The Lost Army (35 page)

‘We’ll move out now,’ ordered Sophos. The bulk of the army set off down the river bank, following the officers who’d discovered the ford. Xeno, as usual, brought up the rear. In the middle were the pack animals with the baggage and the servants and women who followed the army. The women were all together, for once, and I was surprised at how many of us there were.

The battalion which stayed behind remained in part at the river and in part facing off against the Carduchi. But the Armenians couldn’t help but notice that our men were moving downstream with the current, and they detached two squads of horsemen and sent them in the same direction. I stayed with the other women, along with Lystra, because it seemed the safest place in such a fix. I scanned the crowd for Melissa but couldn’t find her. Where had she gone to?

Having reached the ford, our men began to cross to the other side, where the Armenian cavalry were already bracing for a fight. As soon as they’d passed the deepest point, the Greeks charged forward, yelling ‘Alalalai!’

It was them again: the red cloaks. Inescapable, fearless, overpowering. The girls on my side of the river were going mad, cheering them on and yelling at the top of their lungs.

‘Come on! Faster! Faster!’

‘You show them who’s got the balls!’

And other obscenities, even more brazen, that even I found myself yelling but that I wouldn’t dare repeat. But it seemed to give the men a charge, to urge them on; they wanted to show us what they were capable of. At the same time, Xeno and Lycius plunged into the water with their cavalrymen, raising a cloud of spray and making straight for the enemy’s flank.

The women were so sure of their men that they had already started to cross at the ford as well. Many were worried about getting their gowns wet, and lifted them up high so the men could catch a glimpse of the prize they’d be offered if they won. But at that moment, the warriors only had eyes for the enemy, and were looking nowhere but straight ahead.

I saw two Armenian horsemen on the brow of a hill, perhaps two commanders, turn their steeds and ride off flat out to the north. They must have known how the battle would finish. And sure enough, the Armenian cavalry soon folded under the unrelenting pressure of our attack. Finding such an unexpected way out, under such miraculous circumstances, had boosted the energy and courage of our men beyond measure. They had once again become the bronze avalanche that had swept away every obstacle from the Cilician Gates to the Tigris, and to the mountains of Armenia.

Sophos moved his infantry out from the rocky promontory standing over the cave and pushed on in a steady advance, but the enemy cavalry had retreated just enough to regroup, and soon flew at them in a fresh assault. This time they were deadly serious. Sophos was alert to the change and drew his men up to bear the brunt of the charge. He shouted, ‘First row: kneel! Second row: close up! Third row: on your feet! Spears . . . down!’

I was so close I could hear his orders and I could see the Armenian cavalry attacking on their massive steeds. They broke into a gallop, hurled one and then another volley of javelins. But in the end they crashed into a wall of bronze. Our ranks did not waver, not in the least; the fourth, fifth and sixth lines buttressed their comrades with their shoulders and their shields. The Armenian horsemen and horses were gored by the protruding spears and many collapsed to the ground, causing the others to fall in turn. Once again, the cruel, bloody orgy that men so seem to love had been unleashed: the battle!

More than a battle, it became a murderous fray, a slaughter, the air thick with howls and shrieks, shouted orders, clanging steel.

Then the din stopped all at once and we heard the victory cry that the Greeks call their paean.

The battle was over.

The red cloaks had won.

Xeno charged off furiously with his horsemen to attack the Armenians still garrisoned at their camp, which was some way from the troops drawn up at the river. But the Armenians had witnessed the battle and could see Sophos’s infantry advancing, victorious. Fearing that the Greeks might block their escape, they abandoned the position, fleeing along the road that led up into the mountains.

Lycius and his cavalrymen had hurtled off in pursuit of survivors, and they didn’t stop until they reached the camp. It was unguarded, full of precious objects and provisions of every sort.

Xeno, realizing that he was no longer needed there, turned back with his men and raced downstream to cross the river again so they could join up with their comrades back at the first ford, still struggling against both enemy armies.

When he arrived, he saw that part of the battalion had actually succeeded in crossing the river and was attempting to establish a bridgehead on the other side. Behind them, to the south, the Carduchi had reached the valley and were drawn up for a frontal attack on the rest of the battalion.

They were counting on their numerical superiority; a single Greek battalion on its own seemed easy prey. The horn sounded the order to attack and the Carduchi surged forward, singing a hymn we’d never heard before.

Sophos had reached the Armenian infantry position on the north side of the river and quickly routed the remaining troops. He lined up his own men to protect the ford. In the silence that had fallen, we could hear the song of the Carduchi as well.

There was neither enthusiasm nor excitement in their voices, there was none of the belligerent, boastful shouting that makes men forget death. Theirs was a sorrowful chant with two tones: one was tuneful and harmonious and filled with melancholy, the other was dissonant and strident like the shrieking of hired mourners. It was accompanied by the deep rolling of a drum. They were marching unawares towards annihilation.

We watched the slaughter in silence. Our troops drew up in a wedge formation, lowered their spears and attacked at a run, shouting obsessively, ‘Alalalai!’ They sliced into their enemies like a knife through bread and they did not stop until they had wiped out every last one. For days and days they had seen their comrades crushed by boulders hurled from above, wounded by arrows raining from the sky, stabbed on watch at night by daggers flying through the air. Now they were settling their accounts, according to the laws of war.

When they were finished they turned back towards the river. They washed their weapons in the current and joined the song of their comrades who raised their voices in the paean. I wondered whether our enemies had finally understood that the Ten Thousand could not be stopped. Neither the armies nor the river had succeeded.

Xeno saw me and pushed his horse through the current to reach me.

T
HE VICTORY CELEBRATION
was memorable. In the Armenian camp we found food, blankets, tents, pack animals, weapons and a great number of precious objects: cups, carpets, silver plates, even a bath tub. Xeno took some fabric for me. It was beautiful. I’d never seen anything like it in all my life, yellow and edged with golden threads. And he found a mirror so I could see myself as he draped it over me. It was a plate of polished bronze that reflected your image, a little like when you lean over and look at yourself in a pool or a well.

A sumptuous banquet was prepared, and many of the girls took part. They were all dressed up as well, and they looked incredibly attractive. It doesn’t take much to make a young woman beautiful and desirable. Some of them even applied make-up; bistre on their eyes and rouge on their lips. I watched as they embraced and kissed the young warriors, passing from one to another to give each of them all the heat and excitement they were capable of. They were the lovers and the brides of those young men, and since it wasn’t possible for them to love one of them alone, as they would have preferred, they loved them all as best they could. I realized that when I saw the girls cheering them on to fight and to win, urging them on with their shouts and applause, even with their ribald remarks.

The five commanders arrived decked out in their best clothing, and many of the ornaments they’d found in the Armenian camp. They really were impressive. Timas was the youngest: he didn’t look a day over twenty. He was lean and well built, with white teeth and dark, expressive eyes. His boundless energy was astonishing; it was he who had led the last assault against the Carduchi. He was the point of the wedge that drove deep into their formation, splitting it in two and then overpowering both the left and the right wing.

I saw Agasias with two girls, one on each side, and Xanthi with his hair loosed like a lion’s mane, holding another on his lap; she was half-naked, even though the evening air was chilly. The wine helped. And there was Cleanor. I expected to see Melissa with him, but she wasn’t around. Then I understood why: she wasn’t to be shared with anyone. That was her true talent: making herself indispensable and irresistible for the man she’d chosen, making him a slave to her beauty and her charms to the point where he’d do anything for her. Perhaps Menon had been different; he did what he wanted, and that was what made him special and aroused true feeling in her.

Sophos had joined the festivities, but he stayed lucid; he was drinking with moderation and not losing his head with the girls. He had no intention of losing control of his faculties and his hand never left the hilt of his sword.

Only Xeno was missing. Someone had to stay on watch while the others made merry, forgetting that not long before they had been looking death in the face. He had ordered a double ring of sentries, and named replacements as well, knowing that the others would be useless after their drinking and love-making. He was inspecting the sentries personally, going fully armed from one guard post to the next to check that everything was in order and that everyone was doing his duty.

I saw him sitting up on a hill scanning the countryside. It was a lovely night. The moon was almost full and it hung over the mountain peaks, lighting up the small swift white clouds passing above, streaking them with its pearly light. I approached him, walking easily up the slope.

‘Beautiful evening, isn’t it? It’s not even very cold.’

‘It will be tonight if it stays clear. Be sure to cover up well.’

‘What a victory! Just when everything seemed lost.’

‘I still can’t get over it. I’ve offered sacrifice to the gods to thank them. I think that this was a miracle.’

‘Do you really believe in the gods?’

‘My teacher in Athens did. In his own way.’

The veil of clouds covering the moon drifted free just then and it lit up the valley lying before us almost as if it were day. The rolling terrain was traversed by another, widish river that crossed it from one side to another. There was not a living soul as far as the eye could see: not a village, not a hut, not a tent.

‘No one lives here. How strange, it would be good for pasture.’

‘They’re afraid of the Carduchi,’ replied Xeno. ‘They must make raids on this side of the river as well.’

‘So they’re enemies.’

‘Without a doubt.’

‘But yesterday, the Armenians appeared exactly at the place and the time in which we could be crushed between two concerted attacks. As if they’d planned it together in advance.’

‘Don’t start up again with all your suspicions. What you’re saying is simply impossible. Those two peoples hate each other.’

‘Then perhaps someone else coordinated them. How did the Armenians know that we would arrive just then and attempt to ford the river?’

‘Pure chance.’

‘Chance, you say? What about their timing? You know, I can see how long it takes in the morning to get an army moving; to eat, to dress, to ready the animals, to don their armour, to take their places in the ranks. The Armenian army was bigger than ours is. For how long had they known that we would arrive here at the river yesterday? How did they manage to make it here at just the right time, with such precision?’

Xeno looked thoughtful as he watched the river sparkling in the valley below. ‘This land is so rich with water! That’s the Tigris, and we’ll be able to follow it upstream until we reach its source.’

‘You don’t want to answer my question.’

‘Chirisophus is Spartan, I’m Athenian. Our cities fought each other for thirty years in a bloody, devastating war. The best of our youth was wiped out, fields were burned, cities sacked, ships sunk with all their crew aboard. Revenge, retaliation, rape, torture . . .’

‘I know what war is.’

‘And yet the two of us are friends. We cover each other’s backs, we fight for the same cause with the same tenacity and passion.’

‘So what is this cause?’

‘Saving the army, saving the Ten Thousand. They are our common homeland. Each of us is the subject and the object of the fight. The men’s valour, their courage. Understand?’

‘I do understand, but I don’t share your sense of trust.’

‘This land we’re on is Persian territory: does it surprise you that they’re still trying to destroy us? The Armenians are commanded by Persian officers, and they obey a satrap. His name is Tiribazus. They won’t let us cross in peace, mark my words. But we are ready for them.’

‘All right. I may be an ignorant girl, but remember that women see things and hear things that men don’t see or hear. When there are no more enemies willing to take you on, a new enemy will rise from where you least expect it.’

‘What do you mean by that?’