The Queen of Sparta (10 page)

A single knuckle knocked loudly on the surface of a table. This was Evaeneutus, and was followed by another wrapping of the knuckles, and then more. Soon, all the generals, the entire War Council, were doing the same.

But soon enough, another problem appeared. The Athenians, led by the very same Themistocles, came up with a different idea about how to fight the war. In the years running up to the invasion, they had built up a powerful navy, thanks in part to discovery of silver at the mines of Laurium and in part to Themistocles’ brilliant vision. The Athenians not only demanded that the defense of Greece should be based around a naval strategy, they also wanted to command the combined fleets of the Hellenic League. This was not acceptable to the Spartans nor to many of their allies. No one trusted the Athenians.

As the Persian army slowly made its way into Greece, it took the better part of Gorgo’s diplomatic skills to help Leonidas achieve a compromise with the Athenians, under which the Greeks would have dual, mutually supportive, land and sea strategies. While the Spartans commanded both the land and sea forces, their admiral Eurybiadas would defer operational command of the Allied Fleet to the Athenians, who had more sea-borne experience.

Gorgo’s strategy soon faced its toughest test at Thermopylae, which had cost the life of her husband. And even the Athenian-led victory at Salamis failed to stop the Persians. Now the fate of Greece was to be decided at Plataea.

The elderly commanders followed Gorgo outside the mess into the parade ground where their troops were waiting. Amid scores of flickering torches, she saw the reservists, only two thousand strong. Their orders were to man the fortifications on the Isthmus of Corinth, where they would make their final stand. She looked at these warriors and felt sad; all at extreme ages: either fresh-faced youths between sixteen and nineteen or grizzled veterans from sixty to eighty.

Most of the elderly men looked grim, knowing the heavy responsibility on their shoulders, for if Plataea was lost the only thing between the enemy and Sparta would be their spears. But almost all the boys were beaming. Gorgo’s gaze went from boy to boy. It pained her heart for she knew the parents of too many of them, and had watched them grow from babyhood. But they were now on the verge of manhood. Many of them had signs of facial hair, while others still looked like the young boys that they were. Some were excited to be going to war, oblivious of the dangers ahead; others simply proud to be considered men at all.

Gorgo addressed them in her loudest voice. “My uncles and my nephews, Sparta has no walls because you, her warriors, are her walls. Sparta’s boundaries are undefined because these your spear-points define her borders. So when the Barbarians come, let them find nothing but death on the frontiers of Sparta!”

The men, young and old, grunted in unison.

Then orders rang out for the formation to face left. Immediately, the two thousand warriors did so with brilliant precision. As they marched off in the darkness towards the north, Gorgo could not help wondering how many of these would return alive, if any at all.

If they did not, Sparta’s fate would be sealed forever.

CHAPTER 10

THE DANCING FLOOR OF WAR

Plataea

The following morning

Sherzada was awakened at dawn. “Rise, Highness, the Greeks are fleeing.”

Strange thoughts raced through his mind. Was it possible that Mardonius’ gold had bought off the Greeks?

Outside, the sun was rising behind him. From his vantage point on the hill above the Asopus, Sherzada could view the entire Plataean plain. The Greeks were in full retreat.

When he had first arrived here, Asopodorus of Thebes had made a prediction. “Leonidas of Sparta tried to stop the Persians in the northern passes but perished there,” he said. “The Athenians tried to end it by sea, at Salamis, but failed for the Persians are still here. The Persians thought that burning down Athens and a few other cities would bring their enemies to heel, but that did not happen either. The war will not end in the mountains of the north nor in the Peloponnesian Peninsula in the south, nor at sea. It will end here in these broad plains between Athens and Thebes. For centuries, the fate of Greece has been decided here, the place we call the Dancing Floor of War. This is where this war will end.”

And now the dance was on. The Greek army had broken into three separate formations heading in different directions. On the extreme left, the Spartan force, along with their Tegean and Arcadian allies, heading for their original position on Mount Cithaeron. A small Spartan detachment had been trailing behind as if to cover their withdrawal. But that too had started to fall back towards the main body.

On the other flank, the Athenians were heading in a direction further to the right, but they seemed to be moving slower than the others, though in a cohesive and disciplined manner. In the Greek centre however, was confusion. This was the largest of the three groups the Greek army had broken into and this one seemed to be in a hurry to fall back to the town of Plataea at the base of mountainous Cithaeron. They seem to be in a state of panic and utter disarray.

Sherzada could sum up the entire scene in a single word – Chaos!

“My horse,” Sherzada ordered. And as soon as it was brought, he rode hard to Mardonius’ tent. On arriving inside his tent, he saw Mardonius raving, “Did I not tell you that the Greek army will collapse before your very eyes. See, what did I tell you?”

There was much commotion, with messengers and officers running in and out of the tent. Initially, Sherzada was pleased that a general assault had been ordered. But instead of smelling victory, all he saw was confusion. Mardonius had ordered an attack on the enemy without any sort of battle plan. He had not even bothered to deploy units in a proper line of battle. Wasting time with such tedious details was not Mardonius’ style. He wanted his men to close in with the Greeks and kill as many of them as possible, before they got to higher ground. Mardonius was too busy barking orders to listen to anyone.

As he left, Sherzada met Burbaraz and Asopodorus. Both were returning to their respective commands. Asopodorus told him that he would be taking his Dark Riders to support the Boeotian infantry who were already chasing the hated Athenians on the right flank.

Burbaraz announced that Mardonius had asked him to lead the Persian cavalry to support his Invincibles on the left.

As he was about to leave, Sherzada grabbed Burbaraz by the arm and said, “Before you go, Highness, there is something important I need to tell you. We do not know the outcome of this battle, even though it seems to be going in our favour now.”

“Quite,” replied Burbaraz, “with Mardonius you are never sure. He is quiet capable of extracting defeat from the jaws of victory.”

Sherzada nodded. “So if the battle does not go our way, leave this battlefield immediately. And when you do, do not to take the shortest road to Strymon river-crossing between Macedonia and Thrace. Find another way.”

Burbaraz looked confused. “What do you mean? That territory belongs to Alexander, my brother-in-law. I don’t think he will fail to provide us safe passage. He was here last night, bringing supplies and intelligence.”

“So he was, but I have received very credible intelligence that our enemies are preparing an ambush at the Strymon crossing for any Persian force returning from Plataea. It might be prudent to take an alternative route rather than fall into an ambush. Be careful in battle today. I know you love your wife. For her sake and the sake of your children, you must survive this battle.”

Sherzada could see confusion on Burbaraz’s face followed by a slight smile. “I thank you for your concern for my safety,” he murmured, before riding off.

Sherzada turned to Asopodorus, who had been listening in silence. “My friend, I don’t know whether I will live to see the end of this battle or not. All I ask of you is to ensure that those of my men who survive are guided back to Asia in safety.”

“Rest assured, I shall make certain they reach Thrace safely. And then they can return home once they cross the Euxine Sea,” replied Asopodorus.

He smiled warmly. They shook hands and parted company.

Sherzada rode to where his troops were preparing for battle. The sun was now above the horizon but the morning air was still cool. The Dahae horsemen were the first to arrive, dressed magnificently in colourful tunics and light armour, riding their famed white horses. They were followed by the war-bands from the Indus kingdoms. Their warriors wore long cotton tunics, cloth wound around their upper legs like improvised trousers, and carried short swords, spears and long bows made of cane. But they wore very little armour; for they regarded wearing any form of protection as a sign of cowardice.

Then the remnants of the Pactyans, Arachosians and Gandharan troops arrived. They had been decimated by dysentery and disease, but those left were as eager as ever to fight. Soon the other the Amyrgian Sakas and the Tigrakhaudas Scyths also arrived, as well as the lancers from Sarmatia. All of these arrivals told Sherzada that the Persian nobles who commanded them had not been seen since the party of the previous night. Rumour was that many of them had left Plataea altogether. Sherzada could not help recalling what Gygaea had told him the night before.

He addressed the men gathered before him: “Warriors, comrades, kinsmen! Today we fight for Persia for the last time. If they win, Greece will fall on its knees and we will not be needed here anymore. If they lose, Persia will not persist in this war and there will be no reason for us to stay here any longer. We have been fighting in a war that was never ours. After today, we owe them nothing. For today, we have to fight, and fight we shall. But if the battle turns against us, make an orderly retreat towards the north-west. Do not take the direct route towards the Strymon crossing. Go instead to Thrace over the hard road and then head east for the Euxine coast. There Scythian merchant ships will take you to the Sarmatian coast on the other end of the Sea and from where you can take the overland route to your homelands. But, before that, let us fight this one last time together.”

The answer was a resounding battle-cry in half a dozen tongues. As Sherzada led his troops forward, he tried to survey the battlefield ahead. On the left, he could see clouds of dusts and the long spears of both the Persian infantry and cavalry. Mardonius and Burbaraz were pursuing the enemy. On the far right, he could see one phalanx chasing another; the Boeotians, Thessalians and the Phocians trying to close in on the Athenians – Greeks pursing Greeks.

And in the centre, there was a mad rush of various contingents of the Persian army as they charged, in an unformed mass, the retreating Greeks in front of them. These Greeks stepped up their pace and then realizing that the Persians were too close, changed course and headed up a steep hill towards a large temple.

But the pursuing Persians seemed in equal disarray. There was no one to orchestrate the action and so different contingents of the Persian army looked more like a disjointed mob than a unified force with a single objective.

Sherazada had been too busy watching the enemy’s movements. He had not noticed that his own force was being followed. As one of his officers pointed to the rear, Sherzada turned and saw a Persian force behind them advancing slowly, in neatly arrayed ranks and in good order but in no hurry to engage the enemy. Artabaz’s contingent. He had a reputation of being a cautious commander. He would never commit troops to a battle he could not win. “He is using us as a shield,” Sherzada thought.

Chanting their war-cries, Sherzada’s warriors crossed the Asopus and headed for the Spartans towards their left. Up ahead, Sherzada could see that Burbaraz had already reached close to the Spartan lines with his cavalry, but he was wise enough not to charge his horsemen into their phalanx. Instead, he ordered his men to launch their arrows at them, while waiting for Mardonius’ Invincibles to catch up.

Burbaraz’s horsemen fired their arrows in the air with such accuracy that they came down directly on the Spartan phalanx. But the long spears of phalanx, held up at varying angles, deflected some of the arrows while others fell harmlessly to the Spartans’ upheld shields. Still, the odd arrow found its mark through the helmet eye-slot or the unprotected neck of a Spartan warrior. Soon casualties began to mount as arrows continued to rain down, but the Spartans stood motionless. Sherzada had heard stories that the Spartans often paused before battle to carry out ritual pre-battle sacrifices to determine whether their gods would grant them victory. Even so, he was perplexed at why they were refusing to react to the enemy, under the constant hailstorm of arrows from Burbaraz’s horse-archers.

The first inkling Sherzada had that something was not quite right was when he saw reflections of bright sunlight flashing at the extreme left flank of the enemy. He could see dozens of their shields organized in a rectangular array, deliberately angled so that the entire Greek force could see the sun’s reflection. “A heliogram,” Sherzada said to himself. “The Athenians are sending a signal to the entire Greek army.”

The various Greek contingents started flashing similar signals to each other. Then the Greeks, at least most of them, turned around and went into action, right across the plain.

The Athenians were the first to do so. They calmly about faced and lowered their spears at the Greeks on the Persian side who had been chasing them thus far. Then they attacked. Almost simultaneously, the Spartans in front of them charged the Invincibles, who were about to crash into them anyway. Greeks on both flanks turned and attacked the Persian units closest to them.

The Greek counter-attack took the Persians by surprise. It was a disciplined manoeuvre, beautifully executed. The lack of cohesion of the Persian army and the piecemeal nature of its advance began to take its toll as the Greeks started to encircle and destroy each individual unit.

However, in the Greek centre, confusion reigned. While most Greek contingents turned and charged the enemy, some continued to flee towards the temple complex at the base of Mount Cithaeron. Sherzada could see that among these fleeing Greeks were the Megarians who had suffered so heavily on the day of Cithaeron.

As the Greeks ferociously attacked their enemy, many of the contingents who fought for Persia turned and ran. And as their front-line units fled the charging Greeks, they collided with troops behind them who were trying to join the fight. A bizarre scene ensued as troops from the Persian army became entangled with each other, spreading even more chaos and confusion. This only helped the Greeks to press home their advantage. From his increasingly restricted vantage point, Sherzada could see some troops in the Persian centre putting up the best possible resistance but being overwhelmed by numerical superiority of their enemies. The Persian centre had fallen apart.

On the Persian right, the Athenian counter-attack also began to take effect. The Phocians were the first to flee. In any case, their loyalty to the Persian cause had always been in doubt. After all, their city had been subject to a brutal sacking by the Persians and they had been brought to Plataea to fight against their will, alongside their local enemies, the Thessalians. But it was not long before the Thessalians too followed suit. This left only the Thebans and their Boeotian allies to confront the Athenians on their own. For a while, they managed to keep the Athenians at bay, even though they were outnumbered; with Asopodorus’ cavalry wreaking havoc, as usual. But gradually the outnumbered Boeotian infantry began to give way and they too broke and ran.

As Sherzada’s force continued to make progress towards the Spartans, he wondered about the Persian cavalry. Yes, the Dark Riders of Thebes were covering the retreat of the infantry of their Boeotian allies. Burbaraz’s veteran horse-archers were protecting the flanks of the Invincibles. Parthian heavy cavalry and Khorasmian lancers were marching alongside Artabaz’s infantry behind him. Sherzada’s horsemen were doing exactly the same. But these were only a tiny remnant of the once great host of horse-borne forces the Persians had gathered in Plataea.

“Where is the Persian cavalry?” Sherzada asked. Their appearance could make all the difference.