By the Sword

by Christian Kachel

  None of the other patrons came to his aid nor looked at all interested in the affair. The wine server came from around his post and helped the man up and saw him out. Rhexenor suggested that we leave lest he return with a gang of interested comrades. “Had he any, they would have been here with him. He’s a drunk and a fool,” replied Stephanos, now turning to his female companion, “And I am not leaving here without getting to know my new friend better.” The rest of the evening was spent drinking, laughing and fornicating. The image of the bloody veteran being dragged out remained with me throughout the night, however. His criticism of our table wrung true to me, for we had done nothing, nor did we endure anything other than three days of drill and marching. The incident had further elevated my view of Stephanos as well; whereas my reaction to such reprimand harkened me back to uncle Argos and my insecurities, Stephanos stood straight up and confronted such condescending rebukes. My constitution paled in comparison to his and I attributed this to the raw emotions created from the Lamian Wars that now bolstered his confidence and compelled him to action. My past had been a procession of one self-serving act upon another which left me devoid of any emotional affection, familial loyalty being the exception, that could stir me to such bravery.

  We clumsily made our way back to camp after finishing with the house women. Our journey reminded me of my countless walks home with Patrochlus, Alexandros, and Nearchus. I felt a sinking feeling as Nearchus’ face floated through my mind’s eye. I missed him. We passed by several decrepit beggars whom Bacchylides shouted drunken obscenities towards. He was the most inebriated and leaned heavily on Rhexenor as we stumbled our way down winding streets, eventually reaching our camp just outside the town’s boundary. Our other mates of the line seemed to be all back and already asleep. My intoxicated contingent ineptly stepped as quietly as possible to our bedrolls around a low fire but Bacchylides tripped over one sleeping recruit, bringing himself and Rhexenor down upon another sleeping victim. This caused a small stir with the two awoken recruits cursing us and Bacchylides laughing uncontrollably as he struggled to regain his footing. With our evening concluded, we all quickly fell to sleep around the dying camp fire- another night my father would have been proud to be a part of.

  Chapter 12

  Morning greeted our degenerate contingent with the familiar weight of a hangover and dehydration. Luckily I woke before our handlers felt it necessary to begin our anguish for the day and I lingered near our smouldered out fire to eat a morsel of bread saved from the prior evening and drink what water was available. Most of our line was awake with the exception of Labdacus and my contingent. Looking at Stephanos’ bruised eye and fat lip, it was clear which faction best enjoyed our precious evening.

  I walked over and nudged Labdacus for fear that his sluggishness would rile the mood of our handlers. My stirring about woke Stephanos and Rhexenor, but Bacchylides remained stubbornly still, looking as though he was screwed into the dirt. Agathon and Callisthenes began making their way over to the throng and it was apparent from their glassy red eyes they had enjoyed themselves last night as well.

  “Line up at port-arms!” was Agathon’s morning salutation. Our weary line bustled about to recover our sarissas and assemble to formation. “Any issues last night?” Our line remained silent as Callisthenes paced up and down inspecting each recruit. He stopped in front of Stephanos to question his injuries. “Where did you receive these fresh wounds?”

  “I mistakenly fell last night,” was his unconvincing response. Callisthenes immediately struck Stephanos in the stomach, causing him to yell out and hunch over. Grabbing his hair, Callisthenes then brought his face back up to his and repeated the question.

  “Where did you receive these injuries?”

  “At a tavern,” replied Stephanos in a strained voice.

  “Who did this to you?”

  “No one. I had too much wine and lost my step,” explained Stephanos dispassionately.

  Callisthenes now struck Stephanos on the cheek and threw him to the ground. “You fought a local townsmen, you worthless drunken fool! If your actions cause the people here to bar us from recruiting in the future, you will be beaten to death!” He then quickly inspected the rest of the recruits’ bodies to ensure no other had the signs of combat besides what had been put there by our handlers. Callisthenes then stopped in front of Bacchylides who displayed several bruises. “Where did you get these?”

  “I received them as punishment from you and Agathon,” answered Bacchylides.

  “Good, you probably deserved worse.”

  “The new batch of meat arrives in three hours, which means you have plenty of time to drill before our attention moves elsewhere,” shouted Agathon. He then instructed us to spread our ranks wide to create enough room to manoeuvre our sarissas. For the next hour we performed every manner of drill that could be devised from Agathon’s creative mind. My shoulders began burning from the mundane repetitions and I felt strength leaving my arms. Bacchylides was the first to vomit yet had the sense to not drop his spear- saving him from a violent correction. Next, Labdacus began resting the weighted end of his spear on the ground between repetitions which resulted in several strikes to the ribs and back.

  Rhexenor now vomited to my immediate left. The sight and sound of this vile action began to rile my fragile stomach. My breaths consisted of open-mouthed panting that made a slight wheezing sound as I struggled to hold my sarissa correctly during each machination. Dehydration prohibited me from properly vomiting so I fiercely dry-heaved on several occasions. Our handlers sensed the deteriorating resolve of our line and increased the intensity of our drills to hasten our complete collapse. They walked the ranks eagerly looking for recruits on the edge of surrender as Agathon called out commands at a rapid pace. When they found a candidate for capitulation they would begin correcting their flawed technique which accelerated their fatigue and led to their knees buckling and spears dropping. Our handlers responded to these blasphemies with severe penalties.

  My body was also failing and my technique worsened with each repetition. I summoned all my strength to perform each movement adequately while our handlers’ eyes were upon me and briefly rested when they were preoccupied with some other unfortunate recruit. Several soldiers had succumbed to their weakness and I could no longer mask my fatigue. One of the older handlers now took an interest in me and screamed for me to improve my technique. I could not, of course, and was in a losing battle to keep my knees from buckling and my spear off the ground. The commands continued and my sarissa lowered farther to the ground with each repetition. My handler watched in delight as my shoulders and arms failed me and the weighted end of my spear crashed into the ground. I was struck several times, giving me the excuse I needed to collapse onto the ground. A well placed kick to my mid-section prompted me to vomit a small amount of an acidic mixture on myself. I lay there, unable to comprehend the myriad of clever insults levelled at the sight of my pathetic posture. My body had reached its breaking point and I gave in to it completely. I had never felt this level of physical exhaustion in my life.

  Agathon continued our hellish training session for several more minutes before allowing us to rest. I had been beaten by this day’s training and any thoughts from yesterday of crossing some threshold of competence were immediately erased. Agathon ordered us to remain where we were while the new recruits entered the camp. As my senses returned to me, I counted ten recruits formed up in a curved line before their new handlers. Agathon fell seamlessly into his first-day routine with the new group of ten victims- berating them, beating them, and insulting them for a good hour. I empathized with their plight, mainly because I knew it did not get better with time- at least in four days’ time. I ensured to drink what little water was available to us before we began the day’s march as I saw our handlers giving the new recruits spears and forming them up. Our handlers paid little attention to our line during the march so as to devote their full sadism on the new Kadoi cohort. Agathon drilled them merc
ilessly throughout the day and several fell out of the march to receive their violent punishment.

  Despite the weight of my spear, I found the day’s march to be somewhat pleasant without our handlers circling our line like hawks shouting excruciating drill repetitions. Our normal distractions absent, I was able to fill my head with all manner of satisfying thoughts. They ranged from the future adventures I was to have in the army, my triumphant return home and the feeling of pride I would someday engender in my family again. I also allowed my mind to wander on to the subject of my old mates, and eventually to Nearchus. I felt such a sense of longing that a hole opened up in my stomach and I began feeling nauseous. What were his final thoughts? Why did he not feel he could come to me first? Finally, I began to consider my last fateful nights in Ilandra and where they relegated me on the spiritual scale of morality. Was I now condemned to Tartarus or the Fields of Punishment? Would I be allowed entry to the Asphodal Meadows where souls of an indifferent nature who have committed no serious crime dwell? Would some future heroic deed grant me a place among the valiant souls of the Elysian Fields? I dared not consider my poor soul would ever be destined for the Isles of the Blessed. I ended this line of thought with the conclusion that my fate lay somewhere between the Fields of Punishment and the Asphodal Meadows and only an act of selflessness or courage could change my destiny.

  The next several days all blended together as the new recruits were tormented and our line was left to march in relative peace. After one week the new recruits began showing competence and were brought into our ranks to practice drills and manoeuvres in larger formations. We marched as a cohesive unit for several more days before reaching the city of Gordium. Upon our arrival at the city limits, we were called to formation where Agathon addressed our line. “We are stopping in Gordium to pick up more recruits. You will have tomorrow morning off.” He then stood in front of Stephanos and added, “If any of you do something stupid and screw up my ability to recruit people from Gordium I will kill you myself!” Agathon’s words came as welcome news to our line, especially the newer recruits who had not enjoyed a precious evening since their enlistment.

  That night our same group of five was joined by Labdacus and two Kadoi recruits named Dracham and Spear. Spear was given this name by his group of recruits due to his initial competence using the weapon. Spear was tall, handsome and confident. It was clear he was the leader of the two and naturally drifted towards Stephanos as a foreign dignitary would to a king in a room full of beggars. Our enlarged group was not interested in seeing the graves of the famous Macedonians Midas and Gordias as some of our line was eager to do and made our way to the sordid streets of the city’s taverns and brothels for some proper revelry.

  Our group had taken on Labdacus as a charity case and was now coming to love his jovial, kind-hearted nature. He was quick to tell an obscene joke or drink unbelievable amounts of wine for our amusement. He delighted in our enjoyment and became our group’s mascot. While everyone was warming to Labdacus, it became clear the two strong personalities of Bacchylides and Spear were colliding like duelling rams. Bacchylides was noticeably drunk and took considerable offense to a prostitute he favoured shunning his attentions for that of Spear. Spear intentionally exacerbated the situation through a number of taunts after observing the level of anger it produced in his new adversary. The two were close to coming to blows when Stephanos, angry over being disturbed from enjoying the company of his woman, got in between them and forbade any bloodshed. He quickly signalled for another woman to be brought for Bacchylides and ordered him to sit in a seat farthest from Spear at our table.

  Towards the end of the night, Labdacus had become the drunkest of our clan through multiple episodes of heavy drinking to please his new friends. We all pitched in money to ensure he had a woman for the night and laughed hysterically as he stumbled after her up the stairs. This spectacle calmed tempers between Bacchylides and Spear for the time being and the rest of our group made arrangements with our women to spend an hour our two upstairs before departing back to our camp at the edge of the city. The eight of us stumbled down the winding streets of Gordium that night, laughing, howling, and shouting obscenities before quietly slipping back into camp and passing out on the ground near our burnt-out fire.

  The next morning our combined line was called to formation so our handlers could inspect us and ensure everyone was accounted for. Agathon stopped in front of Labdacus, who looked like a standing corpse and struck him in the face- knocking him flat off his feet. In the past I was too concerned about my own wellbeing to care about one of our line being punished, but we had all taken warmly to the good-humoured recruit and his violent castigation now engendered strong feelings of sympathy. Labdacus slowly rose to his feet and Agathon promptly struck him in the stomach, causing him to keel over and vomit violently on the ground. We were ordered to ready our spears and open the ranks so several feet existed between each recruit. Agathon then began the day’s anguish with countless numbers of spear drills, each imaginatively designed to exhaust our muscles. After ninety minutes, the Kadoi recruits began to fall out of the formation. They were welcomed by the fists of our two older handlers while Callisthenes walked in and out of the formation looking for new candidates on the verge of submission. Agathon made a point to notice all who fell out but kept bringing his attention to Labdacus. Seeing the poor lad was not faring well, he began walking over to him and screaming out orders faster and faster. Agathon’s eyes had a look of ecstatic anticipation as Labdacus’ technique continued to falter after each repetition. He finally gave up and Agathon beat him senseless. Labdacus had lost the ability to hold his head up, so Agathon cradled the back of his head and struck him directly in the face two more times until his faculties left him. Each strike further disfigured his face and splattered blood everywhere. Our day’s drills were concluded after Agathon’s cathartic battering of our new mascot and we were ordered to stay out of the way while the new Gordium recruits entered our camp.

  Stephanos and I carried Labdacus’ limp body back to the recruit’s side of the camp and rested while our handlers began their now familiar routine of indoctrination all over again. Gordium, being a larger city, produced twenty recruits who all stood in a winding line receiving their first exposure of the torments to come. They were screamed at, beaten, and mocked for about an hour before they were given their sarissas for the day’s march. I was worried that Labdacus would not be physically ready for the march, but he had recovered well after being given food and water by his mates and we all formed into two sections, with the Gordium recruits marching ahead of us, being circled by the handlers like vultures.

  The day’s march was tolerable for the veteran recruit formation and agonizing for the Gordium enlistees. They were constantly drilled and berated as their bodies experienced the physical hardships of their new normal. After several hours, the first of the Gordium recruits began falling out of the march and were welcomed by our handlers with violent censure. At this time I began to notice Labdacus’ failings within our formation. He was clearly exhausted and dehydrated and was now teetering on the verge of surrender. I pitied his defeated appearance, having experienced it myself, and felt guilty that our want of drunken spectacle from him the previous night contributed to his exasperated state. I gave him words of encouragement but he was too foregone to be bolstered. He collapsed along the side of the road with his sarissa making a deafening thud. Rhexenor, being the closest, attempted to help him but Callisthenes had already raced to the spot of infraction and knocked Rhexenor over to administer violent castigation. Callisthenes then picked up Labdacus’ spear and thrust its blunt edge into the back of Labdacus, steering him at rapid pace ahead to the new recruits’ formation. “You clearly don’t even deserve to be in the presence of proper Greek recruits you pathetic toad! You will train with the new scum stains until you can conduct a proper day’s march!” Labdacus now took position with the Gordium recruits to participate in their excruciating drills for the re
mainder of the march- a fate intended by Callisthenes to break the man. Several more Gordium recruits fell out of the formation and a dozen ended the day’s march with blood-stained faces and out-of-joint noses.

  Labdacus was forbid access to his mates of the veteran formation at camp that night, yet Stephanos and I were able to sneak extra food and water to him. It was clear that his health was deteriorating and he was exhibiting dangerous fever symptoms. “He isn’t going to make it if he has to drill all day during the march tomorrow with the Gordium recruits,” assessed Stephanos. “He may not even make it through tomorrow’s exercises before the day’s march.”

  “Callisthenes will never grant him a reprieve from his continued punishment and we are not close enough to a settlement to procure him a remedy,” I added.

  “There was a small village about four miles back along the road, but running an additional eight miles after the march we just had will be difficult,” observed Stephanos. “A horse perhaps could make the journey but Callisthenes would never allow such extra labour to be levied on their animals for the benefit of a lowly recruit.”

  “We could steal it for the night,” I suggested. Stephanos thought this idea over but came to the conclusion that it was not feasible due to its proximity to our handlers and the amount of noise it would make.

  “I will run it,” Stephanos announced. “I could make it there and back in ninety minutes.”

  “With legs that just marched sixteen miles?” I asked incredulously.

  “He would do the same to help one of us.”

  “Only because we are the only ones that have shown him kindness; besides, he physically couldn’t ever do something like this for us. Despite his good nature, our handlers are right; he’s a physical disgrace.” My body was doing the talking for me. It couldn’t bear the further exertion Stephanos was contemplating.