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.
Food and supplies were procured by pooling our dwindling funds and sending several squads with pack animals into the wretched, foul-smelling village on market days, to wander among the low-slung mud and thatch huts and attempt to barter better prices in large quantities from the wily locals. Our success was mixed, and the wormy, withered vegetables and rancid horsemeat the marketing squads procured made us long for the hearty, if repetitious fare we had enjoyed during the first months of our march out of Sardis.
During these hot, heavy days of enforced village living, the Greeks and the native troops became increasingly soft, losing all perspective as to their true situation. Ariaius' men were deserting to the enemy in droves, and we feared for Ariaius himself, as he received visitors every day from among his Persian relatives, friends and even former comrades-in-arms from the king's forces. He swore that these were merely messages of reassurance from the king, who had pledged that he bore Ariaius no malice for his campaign with Cyrus, and promised to honor the truce, but Proxenus' suspicions grew daily.
"Why are we dallying?" Proxenus finally exclaimed to me impatiently one day, as we took inventory of our stocks for the thousandth time. "Why are we waiting for the king to collect his troops, or to fortify his position? We are in hostile territory, with no provisions except what the benevolent Tissaphernes has given us, and his strength is increasing daily. Which army has time to bide-ours or theirs? Is the king simply going to let us freely return to Greece to laugh about how we got the better of the massed forces of Persia with our ten thousand men, and had our fill of date wine besides?" He swept his maps off the camp table in disgust and stalked outside the tent to assemble the men for yet another review of arms.
I pondered our position. Was Proxenus advocating retreat without the king's permission? That would be suicide, for if we left Tissaphernes' protection we would have no provisions other than what we could loot from the surrounding countryside-a much less certain method than using the markets the village provided us, notwithstanding our dwindling supply of coin. Pillaging would entail breaking our solemn vow to Tissaphernes to keep the truce. Moreover, we would have no guides to lead us back, although Proxenus had developed severe doubts as to the reliability of the king's guides in any case. And leaving now would severely reduce our forces, for it is certain that Ariaius would not accompany us. Our situation was bleak, although a casual observer would never have concluded this, from the laughter and games of the men outside, as they bided their time in the camp.