It was not long before the plains were a memory. They helped one another over boulders, shivering all the while as the cold seemed to reach into their bones. Xenophon understood quickly that he would not be able to take his horse into the mountains of the Carduchi. With a sigh, he dismounted. The animal had served him well and it was hard for him to call for a hammer. Killing a horse is not an easy thing, but their need was great. One of the Corinthians said he had been a butcher in a previous life. Xenophon held the reins and refused to look away as the man brought a mallet down hard and the horse sagged and collapsed, its tongue showing. Men and women clustered around as if they could claim a bit of the meat for themselves by laying hands on it.
‘Get back, all of you,’ Xenophon snapped at them. ‘Hunger makes you fools. We have a dozen mounts. We’ll stop here and eat …’ He looked around, but there was little in the way of firewood in that place. A few stunted trees clung to cracks in stones higher up, not enough to roast meat for a starving multitude. He shook his head. ‘We’ll carry the meat further in, until we have firewood and a place to defend.’
The promise seemed to satisfy them, though they watched like wolves as the butcher cut great strips and chops out of the animal’s ribs.
What path there was led deeper, until they came to a great fork. One side must have been a goat path for its thinness, little more than a white line disappearing around a bend. The other was more rockfall than path; the grey stones were tinged with moss and it did not look as if anything had moved there for a thousand years. Xenophon came forward, though the truth was he was no better able to guess the path than the grubby child who walked at his side for a time. Even so, they expected him to make the decision, so he gave the order, without hesitation. They would climb the rockfall, to make their way higher. As soon as he had spoken, the boy smiled at him, wide-eyed.
‘What’s your name, son?’
‘Adrios, sir.’
‘You approve, do you, Adrios?’ Xenophon said to him.
The child nodded, making Xenophon smile and ruffle his hair. After a time, the boy’s mother tracked him down and lifted him onto her hip.
‘I’m sorry, strategos. His father was lost in the battle. He keeps looking for him, amongst the men. He’s always off somewhere, tugging on sleeves and asking if they’ve seen him. I hope he wasn’t a nuisance.’
‘Not at all. Adrios agreed with me about the way we should go, didn’t you? He is a good lad.’ She blinked in surprise at that, but Xenophon found his mood had lightened.
An hour of solid effort followed, an extraordinary process. Men and women clambered up, offering their hands to one another. Some made hard going of it, while others leaped from stone to stone like mountain goats. All the time, they tried to be wary of attack, but it was simply impossible to hold a spear ready to strike and yet scramble across loose shale as it scattered and trembled beneath. Xenophon glimpsed Hephaestus as he worked his way closer. He knew by the man’s pinched expression how hard it had been to give up the other mounts.
‘You gave the order to kill my horse?’ Hephaestus said, when he was near enough. It felt like a challenge and Xenophon responded quickly.
‘I did. They cannot climb.’
For a moment, the other man glared, but then a shadow passed across his face. Hephaestus was a long way from the streets of the city and the realities there. He had seen enough to know Xenophon had made the only possible choice.
‘The Spartans are butchering them like sheep,’ he said, bitterly. ‘They have no souls, those men.’
‘They have no sentiment,’ Xenophon replied. ‘It is not the same.’
‘How did you know the path to take?’
‘I chose the one that led upwards. We’ll have to climb high to get over these mountains, Hephaestus. If there is a pass through, it will be near the peaks, as high as we can go.’
Hephaestus paused, panting, to stare down the slope. Every time they did so, they were amazed how far they had come. They had learned quickly to rest often, but for short amounts of time. In that way, they made faster progress than forcing themselves to exhaustion and collapse.
The whole trail behind was crammed with people labouring over the loose and broken rocks. They were worn down, but they had not yet come close to giving up. Xenophon looked on them with pride and Hephaestus saw the expression.
‘They will not thank you, you know,’ he said. ‘I see the way you look at them, as if you are their father. I think they will break your heart in the end.’
It was a surprising thing to hear from a man who had once robbed theatre-goers. Xenophon leaned back as if to take a better look at the Athenian, squinting at him.
‘You are a thoughtful man, Hephaestus, though you hide it well. The truth is, we will be lucky to see home again. If we do survive, I doubt any of us will be the same. And you do not expect enough of your people. They will surprise you yet, I am certain of it. As you have surprised me.’
He saw Hephaestus flush in pleasure at the compliment as they turned to continue on.
High above them, in the mists, a strange hooting began, more like the raucous cries of gulls or apes than something that might have come from the throats of men. The sound echoed back and forth across the crags until it filled the air and every one of the Greeks had frozen. Thousands of them stood staring upwards, almost like children in their fear of the unknown. Hephaestus and Xenophon looked at each other in grim surmise.
‘They know we are here,’ Xenophon said softly.
The first hill led down into a sheltered valley, where there were some thirty houses. All were abandoned, but there was food and, best of all, wine in clay vats set into the ground. The hooting continued in the darkness and prevented many of the men from drinking too much and making themselves useless. All they wanted was to get through those mountains and back to the plains beyond as fast as they could. They lit torches and moved about the village as night came, but quickly found the lights invited arrows and slingstones from somewhere above them, without warning – and that the Carduchi were skilled. Three men died before they learned not to carry the torches and make themselves a target. Those who slept outside remained awake and two more hoplites were killed before the sun rose again. Worse somehow were the bonfires lit in the distance, high overhead so that they burned like yellow stars. Xenophon had no doubt they were to summon all the tribes and families of the Carduchi. He could not shake the dull fear that pressed into his gut like hunger, or the cold. In the shelter of one of the houses, his shivering died away by a warm fire. He ate better food than he had known since setting out and he felt tears come to his eyes at the fresh bread and salt butter that was not rancid. It was a small pleasure, but when he added a cup of red wine that was young and near sour, it was almost too much.
In the morning, Xenophon walked to the end of the valley with a few of the men. The mountains opened out beyond and they could see tiny figures moving on the highest slopes, though whether they were coming down to attack or waiting in ambush was hard to say. Xenophon slapped his hand on the base of a rock spire stretching up into mists, wondering if someone was sitting above him at that moment, their hearts full of rage for the invader. The whistling sounds had begun again, all around that valley, though it was hard to tell distance in the echoes.
‘We’ll need to capture guides as soon as we encounter them,’ Xenophon said evenly. ‘There are too many dead ends in these mountains – we could wander for a year.’
‘Very well,’ Chrisophus said. ‘Will you take the vanguard or the rear? I believe my Spartans are the ones to lead in this sort of terrain. It is not unlike the mountains of home, here. I am almost nostalgic for the playgrounds of my youth.’
Xenophon blinked, uncertain if the man was joking or not. He had learned to trust Chrisophus, however.
‘I will command the rear. I’ll keep our scouts out as runners between us – they’ll be panting today, after so long on horseback. Do not go so far ahead that we are separated.’
&nbs
p; Chrisophus bowed his head in reply, untroubled at getting such advice from a less experienced man. He had come to like the Athenian and accepted that Xenophon was an officer of the sort who tried to keep soldiers alive. Chrisophus approved of such men, much more than those who rushed at every challenge without a moment of reflection.
‘I think this pinch point will serve another purpose this morning,’ Xenophon went on, running his hand over the rock. ‘Two or three can pass through here at once. I think we should check the men for weight and looted goods, Chrisophus. We need to be light and fast, not burdened down.’
The Spartan grinned at that idea and set about summoning the camp to pass through a single narrow space, all under Xenophon’s eye. It was not long before the first ones were marching past the general – and just moments later when the first looted goods were taken from them, forming a pile by the side of the path.
It was astonishing, Xenophon thought. He had not realised quite how many things the soldiers and camp followers had simply picked up as they travelled. As well as unwieldy saddles and strange weapons too ancient to be useful, they had sacks of salt and herbs, rolls of cloth and great cured skins. One man carried a door, though when he claimed it served as well as any shield, Xenophon let him keep it. Somehow, his Greeks had hung on to a thousand heavy items, including tools and reins for horses they no longer had. Xenophon was ruthless with those, ignoring complaints and counter-arguments. They had begun to resemble a market in Athens more than a lean army fighting their way across the mountains. Though it caused immense bad feeling, the pile grew and grew until it would make an astonishing find for the Carduchi who stumbled across it. Xenophon considered setting it on fire, but he thought it would serve them better as an offering to the gods.
He also allowed the soldiers to keep the slaves they had somehow managed to collect over the journey. Many of the men had taken lovers and it would have been cruel to abandon them to the tribes of the mountains. Still, there were more foreign slaves than Xenophon would have believed possible. No wonder they had known hunger. He seemed to be feeding half of Persia. He was in a simmering temper about it by the time the last of them passed through.
Hephaestus was one of the rearguard and he walked alongside Pallakis, somehow making a claim on her by their closeness. Xenophon felt her gaze drift across him and his own mood soured further. Xenophon had rejected her, but he’d hoped even so that she would be pining for him. That did not seem to be the case. As if to prove his suspicion, Pallakis reached to the young man’s neck and brushed at something, a gesture of intimacy that made Xenophon clench his teeth together. It did not occur to him that she had made sure he saw how she touched Hephaestus, or that any part of the display might have been for his benefit.
By the time the entire Greek force was through the pinch and out onto a wider slope, they truly were less burdened. A few looked longingly behind to the pile of valuables, but Xenophon had made his point. He sat in higher favour than he knew as he went to the rear in a temper, waving the column into movement.
All along the path, hoplites raised shields and readied spears, ramming helmets down over hair grown overlong and thick. Above them, the hooting suddenly ceased. Everyone looked up sharply into the mists above. They had grown used to the sound, so that its absence was almost more frightening, as if the hills themselves were staring down. Xenophon shivered.
Up ahead, Chrisophus came under attack almost immediately, with stones rattling down onto his men as the Carduchi crept along narrow paths above their heads. Arrows came in bursts and the tribesmen were good shots. Chrisophus responded smartly, sending the youngest and fittest Spartans up to the hills around them. Whenever they encountered a path that led upwards, a hundred would break off and pelt up it at full speed. They discovered the primary tactic of the Carduchi was to run from an attack, to scatter light-footed over the crags like mountain goats, so that the Greeks were left to pant and stare down over sheer drops.
It became a savage game, but the Carduchi were having the best of it. Groups of six or twelve of them would appear on some ledge and shoot down in a rattle of arrows against shields and armour. If they were lucky, they would score a wound or take a man down. Before Chrisophus could mount a challenge, or when they sighted the Spartans pursuing them across the peaks, they were off once again, hooting and leaping.
It was infuriating, but the actual losses were few, as long as the Greeks kept formation and used the shields. Being in column was helpful as a single shield could shelter two or three of those marching along, overlapping to frustrate the enemy. Without those shields and the discipline to hold them steady, it would have been a slaughter.
At the rear, Xenophon saw a larger force come into view as he trudged past the opening of a valley to the side. Perhaps a hundred Carduchi bobbed and threatened there, their faces marked in soot or blood. They were tantalisingly close and about as ready to run as to attack, but his task was to support Chrisophus and he could not break away. Xenophon ordered shields pressed together in an unbroken line on that side, while stones and arrows shattered against them. Philesius was there to bear the brunt, with the Thessalians and the Stymphalians just ahead in column. They were solid, experienced soldiers and they did not falter. Xenophon was settling into the routine and accepting it, when the rhythm changed ahead.
Without warning, Chrisophus and the entire front end of the column broke away from the camp followers and raced clear, charging an unseen threat. Xenophon was left bringing up the rear with no idea what was happening or where he needed to be. He swore, calling Philesius over to him.
The Thessalian looked pale but determined. He saluted with one arm across his chest.
‘We need to capture a few of these people,’ Xenophon shouted over the noise of marching and the rattle of stones and shafts still coming from his left. As Philesius opened his mouth to reply, a hoplite in the rearmost rank took an arrow through his head as he peered over a shield. He fell without even a cry and both Xenophon and Philesius stared as his body was left behind.
‘We can’t stop here,’ Xenophon said. ‘Get me a guide, Philesius. These people know every part of their hills. They will run rings around us until we have eyes. Create an ambush for them. Tempt them in – with women, or a wounded man.’
Philesius chuckled as he set about bringing two reluctant young women to the fore. One of them was accompanied by the hoplite who was her lover, complaining loudly until he saw it was Xenophon who had ordered it. Even then, the young soldier watched with jealous eyes as the two women were made to run from the line of shields, as if they had escaped.
The rattle of shafts stopped immediately. Women who might bear children were never overlooked. With no hesitation, eight of the Carduchi ran forward with arms outstretched to grab the shrieking women before they could be taken back. In turn, they were enveloped as the Greek line erupted before their eyes.
All eight of the Carduchi who had come forward were grabbed and hauled back into the ranks. Four of them were killed as they struggled, their bodies thrown down to be left behind. The remaining four were bound and taken into the column where they could not be rescued or killed. The shafts and stones rattled once more, but the column marched on. Ahead of them, the camp followers increased their pace, trying to rejoin the force under Chrisophus that had vanished ahead in a great charge.
Xenophon turned sharply to Philesius.
‘Have someone who knows Persian speak to those Carduchi. The sooner we know where we are, the better.’
He saw the camp followers trudging miserably ahead as the path curved. They were desperately vulnerable and he had no doubt the Carduchi were creeping in on all sides by then. Without anyone to keep them moving, his people were coming to a halt on their own, terrified. Xenophon could only curse Chrisophus for chasing ghosts and abandoning them. He made a decision, though his heart felt like it would beat out of his chest.
‘Press on. Double speed. Form up around the camp followers as best you can. Hostile terrain! Shields
up and spears ready to repel attack. No one stops until we see our vanguard. No one!’
Above them, he could see slender lines of archers sidling out, on ledges barely able to hold them on sheer cliffs. Arrows and stones came whistling through the air and it was enough to keep them all going faster, with the shields protecting them. As they pressed on, climbing over stones and pushing through narrow places, cries of pain could be heard whenever the Carduchi found flesh instead of bronze.
Xenophon forced them on for a mile, though everyone was panting by then, as if the air had grown too thin to breathe. They climbed with every step and yet it was never high enough to stop the hail from above.
Ahead, they caught sight of the rear ranks of the five thousand with Chrisophus, hunched up like a beetle or a tortoise, with shields protecting the men. Xenophon felt his temper surge, but he controlled it like a Spartan, telling himself Chrisophus would not have left him unprotected without good reason.
The man himself came back to meet him as the rear half of the Greeks joined once more with the front. The relief was indescribable. Apart, they knew they had faced destruction.
Chrisophus dropped to one knee to apologise, the gesture as good as words.
‘Where did you get to?’ Xenophon said, hoping he had not misjudged the man, or given him too much authority.
‘I am sorry. There was no time to send word. Look there and you will see what made me run.’
He pointed and Xenophon stared into the distance. He had reached the point by then where Chrisophus had lurched into a charge. He could see the pass through the hills that shrank to a narrow cleft – and the swarming mass of tribesmen that waited for them there.
Chrisophus had not risen from his knee.
‘I saw them coming down the hillsides and I understood they were trying to reach that point before us. I did not – I do not know why it is important, only that they were racing to get there. I broke the chain of command to stop them, general. I apologise.’
The Falcon of Sparta Page 34
