The Lost Army (27 page)

We marched all night in silence, at a good speed. The warriors had left their shields on the wagons, in order to quicken their pace, but each man knew exactly where his shield was, and the quickest way to reach it if need be. All orders passed swiftly from man to man in a whisper.

The first stop was very short. The men lay on the bare ground and slept for a brief time, and then were back on their feet.

I’ll never forget that journey through the night. Nothing happened, actually. There were no battles, no assaults, no ambushes. No one died or was wounded. All we did was cross the night from one end to another. In silence, in the dark. Through a thousand mysterious scents: the fragrance of dried amaranth, the dust – and the flint – giving up the heat that had scorched it during the day, the stubble on the plains and the distant hint of broom blossoming on the mountains.

Every now and then, the solitary song of a night bird would burst out of nowhere, or we’d be surprised by a sudden fluttering of wings as we passed by a bush. We watched as the evening star slowly sank into the horizon. There was a sense of magic all around, in the turquoise sky, in the sharp silver crescent of the moon. The long line of men crossing the threshold of the night seemed an army of ghosts. At times I thought I saw white manes tossing in the wind and the silhouette of a horseman standing out against the sky, but I realized that I was giving shape to my dreams or perhaps to someone else’s. The only reality was the heavy step of those men trying to escape annihilation.

At a certain point, I slipped off to sleep in the wagon, because I knew that soon I’d lose that privilege, that I’d have to march through the burning sand and cold mud like all the others. Before I closed my eyes I thought of Nicarchus of Arcadia, of his torn belly. I hadn’t seen him in a while and I wondered whether he was still alive or whether they’d dumped him somewhere along the road without burying him.

I was really half awake, because the swaying of the wagon and clanging of the wheels stopped me from falling into unconsciousness. Once I saw looming before me the powerful figure of Cleanor of Arcadia, who was pressing his enormous thighs against his horse’s flanks to force the reluctant animal not to baulk at a difficult passage cut into the hillside. Shortly thereafter I saw the crest on Xeno’s helmet waving in the breeze. The new commanders were leading the troops with a firm hand.

The second rest stop was no longer than the first, and the march resumed a bit more slowly. Fatigue had begun to set in. Finally, the glow of the dawn whitened the horizon and the five commanders plus Xeno regrouped on a small rise in the terrain and cast a look around. They were silent, grim, their jaws clenched and their hands tight on their spear shafts. The warriors stopped as well and looked in the same direction, there where the enemy might well appear on horseback. They waited a short time and then let out a cry of exultation.

‘We’ve lost them!’ shouted Xeno.

‘You’re right, we’re rid of them!’ yelled Xanthi.

‘We did it!’ the others rejoiced. But Sophos cut them short. ‘Not yet,’ he warned. ‘It’s too soon to know and we can’t let up now. Take a short rest, those of you who still have food can eat something, but then we’re on the march again. Do you see that high ground over there? That’s where the mountains begin. When we’re there we can say we’re safely beyond the threat of the Persian cavalry. At my orders, we’re back on the road.’

The sun was beginning to blaze on the horizon and soon grew hot and pitiless. The men kept turning their heads, fearing that they would see at any moment a white cloud announcing the hammer-blow charge of the horsemen of the steppe. Instead, nothing happened. Xeno led a group of scouts up and down the column, riding off at a distance at times with the evident intent of forestalling an attack.

Towards afternoon the countryside became a little hillier, and at a certain point, from a stretch of high ground, we could see a green hill in front of us which stood out against the brown of the surrounding terrain. Around the hill were a number of villages, and at its peak was a fortified palace. It was a stupendous sight, a combination of shapes and colours so fascinating that it seemed the stuff of dreams. Birds with huge wing spans soared over the castle, allowing the evening breeze to hold them aloft. Lengths of blue and yellow cloth fluttered over the towers, and the grass, incredibly green, moved in waves, keeping time to the wind, changing colour and light at every moment.

The castle turned out to be abandoned, while the houses were full of peasants apprehensively awaiting an all-out attack. Since they had nowhere to go, they had decided to remain with their wives and children. They were hoping that the war would pass like a sudden storm and then disperse in the distance.

The army loaded up all the provisions they could find, all the grain that had already been set aside for the winter. They needed it to survive, but so did the farmers who had harvested it. Without it they would die, perhaps, or they would see their children die, the little ones first. Their food was taken by those stronger than they were.

I walked through the castle alone. I’d often dreamed of such a building as a child, imagining it inhabited by a magical being, a man capable of transforming stones into gold and of taking flight by night from one of the towers, like a bird of prey. I went from one room to the next, looking all around, and saw for the first time what Xeno called ‘works of art’. Figures carved in relief, others painted on the walls, others still carved into the wooden doors. I stared open-mouthed at winged monsters, lions with the head and beak of a bird, men fighting panthers and tigers, other men being pulled on a chariot by two yoked ostriches. I knew that nothing of the sort could ever have existed and that those images had been created by men, like the stories invented by narrators that had never happened. Because no one is content with the life they have; people always want some other life that is different and more exciting. Hadn’t that been my problem? But I had actually abandoned my village, my family and my betrothed to run off on a crazy adventure.

Whoever had lived in the castle had taken everything with them. There was not a piece of furniture left, not a bed, not a carpet. The only thing I found, at the far end of a bare room, was a little clay doll with jointed arms and legs, dressed with a scrap of grey wool. I picked her up and took her to camp with me, feeling as if I’d found the last survivor of some awful catastrophe.

We didn’t sleep that night either. Sophos and the other commanders were keen to carry out Xeno’s plan: we had to put as much space as possible between us and the Persians so we wouldn’t find them suddenly upon us with their rain of lethal arrows. The men rested for an hour. I saw one of the men measuring the time by planting two poles in the ground and waiting until the moon covered the space between them. They were truly tired now, even though the food they’d taken and eaten had given them energy and the drive to continue. But their faces were grim, they cursed at the slightest problem and grumbled when they received an order. Only Xeno was absolutely tireless. He was no longer ‘the writer’; he was a commander, and it was evident that he wanted his deeds to be remembered, and that he desired the esteem of his comrades. He was altogether absent at times, in another world, and this gave me a cold feeling.

When we were halfway through the night, the sky darkened. Low, fast-moving black clouds veiled the crescent moon and galloped eastward. Here and there I could see sudden flashes of light illuminate the huge dark clouds from the inside, setting their tattered edges on fire. Bolts of lightning snaked their way from sky to ground, followed by the distant rumbling of thunder. The season had begun to change; the days were getting shorter and the mountains were harbouring storms. We were heading towards a world which was getting stranger and less familiar with every step.

When dawn cleared the sky the next morning, the first mountain buttresses appeared. The plain ended and led into a harsh, very different territory. It looked foreboding, impassable, and yet everyone was rejoicing. They were warriors: all they wanted was an even fight.

The sun was barely visible. Dim it was, and pale, behind a curtain of thin cloud. In front of us a tall hill loomed up over the crossing of two large roads. From what I’d understood we would be heading north, where the cold winds that numb your limbs are born.

The five commanders held a meeting without dismounting from their horses. It was a curious sight: the rumps and the tails of the animals at the outside of the circle, their muzzles in the centre so that they were continually pushing their snouts at one another. They were ungelded stallions and each one wanted to be on top of the others. I wondered whether it was the same for the horsemen who mounted them.

The council was over quickly; just enough time, I suppose, to exchange a few opinions. Xeno immediately detached a group of infantrymen and sent them towards the top of the hill to guard it and defend our passage, but no sooner had he given the order than another group emerged from the opposite side: Persians! They were on foot as well, because the slopes of the hill were too steep for horses, but they were lightly armed and running fast. Xeno urged his Halys uphill nonetheless to encourage his men to move faster. I heard one of them shout back, ‘Hey, you! It’s easy for you to give us a lesson from the saddle of a horse. You try hauling this shield and let’s see how fast you can run.’

I couldn’t make out what Xeno said back, but I saw him leap off his horse, grab the shield away from the man who’d complained and head uphill with it, taking the lead himself. More Persians were arriving as well, the advance guard of their army, and the warriors on each side were exhorting their comrades to get to the top first. It was grotesque, actually: a war mission was turning into a foot race before our eyes, with the spectators cheering on their favourites.

Our men, led by Xeno, arrived first and they formed a tight circle. The others didn’t even try to drive them off the top: they were red cloaks, better left alone. The pass had been occupied, and our army could now cross the Great Crossroads and make for the mountains by travelling up the valley of a small river.

The bulk of the Persian army arrived a few hours later and they drew up some way off. Our five commanders took position at the entrance to the valley on their steeds, one alongside the other, and I saw Xeno shining like a star in his silver-trimmed armour. His plan had been a great success and he had won the respect and admiration of all.

I heard a voice behind me ask. ‘Do you think they’ll attack?’

‘Melissa! What are you doing here?’

‘Will the enemy charge?’ she repeated.

‘I don’t think so. Why should they? We’ve taken the high ground and our passage will be well defended. The sides of the valley will protect us as well. They’re stuck here in the plain and that puts them at a total disadvantage. They’ve accomplished their goal, after all; they’ve succeeding in pushing us towards a desolate land that no one has ever returned from.’

Melissa bowed her head. ‘I want my Menon back,’ she said with tears in her eyes.

‘No one can give him back to you,’ I replied. ‘But you’re safe now. No one will hurt you.’

‘Is it true that we’ll have to leave the wagons behind?’

‘It’s true,’ I answered. ‘We can’t climb those mountains pulling them along.’

‘But I’ll never make it,’ she said in a tremulous voice.

‘All you have to do is walk. It won’t be so terrible. You’ll get blisters at first and they’ll break and bleed, but then you’ll get calluses and your feet will get used to it.’

‘But I’ll be disgusting!’ she wailed.

I realized that Menon wasn’t quite so present in her heart as she’d have you believe. I comforted her as best I could. ‘You won’t lose your other charms. When the men turn around to look at you, I’ve never seen them starting from your feet.’

Melissa dried her tears. ‘You never come to see me any more.’

‘Neither do you. I’m sorry, I’ve been busy. But I’ll be there for you when you need me. You can count on me. I won’t leave you behind.’

The words that came out of my mouth were the same I’d heard from Sophos and from Xeno, and when I pronounced them I felt like a commander of sorts myself, because in our group there were certainly those weaker than I was, Melissa for one.

She hugged me and thanked me and then moved on. As she was walking away I saw Cleanor of Arcadia eyeing her, and Timas the Dardanian as well. Neither of them was looking at her feet.

That night, Sophos addressed the troops drawn up in formation.

‘Men! We’ve managed to reach a territory where our enemy’s cavalry will no longer be able to harass us. I’d like to tell you that the worst is over, but I can’t because it’s not true, and you’ve already heard enough lies. The worst is yet to come. Our route is marked out for us: if we went east we’d be headed into the heart of the Persian empire. We’ve already been south and you all know what lies in that direction. To the west there’s Tissaphernes and his army, who managed in the end to catch up with us and would like nothing better than to annihilate us. And so we have to head north, towards the mountains, where he won’t follow. Do you know why? Because no one has ever returned from up there. It’s a steep and rocky land, studded with ice-covered peaks that pierce the sky, inhabited by fierce, wild tribes. But that’s not all: we’ll be facing the winter, the worst of our enemies. We’ll have to journey up narrow valleys and down rugged paths. We’ll have to break our path with our weapons, face violent storms, blinding lightning, hail and blizzards of snow. You can well understand that the wagons could only be a hindrance to us under these conditions. We’ll load everything onto the animals, and we’ll burn the wagons. We’ll be faster and lighter. I told you when they murdered our commanders that they would not get the better of us and I repeat that now: they will not be able to stop us! Burn the wagons.’