The Lost Army (16 page)

‘This is different,’ replied Glous. ‘Here it’s flat and open and they have their cavalry. They’ll wear you down. They can target you from a distance and pick you off one by one.’

Clearchus cut him off him with a tense gesture of his open hand. ‘Go back to Ariaeus. Tell him that if he wants to try to take the throne we’ll put ourselves at his service. Two of my men will come with you to lay out our plan . . .’

Sophos stepped forward without having been called. Clearchus scanned his men until he found Menon of Thessaly. Clots of blood smeared his hair and clothes, but there wasn’t a single mark on his skin.

‘. . . and him,’ he concluded his unfinished thought, nodding in Menon’s direction. Then his expression changed to a look of distress. ‘I just need to feed my boys, understand? I’m like a father to them. I punish them harshly if they do wrong, but I worry about them eating and drinking and having what they need. Understand? My boys need to eat . . .’

Glous shook his head in bewilderment and exchanged a glance with the others. They remounted and rode off together.

Clearchus turned to his men. ‘We’re going back,’ he ordered, and set off at a trot.

I couldn’t understand why he wanted us back in that field of slaughter, but it turned out to be our salvation, at least for a while. I’d soon realize why.

He had the men gather all of the arrows and javelins scattered over the ground or protruding from the corpses and then, using the wreckage of the chariots, heap up enough wood to start a fire. Others skinned and butchered the carcasses of twenty or so mules and horses and spit-roasted the chunks of meat on the embers.

‘Horsemeat builds blood,’ said Clearchus. ‘Eat, you’ll need your strength.’ He went about cutting up the meat and handing it out to his soldiers, as a father does with his children. But there wasn’t enough for more than ten thousand men. He gave the last piece to an eighteen-year-old, without saving anything for himself.

They were just finishing when General Socrates rode up. ‘We have visitors,’ he announced.

‘Again?’ asked Clearchus, getting to his feet from where he had been sitting with his men.

‘They speak our language,’ replied Socrates, and let through a couple of men preceded by a flag of truce.

‘My name is Phalinus,’ said the first.

‘I’m Ctesias,’ said the second.

‘Ctesias?’ repeated Clearchus. ‘But aren’t you . . .’

The man who had claimed that name was about fifty years old, balding, and dressed in Persian garb. He nodded. ‘Yes . . . I’m the doctor of the Great King, Artaxerxes.’

‘Ah,’ replied Clearchus. ‘And may I ask how your illustrious patient is feeling?’

‘He’s well, but Cyrus nearly managed to kill him. He attacked his own brother like a bloodthirsty beast. His spear pierced the King’s breastplate and cut through his skin. Luckily it was only a flesh wound and I was able to stitch it up.’

‘Good job,’ said Clearchus. ‘I wouldn’t mind a doctor like you myself, but I’m afraid I can’t afford it. So tell me, what good fortune brings you here?’

‘That’s a question I should be asking you, actually,’ replied the royal physician with an ironic smile.

Clearchus stared at him for a moment in silence. ‘I imagine you know the answer to that quite well, Ctesias, but humour me, if you will: why has the Great King sent me his personal doctor? Does he think I . . . have a cold? Do you think a hot compress might do the trick? Or a nice infusion of hemlock?’

Ctesias pretended he hadn’t heard: ‘We’re Greek. He thought that was reason enough.’

‘Excellent, I agree, but allow me to remind you of a couple of things. We were engaged by Cyrus. Cyrus is dead. We have nothing against the Great King . . .’

‘I believe you,’ interrupted Phalinus, ‘but that doesn’t change matters. There are a great number of you, and you are armed. Go to his tent, now, wearing only your tunics. Implore his clemency, and I’ll see what I can do for you.’

‘Did I hear you right?’ Clearchus retorted. ‘Implore his clemency?’ He turned to his commanders. ‘My fellow officers, listen to this one! What a request! Would you mind giving these kind guests of ours an answer? I have to leave for just a moment.’

I was so surprised by his behaviour. Why would he walk away just then, at such a crucial moment? The generals turned to the messengers without batting an eye.

‘You’ll have to kill me first,’ replied Cleanor of Arcadia, a formidable warrior with a voice that sliced into you like a sword.

Proxenus of Boeotia’s tone was more accommodating, but not his words. ‘In our tunics, right? Fine, Phalinus, but maybe you can tell me what will happen to my men if we do such a thing. Will they be . . . butchered? Impaled? Skinned alive? That’s the way they do things here, isn’t it? We’ve seen how he treated his little brother.’

Phalinus did not react. He only tried to make his request clearer. You could see he was a good negotiator. He was a big man, but very calm and attentive; he weighed his words and didn’t waste a single one. ‘The Great King knows that he’s won because he defeated and killed Cyrus, and you were on his brother’s side. What’s more, you’re in the middle of his territory and so you are his. You’re surrounded. There are canals all around you as well as two wide, impassable rivers, one to your left and one to your right. You have no way out, and if you decide to go out fighting he will send so many soldiers out against you that you’d never be able to kill them all, not even if they offered you their throats for the cutting.’

Xeno in the meantime had pushed his way into the centre of the group of officers while I lingered behind. He listened to every word, and he even spoke up, despite the fact that he had no authority to do so. ‘Listen, Phalinus, your demands are unreasonable. You can’t ignore the fact that the Persians who faced off against us in the conflict were routed. You cannot expect us to negotiate as if we’d been defeated.’

‘Smart boy!’ replied Phalinus. ‘You sound like a philosopher. But you’re delusional if you think you can challenge the greatest empire on earth by trying to reason your way around things. Forget it.’

‘Wait a moment,’ another officer broke in. ‘Why don’t we try to come to an agreement? You came to make a deal, right? We’re excellent fighters. We’ve lost our employer, so we’re back on the market. You’ve been having trouble in Egypt. Why don’t you tell your King that we’ll take care of things for him? I’m sure we could do that.’

Phalinus shook his head. ‘You could take Egypt, all on your own? Oh gods, just who do you think you are?’ Just then Clearchus reappeared and Phalinus turned straight to him. ‘Listen, there’s a lot of confusion here, everyone is saying something different. I need to talk to one person alone, one person who can speak for you all. So, Clearchus, do you want to tell me what you’ve decided? Yes or no?’

Clearchus drew up close. ‘Listen. I know that we’re up to our necks in trouble. But you’re a Greek, damnit, there’s no one listening to us. Except for the doctor, but he’s Greek too, isn’t he? Can’t you just stop being an ambassador for a moment and give us some advice, from one Greek to another? One man to another? You know, if we manage to pull ourselves out of this shithole we’ll never forget that you gave us good advice, and on the other side of the sea you’ll always have ten thousand good friends to count on if the wind changes. You can never be sure of anything in this world.’

Xeno had returned to where I was standing. No one had noticed me because my hair was pulled up under a cap and I was wearing a man’s cloak.

‘What is he saying?’ I asked.

‘I think he’s stalling for time. He’s waiting for a signal from Sophos or Menon about the situation at the Asian camp. He wants to know what Ariaeus is up to.’

A couple of men standing in front of us hushed us. ‘Shut up, will you? We want to hear what’s going on.’

Phalinus answered. ‘If there were any way you could get out of this, I would tell you about it, I swear to you. But you can see for yourself that there’s no way out. You can’t head back and you can’t go forward either. Surrender, and I’ll try to put in a good word. You will too, Ctesias, won’t you? The King will certainly listen to his personal physician, the man who saved his life.’

Ctesias nodded benevolently.

‘See?’ continued Phalinus. ‘He’ll put in a good word for you, you needn’t worry. So, what’s your answer?’

Clearchus got even closer and Phalinus instinctively took half a step back in order to stay out of arm’s reach. ‘I’d like to thank you for your advice, my friend, I truly appreciate it but, you see, I’ve thought this all through. Showing up in our tunics, on bended knee, begging for clemency . . . I’m sorry, that just doesn’t seem like a good idea. In conclusion, there’s no question in my mind: no.’

Phalinus could barely disguise his displeasure and he remained in silence a few moments to gather his thoughts. The sun was high and the buzzing of the flies attracted by thousands of rotting bodies was almost unbearable. Swarms of crows had appeared overhead, and several large vultures were circling above waiting for the chance to swoop down and begin their banqueting. Phalinus looked up at the vultures and then at Clearchus, while Ctesias maintained a detached attitude as if he had been sent merely to observe and not to get involved. In the end, Phalinus said, ‘If that’s the way things stand I have to warn you of what you’re up against. As long as you remain here where you are now, a truce will stand between you and the King. If you move, that will mean war. What shall I tell him?’

Clearchus did not seem upset in the least. ‘What you’ve just said,’ he replied. ‘If we stay here it’s a truce, if we move it’s war.’

Phalinus bit his lower lip in anger and went off without another word.

‘It didn’t go the way he thought it would,’ observed Socrates.

‘No. I’d say not,’ replied Clearchus. ‘It won’t be pretty for him when he has to tell the King. In any case, we can’t remain here. We have nothing to eat. Unless we stay strong we’re dead.’

Just then Agasias and Sophos rode up. ‘Ariaeus was wounded, but he’ll pull through,’ said Sophos. ‘Menon decided to stay down at the camp with Glous.’

‘What did Ariaeus say about my proposal?’

‘No, he says forget about that – no high-ranking Persian would accept him as king, even if we won the throne for him. But if we join him, he says he’ll lead us out of here. He said to come as quickly as we can if we decide to accept his offer. If we’re not there by tomorrow morning, he’s leaving alone.’

‘I see,’ replied Clearchus. ‘Did you run into any trouble getting back here?’

‘No,’ replied Sophos. ‘The whole area is very quiet. The Persians are staying out of sight.’

‘For the moment,’ Cleanor spoke up.

‘For the moment,’ Clearchus admitted.

He turned to the bugler and had him sound the call for a meeting of his staff. The generals who commanded the large battle units and the battalion commanders rushed over. Clearchus presided over the war council.

Xeno meant to join me, and was walking in my direction when he crossed paths with Sophos, who was heading towards the staff meeting.

‘Come with me,’ Sophos told him.

‘But I’m not part of the . . .’

‘Now you are,’ replied Sophos curtly. ‘Come on, then.’

Xeno followed without objecting. I sat down on the ground next to his horse Halys, his servant, his wagon and his bags. It was everything Xeno owned, and I felt it was best not to leave his things unguarded, given the circumstances.

The meeting went on until late afternoon. Xeno returned with Sophos and they stopped about twenty steps away from me. That was where they parted; Sophos took off and Xeno spoke to me.

‘Get ready,’ he said. ‘We’ll be moving at sunset.’

‘Where will we go?’

‘We’re going to join up with the others and then, we’ll see . . . Is there anything left to eat?’

‘Yes, I can make some flat bread. There are still some salted olives and a little wine.’

‘That will be fine. We’ll eat early, before leaving.’

In truth there were more supplies in the wagon, but if I’d told him so, Xeno would have invited someone to dinner. Socrates or Agias or both of them. I didn’t want to risk running out of food before we had a way to get more.

Of course I couldn’t stop the aroma of the baking bread from wafting through the camp. Those poor boys were starving. They were twenty years old and had fought like lions the whole day before. Xeno didn’t even need to tell me that: I offered what I could to those closest to us.

Xeno had nothing to write on and that left us time for conversation, especially after I’d poured him a little sweet wine.

‘We’re in terrible danger, aren’t we?’

‘Yes,’ he replied.

‘But there’s something I just can’t understand. The King’s army is so much bigger than ours, why hasn’t he attacked us?’

‘Because he’s afraid.’

‘Afraid of what?’

‘Of the red-cloaked warriors. Legend has them invincible. Eighty years ago a Spartan king named Leonidas deployed the three hundred men at his command at the Fiery Gates, a narrow mountain pass in central Greece. They held off an army of Persians that was even bigger than this one, for days and days. They were outnumbered a hundred to one. These men here are made of the same stuff, and yesterday they overwhelmed the Persian left wing even though it was five times their size. The red-cloaked warriors are larger than life. The mere sight of them is enough to strike terror into their enemies. Cyrus was sure that this small contingent would be sufficient to defeat his brother, the most powerful sovereign on earth. He wasn’t wrong about that. If Clearchus had obeyed his orders to attack the enemy centre, we’d be in a totally different situation right now.’