By the Sword

by Christian Kachel

  “I would do it for you,” claimed Stephanos.

  “And I you, but…”

  “I’m not asking you to join me,” interrupted Stephanos. “I will make this journey alone if I must.”

  Every ounce of my being protested but my loyalty to Stephanos and my enhanced admiration of him compelled the weak response of “alright.” We waited till twilight to begin our trek and ran at a slow but steady pace in silence for the first few miles. After the second mile my body began to coast on its own. By the third mile, however, my legs began to cramp and my stamina failed me. I demanded we stop and Stephanos agreed.

  “This little shit better appreciate this,” I said, panting like a dog. Stephanos didn’t reply and sat with a half-smile on his face. “I don’t know what perverted treachery you are trying to compensate for with this deed, but I’d say we will have achieved access to the Elysian Fields by sunrise.”

  Our last mile was the slowest and my legs and feet were numb by the time we saw flickering lights ahead of us. Stephanos quietly knocked on a door with a lit window and announced our intentions. A toothless, decrepit dirt farmer opened the door holding a sharpened farm tool as defence against our unsolicited visit. Stephanos asked to purchase ground willow leaf and bark to assist our ill companion. The dirt farmer had none but led us to another small dwelling and the exchange was made. The procurement lasted a total of ten minutes and my body pleaded with me to delay further strenuous actions but Stephanos willed me forward.

  My body began failing after the first mile and I implored Stephanos to adjust our pace to a fast walk for the next mile. He complied on the pretext we would run the next mile, to which I negotiated a slow jog for the fourth. By the time our small camp fires were visible I could run no farther and began walking again. We finally made it to where Labdacus lay and noticed his condition had worsened. He lay by himself, shivering and moaning in a cold sweat. I stoked the small fire next to him and Stephanos administered our hard-fought remedy. He whispered something to the patient and we both took our leave back to the veteran recruits’ side of the camp.

  The next morning I was surprised to find Labdacus still alive and readying for the day’s toil. He was in poor spirits and did not remember seeing Stephanos and me the prior evening. My legs and lower back were aching from the added strain from the night’s sortie and I was apprehensive about my ability to complete the day’s exertions. Our first hour was spent conducting numerous repetitions with our sarissas. Our handlers then split us with the veteran recruits performing movement drills and the Gordium recruits continuing their sarissa repetitions. I could no longer see Labdacus but observed several new recruits vomiting or falling out of their formation to the unwelcoming hands of Callisthenes.

  After the second hour, we were told to rest for several minutes before the day’s march began. I saw Labdacus had new bruises and fresh blood running down his face and he resembled a walking corpse. I approached him and gave him words of encouragement but he was too exhausted to listen to me. Labdacus again accompanied the Gordium recruits on the days march and they were all once again subjected to arduous spear drills and admonishments. Several of them began falling out of formation and were beaten. My own muscles were on the verge of submission due to the evening’s activities and I began to resent Labdacus’ weakness. These feelings subsided and returned to pity once I saw he had fallen out of the formation towards the end of the march covered in sweat, blood, and vomit. Callisthenes took pleasure in exercising the remaining weakness from Labdacus’ failing body as our line passed him on the road.

  Making camp that night, we noticed the new recruits’ formation was smaller than when we began that morning. Callisthenes was also absent which did not bode well for those missing. Thirty minutes later he led the battered and broken contingent of stragglers into camp. To my surprise and delight, Labdacus was among them. He was present in physical terms only, however, for exhaustion had erased his mind’s ability to recognize people or form words. Callisthenes gave him one more kick for good measure which brought him to the ground where Stephanos and I carried him to our fire. His condition was serious and we tried to make him as comfortable as possible. He convulsed throughout the night and occasionally reached out to one of our hands for comfort. His eyes had the look of recognition and appreciation, but he was unable to speak. Sleep finally overcame us all and in the morning Labdacus was dead.

  Stephanos internalized Labdacus’ death with outrage and a blood lust to kill Callisthenes. It took all my oratory skills to quietly convince him now was not the right time. He washed the blood off Labdacus’ frail, battered body and we all gave him funerary rights as best as we knew how. Labdacus was not the only recruit missing from morning formation however, as several Gordium recruits had deserted. Agathon was incensed by this act of betrayal and beat three recruits mercilessly who knew the absconders best. These three unfortunate recruits then spent the next two hours performing spear drills while their faces were covered in blood. Each of them fell out of the morning’s exercise and the day’s march which brought further cruelty down upon them. Two of them were dead the following morning.

  *

  After several more days of marching and drilling, we entered the boundary of Cappadocia. Our line of recruits had become lean and hardened through the many weeks of toil and adversity. The beatings subsided as our competence slowly rose to an acceptable level in the eyes of our handlers. Callisthenes rode ahead of our line to scout exactly where the army was and returned several days later to guide our line to General Eumenes’ camp. He brought with him the inconceivable news that General Ptolemy, ruler of all Macedonian territories in Egypt, had stolen the remains of our God King on the way from Babylon to their final resting place in Macedonia. Callisthenes also informed us Lord Regent Perdiccas departed Cappadocia with a sizeable force, heading south to seize Ptolemy’s Egyptian holdings and recapture Alexander’s remains. Lord Regent Perdiccas’ contingent included the Silver Shields that Leandros told me about. They were now commanded by Antigenes and Tuetamis.

  Argos was right about Greeks soon fighting each other, and Callisthenes’ news meant the army we were joining was now at war with a hero of Alexander’s world conquest. There was a palpable nervous energy within the ranks on our remaining days’ march coupled with a general feeling of contentment knowing our relationship with our handlers was coming to an end. Our line’s confidence, built over the hard weeks of pain, deflated rapidly, however, as we neared the encampment and observed the battle-hardened faces of the soldiers within it. I immediately viewed these men as my superiors and could not conceive how they could ever consider me their equal or believe the arrival of our pathetic line could aid their cause in any meaningful way. Their intimidating facial expressions did not convince me otherwise.

  Chapter 13

  Our handlers were granted access to the encampment and marched us to an open space segregated from the efficient bivouacs of the regular army. We were put in formation with our sarissas at port-arms. Several formidable soldiers approached our line looking as impressive as Agathon himself. It was clear they knew each other, since they embraced our handlers warmly as they pointed in our direction with disdainful antipathy. These new intimidators then approached our line, led by a particularly imposing brute, and began inspection. They pushed and pulled, prodded and poked each recruit, some attempting to push us over, others attempting to rip the sarissa from our grasp. The process resembled an auction for slaves or cattle. They smacked a wooden stick over our muscles to determine our solidity and they inspected our mouths and eyes to gauge our health.

  Having decided our lot met their basic standard of durability, our evaluators asked Agathon who was weakest among us. Agathon called out several names to step forward. To my disappointment, Rhexenor was included in this unfortunate grouping and they were ordered to stand in a gaggle off to our right. Our evaluators then walked through our formation again and pulled several more recruits whom they believed undeserving of the phal
anx. The evaluators made their way towards Stephanos and I, which compelled me to avoid eye contact as if to shirk their notice. Stephanos, however, stood up straight and looked the inquisitor directly in the eye which encouraged the man to move on to me. I ceased avoiding notice and aped Stephanos’ confident posture, looking hard into my assessor’s eyes. Doing so never came easy to me, especially to a stranger whom I had deemed my superior. After what seemed like an eternity, the evaluator appeared satisfied and moved on to the next recruit. Upon completion of their assessment, two soldiers marched the weaker faction away while the remaining soldiers ordered us to close ranks to impart instructions.

  “You have been chosen for probationary assignment to the phalanx of General Eumenes, Chief Commander of Lord Regent Perdiccas, Protector of the true Argead heirs to the Macedonian Empire, Philip III and Alexander IV. Perform well and you will be granted the honour of serving in the greatest army in history, whose conquests span from Greece to India. Perform inadequately and you will be assigned to the baggage train with the rest of the women, children, and slaves. Display any act of cowardice, insubordination, or dishonour and you will be beaten, imprisoned, starved, and killed. I am Androkles, strategos of the taxis with which you will be assigned. I serve at the will of our Phalangiarch, Alcetas, brother to Lord Regent Perdiccas. All in this camp serve General Eumenes. As the taxis commander this will likely be the first and last time I address you outside of an official formation. From now on your day will begin and end by the will of your syntagma commander and your lochagos. They have control of life and death over you and you will obey their commands as if they were proclaimed from Zeus.”

  Androkles departed and four syntagma commanders stepped forward to divide us among their ranks. Traditionally, syntagmas were comprised of phalangites from the same region within Macedon. Over a decade of Asiatic conquests and the division of forces after Alexander’s death had diluted their homogeny and created new configurations of Asiatic syntagmas as well- an unwelcome development to most Macedonians. I feared being split from Stephanos and the rest of our mates and watched the Commanders’ deliberations intensely, trying to make out any discernible reasoning that could assist in predicting my fate. All non-Greeks were immediately singled out for the Asiatic syntagmas. The rest of us were carefully looked over and the syntagma commanders began taking turns choosing recruits to fill their ranks. Stephanos was chosen first, followed by some recruits I was not familiar with but looked superior than I. Stephanos’ new syntagma commander chose again and another round was completed, with Dion being selected to another syntagma. Spear was chosen next for Stephanos’ syntagma and his companion Dracham was assigned to another. Bacchylides was then picked for Stephanos’ syntagma and a pit promptly opened in my stomach at the thought that I may be separated from the core of my mates. Looking at the remainder of the formation, I surmised that I and one other portrayed the most favourable appearance, so I slouched and avoided eye contact when the unfavourable syntagma commander made his selection. Stephanos’ syntagma commander now selected and I struck a rigid posture and made direct eye contact with the man, willing him with all my nerve to choose me. I assessed his favour lay between myself and one other, yet he finally settled to call me forward. The sigh I expelled was noticed by all as I walked over to my mates.

  After the selection process was complete, each grouping was marched over to their syntagma encampment. Our encampment was identified by our syntagma’s standard, containing several banners signifying the unit’s honourable participation in the battles of Alexander’s conquests. The tents were aligned evenly by lochos among the approximately two hundred and fifty phalangites assigned to our syntagma. They were busy conducting all manner of activities to include sharpening weapons, polishing bronze, re-tying leather straps, cooking, shaving, sleeping, conversing, laughing, and gambling. Our syntagma commander marched us through the main thoroughfare of tents which garnered deferential salutes for him and condescending leers towards us. Our syntagma commander brought us to a small open space near our encampment and was joined by another menacing-looking soldier with severe facial features that were exacerbated by multiple scars and pock marks. Our syntagma commander then turned and addressed us.

  “I am Lykos, Commander of the Pydna Syntagma. You have been assigned to my unit on a probationary basis until you prove yourself worthy or unworthy. As Strategos Androkles informed you, if you conduct yourself in any way that I deem unacceptable, you will be punished harshly.” Lykos then motioned toward the severe creature standing beside him. “This is Drakon, ouragos for the Pydna Syntagma. For those of you that do not know what an ouragos is, he is my voice, my ears, and my hand. He will train the clumps of shit that stand before me into members of a formidable fighting weapon. He will determine who is worthy to become a phalangite within my syntagma. He will administer my commands which will be obeyed without thought, question or hesitancy. He will mete out harsh punishment for those that do not do as they’re told. In battle he will ensure none of you offend the proud honour and tradition of this syntagma.” Lykos then departed to his command tent and left us in the callous hands of Drakon.

  Drakon was an old soldier of fifty with the weathered and scarred face of a man in his seventies. His black hair had thinned and greyed through the years, and his eyes resembled sunken pools of black. Despite his age, his physique was impressive, standing the same height as myself with tight musculature and broad shoulders. He inspected his new line of recruits before addressing us. “The only thing you swine need to remember from all you have been told today is that you will obey the orders of your Strategos and syntagma commander without thought, question, or hesitance. From now on, I am the biggest star in your pathetic sky. My eyes and ears of the syntagma are my lochagos’. Each commands one of the sixteen lochoi. A lochagos is chosen because of his leadership, bravery, and fighting abilities. They are superior to you pukes in every way conceivable and will be obeyed without hesitation. Your worst fear should be your lochagos informing me that you are unworthy of the syntagma. You should go to sleep with nightmares about that potentiality. You should wake up each morning vowing to be the greatest phalangite in the syntagma to win the favour of your lochagos.”

  Drakon had a deep, raspy, threatening voice that came from years of screaming at enemy soldiers and insubordinate phalangites. He paced up and down our line of eight recruits, staring, poking, prodding, pulling and grabbing at various parts of our bodies to determine our physical strength. Drakon then continued his morose introduction. “Since you all know nothing and are probably pissing yourselves right now in anticipation as to what is going to happen next, I will tell you. We are going to march to the phalanx quartermaster and draw equipment. Because you all know nothing, I will instruct you on its uses and how to wear it correctly. Since you all are worthless, I will then drill you into the dirt so that if I decide you are ready to be assigned to a lochos, you will report to your lochagos with a modicum of competence. As is usually the case, especially with recruits from the troop of recruiters that brought you here, some of you fools believe the minor inconveniences you endured on your way to this encampment have hardened you into soldiers. I will prove you wrong through the quality time we are going to spend together over the next few days and weeks.”

  The thought of days and weeks of hard training with this sinister man, of which I had formed a very superior opinion of, opened the pit back in my stomach once again. I thought back to our agonizing days with our handlers and the words of Stephanos that got me through it all. I looked at my new group of mates and assessed myself to be in the lower half. I was going to be one of the recruits everyone else strove to outlast. I was snapped out of this depressing line of thought by Drakon ordering us to follow him in formation to the phalanx quartermaster.

  We arrived to find a virtual city of equipment and people engaged in every conceivable manner of human activity. It was here that the organization required to manage the chaos of a moving army of thousands began to
sink in. Such strategic concepts were as foreign to me as mathematics to an infant. Drakon marched us past the standard issue tent, however, and brought us to another function of the quartermaster- the holding cells. As we walked past these wretched cages, Drakon assured us that he would not hesitate to have one of us waste away here, should we demonstrate cowardice or insubordination. “Some of this worthless scum will be executed; others will die from their inherent weakness. Some are here for less severe transgressions and may yet live to serve this army again. Remember their faces,” was his final warning. As I looked at several of the unfortunate inmates, I saw battered facades, emaciated stomachs, and utter filth. Some had given up and sat quietly in their cage awaiting death. Others had lost their wits and were yelling nonsensical drivel at us. Drakon stopped at the cage of one poor soul and informed our group, “This is Sagicus. I put him here myself for lack of motivation and insubordination. How do you like it here Sagicus?” The inmate shook his head weakly. “If I were to ever release you from this cage, would you again display laziness and disrespect?” The inmate again weakly shook his head. As we exited, I observed Drakon’s victim to have multiple bruises on his face and body, sallow eyes, hair matted with grime, and the look of pure agony upon him. Drakon’s lesson certainly had its intended impact on me.

  Our group arrived at the quartermaster’s standard issue tent. Items were grouped together and distributed to us as we passed each station. We were issued our weapons, bivouac kit, and armament. Drakon then marched us back to our syntagma encampment and ordered us to assemble our recruit bivouac away from our syntagma regulars because we were unworthy to be in their presence. Drakon gave us a purposefully inadequate demonstration on tent assembly and then sent us on our task to complete our bivouac while berating our incompetent attempts to follow his orders. He inspected our work when completed, gave his blunt judgment and violently tore them down for us to reassemble again. This process continued as per Drakon’s design for an hour before he was satisfied with our work. His next class exhibited our inability to correctly don our armament when ordered to do so. Drakon would inspect our line and identify several mistakes such as the miss-tie of a leather strap, an improper tilt of a helmet, the incorrect holding of a shield. These corrections were all dealt with severely and Drakon used a specialized cane to perform the task- he called it his ‘motivator.’ Next came the order to arm ourselves with sarissa and short sword. Our sarissas came in two sections for ease of travel and screwed together for combat. Our line now stood at port-arms with our assembled sarissas standing upright as our previous handlers had instructed us. Drakon paced through our line and pulled several of our sarissas directly out of our hands, sending them to the ground. His motivator ensured the perpetrators followed their spears to the soil. Having seen this performed several times already, I was confident that I would hold my sarissa if challenged. Drakon stopped in front of me and ripped the pike out of my grasp with a vicious strength I had never experienced. My mid-section was greeted with a piercing strike of the motivator, causing me to fall to the ground hunched over my wound.