With a twitch of his hand, Xerxes indicated for the Immortals to let her go. He went back to his throne and sat down.
“So tell me where and when you are from,” he ordered.
“I am from Gordium.”
Xerxes had heard of the place but never been there. It had been the capital of Phrygia, which had been conquered by Croesus of Lydia, who in turn was conquered by Xerxes’ ancestors. Before he could dwell on this long, Pandora continued.
“I am descended from one of the Sybyls.”
Xerxes had also heard of the Sybyls. Oracles. Ten of them, who lived in caves and made predications. The Erythraean Herophile, a Sybyl, had predicted the Trojan War. The beginning of the war between east and west.
Because of his religion, Xerxes did not believe in Sybyls or Oracles. He consulted the Magi, priests of his religion, but even their advice he viewed with suspicion. They were, after all, only men.
“Which Sybyl?”
Pandora smiled. “The Hellespontine, of course.”
“Why did you not tell me this?” Xerxes asked. “I might have taken your warning on the bridge more seriously.”
“No, King, you wouldn’t have. You don’t trust anyone.”
“I am a King,” he said as if that explained everything. Xerxes pointed across the Hellesponte toward Europe. “And once we are there? What help can you give me?”
“That remains to be seen,” Pandora said.
“You said when was more important than where.”
“Sybyls live—”Pandora hesitated, then continued—“a timeless existence.”
“How can that be?”
“I cannot explain it to you, Lord.”
Xerxes shook his head. He could hear the clatter of thousands of hooves on wood as his main body of cavalry began crossing. He got off his throne and signaled for his men to begin breaking it down for travel.
“We cross. Now.”
“We march west.”
Leonidas’s announcement was greeted with momentary silence by the assembled Spartan knights. It was considered bad form for someone to speak out immediately after the King spoke, an insult indicating the person was not taking the King’s words seriously enough to contemplate them for at least a little while.
Finally an old gray-beard rose to his feet. Polynices was a veteran of many wars and a general who had planned many campaigns. “And what of the Persians, my Lord? They come from the north and east.”
Leonidas had expected the question and could have been more verbose in his stated plan, but he had found it best to allow questions to be asked, to make the knights feel as if their input was essential in the plan that was to be followed. They were gathered outside the temple, the knights arrayed on the grassy slope looking down on their King. Leonidas had left Cyra at his home — even a priestess could not attend this assembly, it was for warriors only.
“I will lead six lochoi to Rhion. They will provide shipping for us to cross the Gulf and we will assault and destroy Antirhon. The Rhionians will then garrison the city, which will seal the Gulf of Corinth for us.
“We will then re-board the ships, go east along the Gulf, disembark at Delphi and force march to the north to meet the Persians at Thermopylae. The Persians are crossing the Hellesponte as we speak here. It will take them some time to march along the coast, across Thessalia and get to the pass. There should be some opposition to the Persians in Thessalia. Enough to give us time to accomplish what we need to defend the west at Antirhon and march to the Hot Gates.”
A lochoi was a division of Spartan soldiers. There were twelve altogether and that naturally prompted Polynices to ask the next question.
“And the other six lochoi, Lord?”
“Will defend our homes,” Leonidas answered.
Polynices stroked his beard and there was muttering among the knights as they discussed this plan. It had been a hard decision for Leonidas to make, to leave half his fighting force behind.
“Forgive my impertinence, my King,” Polynices pressed, “but would it not be best to bring all of your force to bear on the Persians? It is reported their numbers are vast.”
“I agree it would be best,” Leonidas said. “But there are other factors.” He held up one long finger. “First, I plan to battle the Persians in the Hot Gates. There is barely enough room there for one lochoi to fight at a time. I do not wish to disappoint so many of you having to watch only a few kill our enemy.”
That brought forth deep chorus of laughter from the gathered men.
“Second,” Leonidas raised another finger. “We are not sure of Athens’ intent.”
That statement brought forth a rumble of disgust.
“We must be loyal to Greece but we must take care to preserve our own city,” Leonidas continued. “Even when we succeed at the Hot Gates, the Persian navy will still be free to maneuver. If the Athenians do not challenge them, they could land forces near here to the east.”
Leonidas hesitated before bringing up the third point, but the Persian Jamsheed had been blunt about it, and the King felt a need for his fellows to accept the reality of the situation. “Third.” His middle three fingers were in the air. “The helots.”
A knight jumped to his feet as a clamor arose. “The boys of the agoges could handle the helots!”
“Not if the Persians arm them,” Leonidas said, his voice cutting through the noise. “There is no purpose to going off to war if there is nothing for us to return to after our victory.”
Polynices turned toward the knights, raising his old gnarled hands, quieting them. “The King is right. We have piled the tinder high underneath our own homes and any spark will have dire consequences.” He turned back toward Leonidas. “If I might make a suggestion my Lord?”
Leonidas nodded.
Polynices hooked his thumbs in folds on his tunic. “Any campaign is fraught with uncertainties. The pace of the Persians’ march can be calculated, but your assault on Antirhon is a different matter. If the city stands alone, then there are two issues — will they issue forth to fight you or make you lay siege to their city? If it is the former, then things should proceed quickly.”
This brought a chorus of laughter from the warriors.
“But if it is the latter, it might take more time. Then there is the factor that they may gain allies from other jackal states who see the Persian invasion as an opportunity.”
Leonidas waited, beginning to get an idea of what Polynices was leading to.
“Because of these uncertainties,” the old man continued, “I recommend that the best knights of the six lochoi who remain to guard our homes be culled from the ranks and sent directly to Thermopylae to prepare the defense. As our King has noted,” he nodded his head toward Leonidas, “the pass is narrow. A small contingent of brave men, allied with those forces from other cities along the way, could hold the pass for a while. This would allow for any unexpected delay in the Antirhon campaign.” Polynices smiled, revealing a black gap where several teeth had been smashed by an enemy sword years ago. “And it would allow those selected knights of the six remaining lochoi their opportunity for honor.”
The old man had cut the heart of the matter as usual, Leonidas realized. The knights cared more for glory in battle than all the issues that had been raised. He raised his hand. “A force of three hundred of the best from the remaining lochoi will march at the same time my force marches to the west. They will go to the Gates of Fire and they will prepare the defense.”
CHAPTER 9
Dane and Reizer were seated side by side at a computer console in the forward half of the cargo bay of the Combat Talon. The interior of the plane pulsated with the sound of the four turbo-prop engines as they headed north toward Lima to link up with the SR-71. Dane knew he had the length of the flight to decide on his next move. On the computer screen he showed Reizer the imagery Ahana had forwarded to the Combat Talon of the Nazca Plain.