The Lost Army (26 page)

What really struck me was the endurance of the wounded in dealing with the pain. Each of them could see that the others weren’t moaning or weeping or screaming and so they were somehow forced to follow suit. They’d bite down on their strip of leather, lips curling and teeth bared as if they were dogs. A groan might escape them, but they’d never let their voices be heard. They breathed fast, clenching their teeth. In the end, all their pain was concentrated in their eyes. I’ll never forget those looks of fierce suffering and agony.

Some died because the doctors couldn’t stop the bleeding. I sat next to one of them until he expired. He lay naked in a lake of his own blood. His cot was soaked through and the blood kept dripping onto the ground. I held his hand to help him pass the last threshold; I didn’t want him to have to face the darkness of death alone. Blood and filth could not completely mask his beauty, and it seemed impossible to me that such a perfect, powerful body would soon be a slab of still, cold meat. What I remember about him was his feverish gaze and the way the pallor of death ran so rapidly across his face and his limbs. Before he breathed his last breath, he had a moment of lucidity and he looked at me intensely. ‘Who are you?’ he murmured.

‘Whoever you want me to be, child. I’m your mother, your sister, your lover . . .’

‘Then,’ he said, ‘give me water.’ And he fixed the sky with lifeless, staring eyes.

O
UR MARCH HAD
grown insufferable. The warriors were forced to move in tight formation and, what’s more, wearing full armour from sunrise until after sunset. Attempting the journey in any other way would have meant certain death, but pushing on under those conditions was unsustainable. Tissaphernes’s cavalry attacked us in continuous waves, letting fly with bows and slingshots to sap our defences; as soon as our spearmen tried to react the Persians slipped away until they were just beyond their range. There was always a fresh supply of horsemen, so the skirmishing never let up.

Only darkness would bring relief, because the Persians were afraid of us, and camped a long way off to avoid being surprised by a night raid.

One night Xeno asked to meet with the other commanders because he had an idea to propose. Sophos, Xanthi, Timas, Agasias and Cleanor arrived one after another at our tent and I served them all evening, bringing them palm wine mixed with water. Xeno had thought up an ingenious plan.

‘We have to act at once,’ he began. ‘If we don’t get them off our backs we’ll never be able to stock up on provisions. The men will end up losing morale and strength and that will be the end of us. The enemy have learned their lesson well: attacking us frontally means getting cut to pieces, and so they won’t do that again. They want to burden us with a growing number of wounded and disabled warriors and prevent us from eating and drinking. If they stopped us from sleeping – which is something they could do, actually, with little effort – it would be all over for us in three or four days at the most. Thankfully they haven’t thought of that.’

‘So,’ interjected Sophos, ‘what is your proposal?’

‘We have to act at night.’

‘You want to attack them? I don’t think that’s feasible,’ interrupted Xanthi. ‘They surely have posted sentries; we’ll never manage to approach their camp.’

‘No. I want to get free of them. Listen: it must be tomorrow, or we’ll never have another chance. You’ll have noticed that when we pitch our tents there’s a group of horsemen watching at two or three hundred paces. They make sure we set up camp and then ride off to tell their commanders that all is well. What we’ll do is pretend to stop for the night, set a few fires to make it look like we’re cooking dinner, and as soon as they turn around we’ll start marching again. With our armour on the wagons, so we can travel lighter and faster. We’ll muffle the horses’ and mules’ hoofs so we can move in absolute silence. We’ll eat and drink as we walk and we’ll make very few stops, just long enough to rally, then off again. Brief sleep periods, while the others keep watch.’

The commanders listened attentively. The writer, who would have guessed! That young Athenian seemed to know what he was talking about. I could have told them why. Xeno had often told me how his teacher had taught him to reason and to draw on experience.

‘Our Thracian skirmishers,’ continued Xeno, ‘have told me that when they are transferring their herds from the mountain pastures to the plains they have to stop as little as possible to avoid being attacked by other tribes and despoiled of their livestock. The way they rest is by sleeping often for a very brief period, sometimes even leaning against a tree, so that in reality they never stop. Their bodies become accustomed to these short rests and they recuperate enough energy to push on. Sleep is short but very deep and, ultimately, relaxing.

‘What I’m saying is, we won’t stop the day after, nor the day after that. They’ll end up thinking that we’ve taken a different route, and they’ll split up their forces to look for us. In the meantime we’ll have reached the foothills, where the Persian cavalry won’t be able to move as swiftly and easily as they do on the plain. At that point, we’ll decide how to proceed.’

Sophos approved of the idea. ‘If everything goes according to plan, we should be able to shake them off. On the other hand, we have no choice. They have clearly demonstrated their intentions. They have eliminated our commanders and now they want the rest of us dead as well, down to the last man. Neither Artaxerxes nor Tissaphernes wants a single one of us making it to the sea and boasting how easy it is to get all the way to Babylon without losing a man.’

That was the truth, then. It wasn’t a question of revenge. It was a question of not letting out information that was vital for the survival of the empire.

Sophos turned to the other commanders. ‘Pass these instructions on to all the men. Each fighting unit will organize guard shifts and all the rest. I’ll decide on the stops; my signal will be relayed verbally down the line.’

‘There’s something else,’ Xeno continued. ‘We need a cavalry unit, even if it’s a small one. I’m not saying we should take on the Persians, but it would be helpful for close observation of the enemy or for scouting out suitable passes.’

‘Where will we get the horses?’ asked Timas.

‘We’ll take them from the wagons,’ replied Xeno, and at those words the jug I was carrying nearly fell out of my hands. He was talking about eliminating our means of transport.

‘We’d have to give up the wagons at the base of the mountains anyway,’ he continued calmly.

I thought of Melissa’s feet and of my own and I got a lump in my throat. Would I be able to keep up? I thought of that pregnant girl I’d seen on her wagon, what would become of her? And all the others who were in her condition? Sophos had promised that he wouldn’t leave anyone behind, but he was talking about warriors. I was afraid he wasn’t including the women. But they’d already decided. The choice I made so instinctively when I decided to run off with Xeno was now starting to reveal its real consequences.

The commanders got up to leave and return to their own units. Sophos had changed since he’d come out of the shadows. He had managed to get himself elected by the assembly of warriors without opposition and had stepped into Clearchus’s shoes without difficulty. He had imposed his presence, the tone of his voice, the flash of his eyes. He had the attitude of a man who knows what he wants and how to get there. There was an instinctive self-assurance about him, a flow of energy that had connected him with his men from the start. As he was leaving our tent he put a hand on Xeno’s shoulder and said: ‘This is just what we needed. A magician who could make an entire army disappear, just like that!’ snapping his middle finger against his thumb.

He even had a sense of humour.

‘You pulled off the same trick, Commander,’ retorted Xeno. ‘At the gully, when you hid the warriors in the tall grass.’

The others started to laugh, a swaggering, bold, disdainful laugh that didn’t want to end.

‘I can still see their faces when they saw us stand up with our shields in place,’ said Xanthi, the long-haired Achaean with the neck of a bull.

‘Like they were looking death in the face!’ exclaimed Agasias, dark of skin, hair and scowl.

‘And knowing they’d lost the game!’ added Timas the Dardanian, lean as a leopard, with his olive complexion and short pointed beard.

‘If they think they can sing victory, they’ve got another think coming,’ concluded Cleanor, and he might have been staring down the enemy with his grey falcon’s eyes. Cleanor was a bundle of nerves and muscles. He was built on two thighs as thick as columns and seemed impatient to show the world that he was up to his task. ‘If they want us, they’ll have to come and get us,’ he said again, ‘and to do that, they’ll have to get off of their horses.’

They left the tent snickering and their voices soon faded in the distance.

Xeno washed and stretched out on the mat and I lay down next to him. We made love with a passion that I hadn’t seen for ages. We were in danger, relentlessly pursued and hunted down, and yet he was at the height of excitement and energy. He – the writer who’d had to put up with so much irony and sarcasm during our long march – had thought of a way to lead ten thousand of his comrades beyond the grasp of death. And he had the courage to carry it out. When he finally lay back and closed his eyes, I took his hand and asked him the question that had been nagging at me for so long.

‘The Persians want to wipe us out, but do you think there’s anyone back in your country who wants this army to return?’

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s an intuition, a sensation. But I’d like you to give me an answer, if you will.’

Xeno’s response was a long silence.

‘If you don’t want to talk it doesn’t matter.’

‘This army is composed of mercenaries . . .’

‘I know.’

‘Except for two men.’

‘Sophos . . .’

‘Right.’

‘And you. And the whole expedition was kept secret at your departure. I don’t think that what was secret then can be announced openly now. Who is Sophos?’

‘An officer of the Spartan army. Probably of very high rank.’

‘Can I ask you how you know that? Did he tell you?’

‘By the wicker bracelet he wears on his left wrist. Inside is his name and the number of the unit he commands. The soldiers wear it on their right. It’s a custom of the Spartan army. When a man falls in battle and his body is not recovered immediately by his comrades, the enemy will strip it of anything precious. A twig bracelet is worth nothing and for this reason it is never stolen. But it bears the identity of the fallen man. Inside that bracelet it says Chirisophus.’

I tried to pronounce the name the way Xeno did but it was too long for me. ‘I think I’ll keep calling him Sophos . . . So, what is his role? Why did he appear so suddenly?’

‘That I do not know.’

‘Do you think he’ll tell you?’

‘I think not.’

‘Will we survive?’

‘I hope with all my heart that we will, but it is difficult for a man to change his destiny once the Moira has spun it out.’

I didn’t know who this Moira was, who spun out the fates of human beings, but I was frightened nonetheless. In our villages they talked about women with long black hair, dressed in black, with deep black rings under their eyes who roam about at night and snatch the living and carry them away to the kingdom of the dead where the air is dust and the bread is dry clay . . .

‘But as far as it’s in my power, I will leave nothing untried to take these men to safety. They are extraordinary fighters and they have replaced my homeland, seeing that I can never return to Athens.’

‘Do you really mean to leave the wagons behind?’

‘We have no choice.’

I didn’t ask him anything else. I fell silent, overcome by anguish. He must have understood. He held me tight, and whispered into my ear, ‘I won’t abandon you.’

The next day was no less hard than the ones before. The attacks were relentless and the army was forced to proceed in closed formation with the wagons at the centre, shields held high. It was an enormous strain, because each shield weighed as much as a bushel of grain. I tried to imagine what our formation must have looked like from above: like some kind of enormous metallic porcupine advancing laboriously, tormented on every side by a myriad mounted huntsmen shooting clouds of arrows and darts of every sort at us.

The darts stuck into the shields and made them even heavier to carry. Every so often our skirmishers attempted a counterattack. Lying in wait behind some rise in the terrain, they would let fly with bows and slings, succeeding in downing a certain number of the enemy. Xeno told me that the slingsmen from Rhodes could hit a man in the middle of his forehead at fifty paces.

After passing a couple of hillocks we came to a place where we could camp, and that was where we carried out the plan. Campfires were lit, a certain number of tents were pitched, and sentries posted. As soon as it grew dark, the Persians who checked us every evening rode off towards their camp and we set about dismantling everything. The evening star sparkled above, not far from a perfectly curved crescent of moon with its points turned upwards. The ground was light in colour, making it easy for us to pick our way. The darkness would protect us in our night-time march. The men struck the tents and ate hurriedly and then, at a signal from their commanders, who were obeying an order from Sophos that was passed by word of mouth, the army set off without a sound.