BOOK EIGHT
The glowering Fates gnashed their white fangs,
Descending grimly, blood-spattered and terrifying,
Seeking out the fallen and longing to gorge on dark Blood.
Upon catching a man thrown down or wounded,
One of them would grasp him in her great claws, and
His soul would descend screaming to Hades and cold Tartarus. After
Satisfying her taste for human blood, she would hurl his body behind
And rush back again into the clamor and fray…
– HESIOD
CHAPTER ONE
EARLY ON, WE had found that trying to march while simultaneously fending off Tissaphernes' harassing forces was impossible; so in each village through which we passed, we lingered long, caring for our wounded, burying our dead and scouring the countryside for provisions. When the enemy appeared to have lost its alertness, usually at night, we would stealthily break camp and steal quickly across the countryside under cover of darkness to the next village, where we would wait for another opportunity to make a break. We skipped thus from haven to haven as if in a child's game, one in which the loser suffered the ultimate, permanent penalty. The Persian forces were useless at night-they kept their horses tied up, hobbled and unsaddled, and in the event of a night attack they were unable to quickly prepare their mounts, armor and weaponry. To guard against our hoplites' surprising them in the darkness they customarily camped seven or eight miles away from our position. In the evening, as soon as we saw them blowing their trumpets to retreat for the night, we would prepare our baggage, and when the Persians had moved out of sight, we would force a march, putting a wide distance between the two armies and forcing the Persians to travel double the distance the next day.
One night, however, the Persians reversed their custom. They feigned departure in the evening and instead sent a large detachment ahead of us behind a range of hills, seizing a high position over the road along which we would have to pass.
On the next day's march, when Chirisophus in the vanguard noticed that the hill ahead of us had already been taken, he sent riders back to Xenophon in the rear, asking him to advance with his slingers. We were tied down, however, because the remainder of Tissaphernes' army was following us close behind, engaging our slingers and bowmen at every opportunity. Exasperated at Chirisophus' increasing demands and at Tissaphernes' relentless harrying, Xenophon finally left Lycius temporarily in charge of the rear, and rode to the front himself, accompanied by Nicolaus and me.
"Where the fuck have you been?" Ghirisophus snapped, furious at the time we had taken to arrive. "Where are the rest of your string-twirlers? Cowering with the baggage train?"
Nicolaus flushed crimson and glared at him, but Xenophon ignored the Spartan's rudeness and coolly stared him down. "If I had brought my slingers, Tissaphernes would have been running his pennant up your ass before sundown. The slingers stay at the rear as long as the Persian army is still there."
Chirisophus swore under his breath. "The hill above us has been taken and we're stuck here like turds in a bucket until we get rid of those fucking Persian sharpshooters. They're eating my men alive."
Xenophon looked up pensively. When fighting on a steeply sloping plain, defensive forces at the top are able to aim their weapons at the entire body of downhill attackers, from front line to rear; shields are useless to the attackers, unless held straight up and horizontal, like turtle shells, an awkward position in which to climb and fight. Even worse, the downhill attackers, if they are able to throw or shoot at all, can target only the front lines of the forces at the top, and if the defenders are well entrenched, even that is impossible.
Trotting several hundred yards along the road to a better vantage point, Xenophon noticed another steep hill behind the one occupied by the enemy. It had not yet been taken by the Persians and was substantially higher, with a narrow, rocky approach separating them. He returned to Chirisophus, slightly breathless.
"We have to seize that height now," he said, "before the Persians figure out what's going on. My troops are tied down by Tissaphernes three miles back. Either you send your Spartans up to take that hill, or stay here and command the army while I take up a detachment of your men. Either way, make yourself useful."
Chirisophus glared at him. "Your choice, General," he said sarcastically, emphasizing the last word for effect. "It is for me to follow your orders."
I took a deep breath as I saw Xenophon pause for a moment, deliberately sizing the Spartan up before finally deciding, yet again, to ignore his insulting tone of voice. I could only attribute Xenophon's restraint to his overriding desire to maintain the army's unity at all costs, even in the face of personal insult. Gryllus had long ago warned that Spartans were not to be trusted. Thank the gods, I thought, for the Rhodians' unquestioning loyalty, for this was a great source of comfort, as well as a considerable defensive advantage.
Xenophon shielded his eyes against the sun and peered back up at the hill. "I'll need three hundred men," he said. "You'll know in an hour whether or not we are successful." Chirisophus nodded and began selecting men, and I will give him credit, he picked three hundred of the biggest, meanest, ugliest sons of Orcus he had, and assigned them to Xenophon for the rush up the hill. We set off immediately, but Xenophon stopped Nicolaus and pulled him aside. "You wait here."
The Rhodian looked at him quizzically, then his eyes narrowed in resentment. Like all his countrymen, he was sensitive about his youth and small stature, and resisted every attempt to favor him with lighter duties.
"Why, Xenophon? I'll take down three Persians with my sling for every one your Spartans trample."
Xenophon grinned at the boy's spirit. "It's not that-I need someone I trust to wait here for Lycius and explain the situation to him. I don't want him to receive all his news from Chirisophus."
Nicolaus nodded warily at this, and Xenophon wheeled his horse to gallop off after the troops, who by now had already started their ascent.
As soon as the Persians on the lower hill noticed the squad circling behind them and aiming for the unoccupied heights, they too detached a squad of several hundred men, who began racing for the same position. A silence fell over both armies. Although neither of the attacking squads could see the other one climbing the opposite side of the hill, both armies down on the plain could see the entire race. A cheer was suddenly loosed from the Greeks down below, followed a second later by an echoing cheer from the Persian camp, as the Greeks lapsed back into silence. Like a race in the Olympic games with every spectator in the stadium urging on his own countrymen, the troops roared their encouragement to their fellows on the hill.
Xenophon rode back and forth on his struggling horse among the panting Hellenes in the climbing squad, waving his sword and shouting until his voice was raw. "Move, you bastards, move! The Persians are attacking on the other side! This is a race for Greece!"