The Lost Army (52 page)

The commander’s sword was seared in the fire and ritually bent. His ashes and bones were gathered in an urn and then his name was shouted out ten times so that the echo would never die.

The army began to file out, one man after another, each making his way back to his own tent. Darkness settled over the field and the flames were slowly extinguished. We returned as well, our horse walking at a slow pace along the deserted beach.

‘Now what will we do?’ I asked, to break the unbearable silence.

‘I don’t know,’ answered Xeno. He said nothing else.

X
ENO DID NOT
forget the comrades who lay unburied on the hill where the army had been besieged, abandoned there after the battle in which the Arcadians and Achaeans risked annihilation. He couldn’t stand the thought of leaving them to the mercy of predators and of the elements. He left the next morning with a sizeable force to see them to their final rest.

They circled around to approach the hill from the direction of the villages. It was a painful task that they faced: the bodies had been left there for more than five days and were already decomposing. Dogs and wild animals had ravaged the remains. Many of the men were no longer recognizable. Xeno had expected something of the sort, and had taken the veterans with him, knowing they would be better able to bear such a harrowing sight. Each of the fallen was buried with a short and simple rite, as the situation demanded, but not without tears. Seeing the comrades who they’d lived side by side with reduced to those conditions was heart-breaking. The men who had shared that endless adventure with them, run all the same risks, protected each other to the death. The friends whose voices they could still hear, singing, joking. An unspeakable torment.

The closer they came to the hill, the worse the sights they saw. There the fallen warriors were still clinging to one another in the last throes of hand-to-hand combat, one on top of another, weapons protruding from their chests, necks, stomachs. Strangely, not even the natives had been back to gather their dead, perhaps still fearing the reprisal of an army much greater in size than the one that actually remained.

It took all day to bury the fallen, but in the end many of the men were still missing. A mound of stones was raised to commemorate them, crowned with rings of braided oak and pine branches. Then each of the men gave his comrades a last farewell, in the way he felt best: a phrase, a wish, a memory, in the hope it would reach them in the dark houses of Hades. They returned to the camp in silence, with heavy hearts.

In the days that followed the army reunited in a single camp, but the situation we found ourselves in became nearly unbearable, even grotesque. Over time, Xeno’s religious convictions had grown so strong that they had prevailed over any other considerations. The army wanted to move on, but Xeno insisted on offering a daily sacrifice to the gods, asking a priest to examine the entrails. An ill omen emerged every time. And the days passed without any decision being made. Some insinuated that the augur was secretly conspiring with Xeno to found a colony there and was trying to prevent the army from moving on, so that the project could take root. Xeno was indignant and asked the soldiers to choose a seer they trusted who would oversee the inspection of the entrails. Since the outcome continued unfavourable, provisions began to run low.

After this had gone on for some time, Neon, Sophos’s lieutenant – perhaps meaning to demonstrate that he was worth as much as the late commander – led his unit on a raid inland without consulting the others.

It was a disaster. Neon was attacked by the troops of the Persian governor of the region as his men were intent on sacking some villages, and suffered heavy losses. A few of the soldiers broke ranks and returned to the main camp to report the news of the rout, and Xeno flew off to assist the survivors of that sorry expedition. They returned all together as evening was falling, defeated and depressed. It seemed that the army was doomed to lose one man after another until there were no more left to lose.

Dinner hadn’t even been prepared yet when the enemy troops attacked the camp, forcing our men into an impromptu counter-attack, with yet more losses. The generals ordered a double circle of sentries to stand guard all night.

Xeno was shattered.

‘It’s the end, isn’t it?’ I asked him.

No answer.

‘Who were those men who attacked us?’

‘The troops of the Persian governor.’

‘So there’s no way out for us. You don’t have to explain anything any more: I understand what’s going on. The closer we get to your homeland, the more the noose tightens. The Persians and the Spartans want the same thing, for different reasons: to see the army destroyed.’

Xeno didn’t even try to deny it. ‘That’s why I wanted to keep the men here. I would have saved them by founding a colony. But they still want to go home.’

‘And they’ll walk straight into a trap.’

‘I don’t know about that. The last word hasn’t been said.’

‘So you think there is a way out?’

‘I trust in the gods and in the spears of my men.’

‘The gods? Their responses have kept us nailed to this place, putting us on the verge of starvation, with this disaster as a result. How many men did Neon lose?’

‘If we’d moved despite the ill omens the result would have been far worse. The gods have always assisted us. No one would have bet a penny that we’d get this far. So close to home.’

‘But you don’t want to go home. You want to stay here and found your colony.’

‘That’s not true. And anyway, you have no right to meddle with my plans.’

‘All right then, I won’t. I can only hope your gods will help you.’

I realized that I had spoken with a tone of complete disbelief and I immediately felt sorry. Hadn’t the gods saved me when I was completely alone and lost in that blizzard? I should have been the first to believe in them. But the growing toll of dead and wounded distressed me no end. I was afraid we were heading to our ruin. The army was being bled by nearly daily losses and would be completely demoralized and exhausted by the time they would, inevitably, find themselves up against the most difficult test: win or die.

And yet Xeno continued to worry about his men, and not only those who were still alive. Next day he mounted another mission to bury the bodies of the fallen.

This time he brought the young warriors with him, because in case of attack their reaction would be more vigorous, but it turned out to be bitter work indeed. The path they travelled was strewn with corpses, but only when they reached the inland villages did they realize the scale of the massacre. There were hundreds of bodies, so many that they had to dig a common grave.

And the worst was yet to come. The Persian governor had been holding his troops in check, but they suddenly appeared in full battle order on a rocky ridge that blocked the Greeks’ way back. Our men were greatly outnumbered, and caught in an exposed position. Timas was at the head of the cavalry, while Xeno took command of the rest of the force.

I wasn’t there, so what I know I heard later from the soldiers and from Xeno himself, and perhaps I’ve added something from my imagination, but what happened then was nothing short of miraculous. Maybe it was the sight of their comrades slaughtered and left to the dogs that made them understand how desperate their situation was and that they had nothing to lose. Maybe it was Xeno’s battle plan that made the difference, or maybe it was the gods rewarding him for all those animals he’d sacrificed in their honour, but the army seemed to be possessed by some superhuman force when Xeno yelled out, ‘It’s them! They are the ones who butchered your comrades and now they want to cut you to pieces as well. Show them what you’re made of, my lads, they’re all yours! Forward!’

The young warriors ran straight up the slope, protected by their shields, shouting the war cry that had routed the left wing of the imperial army at the gates of Babylon. They overran every obstacle and overcame all resistance, slicing into the enemy formation like a sword into living flesh. They charged like angry bulls, massacring those who dared to fight back. Shoulder to shoulder, shield to shield.

When Timas unleashed his horsemen there was neither order nor rank among the enemy: each man was bent on escape and they were mown down by the hundred.

I saw them only when they returned to camp, drenched with sweat, filthy with dirt and blood, marching in step to the sound of flutes. The eyes behind the sallets of their helmets were still flaming.

They were singing. Their song throbbed and thundered in the bronze that covered them.

T
HE THREAT OF
further attacks on the camp convinced the commanders it would be best to regroup on the peninsula. They barricaded the isthmus with a trench and a palisade. Everyone was saying that the Spartan governor of Byzantium, Cleander, would soon arrive in person to get them out of that fix, and so it was thought best to stay at Calpe and wait.

This situation dragged on at some length, and Xeno’s old dream came to the fore again. He was the man whom all the other commanders came to when they had a problem: he always gave the right counsel, the best mix of prudence and courage. The place they occupied was ideal for a settlement: the peninsula that widened out into the sea could host a city which would be easily defended in case of attack, the port was well protected and in the lee of the most dangerous winds, a spring at the base of the isthmus would guarantee their water supply, and all around was a vast, fertile area with fine red soil.

A rumour spread that a colony was to be founded there. Although Xeno always denied it, I think it was him, or someone close to him, who put the word out. Native chieftains began to show up to get information and establish contact. The soldiers were antagonized by this; they’d long been suspicious of Xeno and afraid that they would be tricked or forced into staying there against their will.

Cleander’s arrival with a mere two warships was a great disappointment. It certainly wasn’t the fleet they were expecting to take them home. The situation worsened when a quarrel broke out between one of Cleander’s men and one of our soldiers, who was promptly arrested and was being taken to the naval camp of the Spartan commander. The soldier was one of Agasias’s men, and his commander recognized him, as well as the man who was dragging him off.

Agasias flew into a fury. ‘You fucking bastard of a traitor! What hole did you crawl out of, you son of a bitch? How dare you show your face around here? Take your hands of that boy right now!’

Agasias had recognized Dexippus, the man who had fled with one of the two ships the inhabitants of Trapezus had lent us. In a flash, Agasias was on top of him and he would have run him through had not someone pulled them apart. Dexippus slipped away and took off towards the ships, but Agasias charged after him like a bull, knocked him to the ground and started to pummel him with his fists. He would have beaten him to a pulp if the Spartans aboard the ships hadn’t heard the din. Their commander came out. ‘That’s enough!’ he shouted. ‘Let that man go!’

But at that point Agasias’s men had come to their commander’s aid with their swords drawn. The Spartans unsheathed theirs as well and for a few moments the tension ran incredibly high. Anything might have happened.

Xeno was close to me and I looked into his eyes without saying a word, but his expression told me that he’d finally caught on: the Spartans in Byzantium had been alerted to our presence by none other than Dexippus, thief and traitor. Perhaps he’d always been a spy! So that was why the Spartans were ready and waiting at the beach when Sophos arrived with his men. And soon after that, our commander – the only man in the entire army to know all the details of the enormous plot to let the Ten Thousand win or dispatch them to die – was dead himself.

Other officers intervened and so did Xeno. The brawl was halted.

Next day our generals began to negotiate with the Spartans. In the end they decided that the army would resume their march in the direction of the straits.

I wept that night. Xeno’s hopes had been dashed and the army was setting off for the last march.

Towards death.

I
HAD ALWAYS IMAGINED
that the adventure of the Ten Thousand, of the heroes who had fought and won against all opposition, even the forces of nature, would end in an all-out battle.

We were together again, under Xeno’s command, and no one had ever defeated the united army. It was only when groups had cut loose from the whole that they had ventured off on rash initiatives and suffered losses. This would not happen again. Agasias himself, with the support of Xanthi, had proposed and passed a resolution imposing the death sentence on anyone who tried to split up the army again.

Maybe we’d be attacked on open ground; perhaps we’d find ourselves surrounded by an overwhelming host and buried beneath thousands of arrows. Maybe hordes of barbarians would be hired to wipe us out in a night-time attack, or perhaps our ships would be sunk as we tried to cross the sea. But none of this happened. Once we reached Byzantium, the army – what was left of it – left the heroic space of vast battlefields, sky-high mountains, turbulent, unknown rivers and savage tribes so fiercely jealous of their liberty, to return to the space where ordinary mortals dwelled.

The Great War between the Athenians and the Spartans had swallowed up the best of their energy and cut down the bravest and most intelligent men, leaving the field to mediocre players, to petty schemers bearing high-sounding titles like admiral and governor. Where had the red cloaks gone who fought at the Fiery Gates against the innumerable forces of the Great King? Not even their memory remained. Their descendants had only been capable of plotting intrigues, secretly conniving with their old enemies to approve unavowable agreements. All they were interested in was power. The control of their little world. Ideals were lost.