Clearchus climbed onto the bridge footing and glared at the men. "What the fuck are you all staring at?" He bellowed hoarsely. "Cyrus is dead and you are marching on your own, in enemy territory! By the good grace of the gods, you ass-humpers have been blessed with a Spartan for a general. When I lead men, I expect nothing less of myself than what I order them to do. And I expect nothing less of my men than unquestioning obedience! When a Spartan leads an army, that army is Spartan! And you will work as Spartans and behave as Spartans, or by the gods you will die as Spartans."
The men dispersed sullenly, avoiding Clearchus' harsh gaze, but there was no further shirking as they redoubled their efforts to move the army and its baggage over the rough roads. Xenophon sidled up to me on his horse a few minutes after the incident, his face red with outrage.
"Did you hear him, Theo? The man's a tyrant! 'Work as Spartans or die as Spartans.' That dog-breathed jackass is going to have the men deserting like our Thracians if he doesn't give them a better reason to follow him than the threat of being beaten with a stick in the mud."
"Such as starving in the desert, perhaps?" I suggested evenly. "Or being picked off on the sly by Persian outriders? Those might be good motivations."
He glared at me fiercely, but I held his stare, and he wheeled his horse and galloped off.
When we arrived at the village three days later, we were relieved to see that the conditions were just as the king's ambassadors had promised. There was plenty of wheat, palms, and dates, and the natives had filled cisterns with a kind of date wine, to which the troops immediately took a liking, much to the officers' chagrin. Not only had the men lost their tolerance for drink during the long march from Sardis, but this particular wine had a tendency to immobilize them with a blinding headache. Clearchus banned its consumption, but not until half his army had been knocked supine for a day, during which time Xenophon and I prayed that the king's promise of safe conduct was trustworthy.
Tissaphernes finally arrived with his retinue, which included the queen's brother, the three ambassadors whom we had already met, and a long train of slaves bearing gifts and supplies. Up close he was an older man than I remembered when I saw him in the chaos of the fighting outside Cyrus' tent, much more so than one would have expected for a cavalry commander. He was tall, however, long-limbed and rangy, with leathery skin and a wispy beard, constantly moving about with a kind of nervous energy that belied his age, and with a commanding bearing that indicated he would brook no dissent. His eyes were sharp and pale, a light blue or gray, and after entering the tent with the quick, confident step of a victor, he suddenly stopped short and gazed openly around the space, as if looking for someone in particular. I saw Asteria, standing in attendance behind Clearchus, shrink back behind the slave girl next to her, seeking to avoid his piercing gaze.
Tissaphernes was not so easily cowed as the king's previous representatives. He locked his raptorlike glare on Clearchus, ensuring that he would be received as an equal or a superior, until the Spartan dropped his gaze. Having settled this matter of rank without yet even uttering a word, he further secured his position among the Greek officers by an elaborate distribution of gifts of golden chalices and other luxuries. Xenophon was allotted a beautifully ornate Persian bridle bit crafted of brass and silver, embarrassingly lavish for an officer of his rank, or for any officer serving under Spartan command. He gravely nodded his thanks to Tissaphernes' steward upon receiving this gift, and then handed it off to me, wishing to be rid of it, before returning to his place with the other Greek officers standing along the wall of the tent.
After the ritual opening statements, during which Clearchus ostentatiously yawned, though with no apparent effect on Tissaphernes, the Persian turned and addressed not merely him but all the officers. He used an interpreter, though he was perfectly fluent in Greek.
"Gentlemen," he said, in a surprisingly high-pitched and unctuous voice. "As you may know, my home country is a near neighbor to yours, and I have taken the liberty of proposing to the king that I escort you home personally, on the occasion of a journey I had already previously planned to visit my estates. My hope is that this will earn me the gratitude of you and your country, and would also be to the king's advantage by ridding him of a foreign army occupying his soil.
"The king promised he would consider this plan. But he first told me to ask you why you make war upon his country. Your army is too small and your supply lines too long to establish any permanent presence here; yet you are strong enough to cause considerable damage before you are ultimately defeated. I urge you to forgo your harsh treatment of Persian ambassadors, and to answer my question with all due thoughtfulness, so that I may give a favorable response to the king and thereby assist you in resolving your difficulty."
Clearchus' face softened slightly, as if he were much taken with the general's good sense. Although Tissaphernes was not as humble as might be hoped, at least he was not prone to the idle boasting with which the earlier ambassadors had offended the Greeks. After consulting with Proxenus for a moment, Clearchus replied with an effort at politeness:
"Lord Tissaphernes: We did not originally intend to make war on the king, but rather on the Pisidians. Cyrus convinced us, however, through promises of glory and wealth, to assist him in his true goal, which we did out of loyalty and friendship to him. We have no intention of establishing a presence in your country, nor do we bear you any ill will. Cyrus is dead. We have no further business here, and would like nothing better than to march peacefully home, provided that we are not harassed along the way. Any aggression we will meet with deadly force."
After a few minutes more of ritual chatter, Tissaphernes and his retinue bowed deeply and retired to their carriages, this time surrounded by silent Greeks. He took the message back to the king and returned several days later with a smaller, less ceremonial escort, and most important of all, a positive response. Tissaphernes promised to escort us home with his army, providing markets along the way, if the Greeks agreed to behave as if they were on friendly territory. There was to be no violence by either side. Tissaphernes and Clearchus sealed their agreement with an oath and a handclasp, and the captains and officers on both sides drank to each others' health. Tissaphernes then returned to his troops to make arrangements for the journey, and Proxenus, Xenophon, and I went back to our Boeotians, to announce the plan and to bide our time until departure.
We waited there outside the village, alongside Ariaius' troops, for three weeks, as the men became simultaneously more dissipated from the forced inactivity, and nervous at the lack of progress. The site afforded little in the way of distraction or comfort. The armies were camped near a series of vast grain fields that were now withered and fallow, relentless in their flat, brown monotony. Water we drew from a large, muddy irrigation canal that Tissaphernes had ordered the villagers to open for our use. The water's mineral content stained everything, from our pots to our garments, a kind of dull orange that served as a depressing counterpoint to the unremitting glare of the sun, which was unbroken by the shade of any trees or landscape features. Our hide and canvas tents afforded little respite from the throbbing, airless heat, and in fact were too unbearably close and stifling to sleep in by night. Most of the men simply cut their shelters along the seams and rigged them as awnings propped by spear shafts, to the seething disapproval of Clearchus, who viewed this as one further obstacle to battle readiness. Nevertheless, he ultimately bowed to reason, and complied with Proxenus' suggestion that the men be allowed this small concession to comfort.