"That blond rooster, I swear, he don't even strut around. He just jumps on the first hen he sees, does his duty quick-like, jumps onto the second one and nails her to the wall, goes for the third and isn't even breathing hard, when all of a sudden-he just up and dies too, like old Leonidas. I'm beginnin' to think there's something wrong with my hens."
At this, Nicarchus sighed sadly and reached out for another swig of wine, as if to quench his sorrows.
"Well," Nicarchus finally drawled, "I grab that old blond giant of a rooster and drag him back to the poultry dealer and shout, 'Listen you son of a bitch, my business is going to hell in a handbasket, all because you can't sell me a bird that can keep his peter straight for two hours before he dies on me! You give me a working cock right now, you camel-jawed ape, or I'll burn your piece-of-shit store to the ground.' So the guy begins to look a little worried, and he reaches into his cage and pulls out the scrawniest, wrinkled old bird I ever seen. His comb is drooping down over one eye, he don't have more than two feathers on his entire body, and he can barely stand because of the kicking he received the day before from the Scythian bird. But that sorry-ass old rooster still has a bit of life gleaming in his eye, and the dealer says, 'I wouldn't inflict old Polyphagus here on anyone, but you're desperate, and he's my last bird, so here you are.'
"Polyphagus. Wretched name and pathetic bird. I'm furious, I can tell you, but I see no other choice, so I just take that pitiful old fowl home and toss him in with the chickens, without a lot of hope. I'm not even goin' to bother to stay and watch-don't think I can bear it-but then just as I'm turnin' to leave I see old Polyphagus stand up straight and tall, and I tell you, I am amazed to see that the old brute is hung like a donkey. He looks all around hisself at my one hundred eighty hens, gets a evil grin on his beak, and goes through every one of them chickens like there is no tomorrow, and then the dumb bastard musta lost count, because I'll be damned if he doesn't go back through every one of them a second time. There's hens layin' around on their backs everywhere with silly smiles on their faces, and when I go to look for Polyphagus I find he's punched right through the wall of the chicken coop and is trying to rape my dog.
"Well, you can bet I'm amazed. I grab him by the neck and lock him in the woodshed that night so's the hens can get some rest, but the next morning I go fetch him and throw him in the coop again. Old Polyphagus is practically frantic at having been kept celibate for, what, a whole twelve hours? and before I can catch him again he's gone through every hen, my boarhound, a prize sow and two of my cows. I finally seize that priapic son of a bitch, give him two smacks upside the head to calm him down and throw him back in the woodshed so's I can patch up my animals.
"The next morning when I go to get Polyphagus again, I find the old bastard has drilled right through the wall of the shed and escaped. The chicken coop is a shambles, a hundred eighty hens lying around everywhere panting and worn out, the hound trembling in the corner, and my old sow sitting in her water trough trying to cool down. I'm afraid Polyphagus has taken off to the neighbor's farm, so I go grab my mule, who's staggerin' around bowlegged, and I take off to catch that bird before he does any more damage.
"You can imagine, at least his trail isn't hard to find. Shit, the road is littered with casualties. Limping goats and sore-assed sheep. A quivering tortoise climbing back into its shell, three lame quails. I even find a big old hairy-assed boar tryin' hard to stifle a smile. Finally, I come around a corner, and there's old Polyphagus lyin' flat on his back, motionless, his tongue hangin' out, while two vultures are circlin' low overhead. I guessed Polyphagus had finally had enough, and the best rooster I ever had was now one with the gods.
"I yell, 'Polyphagus! Nooo!' and I slide off the mule onto my knees.
"But damned if that old rooster doesn't open one beady eye to look at me, nod over toward the vultures and whisper, 'Stop shouting! You'll scare them away!'
The men roared, and I reached over to claim the wineskin again. Xenophon had just taken a swig, although unfortunately it was precisely at the story's conclusion, and he was now alternately laughing and gasping as he spattered wine from his nose over the feet of the man next to him.
"A fine yarn, old man," he choked hoarsely, tears streaming from his eyes. "I'll think of you whenever I eat eggs!" As we took our leave the first pink rays of dawn began arching across the eastern sky.
Trudging back to our tent, Xenophon gazed at the vast expanse of glowing sky, and we paused on a small rise to view the entire extent of the camp. The thousands of tents were laid out in neat rows almost to the horizon, a city sprung from nowhere, as if commanded into existence by the very hand of Zeus. Men were beginning to emerge, scratching and yawning, stirring up their fires from the night before. Smoke drifted lazily, hovering shadelike in low pockets or in hazy swirls, before meandering almost reluctantly to tree-height where it dissipated in a breeze as yet unfelt by those below. The stifling heat of the previous day was only a distant memory, or a faint worry of the harshness to come, and the crispness of the air, the wafting scent of oil simmering over a fire, and the stark beauty of the vast desert emerging from the night filled us with a sense of elation.
In Cyrus' compound at the side of the encampment I saw several of the women emerge from their tent, cloaked head to foot in the veils they wore for modesty when in the presence of men, even at this hour of the morning. They chattered gaily with each other as they bustled about their tasks, though I could not make out their words, and presently I saw Asteria, whom I recognized from her graceful movement and slight build even without seeing her face. As she emerged from the tent she stood motionless for a moment, gazing up in our direction, though I could not tell whether she was looking at us, or at the streaks of pink light arching across the sky. I gestured to her faintly with my hand, not enough to draw the attention of others, but sufficient that if she were looking at me, she would notice. She stared motionless for a moment longer, and then turning away briskly she skipped cheerfully over to the older women nearby, from whom a moment later I heard peals of laughter.
Turning back to Xenophon I found him already facing the same direction as me, his thoughts focused on the same sight. He looked at me and smiled.
"A fine sight to start the day," he said. "Dawn and her attendant goddesses."
And he raced me down the hill, just as we had done on those warm summer days in Athens so long ago.
CHAPTER THREE
THE MIGHTY EUPHRATES. The two words are inseparable, like twins joined by the rib cage, like the Great Nile, like Olympian Zeus. Even here, five hundred miles from its mouth, the river was a half mile wide, larger than any flow we had seen in our lives, a king among rivers. The flood plains extended for miles on either bank, and the irrigation channels alone, which had been built by men generations earlier, could each have served a city the size of Athens. How far must this river have traveled, from what distant rainy lands or glacier-studded mountains, to bring such quantities of water to this desert, otherwise bereft of any moisture? The locals showed us fish they had caught, ancient creatures longer than two men together, fearsome things with reptilian snouts, from which the men would remove the eggs for their own consumption, then release back into the stream. Such monsters would have given men pause even if found in the vastness of the sea. Here in a fresh-water flow, their presence was terrifying. The river at this point could be crossed only by a long pontoon bridge, but we saw that the one that had once been there had been recently burned. The two ends were still smoldering from the fire set only days before. Abrocomas had decided not to keep his date with Cyrus at the intended place, and had fled with three hundred thousand men across the river to combine his forces with those of King Artaxerxes.