontus’s ties done and faced the others. ‘It

  hurries their archers,’ I said. ‘They lose time and space to

  shoot.’ I looked around. ‘We’re the best athletes in the world,

  and we can cover that ground in no time, with the gods at our

  backs.’

  ‘You’re in command,’ Leontus said to Miltiades. He

  shrugged. Then he smiled. ‘Al right. I’m fast. I’l run.’

  ‘Just make sure the rest of your tribe goes forward too!’

  Sophanes said.

  Sophanes said.

  That was it – perhaps our shortest command meeting to date.

  Calimachus asked Miltiades where he should stand, and

  Miltiades nodded gravely. ‘You are the polemarch,’ he said.

  ‘You take the right of the line.’

  Calimachus bowed. ‘I am honoured. But the place is yours if

  you wish it.’

  Miltiades shook his head. ‘When I’m polemarch, I’l take the

  place of honour,’ he said, and that was that.

  Then many of us embraced, and if my voice chokes to tel this

  – I embraced many men I loved for ever, and we al knew it. We

  al knew that win or lose, the price would be high. That is what a

  battle is – a culing. Except this time, instead of standing with

  strangers and ‘alies’, I was standing in an army with my friends

  in every rank, and every dead man would be the loss of

  someone I knew. It was al very personal.

  More wine, girl. And this for the shades of the heroes who

  fel there!

  So my friend Hermogenes, phylarch of the leftmost file of

  Plataea, was the first man down the hil, the first to form and the

  lynchpin of our line. And Calimachus was the last file-leader

  down the hil, and formed the farthest to the right in the front

  rank. Hermogenes’ shield brushed against the trees,
and

  Calimachus’s right sandal was in the water, or so we used to tel

  the story.

  Our Plataeans were twelve men deep and one hundred and

  twenty men wide. We took up a little more than a stade of the

  plain’s width, and our rear rank was just twenty-four paces at

  plain’s width, and our rear rank was just twenty-four paces at

  normal order from our front rank.

  The three tribes next to us had been ‘bolstered’ with light-

  armed men, and they, too, had twelve ranks. Many of the

  Athenian archers had also been put in the phalanx on the left. So

  they were deep, and they stretched three more stades.

  We couldn’t even see the middle as it started to form.

  Aristides was in the centre with his Antiochae, and they formed

  twice as wide as we did and only half as deep – just six deep –

  to cover more frontage. That’s where the richest, best-armoured

  men were, and Miltiades felt confident that they could take the

  brunt of the archery. At least, I hope that’s what he thought.

  Because otherwise, what he thought was that the cream of the

  enemy’s archers – the Sakai – would rid him of a world of

  political opponents.

  There were three tribes in the centre, and they covered

  almost five stades.

  And on the right there were three more tribes, double depth

  as we were, and they covered three more stades. So our line

  was twelve or more stades from end to end.

  No one could keep a line that long from buckling and flowing

  and bending. But we formed it wel, and even as we formed, the

  barbarians came.

  They did what they had done the day before, but it al went

  mad, like a sudden thunderstorm.

  First, the forming of the Persians was terrifying from ground

  level. Yesterday, I’d watched it from a hundred feet above the

  level. Yesterday, I’d watched it from a hundred feet above the

  plain. It had been majestic and professional. At eye level, it was

  like a lion pouncing. They flooded out of their camp in silence,

  twelve thousand professional soldiers al running to their posts in

  about as much time as it takes to tel the story.

  And then they came forward at us.

  My end of the line had settled in position. Men were kneeling

  to tie a sandal, wiping the dew from their shields, laughing,

  resting their heavy shields on the ground, or on the instep of their

  left feet.

  The onset of the barbarians blasted the laughter from us.

  They flowed over the plain like a sudden flood, and the

  horsemen on their flanks looked like gods in a blaze of sunlit

  gold. They came on without a sound except the ring and jingle of

  harness, of metal on metal, the holow knocking of wooden

  shields on armoured legs.

  Just as yesterday, they put their Phoenicians and Greeks on

  our right, so that I was opposite Persians, the front ranks armed

  just as we were armed, big men with heavy armour and shields –

  mostly oval shields, almost like our old Boeotians, with short

  heavy spears – but with six ranks of archers behind them.

  Opposite Hermogenes was a troop of Persian noble cavalry.

  Directly opposite me was a man in a helmet that seemed to be

  made of gold. As he came forward in the new sunlight, he caled

  out a war cry and his men answered, al together, a single shout

  that carried to us like a chalenge.

  I remember my breath stopping in my throat.

  To his right, from my perspective, were the Medes. The

  To his right, from my perspective, were the Medes. The

  dismounted Medes were the second largest contingent after the

  Sakai, and they had armour, the best bows, sharp swords and

  axes. Beyond them, I assumed, were the Sakai, the best of the

  enemy’s archers, in the centre, and then the enemy Greeks and

  Phoenicians on our right, facing Miltiades.

  They were formed exactly the way they’d formed the day

  before. My Plataeans faced the cream of their army.

  It steadied me. Being the underdog has its advantages. And in

  that moment I knew what I’d say.

  They came closer, moving swiftly across the plain like hunting

  hounds or wolves. Hungry wolves.

  I had Leontus on my right. I left my shield with Teucer and

  ran to Leontus – a stade each way, thanks. ‘I’m going to charge

  them as soon as they reach bowshot,’ I said, pointing down the

  field.

  He was taken aback. ‘Is that what Miltiades wants?’ he

  asked.

  ‘I don’t know what Miltiades wants,’ I said. ‘He’s five more

  stades that way, if you want to ask.’ I shrugged, no easy thing in

  twenty pounds of scale armour. ‘But as soon as they stop to

  shoot, I’m going at them.’

  He was eyeing the Persians. His men would be in the arrow

  storm, not mine. ‘I’m with you, Plataean,’ he said.

  I tapped his aspis by way of a handshake, and ran back to

  my place, and his tribe cheered me as I ran by. They were

  getting their shields off the ground, puling their helmets down,

  and when I reached my own men, Idomeneus had already given

  and when I reached my own men, Idomeneus had already given

  the orders.

  The enemy was stil three or four stades away.

  So I walked, forcing myself to take my time, al along my

  front rank. I met the eyes of every man there – some said a few

  words, some nodded their heads so that their plumes rippled, the

  horsehair catching the sea breeze. I walked al the way to

  Hermogenes.

  ‘Fight wel, brother,’ I said.

  ‘Lead us to glory, polemarch,’ he said. I could see his grin

  inside the tau of his face slit.

  By the gods, those words went to my heart.

  Then I walked back – making myself walk, even while the

  Persians and Medes were slowing, closer than I’d expected –

  faster than I thought possible. Their mounted Persians – the best

  of the best – seemed close enough to touch, close enough to ride

  over and gut me before I could take shelter in our ranks.

  I stopped in the middle of my line, turned my back to the

  enemy and raised my arms. Then, with the kind of gesture that

  Heraclitus taught us, a broad orator’s sweep of my right arm, I

  indicated that I would speak.

  ‘I could talk to you of duty,’ I shouted, and they were silent.

  ‘Of courage and arete, and of the defence of Helas and al you

  hold dear.’ I paused, and forced myself to look at my own men

  and not to turn my head and look at the enemy, who came closer

  and closer to my back. ‘But you are Plataeans, and you know

  what is excelent, and who is brave. So I wil say two things.

  what is excelent, and who is brave. So I wil say two things.

  First – yesterday, many of you were slaves. And for the rest –

  no one here expects us to beat the Persians. We are the left of

  the line and al Athens asks is that we take our time dying.’ I

  paused, and then I pointed my spear at the enemy. ‘Horse shit,

  brothers! We are Plataeans! Every man here is a Plataean! Over

  there is al the wealth o
f Asia! The gods have given us the

  Persians themselves, every one of them wearing a fortune in

  gold. You were a slave yesterday? Tomorrow you can be an

  aristocrat. Or be dead, and go to Hades with the heroes.

  Whatever you were, whatever you are at this moment, however

  much you want to piss or creep away – tomorrow is yours if you

  win today! Al of that gold is yours if you are men enough to take

  it!’

  My Plataeans responded with a roar – a sharp bark. Only

  then did I sneak a glance at our enemies. They were a stade

  away, or more. I returned to my place in the ranks. I put my

  aspis on my shoulder and grasped my spears – my fine, light

  deer spear in my right hand and my heavy man-kiler in my left,

  sharing the hand with the antilabe of my shield.

  I turned to Idomeneus. ‘How was that?’ I asked.

  He nodded. He wore a Cretan helm that showed his face,

  and his smile was broad. ‘Everyone understands gold,’ he said.

  ‘Arete is more complicated.’

  ‘See the mounted bastard in the gold helmet?’ I said. ‘I’l

  take him. But he’s got to go, and if I fal or I miss, you take him.

  Understand?’ I tapped my spearhead against his, and saw his

  grin.

  grin.

  ‘Good as dead now,’ Idomeneus said.

  ‘Yes,’ I answered.

  He smiled his mad, fighting smile. ‘Sure,’ he said.

  I turned to Teucer, who was tight to my back. ‘Hear me,

  friend – do not take that man’s life. I want his men to see him go

  down to my spear. In a fight like this – everything depends on

  the first few seconds.’

  ‘Aye, lord,’ he said. He was doubtful.

  Opposite me, the whole enemy line – every bit as long as

  ours, and at least as deep – was slowing. It didn’t stop al at

  once. It takes time for a line fifteen stades long to stop and

  straighten.

  ‘Ready!’ I roared. ‘Spears up!’

  Idomeneus hissed ‘Close our order!’ at me.

  ‘I know what I’m doing,’ I said.

  The Athenians obeyed me as fast as my own men, and three

  thousand men raised their spears over their heads, spear-point

  just clear of the rim of your shield, spear-butt wel up in the air so

  that it doesn’t foul the man behind you or, worse, catch him in

  the teeth.

  We were one stade from the enemy. The Persians were

  settling down, planting shafts in the ground. The cavalry were

  actualy lagging behind their main line, with a few men trying to