Gates of Fire: An Epic Novel of the Battle of Thermopylae

by Steven Pressfield

  The general Mardonius beseeched His Majesty to recall that He had scrupulously observed all sacred ritual prescribed to expiate the lingering vapors of blood guilt, if in fact any such had been incurred. Had not His Majesty subsequent!) I ordered the execution of all those of the royal party, including His own son, the prince Rheodones, who had participated in the event? What more needed doing? Yet despite all this, His Majesty declared, the royal slumber remained restless and unsound. His Majesty in wistful tone expressed the fancy that He, perhaps in induced visions or seantic trance, might acquaint Himself personally with the shade of the man Leonidas and share with him a cup of wine.

  A silence of no short duration followed. This fever, the general Hydarnes ventured at last, has dulled Your Majesty's edge of command and compromised its keenness. I beg Your Majesty speak no more in this manner.

  Yes, yes, you're right, my friend, His Majesty replied. As you are always.

  The commanders turned their attention to matters military and diplomatic. Reports mere delivered. The advance force of Persian infantry and cavalry, fifty thousand strong, had entered Athens and taken possession of the city. The Athenian citizenry had abandoned the place utterly, betaking themselves, with only those goods which they could bear upon their persons, by sail across the strait to Troezen and the island of Salamis, inhere they now held themselves as refugees, huddling about fires upon the hillsides and bewailing their sorrows.

  The city itself had offered no resistance, save that of a small band of fanatics who occupied the High City, the Acropolis, whose precincts in ancient times had been bounded by a wooden palisade. These desperate defenders had fortified themselves in this site, placing, it seems, their faith in the oracle of Apollo which some weeks previous had declared,… the wooden wall alone shall not fail you.

  These lamentable remnants were routed easily by imperial archers, who slew them at a distance.

  So much, Mardonius decreed, for the prophecy. The bivouac fires of the Empire now burned upon the Athenian acropolis. Tomorrow His Majesty Himself would enter the city. Plans were approved for the racing of all temples and sanctuaries of the Hellenic gods and the torching of the remainder of the city. The smoke and flames, it was reported by the intelligence officer, would be visible across the strait to the Athenian populace now cowering in the high goat pastures upon the island of Salamis. They will have a front-row seat, the lieutenant said with a smile, at the annihilation of their universe.

  The hour had now grown late, and His Majesty had begun to display indications of fatigue. The Magus, observing, suggested that the evening might now profitably be brought to a close. All rose from their couches, prostrated themselves and made their exit, save the general Mardonius and Artemisia, whom by subtle gesture of His Majesty's hand were bade to stay. His Majesty indicated that His historian would remain as well, to record [he proceedings. Clearly His Majesty's peace was troubled.

  Now alone in the tent with His two closest confidants, He spoke, relaying a dream.

  I was on a battlefield, which seemed to extend to infinity, and oner which the corpses of the slam spread beyond sight. Cries of victory filled the air; generals and men were vaunting triumphantly. Abruptly I espied the corpse of Leonidas, decapitated, •with its head impaled upon a spike, as we had done at Thermopylae, the body itself nailed as a trophy to a single barren tree in the midst of the plain. I was seized with grief and shame. I raced toward the tree, shouting to my men to cut the Spartan down. In the dream it seemed that, if I could only reaffix the king's head, all would be well. He would revive, and even befriend me, which outcome I dearly desired, I reached to the spike, upon which the severed head sat impaled…

  And the head was His Majesty's own, the lady Artemisia broke in.

  Is the dream that transparent? His Majesty inquired.

  It is nothing and signifies nothing, the warrioress declared emphatically, continuing in a tone that deliberately made light of the matter and urged His Majesty with all speed to put it from his mind. It means only that His Majesty, who is a king, recognizes the mortality of all kings, Himself included. This is wisdom, as Cyrus the Great Himself expressed when he spared the life of Croesus of Lydia.

  His Majesty considered Artemisia's words for long moments. He unshed by them to be convinced, yet, it was apparent, they had not succeeded entirely in stanching His concern.

  Victory is yours, Your Majesty, and nothing can take it from you, the general Mardonius now spoke. Tomorrow we will hum Athens, which was the goal of your father, Darius, and your own and the reason you have assembled this magnificent army and navy and hate toiled and struggled for so long and overcome so many obstacles. Rejoice, my lord! All Greece lies prostrate before you, You have defeated the Spartans and skin their king. The Athenians you have driven before you like cattle, compelling them to abandon the temples of their gods and all their lands and possessions. You stand triumphant, Sire, with the sole of your slipper upon the throat of Greece.

  So complete was His Majesty's victory, Mardonius declared, that the Royal Person need detain Itself not one hour longer here in these hellish precincts at the antipodes of the earth. Leave the dirty work to me, Your Majesty. You yourself take ship home for Susa, tomorrow, there to receive the worship and adulation of your subjects, and to attend to the far more pressing matters of the Empire, which have been in favor of this Hellenic nuisance too long neglected. I will mop up for you. What your forces do in your name is done by you.

  And the Peloponnese? the warrioress Artemisia put in, cit-ing the southern peninsula of Greece, which atone of the whole country remained unsubdued. What would you do with it, Mardonius?

  The Peloponnese is a goat pasture, the general responded. A desert of rocks and sheep dung, with neither riches nor spoil, nor a single port possessed of haven for more than a dozen garbage scows. It is nothing and contains nothing which His Majesty needs.

  Except Sparta.

  Sparta? Mardonius replied contemptuously, and not without heat. Sparta is a village. The whole stinking place would fit, with room to spare, within His Majesty's strolling garden at Persepolis. It is an up-country burg, a pile of stones. It contains no temples or treasures of note, no gold; it is a barnyard of leeks and onions, with soil so thin a man may kick through it with one strike of his foot.

  It contains the Spartans, the lady Artemisia spoke.

  Whom we have crushed, Mardonius replied, and whose king His Majesty's forces have slain.

  We slew three hundred of them, replied Artemisia, and it took two million of us to do it.

  These words so incensed Mardonius that he seemed upon the point of rising from his couch to confront Artemisia physically. My friends, my friends. His Majesty's conciliating tone made to quell the momentary upset, We are here to take counsel, not brawl with each other like schoolchildren.

  Yet the lady's fervor still burned. What is that between your legs, Mardonius, a turnip? You speak like a man with balls the size of chickpeas.

  She addressed Mardonius directly, controlling her anger and speaking with precision and clarity.

  His Majesty's forces have not even sighted, let alone confronted or defeated, the main force of the Spartan army, which remains intact within the Peloponnese and no doubt in full preparedness, and eagerness, for war. Yes, we have killed a Spartan king. But they, as you know, have two;

  Leotychides now reigns, and Leonidas' son, the boy Pleistarchus; his uncle and regent, Pausanias, who will lead the army and whom I know, is every inch the equal of Leonidas in courage and sagacity. So the loss of a king means nothing to them, other than to harden their resolve and inspire them to yet greater prodigies of valor as they seek to emulate his glory.

  Now consider their numbers. The Spartiate Peers alone comprise eight thousand heavy infantry.

  Add the Gentleman-Rankers and the perioikoi and the tally multiplies by five. Arm their helots, which they mast certainty will do, and the total swells by another forty thousand. To this stew toss in the Corinthians, Tegea
tes, Eleans, Mantineans, Plataeans and Megarians, and the Argives, whom these others will compel into alliance if they have not done so already, not to mention the Athenians, whose backs we have driven to the wall and whose hearts are primed with the valor of desperation.

  The Athenians are ashes, Mardonius broke in. As will be their city before tomorrow's sun sets.

  His Majesty appeared of two minds, torn between the prudence of his general's counsel and the passion of the warrioress's advice. He turned to Artemisia. Tell me, my lady, is Mardonius right? Ought I to settle myself upon pillows and take ship for home?

  Nothing could be more disgraceful, Your Majesty, the lady replied without hesitation, nor more unworthy of your own greatness. She rose to her feet now and spoke, pacing before His Majesty beneath the arcing linen of His pavilion.

  Mardonius has recited the names of the Hellenic cities which have offered tokens of submission, and these I admit are not inconsiderable. But the flower of Hellas remains unplucked. The Spartans' nose we have barely bloodied, and the Athenians, though we have driven them from their lands, remain an intact polis and a formidable one. Their navy is two hundred warships, by far the greatest in Hellas, and every vessel is manned by crack citizen crews. These may bear the Athenians anywhere in the world, where they may reestablish themselves undiminished, as potent a threat to Your Majesty's peace as ever. Nor have we depleted their manpower. Their hoplite army remains untouched, and their leaders enjoy the full respect and support of the city.

  We delude ourselves to underestimate these men, whom His Majesty may not know but whom I do. Themistokles, Aristides, Xanthip-pus the son of Ariphron; these are names of proven greatness, fired and ardent to earn more.

  As for the poverty of Greece, what Mardonius says cannot be controverted. There is neither gold nor treasure upon these hardscrabble shores, no rich lands nor fat flocks to plunder. But are these why we came? Are these the reason Your Majesty levied and marshaled this army, the mightiest the world has ever seen? No! Your Majesty came to bring these Greeks to their knees, to compel them to offer earth and water, and this, these last defiant cities have refused and yet refuse to do.

  Put this fatigue-spawned dream from your mind, Your Majesty. It is a false dream, a phantasm.

  Let the Greeks degrade themselves by resort to superstition. We must be men and commanders, exploiting oracles and portents when they suit the purposes of reason and dismissing them when they do not.

  Consider the oracle which the Spartans were given, which all Hellas knows, and which they know we know. That either Sparta would lose a king in battle, which calamity had never in six hundred years befallen them, or the city herself would fall.

  Well, they have lost a king. What will their seers make of this, Your Majesty? Clearly that the city now cannot fall.

  If you retire now, Lord, the Greeks will say it was because you feared a dream and an oracle.

  She drew up then, before His Majesty, and addressed these words directly to Him. Contrary to what our friend Mardonius says, His Majesty has not yet claimed His victory. It dangles before Him, a ripe fruit waiting to be plucked. If His Majesty retires now to palaced luxury and leaves this prize to be taken by others, even those whom He most honors and holds dearest to Him, the glory of this triumph is tarnished and defamed. Victory cannot simply be declared, it must be won. And won, if I may say so, in person.

  Then, and only then, may His Majesty with honor take ship and return home.

  The warrior queen finished and resumed her position upon her couch. Mardonius offered no rebuttal. His Majesty looked from one to the other.

  It seems my women have become men, ana my men women.

  His Majesty spoke not in rancor or disapprobation, but stretching His right hand across, He settled it with affection upon the shoulder of His friend and kinsman Mardonius, as if to reassure the general that His confidence in him remained steadfast and undiminished.

  His Majesty then straightened and with forcefulness of voice and demeanor reassumed His kingly tone.

  Tomorrow, He vowed, we will bum Athens to the ground and, following that, march upon the Peloponnese, there to overthrow the very foundation stones of Sparta, not ceasing until we have ground them, everlastingly, into dust.

  Chapter Nineteen

  His Majesty did not sleep that night. Instead He ordered the Greek Xeones summoned to Him at once, intending even at this advanced hour to interrogate the man personalty, seeking further intelligence of the Spartans, who now, more so even than the Athenians, had become the focus of His Majesty's fever and obsession. The warrioress Artemisia had along with Mardonius been dismissed and was at that moment taking her leave; upon hearing these orders of His Majesty she turned back and spoke with concern for Him.

  Sire, please, for the sake of the army and of those who love you, I beg you preserve the Royal Person, for godly though Your Majesty's spirit may be, yet it is contained within a mortal vessel.

  Get some sleep. Do not torment yourself with these cares, which are mere phantoms.

  The general Mardonius seconded this with vehemence. Why distress yourself, Lord, with this tale told by a slave? What bearing can the story of obscure officers and their petty internecine wars have upon the events of supreme moment to which we now are committed? Trouble yourself no more with this whimsy woven by a savage, who hates you and Persia with every element of his being. His story is all lies anyway, if you ask me.

  His Majesty smiled at these words of his general. On the contrary, my friend, I believe this fellow's tale is true in every regard and, though you may not yet grant it, very much to the point of matters with which we now grapple.''

  His Majesty indicated His campaign throne, which stood in the lamplight beneath the pinnacle of the tent. Do you see that chair, my friends? No mortal can be lonelier or more isolated than He if ho sits upon it. You cannot appreciate this, Mardonius. None can who has not sat there.

  Consider: whom can a king trust who comes into His hearing;* What man enters before Him but with some secret desire, passion, grievance or claim, which he employs all his artifice and guile to conceal? Who speaks the truth before a king? A man addresses Him either in fear for that which He may seize or in avarice for that which He may bestow. None comes before Him but as a suppliant. His heart's business the flatterer speaks not aloud, but all he obscures beneath the cloak of dissemblance and dissimulation.

  Each voice vowing allegiance, each heart declaring love, the Royal Listener must probe and examine as if He were a vendor in a bazaar, seeking the subtle indices of betrayal and deceit.

  How tiresome this becomes. A king's own wives whisper sweetly to Him in the darkness of the royal bedchamber. Do they love Him? How can He know, when He perceives their true passion spent in scheming and intriguing for their children's advantage or their own private gain. None speaks the truth whole to a king, not His own brother, not even you, my friend and kinsman.

  Mardonius hastened to deny this, but His Majesty cut him short with a smile. Of all those who come before me, only one man, I believe, speaks without desire for private profit. That is this Greek. You do not understand him, Mardonius. His heart yearns for one thing only: to be reunited with his brothers-in-arms beneath the earth. Even his passion to tell their story is secondary, an obligation imposed upon him by one of his gods, which is to him a burden and a curse. He seeks nothing from me. No, my friends, the Greek's words do not trouble or distress.

  They please. They restore.

  His Majesty, standing then at the threshold of the pavilion, gestured past the guard of the Immortals to the watch fires glowing without.

  Consider the crossing at which we now stand encamped, that site the Hellenes call the ThreeCornered Way. It would be noth-ing to us, mere dirt beneath our feet. Yet is not this humble plot given meaning, and even charm, to recall from the prisoner's tale that he, as a child, parted here from the maiden Diomache, his cousin whom he loved?

  Artemisia exchanged a glance with Mardonius.

/>   His Majesty yields to sentiment, the lady addressed her King, and fatuous sentiment at that.

  At this moment the service portal of the pavilion parted and permission to enter was asked by the detention officers. The Greek was borne in, yet upon his litter, eyes cloth-bound as ever, by two subalterns of the Immortals preceded by Orontes, their captain.

  Let us see the man's face, His Majesty commanded, and may his eyes behold ours.

  Orontes obeyed. The cloth was removed.

  The captive Xeones blinked several times in the lamplight, then looked for the first time upon His Majesty. So striking was the expression which then appeared upon the man's face that the captain remarked angrily upon it and demanded to know what arrogance possessed the fellow to stare so boldly at the Royal Person.

  I have looked upon His Majesty's face before, the man replied.

  Above the battle, as all the foe have.

  No, Captain. Here, in this tent. On the night of the fifth day.

  You are a liar! Orontes struck the man in anger. For the breach to which the captive referred had in fact occurred, on the penultimate eve of battle at the Hot Gates, when a night raid of the Spartans bore a handful of their warriors within a spear's thrust of the Royal Presence, inside this very pavilion, before the intruders were driven back by the Immortals and Egyptian marines swarming to His Majesty's defense.

  I was here, the Greek responded calmly, and would have had my skull split apart by an axe, hurled at me by a noble, had it not struck first a ridgepole of the tent and embedded itself there.''

  At this, the general Mardonius' face lost aft color. In the west portal of the chamber, precisely where the Spartan raid had penetrated, was lodged yet an axehead, driven so deep into the cedar that it could not be extracted without splitting the pole, and so had been left in place by the carpenters, sawn off at the shaft, with the pole repaired and rewound about it with cord.