We washed at the springs of the Hermus, and we filled our canteens and drank our fill and were braver. But we were no longer an army, we were an angry mob. The Athenians did nothing to hide their contempt for all the Ionians as soldiers. The Ionians returned their contempt with angry rejection, and it was muttered that the Athenians were sacrificing the Ionians for their own ends.
Which was true, of course.
Aristides grew angrier and angrier, his pale skin constantly flushed, and he walked along in silence, his slave trotting to keep up.
I stood around, watching Aristides, watching the army disintegrate, and I understood why soldiers were deserting. We were doomed, and the rush of bad omens that surrounded us, including a live hare dropped on a sacrificing priest by an eagle, only confirmed what every man knew. In addition, men who had murdered and raped in the city knew that they had brought their own doom upon them, and they were sullen, guilty or merely dejected.
The Athenians did not suffer from these problems. Heraklides gave me a heavy necklace of gold and lapis that he had snatched from the stall in the agora. 'You only saved my life ten times,' he said. 'And I saved my loot. I got the whole bag behind my shield.' He laughed, showing his snaggle teeth. He was only six years older than me, but he seemed like the old man of the sea himself. I put the necklace on, drank wine from my canteen and marched with the Athenians, who were still a disciplined band. We had come over the pass as the advance guard, and we were going home as the rearguard, with the Eretrians just ahead.
'At home, they're our worst enemies,' Heraklides grunted at me. 'But you know that, eh? You were in the fight at the bridge?'
'I was,' I said.
'They held us a long time there,' Heraklides said. 'Good fighters. Glad to have them, out here.'
Aristides came up to us. 'You can go into the front rank in place of Melodites,' he said without preamble. He didn't smile, but I did. He had his helmet on the back of his head – all the Athenians did, because they marched ready to fight at all times, as did the Eretrians.
I grinned like a fool. 'Thanks, lord,' I said.
He looked grim. 'Don't thank me. When we face the Medes again, you'll be the first to face them.'
I shrugged. 'I was in the front rank in the marketplace,' I said. 'Let's not stand around and let them shoot us, next time.'
He walked off, and I thought that he hadn't heard me, or, more likely, had chosen to ignore me. I was young – very young to be in the front rank.
I took the dead man's place and was a file-leader, and the other men of my file thought well enough of me to help me make a plume-holder and a plume to mark my new rank.
I no longer thought of Briseis. I was in the grip of Ares.
When Aristides saw me with my horsehair plume, he came up and slapped my shoulder. He didn't say anything, but it was one of the proudest moments of my life. From the top of the pass we could see the river in the distance, and the Ephesians cheered as if we'd been gone a month and marched a thousand stades. We were the last ones down the pass, and we knew from the scouts that there were Lydians and Carians right behind us.
Aristides wanted to hold the pass, and we halted at the narrowest part of the down slope. He picked his ground brilliantly – a gentle curve in the pass, so that the longest bowshot was about one hundred paces, and the sides of the pass as steep as walls on either side. We made camp, a cold, cheerless camp with no water. Aristides sent me as a runner to Aristagoras. I was to ask him to send relays of slaves with water for us.
'Tell him we'll hold the pass a day,' he said, 'to give the Milesians time to recover.'
But Aristagoras had no nobility and he was more interested in scoring points than in beating Persia. The pompous fuck! He laughed at the message. 'Tell your chief,' he said, 'that we will do nothing for the convenience of Athens.' He said the words loudly, so that all his Milesians heard him and joined his laugh.
I ran the message back. No man had so much as offered me a canteen.
I ran straight to Aristides. He was sitting on a rock, and I crouched at his feet and pulled my chlamys around me against the chill air and tried to spit. My mouth was so dry that my tongue wouldn't move. So I just shook my head.
Mutely, Aristides took his canteen over his head and handed it to me. I drank a mouthful and bowed. 'Thanks,' I said.
He looked away. 'They said no?' he asked.
'They said no. Aristagoras said that he would do nothing for the convenience of Athens.' I shrugged.
While I spoke, Eualcidas came up. He pulled off his helmet – he wore a great, winged Cretan helmet – and he was grey with fatigue. His arm hurt him, but famous men can't show pain.
'You planning to hold the pass?' he asked. He was ten years older than Aristides and, although he commanded many fewer men, he was a much more famous warrior. He looked up the pass, where we could see a handful of Lydian slingers prowling around. 'You bastards stood by us in the city,' he said, and spat, by way of explanation.
Aristides shrugged. 'I asked them to send us water. Aristagoras refused.'
'And you're surprised? You called them cowardly fools, lad.' Eualcidas laughed. 'Which they are! But they'll never forgive you.' He looked around. 'Fucking Ionians, eh?' He smiled at me. 'You're a handsome man. And thanks for my life. Not many men can say they saved Eualcidas!'
I blushed, and he laughed. He winked at Aristides. 'You do have some handsome men. Listen – we'll stand here with you. Better than trying to face the Medes down on the plains. Any day now they'll get their cavalry together – then we'll be doomed. Better fight them up here.'
Aristides shook his head. 'We can't camp here without water.'
Eualcidas shrugged. He had a boyish grin. He was a hard man to dislike. 'That's why we have slaves,' he said. 'Send them down the pass. Tell them to bring wine, too. If I'm going to die tomorrow, I think I want a feast.' He turned away with a salute and put his hand on my hip. 'A feast,' he said into my eyes.
Hah! I've made you blush again. Listen, honey. He was a famous athlete and a man who had grown up at a trading station on Crete. All Cretans are boy-lovers – it's their way. It is in their laws. Superb soldiers and athletes. Not much for the crafts. Not always the smartest. Oh, he was beautiful – the most famous warrior in our army. What he wanted was obvious.
So we sent all our slaves down the hill for water, and the Medes pushed some skirmishers around the pass. A handful of our men with a few dozen slaves chased them off with rocks and spears, and we settled to our cold rocks.
I remember that night because my body hurt. It's something that the bards never talk about, eh? The bruises you take in a fight – gods, the bruises you take in the gymnasium! Split knuckles, broken fingers, a rib bruised here, the black burn on your shoulder where your shield rim rides your shoulder bone, the cuts on your legs – Ares knows the toll. It is worst for the men in the front rank, and I had stood my ground in the agora of Sardis and now, three days later, I still hurt. My wound was slight, but it ached when I rolled on it, and I was lying on the ground – on sand and gravel. And we had few fires, because we were high in the pass and there were no trees.
The word was, we were going to die. I was too inexperienced to do anything about such talk.
Eualcidas came out of the dark with Aristides and Heraklides and a Euboean I did not know. My file was not asleep – we were huddled together in the dark, whispering, afraid of the morrow and trying not to show it, as soldiers always do.