He jerked to his feet, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “What is this?” he screamed.
“My Lord?” the head of the scouts cowered in front of him.
“The pass,” Xerxes was pointing to the southeast, the hand shaking with anger. “Is that it?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“But—”he turned to Pandora. “Explain.”
She was slowly shaking her head. “I cannot my Lord.”
“Your map shows the pass to be over a mile wide,” Xerxes shouted. “That is less than a hundred meters wide at the top.”
They could all see the narrowness and also, the lead Egyptians less than a half mile from a slightly wider spot and the stone wall in the center. There was only one man present on the wall, a Greek in full armor who stood tall, looking straight at the King.
Xerxes spun to the head of his scouts, signaling as he did so to his master-at-arms. “Seize him.” Once the man was in chains, Xerxes drew his dagger and walked up to him. “Why did you not tell us how narrow the pass was?”
The head scout swallowed hard. “My Lord. You did not ask.”
Xerxes slid the razor sharp blade across the man’s throat and stepped back, out of the way, as blood gushed out. Then he walked over to Pandora. “Your map is wrong.”
“My Lord—” Pandora took a step back. “I did not make the map. I was given it.”
“By who?”
“By those who seek to aid you. They might not have known the map was—” she paused as if something occurred to her. “My Lord, the map is of a different time. When the pass is wider. We could not have known.”
“A different time?” Xerxes placed the blade against her throat. “I am—“
“King.” One of the generals was pointing to the pass. Xerxes turned, keeping the metal in place. A woman had joined the Greek warrior on top of the wall. They were about two miles away, but it was obvious they were looking at him.
Pandora spoke quickly. “They wish me dead, Lord.”
“I wish you dead, right now,” Xerxes said through gritted teeth.
“There are only three hundred Spartans in the pass,” Pandora continued. “Your army can make short work of them.”
“You were the one who told me how dangerous the Spartans were,” Xerxes noted.
“They are. But there are only three hundred. You have four thousand marching toward them right now. And many thousands more behind.”
“The problem,” Xerxes enunciated each word slowly and clearly, “is that in that narrow place, their front and our front, will be the same width and depth. You made light of my military knowledge, but I do know that much.” He pressed the blade, drawing a trickle of blood.
The Greek warrior held up a staff, as if in salute to Xerxes. The King’s eyes narrowed as he peered at the weapon — a Naga Staff. “Interesting,” he muttered.
“That is Leonidas, sire,” Jamsheed reported.
Xerxes removed the dagger from her throat and turned to his master at arms. “Bring me the staff.” When it was in his hands, Xerxes lifted it, returning the gesture.
“That is Pandora?” Leonidas asked Cyra as he lowered the Staff.
“Yes.”
“Xerxes does not seem pleased with her.”
“She is just a pawn, as is he. When such pieces are allowed to think, sometimes they make the wrong move.”
“And am I just a pawn?” Leonidas asked.
“I hope not,” Cyra said as another skiritai ran up and reported the Egyptians moving up the path.
Leonidas looked down on the Spartan troops assembled in front of him. “I want fifty men. Each squad leader give me one man. We are going to meet the enemy.”
Leonidas leapt off the wall as the chosen men quickly lined up. He led the way, across the open space in front of the wall and then into the trail that descended to the north. He went about two hundred meters, then halted. The trail was only twelve feet wide, with a precipitous drop to the right and a cliff wall to the left. It went down about twenty meters in a straight line before curving out of sight to the left.
“Three deep,” Leonidas ordered.
Without further instructions, the Spartans formed three ranks, completely blocking the trail with a wall of metal, leather, wood and flesh. The three rows of spears bristled, point’s level. Leonidas stood in the exact center of the front line, the Naga Staff blade shining more brightly than the spears to the left and right, but held up straight into the sky, not level like the others.
The first rank of Egyptians appeared around the bend in the trail and came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the Spartans. There was confusion for several moments before an officer made his way to the front and surveyed the situation. Leonidas could clearly see the man, less than fifteen meters away. His cheeks were rouged and he wore silk over his finely wrought armor. But the man’s eyes were sharp as they swept across the Spartan line and took in the tight terrain. He yelled orders in his tongue and his soldiers began to awkwardly fill the space.
Leonidas had expected this and had prepared his men. He snapped the Naga Staff down to the horizontal and the front two Spartan lines, without an order yelled or any other sound, charged forward, reaching full speed in less than five strides. Even as they moved, the left side of the Spartan line edged ahead of the right, so that when they smashed into the as yet unformed Egyptians, the left hit five paces ahead of the right. It was like a housewife sweeping her porch of dust mites.
Those not immediately slain were pressured back against those behind. The angle of the attack pushed them back toward the drop-off and Egyptians began to tumble off, many screaming on their way down the rocky face before being silenced when crashing into the thin shoreline below.
Leonidas met the Egyptian commander. With a swing of the Naga Staff he sliced through the man’s shield and into his chest. The man fell to the ground dead and Leonidas pressed forward. Within twenty seconds the pass to the bend was empty of live Egyptians.
Leonidas went to the bend and peered around. He could see the rest of the trail — over a mile — to the plain below. It was crammed with more Egyptians. “Follow me,” Leonidas yelled over his shoulder as he spotted the closest Egyptian with the Naga Staff.
The Spartans charged down the path eight across, killing everyone in their way or knocking them off the cliff. Some of the enemy fought, but many were killed from behind as they turned and tried to run, but found their way blocked by their own forces.
Leonidas kept the advance under control, rotating out the lead eight men every twenty meters or so, insuring fresh arms in the front rank to thrust spears and swing swords. They made their way almost three hundred meters down the path and had killed uncounted Egyptians when the entire remaining column panicked.
“Hold,” Leonidas ordered, seeing the mayhem as the Egyptians advanced had turned into a disorganized rout. He leaned on the Naga Staff, watching. The battle had taken perhaps an hour, but he knew that the Persians would have to spend the rest of the day getting the Egyptians off the path and trying to re-organize another assault.
Leonidas turned and slowly began walking up the path toward the pass, his feet almost slipping at times from the slick blood that coated the trail. Cyra was waiting for him as the trail opened up at the top.
“Day one is ours,” Leonidas said. “Day two will be different.”
CHAPTER 19
Dane had no idea how long he and Amelia Earhart had been motionless, floating above the Reflecting Pool, looking at the ruins of Washington DC. The extent of the devastation was beyond overwhelming. Without a word they floated forward toward the remains of the Washington Monument.