Travels with Herodotus (24 page)

“No problem!” he answered cheerfully and smiled, showing his fantastically white teeth.

M
uch like the phantom from Herodotus’s account, this scene continued to haunt me long after our return to Addis Ababa. Its message is pessimistic, fatalistic: man has no free will. He carries his fate within him like his genetic code—he must go where, and do what, destiny has ordained. Predestination is the Supreme Being, an omnipresent and all-encompassing Cosmic Causal Force. No one is above it—not the King of Kings, not even the gods themselves. Which is why the apparition that visits Xerxes does not have the shape of a god. One could negotiate with a god, one could disobey and even try to fool him; with destiny, that is impossible. It is anonymous and amorphous, lacking a name or distinct features, and all it does is warn, command, or threaten. When does it do this?

With his fate immutably inscribed, man has but to read the script and enact it faithfully, point by point. If he interprets it erroneously, or else attempts to alter it, then the phantom of fate will appear, at first to shake its finger at him, and failing that to
bring misfortune and punishment down upon the braggart’s head.

The condition for survival, therefore, is humility vis-à-vis one’s destiny. Xerxes at first accepts his mission, which is to exact vengeance on the Greeks for their having insulted the Persians generally and his father in particular. He declares war against them and vows not to rest until he conquers Athens and sets it on fire. Later, however, listening to the voices of reason, he changes his mind. He suppresses thoughts of war, sets aside the invasion plans, pulls back. It is then that the phantom appears in his dreams: “Madman,” it seems to be saying, “do not hesitate! It is your destiny to strike against the Greeks!”

Initially, Xerxes tries to ignore the nighttime visitant, to treat it as an illusion, to rise above it somehow. But by doing so he only further irritates and angers the phantom, which appears once more by his throne and bedside, this time seriously offended, menacing. Xerxes looks around for succor, wondering if perhaps the weight of his responsibility has not driven him mad—he must make a decision, after all, that will determine the fate of the world, and as will eventually become clear, determine it for the next thousand years. He summons his uncle, Artabanus. “Help!” he pleads. The latter at first counsels Xerxes to ignore the dream: we dream about what has preoccupied us during the day, that is all. The dream, Artabanus says, is but a chimera.

The king is not convinced, because the phantom does not relent; it becomes more importunate and implacable than ever. Finally even Artabanus—a sensible and a wise man, a rationalist and a skeptic—bows to the ghostly presence, not only abandoning his earlier position, but changing from doubter into ardent believer, an executor of the phantom-fate’s decree: “Move against
the Greek? Let’s go—at once!” Man is in thrall to both the earthly and the spiritual world, and in this episode we can see that the power of spirits is greater than the power of material reality.

Hearing about these nightmares of Xerxes, the average Persian or Greek might murmur, “Gods, if such a mighty person, the King of Kings, the ruler of the world, is but a pawn in the hands of destiny, then what about me, an ordinary man, a nothing, a mote of dust!” There is cause for comfort in this thought, relief—even optimism.

Xerxes is an odd figure. Although he ruled the world quite some time (almost the entire known world, in fact, with the exception of two cities, Athens and Sparta, to his unremitting torment), we know little about him. He assumed the throne at age thirty-two. He was consumed by desire for absolute power—power over everything and everyone. I am reminded of the title of a newspaper story I once noticed, whose author I unfortunately do not recall: “Mother, will we have everything someday?” That is precisely what animated Xerxes: he wanted to have everything. No one opposed him, because one would have had to pay with one’s head for doing so. But in such an atmosphere of acquiescence, it takes only one dissenting voice for the ruler to feel anxiety, to hesitate. It was thus with Artabanus’s objection. Xerxes lost his nerve, grew so uncertain having heard his uncle that he decided to abandon his plans of conquest. But these are human impulses, conflicts, and doubts; a Higher Power, the Deciding One, now steps onto the earthly stage. And from here on all will follow its decree. Fate must be fulfilled; you cannot alter or avoid it, even if it leads into an abyss.

Therefore Xerxes, in accordance with the Voice of Destiny’s commands, goes to war. He recognizes his greatest strength, the
East’s strength, Asia’s strength—numbers, the immeasurable human mass, and trusts that its weight and momentum will crush and pulverize the enemy. (Scenes from World War I come to mind: In Poland’s lake district of Mazury, Russian generals storming German positions sent forth entire regiments in which only a portion of the soldiers had rifles—and those lacking ammunition.)

First, Xerxes spends four years creating his army—a worldwide military coalition into whose ranks will be recruited all the peoples, tribes, and clans of the empire. Just naming them all takes Herodotus several pages. He calculates that this army—infantry, cavalry, and naval crews—numbered some five million men. He exaggerates, of course. Even so, it was a gigantic fighting force. How to feed it? How to supply it with sufficient drinking water? These men and animals would imbibe entire rivers along the way, leaving empty beds behind them. Someone observes that, luckily, Xerxes ate only once a day. If the king, and with him the entire army, ate twice daily, they would have turned all of Thrace, Macedonia, and Greece into a desert, and the local populations would have died of hunger.

Herodotus is fascinated by this army’s advance, by the vertiginous mighty river of men, beasts, and equipment, of uniforms and armor. Because each ethnic group has its own attire, the colorful diversity of this throng is difficult to describe. Two chariots form the center of the procession:
the sacred chariot of Zeus, which was drawn by eight white horses. Following them on foot (because no human being is allowed to mount the seat of this chariot) came the charioteer, with the reins in his hands
.

Behind him came Xerxes himself, seated on a chariot drawn by Nesaean horses…
.

He was followed by the 1,000 bravest and noblest Persian spearmen,… and then
another 1,000 élite Persian horsemen, and after them came the 10,000 best remaining Persian soldiers on foot …. And finally the rest of the army brought up the rear, all massed together indiscriminately
.

But let us not be misled by the ornamentalism of this army marching off to war. This is no carnival, no holiday party. On the contrary. Herodotus notes that the troops, walking with difficulty and in silence, had to be driven on now and then by whips.

He describes in detail the behavior of the Persian king. Xerxes is unbalanced, unpredictable, an astonishing bundle of contradictions (in this he resembles Stavrogin).

Here he is, making his way to Sardis with his army. He spots a plane-tree along the road
which was so beautiful that he presented it with golden decorations and appointed one of the Immortals as guardian to look after it
.

He is still under the spell of the tree’s charms when news reaches him that a great storm in the straits of the Hellespont has destroyed the bridges which he had ordered built so that his army could cross from Asia into Europe in its advance on Greece. Upon hearing this, Xerxes flew into a rage.
He ordered his men to give the Hellespont three hundred lashes and to sink a pair of shackles into the sea. I once heard that he also dispatched men to brand the Hellespont as well. Be that as it may, he did tell the men he had thrashing the sea to revile it in terms you would never hear from a Greek. “Bitter water,” they said, “this is your punishment for wronging your master when he did no wrong to you. King Xerxes will cross you, with or without your consent. People are right not to sacrifice to a muddy, brackish stream like you!
”
So the sea was punished at his orders, and he had the supervisors of the bridging of the Hellespont beheaded
.

We do not know how many of these heads were cut off. We do not know if the condemned builders meekly offered up their necks, or if they fell on their knees and begged for mercy. The carnage must have been horrific, because such bridges were built by thousands
upon thousands of people. In any event, the punishments satisfy Xerxes, help him regain his mental equilibrium. His people build new bridges across the Hellespont, and the Magi announce that all omens are auspicious.

The king, overjoyed at this news, decides to press on when a Lydian he knew, Pythius, comes to him and begs for a favor:
“Master, I have five sons, all of whom have to march with you against Greece. Please, my lord, take pity on me in my old age and release one of my sons, the eldest one, from military service, so that he can look after me and manage my property as well. But take the other four with you—and may you return home with all your objectives attained!
”

At these words Xerxes once again falls into a fury:
“Damn you!
” Xerxes shouts at the old man. “…
How dare you mention a son of yours, when you are no more than my slave, and should follow in my train with your whole household, wife and all?…” As soon as Xerxes had given Pythius this answer, he ordered those of his men who were responsible for such matters to find the eldest of Pythius’ sons and to cut him in half. Then they were to place one half on the right of the road and the other half on the left, so that the army would pass between them
.

And that is what happened.

The unending river of troops filed down the road, urged along by the crack of the whips, and all the soldiers saw lying on either side of them the bloody remains of Pythius’s eldest son. Where was Pythius at that moment? Did he stand by the corpse? By which part of it? How did he behave when Xerxes approached in his chariot? With what expression on his face? This is unknowable, because, being a slave, he had to kneel with his face to the ground.

An uncertainty afflicts Xerxes. It gnaws at him. He hides it with a show of haughtiness and pride. In order to feel stronger, internally
shored up, assured of his power, he organizes a review of his army and fleet. The immensity of this mass cannot but impress, cannot but take one’s breath away. So great is the number of arrows released simultaneously from all the bows that it obscures the sun. The ships are so many that one cannot see the waters of the bay:
While they were in Abydus, Xerxes decided that he would like to survey his whole army. A dais of white stone had already been made especially for him … and set up on a hill there. From this vantage-point he could look down on to the seashore and see both the land army and the fleet. As he watched them he conceived the desire to see the ships race … Xerxes took great pleasure in the race, and indeed in the whole army
.

The sight of the Hellespont completely covered by his ships and the coast and plains of Abydus totally overrun by men first gave Xerxes a feeling of deep selfsatisfaction, but later he began to weep
.

The king crying?

His uncle, Artabanus, seeing Xerxes’ tears, spoke to him thus:
“My lord, a short while ago you were feeling happy with your situation and now you are weeping. What a total change of mood!
”

“Yes,” Xerxes answered. “I was reflecting on things and it occurred to me how short the sum total of human life is, which made me feel compassion. Look at all these people—but not one of them will still be alive in a hundred years’ time.”

They converse thus about life and death for a long while still, after which the king sends his old uncle back to Susa and, having waited for the dawn, orders the crossing of the straits of the Hellespont to the other side—to Europe:
At sunrise, Xerxes poured a libation from a golden cup into the sea and, facing the sun, asked the sun-god to avert any accidents which might stop him from reaching the outer limits of Europe and conquering the whole continent
.

Xerxes’ army, drinking the rivers dry, consuming whatever food it comes across, and keeping to the northern shores of the Aegean Sea, crosses Thrace, Macedonia, and Thessaly, and reaches Thermopylae.

•   •   •

Every school curriculum includes Thermopylae; it is not usual to devote an entire class to it.

Thermopylae is a narrow isthmus, a passage between the sea and a high mountain lying to the northwest of today’s Greek capital. To seize this passage is to have an open road to Athens. The Persians understand this, as do the Greeks, of course. Which is why both will wage a fierce battle here. The Greek combatants will all perish, but Persian losses will also be immense.

Initially, Xerxes counted on the handful of Greeks defending Thermopylae simply to flee at the sight of the gigantic Persian army, and so calmly waited for that to occur. But the Greeks, under the command of Leonidas, do not retreat. Impatient, Xerxes sends out a scout on horseback on a mission of reconnaissance.
The scout approached the Greeks’ camp and kept them under close surveillance … He watched them in a variety of occupations, such as exercising naked and combing their hair; this surprised him, but he took careful note of their numbers and then made his way back to Xerxes, without meeting any opposition. No one set out after him, and in fact he met with total indifference. When he got back he gave Xerxes a thorough report on what he had seen
.

Xerxes listened to what the scout had to say, but he could not understand that in actual fact the Greeks were getting themselves ready to kill or be killed to the best of their ability
.

The battle lasts several days, and the balance is tipped only by a traitor who shows the Persians the path through the mountains. They surround the Greeks, all of whom are killed. After the battle, Xerxes walks over the battlefield strewn with corpses, looking for the body of Leonidas.
When he came to Leonidas’ corpse, … he told his men to cut off his head and stick it on a pole
.