But now where were any of them? No army yet. No Alkidamas and his boat. No Chion-who sat on the Theoris, beached with the Phokians. The Korinthian warships circled offshore watch after watch. Meanwhile, Nikon had a long run ahead of him-to spread the word that Chion, along with the silver for Neto, was not far behind him. But Chion was not-not for a while.
CHAPTER 25
The army of the Boiotians was already crossing atop the mountain ridges between Argos and Mantineia. In the middle of the month of Boukatios, as Erinna sent more scouts to find the imprisoned Neto, and as Nikon returned with news of Chion and the silver to come, and even as Chion argued with Alkidamas on the beach near Delphi, two haggard Arkadian scouts ran into the north gate of Mantineia far to the south in the Peloponnesos. “He’s here-Epaminondas is well across the Isthmos. Break open your stores. The northerners-with others too to join-already are over the pass. A mob, an entire city from the north is coming down here.”
As the crowd swarmed, the taller ranger, Lykander, went on. “We heard singing, and men marching in their strange sounds of the sort they speak above the Isthmos. Two myriads and maybe more. Yes, yes, with the sound of Thebes in their voice, but almost as if they were Bacchants in their song and zeal rather than an army on the march to war. Now on the downward slopes of Parthenion, covering all the trails, they come-and their tramping is heard three stadia and more before they appear on the passes. Already the men of Tegea are out of grain from feeding that horde. We will need even bigger ramparts to house them all. Thousands of them are heading this way.”
But even these Mantineian scouts of crafty Lykomedes were not the first to hear of the arrival of the Boiotians into the south. The Arkadian shepherds of the high methoria had already seen an army far above on the ridges of Parthenion. Dim specks against the sky, distant thousands of shadows moving along the crests were enough for them-along with the butchering of their high flocks as hungry Boiotians took what they could. So with news of an entire polis on the move, the herders ran down from the eschatia with their wild stories to the homesteaders below. And these shouts of aroused farmers in turn warned the horse-owners farther below on the bottomlands that a phantasma of some sort, a fog of voices-with the clatter of bronze and wood-was coming off the high pass from Argos way.
Epaminondas had come after all-late, through the winter mists and with thousands more than promised. But there were more behind his army on the passes. No sooner had the high hill folk heard the clattering of the arms of thousands, than a half-day later another apparition rose behind them, on the sterna where the road crested on the high pass. This was the advance of another army, the Argives under their general Epiteles, that would spill likewise into the plain of Mantineia. A myriad of Argive hoplites were coming in on the coastal road, in shiny armor and with white clubs freshly painted on their shields.
These Argives were darker folk, with Spartan-sounding speech and old Korinthian helmets pulled over their faces. They wore the tall black-and-white horsehair crests in their fathers’ fashion, swarming into Mantineia, democrats all who looked like Spartans, but also looked far deadlier than Spartans. The Argives worshipped Artemis and marched in perfect step, but they wore no red capes and had full hair above their lips. Their great captain Epiteles at the fore was wilder looking than any scarred veteran of the peers. He was stalking, rather than limping as did the Spartan king. So on the night of the same day of Epiteles’s descent, after thousands of northerners had come in on the same road from Argos, there were two armies at Mantineia. But the sky was alight yet with torches, and more Hellenes of yet a third force were promised to come before sunup, still more from the west, the herdsmen and hunters swore.
Ainias and Proxenos had not been idle after they left Lykomedes at Mantineia, but at Megalopolis had found more Arkadian hoplites who hated Spartans enough to gamble on entering the vale of the Lakonia should thousands of Boiotians lead the way. The pair had promised to guide the Arkadians into Lakonia to join Epaminondas and end the threat from Sparta for good. This third and last army was larger, far larger than the muster of the Argives and maybe as big as the Boiotians’ as well. These folk led by Ainias were the Eleans and Arkadians, and those who dwelled along the coast of the Peloponnesos from north of Messenia to western Achaia, hoplites all who had followed the Alpheios River to the south. They had snaked all night over the pass from Megalopolis, and emptied that half-built city as they passed by. Now they chanted as they marched, “On to Lakonia! Death to the Spartans! Death to Agesilaos! On to the Eurotas!”
At sunrise these westerners poured into the great plain of new Mantineia. Finally Epaminondas and Melon ran up to meet the third army whose arrival baffled all, since the Eleans previously had sent only money, with no promise that an army from the western Peloponnesos would follow that gift. Only Epaminondas or perhaps Ainias as well knew that soon Tripolis, the so-called three-city polis, would see three armies, not just one, come filling the plain of Mantineia. Melon yelled to Melissos and Pelopidas as he saw this night cloud of shapes drift into their new camp outside the walls. “Whoa. I know these men. How did our friends become generals greater than our own?” Then a familiar voice yelled out.
“Ide. Thauma idesthai-hede stratia, thauma mega. Look at it. A great wonder this army, a great wonder. Here is the one army at last, all three into one. We here are the men of Arkadia. Of the new Megalopolis, with the Eleans behind us. And more of the Achaians. All of the free Peloponnesos is on the move. We are the death sentence of Sparta.” It was Proxenos. He tramped in at the head of a column of thousands that now were scattering over the winter mud of Mantineia and filing into the city. With him came the Arkadian generals Archias and Philoxenos, and then Talos, strategos of Elis. Ainias started his own banter as he came into hearing range. “Hoa. Epaminondas. So you have three myriads? Well, we claim as many-no, more-from Elis and from the cities of western Arkadia. Keep your men back, for these bronze men of the Peloponnesos are snapping dogs, hungry for battle, and they might whet their fangs on your Boiotians, if you don’t let us head south right away. Be careful of our folk-we might taste the flesh of Epiteles and his men of Argos, if we don’t keep the leash tight and calm the men before the march into Sparta.”
Ainias was hoarse from his winter hectoring but went on even louder. “Well, then, we march southward to find Lichas and his brood. Yes, we have been working in the new city, this Megale Polis-not idle at all with the musters of the Arkadians. You and your Pelopidas will have to figure out how to feed all of us. I reckon now that sixty thousands is your total, or are there more yet? Or is my numbering off?”
“No man has seen anything like this. I never have,” answered Epaminondas. “We are like Homer’s Achaians on the plain of Troy, as ships pulled in on the beach unloading even more. The entire flatland of Mantineia is already full and they are sleeping on the ramparts of the city. Go camp on the wheat land inside the walls, and outside too if you must. And remember our hosts, the Mantineians, have not yet shown us their muster. All of Hellas is afire and soon I see seventy thousands pouring into the Spartan plain.”