The Persian officers lost whatever control they’d had. Their front ranks sprinted onto the bridge with swords drawn, while the last Greeks retreated backwards, holding spears out and shields up. They had to bear hundreds of blows, iron swords scarring and gashing the golden bronze, all unanswered as they went clear.
Xenophon raised his fist high as the bridge filled with Persian marching ranks. He brought it back to his side and the entire span cracked and fell, crashing into the racing waters. In the hours they’d held the crossing, the original supports had been cut through, replaced by single logs. At his order, a few sharp blows had been all it took to knock them out. The bridge broke under its own weight and tumbled right over, crushing the host still crossing in full armour.
Xenophon turned from their horror and panic to stare at Tissaphernes, still watching from the other bank. The Persian lord answered him with a flight of arrows by the thousand. He had brought archers up in secret, but losing the bridge blunted the effect. Even so, arrows soared into the air and every Greek ducked down under a shield in a great clatter of iron on bronze and wood.
Xenophon held himself still, trusting to the good fortune that had protected him to that point. Tissaphernes had not risked being amongst the first to cross. That would have made the day complete. Instead, the Persian and his men would have to find another ford, ranging up and down the river.
Xenophon squinted at the rising ground and the hills that lay ahead. The land was greener to the north, less hostile to life. He knew there would be an ambush waiting, but that was a problem for another day.
‘Make good time!’ he shouted to the Greeks, over and over, until he was sure everyone had heard. ‘We’ll leave them all behind …’
He forced himself to smile, showing a confidence he did not feel. He saw how many of the camp followers limped and stumbled along. Many of them had worn through boots and sandals, so that they had to wrap their feet in cloth. They had water, for which he thanked Poseidon, but very little food. He looked ahead, as if to brighter prospects. They could not see his dismay, nor his fears for whatever Tissaphernes had planned for him in the hills.
They walked steadily through the afternoon and a landscape that showed greater signs of life. The mouths of twenty thousand could never be satisfied, but those who could use a bow or a sling went out on all sides and brought back anything they could kill for food. They roamed far around the marching square, becoming the eyes of the Greek force as the land began to rise. Xenophon had ignored the fact that he was starving until he saw a dozen deer carried in, a herd of small bucks and does his men had managed to surprise in a crease in the land, trapping forty of the animals. More had leaped clear with prodigious bounds, springing high into the air to avoid the trap. It meant little more than a single meal for some of them that evening, but it brought hope as well.
Every hour on the march revealed new ridges and canyons, while the sun cast long shadows on a wide path through cliffs. Xenophon sent Hephaestus out with the remaining horsemen to look for other routes, but there were a thousand culverts that ended in sheer rock and only one great pass through the mountains. It was not too hard to guess where the ambush would come, but even so it could not be avoided. Their destination was to the north.
They made camp in an orchard of ancient apple trees clinging to life in a shallow valley. The road stretched before them, shrouded in darkness. None of them wanted to go on before they saw sunlight once more. The camp followers broke branches from dead trees and gathered as much dry wood as they could find. The hunters handed over the precious deer to women who knew how to gralloch and prepare the carcasses. Dozens of others sought out fresh greens in the hills around, picking herbs and grasses they knew could keep body and soul together. More importantly, they knew that playing a part in the preparation gave them a better chance of getting a taste. The hunters added pheasant, partridge and one skinny old goat who had run blindly from them until a boy wrestled it to the ground. Their need was greater than whoever had owned it before, though it still wore a halter around its neck. It was cut into pieces by a Spartan kopis and roasted on a shield across a cooking fire, watched by children with starving eyes as it sizzled and spat.
Though there was no wine, the water they had was clear and cold and the mood in the camp was light. Xenophon spoke to the officers about the day to come but they could only make vague plans until they knew what form the next attack would take. In some ways, that lay at the heart of Xenophon’s good mood as he settled himself for sleep, staring up at stars. He had come to believe in the ingenuity of his people. They would not be rushed, it was true. They had a terrible tendency to argue through a crisis, but when they moved, it was with certainty and intelligence. He was proud of them all.
He only knew he had been asleep when he was startled awake, sensing a pressure against his side. His eyes opened to see Pallakis on the ground beside him, wrapped in her own blanket. He sat up in the darkness, aware that the camp slept around them, thousands of people depending on him for their lives.
‘My lady,’ he murmured. ‘You do not need another protector. Is Hephaestus not keeping you safe?’
He heard her turn towards him in the dark, so close that he could feel her breath on his face.
‘There is more to life than safety,’ she said.
‘Yes. Of course, you were the mistress of Prince Cyrus,’ he replied. He sensed her stiffen in the darkness. ‘And I saw you were at least a companion to Clearchus after that. And now you are here, at my side, though I gave Hephaestus the task of looking after you.’
‘And then sent him away,’ she said, her voice suddenly unsure.
He winced to himself, feeling the awkwardness of the moment.
‘Because he is my master of horse, Pallakis. He commands the scouts and I send him away almost every night … Wait, have you been threatened?’
She sat up suddenly, kneeling to fold her blanket.
‘No. Hephaestus is respected amongst the men. They know I am under his protection. I thought … I am sorry.’
Xenophon felt his face aflame, but he spoke before she could vanish into the night.
‘Stay now, at least, as you are here. It cannot be long until dawn.’
The dark figure at his side was very still, staring at him. Then she settled down once more. He lay there, alert and awake for quite some time.
In the morning, Xenophon opened his eyes to find Pallakis gone. He wondered briefly if she had come to him in a dream, but put the thought aside when Hephaestus appeared with his usual mount, having checked the bridle and watered the animal. All the horses were looking thin, though they could at least crop grasses in the mountains, denied to them before. Unlike the men, they could not go long without being well fed, something that made both Hephaestus and Xenophon concerned. Without cavalry and scouts they could not survive, that was the truth of it.
Hephaestus seemed sullen as he handed over the reins and helped him to mount. The Athenian passed up a sword and Xenophon belted it on as he considered whether he should mention his night visitor. He had not promised Pallakis to Hephaestus, nor was it in his power to do so. Yet he had seen the young man was smitten with her and he needed no trouble between them. Xenophon chose to say nothing. He would keep his distance from Pallakis and the problem would solve itself.
The Persians were sighted behind them before they’d cleared the camp and were ready to move. Xenophon felt like thanking Tissaphernes for helping the lazier camp followers to spring to their positions and make ready for another day of marching. They could not form the square within a square that he preferred – the pass through the mountains was too narrow for twenty thousand to go in formation. Despite his misgivings, Xenophon agreed a column order with Chrisophus. The Spartan persisted in acting as if he was the formal second in command, and no one challenged his right to do so. The other generals who had been chosen seemed content to command their own and leave the overall strategy to him. Xenophon wondered how many more mistakes he could make befo
re that changed.
The Spartan contingent insisted on leading the column through the cliffs. Xenophon ordered every shield ready all along the line in case the Persians had gained the heights above. He fretted as he rode to the front, trying to think of everything that could possibly go wrong and worrying that he would miss something vital. They looked to him and he felt the weight of it, while enjoying the exercise of authority he had not known before. Holding minor political power in Athens did not quite compare to taking an army through mountains.
The Persians pressed in behind, riding close as the Greeks moved off. The Stymphalians held the rear that morning, with slingers and most of the horses back where they would be best placed to hold off an enemy blow. Those men marched with aching necks from looking over their shoulders, but there was no help for that.
Ahead, Xenophon heard a yell and he trotted along the flank, forcing soldiers and camp followers aside to let him pass. The road was barely sixty paces across, a great causeway to anyone but an army. Ahead, the cliffs were split so that they rose sharply on either side of the road – and there on the flanks of a green mountain was a Persian force, waiting for him. He understood then why Tissaphernes was pressing in at the rear. The Persians knew their men were close and they were trying to force the Greeks deeper into the pass.
Xenophon was the only horseman at the front. He squinted into the distance, then smiled slowly to himself. The Spartans marched stolidly on, ready to endure the barrage that had no doubt been prepared for them. At that point, it could have been almost anything, from rocks and heated oil, to arrows dipped in filth. The Spartans began to ready their shields, but Xenophon shook his head.
‘Chrisophus. The Persian position is overlooked. They chose that spot where it is wide and flat, but look higher – there is ground above them. Ground we could reach.’
‘They’ll see us coming,’ Chrisophus called back, though it was not in argument, more in dawning delight.
‘We’ll have to run, then,’ Xenophon said. ‘Six hundred with me – your fittest men. We’ll race up that hill and fall on them from above, just as they intended to do to us.’
He turned his horse’s head off the road and onto the mossy flank of the cliff that led upwards. Behind him, Chrisophus shouted quick orders. Six hundred men broke away and came to join the two leaders. They looked pleased to be given a challenge.
‘Soldiers!’ Xenophon called to them. ‘Remember this. You endure for those you will save, but also to see Greece. You fight for your honour – and to see your wives and children once again. Keep up and you will throw these Persians off this hill!’
‘It’s all right for you, you’re on a horse,’ one of the men replied. ‘I’m wearing myself out carrying this shield.’
Xenophon stared, his good mood evaporating. With deliberate care, he dismounted and stalked over. His horse dipped its head to snatch at clumps of grass and Xenophon stood before the one who had spoken.
‘Stay here, then,’ Xenophon said.
He wrenched away the man’s shield and sprinted up the hill. The rest lurched into motion to go after him. They went full pelt up the slope, while at the bottom, the man’s companions picked up stones and threw them at him, making their displeasure clear.
Xenophon ran and leaped until he was red in the face and blowing hard, though he reached the crest of the mountain with all the others. He held up the shield like a trophy and those below cheered the sight. The Persians who had hoped to ambush them had already abandoned their position, making their way down by another path, as soon as they’d understood their advantage had been lost. The cheers of Greeks echoed through the mountains all around, reaching the ears of Tissaphernes as his regiments crept through the valley. He halted his men, unwilling to pursue in a place where the land stole the advantage of great numbers. Xenophon climbed down and rejoined the main force as they continued along the pass, through to the plains beyond.
27
The flat lands on the other side of the mountains were sheltered, showing more than a few marks of man. A wide river glimmered in the distance as the Greeks looked out over villages and stone farms. They could see woodsmoke and a herd of goats being driven. Many of them cried out in relief at a landscape that meant food and water, with no sign of the enemy encroaching upon them.
Xenophon called Hephaestus in to organise the scouts. He found the young Athenian tight-lipped and silent, though he rode clear smartly enough when he understood the orders. Xenophon watched him go with a trace of anger himself, but if that was the way it had to be, he could accept it. They had not been friends in Athens and he had greater concerns. Hephaestus was barely out of sight before Chrisophus brought the new general, Philesius, to walk at his side.
‘Thank you for coming, gentlemen,’ Xenophon said as they trudged down onto the plain. ‘I’ve been thinking about making a small force of our better warriors. If we are to be harried through passes and across bridges, we need a rearguard, armed with the longest spears and accompanied by the best of our slingers and a few Cretan archers.’
‘That is a fine idea,’ Chrisophus said. ‘I will select six companies of a hundred and appoint captains to oversee them. It will be work without reward, for the most part. I doubt there will be many volunteers for such a thankless task. May I suggest …’
‘You may not suggest the Spartans, if that is what you are about to say,’ Xenophon interrupted. ‘Impressive as they are, they are better in the front ranks, as you have told me any number of times.’
‘Very well, general,’ Chrisophus said, bowing his head. ‘Though I came to you because General Philesius wished for a word.’
Xenophon glanced at the other man and nodded, grudgingly. He had heard Philesius address the camp precisely once, when he’d shown support. Even so, Xenophon did not trust his sudden reappearance.
‘I see. While we talk, Chrisophus, you are in charge of opening up these villages. Take what food you find, along with all pack animals, flocks and any carts we can put to use. We need cauldrons and new waterskins to replace the ones that have split. More, we need shoes – let these people go barefoot for a season. They are not having to walk across an empire with a Persian army breathing down their neck. Understood?’
Chrisophus dropped to one knee, so that Xenophon left him behind as his horse walked on. He looked back at the Spartan, but Chrisophus was already jogging away, calling in the captains and pentekosters he would need.
Philesius watched the Spartan go for a moment, then cleared his throat. He was not happy to have to address Xenophon from the level of the man’s calves, but there was no sign of the Athenian dismounting.
‘You wanted to speak to me?’ Xenophon prompted him.
‘Yes … I did. I wished to point out that we have crossed a range of hills and there is no sign of Tissaphernes and the Persians, never mind the king himself. It struck me that while I had no business interfering before, perhaps now is the time to discuss how best to lead the soldiers clear.’
‘And the camp followers,’ Xenophon prompted airily.
‘Yes, of course, the camp followers also. I meant that the immediate threat has been reduced, at least for now. You know Menon was my uncle. I have known service for fourteen years in his shadow, while as I understand it, you are –’ he clenched his jaw, revealing muscles under the skin – ‘less experienced than that.’
‘Oh, considerably,’ Xenophon replied. ‘Though I notice your uncle did not appoint you his second in command. Still, you seized the opportunity when it came, and his men accepted you. That was a daring move – and I have not had the chance to thank you for your support. I am grateful, Philesius. Without men such as you, we would not have survived even to reach this plain. Without your courage and discipline, we will not see home. I am certain of that. Without the absolute obedience, at all times, of both the men you command and those who command them, we will perish in the empire of Persia and never taste the wine and olives of Greece again. We will not enjoy the plays of Euripides,
nor listen to conversations in the agora of Athens. Worse, if we fail here, we will be forgotten by our people.’
He spoke almost in a daze, spinning words into a dream that surprised them both with the intensity of emotion it aroused. Philesius blinked as he gathered his thoughts.
‘I saw his Medea in Athens. Euripides himself was present and the entire crowd rose to honour him. It was … astonishing. As I left, I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, for the first time in years.’
Philesius considered forcing the conversation back to practical matters, but decided against it. He had never wanted to lead, not really. His uncle had understood that, though his captains had pressed him forward. Philesius smiled tightly and bowed his head.
‘Very well, strategos. I pray you bring us all safely home.’
‘That is all I ask,’ Xenophon replied.
He nudged his horse into a trot and rode ahead. The sun was setting behind the hills, casting shadows across the fields. Xenophon found himself shivering as he went on. The crops had been gathered in, he noticed. That was all the better for his men, as they would be able to collect precious grain from the stores. Yet it meant the year was moving on and the seasons were turning. A cold wind seemed to answer his thoughts and he shook his head. Whatever happened, whatever came, they had to keep going. He owed that much to Clearchus.
‘When we meet again, Spartan,’ he murmured aloud, in prayer, ‘when you ask me what we did after your death, I will not be ashamed. I promise you that. I will bring them back.’
He knew Philesius had been angling for more authority, or more of a say in the orders. Xenophon shook his head a fraction. They were his people. He was a noble of Athens and he had found his true purpose. He would not give it up, to anyone.
The Falcon of Sparta Page 32
