Leonidas slapped Lichas on the shoulder, startling the old man who was watching over the Middle Gate, toward the glow from the Persian camp.
“1 would ask you to fight until noon,” Leonidas said. “Then you are free from any obligation.”
“What happened to two days and reinforcements?” Lichas didn’t appear surprised by Leonidas’s words.
“Today is the last day. You just arrived, and you know it. I’ve been here three days, and I know it.”
Lichas slowly nodded. “You are at half strength. Your men, brave and stout though they be, are exhausted. I would recommend you pull back now, under the cover of darkness. Once you are engaged, you will not be able to withdraw.”
“We won’t be withdrawing,” Leonidas said. “I will send a courier in the morning and halt the six lochoi, sending them to defend closer to home.”
“You have done more than anyone could have dreamed. Another day won’t make much difference in the larger scheme of things. The Athenians still sit and argue. The other cities obviously don’t care much about the Persians, even though they will be destroyed once Xerxes gets through the pass.”
“That is where you are wrong,” Leonidas said. “It will make all the difference.” He smiled. “I have been told so by the Delphic Oracle.”
Lichas spat over the wall. “Oracles.”
‘There is more than that,” Leonidas said. “Wars are won by more than just force of arms. There are other factors.”
“Such as?”
“The will of the people. That is why we-the Spartans — are here. And why we will stay.”
Xerxes glanced up from his breakfast to note Pandora being escorted into the Imperial tent by his executioner.
“My lord”-she began, but he waved his knife, silencing her.
“You would not be alive if the path did not exist.” He jabbed the blade at his general. “I want four divisions of Immortals to take this track. Pandora will be their guide.” He turned back to her. “How long will it take?”
“It is a narrow track. One person wide. We will be over the mountain and behind the Spartans by noon at the earliest, King.”
“Attack as if we must break through the pass, while my Immortals march,” he ordered the general. He wiped his chin with a silk cloth, then stood. “I will be on the hill, watching.”
Leonidas found Cyra slowly walking in a circle in front of the Middle Gate. The sun was just above the eastern horizon, and Leonidas had all his armor on. Cyra appeared to be in a daze, her eyes half closed.
“What are you doing?” Leonidas asked.
Cyra held up a hand, hushing him as she continued to walk. She halted about twenty feet in front of the wall and opened her eyes. “This is the spot.”
“For?”
“Where the map will appear.”
“And once you have it?” Leonidas asked. “Do you know yet where you take it?”
“I have seen a vision that I will need to confirm with the wall today.” A ranger came running up to him from the north trail.
“The Persians are coming;’ the scout reported. “ Assyrians are in the lead. Swordsmen.”
“Archers?” Leonidas asked.
“Just infantry.”
The king turned to Cyra. “You must wait behind the wall.”
“But”-she began, but he cut her off.
“When your map appears. I will get you to it. I will detail some men to get you down the pass.”
Trumpets blared and drums throbbed, the sounds echoing off the mountain. The entire Persian army was preparing to move. Assyrians were heading up the trail into battle, while Xerxes had issued orders for all the rest of his massive force to be prepared to cross the pass. Tents were struck, pack animals loaded, and troops lined up in formation.
And high above the pass, in the folds of the mountain, Pandora led four thousand Immortals along the single track.
Leonidas arrayed his diminished forces along the western cliff wall, perpendicular to the killing field. Along the Middle Gate were Lichas’s archers, stacks of Persian arrows at the ready but their bows were hidden, and they wore the armor of those Spartans who had been killed or severely wounded. When the first rank of Assyrians came up the path and into sight, they paused at this unusual arrangement, but the pressure of thousands of men moving from behind forced the officers to deploy their men as best they could. The problem was, they weren’t certain whether their front should face the wall ahead of them or the Spartans arrayed against the base of the mountain to the right. There wasn’t enough room to form two lines at a right angle.
The decision, as Leonidas had hoped, was made to face the more immediate threat: the Spartans arrayed on the killing ground. The Assyrians were well trained, wheeling into ranks facing the mountain, shields up, long swords at the ready. Leonidas was in the front center of the first rank of Spartans. He had barely 140 of his original 300 left that could stand. He estimated at least a thousand Assyrians were already in the killing ground with more pressing up the pass.
The Assyrians advanced. Leonidas raised his shield into place, the Naga Staff at three-quarters. The rest of the Spartan line snapped into place in a similar position. The Assyrians were barely ten meters away, when Leonidas dropped the Naga Staff into the horizontal position. One hundred and twenty spears did the same.
And on the Middle Gate, Lichas and his men reached down, and grabbed their bows, which had arrows already locked. In one smooth movement, they brought their weapons to bear on the left flank of the Assyrians. Every third man fired, their arrows impacting, mowing down the flank. The next third immediately fired, then the last third, by which time the first third had their second arrows ready.
The effect of the rolling barrage on the exposed flank was devastating. The right flank of the Assyrians, unaware of what was happening to their left, collided with the Spartan line in a cacophony of metal on metal. Assyrian officers who were aware of what was happening were trying to bend back the surviving left of their line. When the arrows were killing Assyrians a third of the way into their line, Leonidas snapped the Naga Staff into the upright position. Lichas saw the signal and fired a flaming arrow across the front of his archers, who immediately ceased fire.
The unengaged Spartan right charged. They rolled up the disorganized Assyrian left flank, shoving over 100 of the warriors right off the cliff, then wheeling left. It was a classic pincer movement. And for the third day, a massacre ensued. Leonidas halted the advance when the killing field was swept clear of the Assyrians. He drew his Spartans back to their start position, backs against the mountain. Lichas and his men dropped their bows and resumed their original stance.
And the fresh Assyrian troops repeated the mistake of their predecessors, unaware of what had happened. And again. And again as the morning wore on. Blood flowed, soaking the killing field. Hundreds of Assyrians died falling off the cliff. Hundreds more fell to Spartan metal. And here and there one of Leonidas’s knights went down in the fierce fighting.
After four unsuccessful assaults, word must have finally reached the commander of the Assyrians. There was a lull in the fighting, and Leonidas took stock. He’d lost over 30 men against at least 1,000 of the enemy. But tens of thousands more waited on the trail, and he knew that the next assault would not expose its flank to the archers. He glanced up at the sun. It was after mid-morn. Noon was about an hour, perhaps an hour and a half off.
Leonidas pointed the Naga Staff toward the Middle Gate. “The wall, men.”