The Lost Army

  I turned towards the prince’s gorgeous concubine. The lamplight cast a golden glow on her ivory skin, and her eyes reflected the flickering light with crystalline transparency, making her gaze so intense it was almost impossible to look at her. I asked her another question that had just occurred to me: ‘You’re still the most desirable prey on this side of the camp as well, and you don’t have a man looking after you any more. How could you bathe in the nude without expecting someone to attack you? There was a group out there, just waiting to . . .’

  ‘Do you think that it was you being there that drove them away? Do you think I would have risked bathing if I didn’t feel safe?’

  ‘Well then why . . .’

  ‘Didn’t you notice anything outside the tent?’

  ‘It was dark, what was I supposed to see?’

  The girl took her lamp and went towards the exit. ‘Come here, look.’

  I followed her and she lit up a corner of the doorway. There were the heads of two men stuck on spear shafts, with their testicles stuffed in their mouths. I backed away in horror.

  ‘That’s what keeps them away,’ said the girl calmly.

  ‘Gods, how could you . . .’

  ‘You can’t imagine that it was me who beheaded and castrated those two brutes.’

  ‘Who did, then?’

  ‘Well, as soon as I ran over to this side, one of the Greeks came up to me and covered me with his cloak. A group of Ariaeus’s Asians tried to claim me for themselves, but the Greeks chased them off. They brought me to this tent and I finally caught my breath, but not for long. As soon as I lay down, two of those Asians managed to slip in here without making any noise at all. I tried to scream but one of them covered my mouth with his hand – it was as huge and hairy as a bear’s paw! – and they dragged me out the back. I’ve never felt so wretched; I knew I’d either end up in the harem of one of those shaggy, stinking beasts or, worse, handed over to a mob of soldiers. But just then I noticed, about twenty paces to our left, a shadow going off in the opposite direction. I decided to give it a desperate try. I bit down hard on my captor’s hand and then yelled ‘Help!’ as loudly as I could. The shadow stopped and in the firelight I could distinctly see a Greek warrior more handsome and powerful than Ares himself ! He drew his sword and walked towards us, as calmly as if he were coming over to say hello. I can’t tell you how it happened, but the men who had captured me tumbled over one after another like rag dolls. My saviour bent over them, chopped off their heads with two clean sweeps of his sword and stuck them there where you saw them in front of the tent. Then he sliced off their testicles and crammed them into their mouths. No one has bothered me since.’

  ‘I believe it,’ I replied. ‘So did this warrior come back?’

  ‘No, not yet. He went off without saying a word.’

  ‘Was he one of ours? What did he look like?’

  ‘He was built more like an athlete than like a warrior. Golden blond hair, straight, falling into his eyes. Eyes blue as a spring sky, but cold as ice.’

  ‘Menon. Menon of Thessaly.’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘The man who saved you is one of the commanders of the biggest divisions of the Greek army. He’s a formidable fighter, and a cruel exterminator.’

  ‘But he’s as beautiful as a god and he saved my life. I’m sure that there are other sides to his personality. Sometimes a gentle caress can bring out the most unexpected qualities in a man.’

  ‘I understand. You need someone to protect you, and you don’t want to fall into the hands of some repulsive, disgusting swine. But watch out if you’re thinking of Menon: he’s not the type of man you can tame. It will be like petting a leopard.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’

  ‘Right. I have to go now. What’s your name?’

  ‘Melissa. Will you be back?’

  ‘I’ll come again as soon as I can. Don’t do anything silly, and if you leave the tent, cover yourself. Cover up well, even if it’s not cold. Believe me, it’s best that you do as I say.’

  ‘I will, Abira. I hope to see you again.’

  ‘Me, too. Sleep now.’

  I went back to my tent. Xeno was waiting.

  I asked him what had happened at the meeting with the Asian army chiefs. He said that they had sworn to stick together, and to help one another. Ariaeus was wounded, but not seriously so, and he was resolved to lead the two armies out of immediate danger. It was impossible to go back the way they had come. The expedition had been difficult enough until now, even with all of the supplies that the armies had set out with. To attempt a return on the same route without any provisions at all would be folly. It was better to take a longer route that would give them the chance to stock up along the way. The plan was to move out as quickly as possible and to force Artaxerxes to make hasty, and thus dangerous, choices. To keep up with them, the Great King would have to send out a smaller contingent, which would be very risky for him; if he chose to send the army that had overwhelmed Cyrus after them in its entirety, they would lose ground day by day.

  ‘That seems like an excellent plan,’ I said. That made him smile. The fact that a woman approved of the decision taken by the highest assembly of the army had no importance whatsoever, but I didn’t mind that. I just wanted to express my own point of view. Before lying down I took the lamp and put all of our belongings inside the wagon so we would be ready to leave. All I kept in the tent was what we needed for washing: a jug that I always kept full of water and a damp sponge, so that even if there wasn’t much water, both of us could keep ourselves clean. I would wash him first and then myself; it felt easier to rest after wiping away the day’s dust; somehow it even made us forget about our hunger, which was getting harder to bear with each passing hour and day. Although we were fortunate enough to have some provisions, we tried to eke them out as much as possible, because no one knew when we’d be able to find more food and because we tried to share the little we had with those who had nothing.

  I told Xeno about meeting Melissa, the girl who had run naked from Cyrus’s tent to the Greek camp, and of the means of dissuasion that Menon had used to keep the others away from her tent.

  Xeno said nothing. What could he say about such methods?

  I’ve come to believe that Xeno’s teacher had instilled such a deep sense of ethics in him that a being who was completely amoral, like Menon, provoked a sense of fear in Xeno that was even stronger than his repugnance.

  THE RISING SUN and the last shift of sentries woke us and soon after that we were on the march. The landscape had changed considerably. The countryside around us was verdant and there were canals everywhere that irrigated the fields. Big palm groves announced towns and villages from afar.

  We advanced all day, getting further and further from the battlefield. That evening we pitched our tents near a group of villages. They weren’t very different from our Villages of the Belt. Small mud-brick buildings with palm-leaf roofs, pens holding donkeys, sheep and goats, a few camels, with geese and chickens everywhere.

  Towards evening a group of scouts spotted a large herd of horses grazing, which could only mean one thing: the Great King’s army was close by. Attempting to plunder the villages would be too risky, but Clearchus chose not to retreat; he didn’t want the enemy to think the Greeks were afraid.

  The night was fitful, continuously interrupted by bugle calls and false alarms. The smallest noise – the snorting of a horse or barking of a dog – had everyone scrambling to get up and put on their armour. All that pointless activity stirred the men up and greatly increased the strain and danger; the men were tormented by hunger, weary to the bone, tense with the anxiety of waiting for an imminent attack. They were reacting excessively and disproportionately to even the slightest threat, with the risk that a real attack would find them uncoordinated and confused, and unable to hit back effectively.

  Xeno was even more worried about the fact that the men hadn’t been able to rest; their sleeplessness compounded
the effect of their hunger. I realized that the only thing protecting the camp was the legend of the red cloaks. The reality was that our fearless warriors were afraid of the dark. There was no moon that night, no wood to build fires, no oil for the lamps. Those young men were afraid of the unknown.

  Lined up on an open battlefield, in the light of the sun, against even a vastly superior enemy, they would face any danger, reacting with calm hearts and strong arms. Alone in the dark, in the heart of enemy territory, unsure of what direction death would be coming from, they were defenceless and desperate.

  Clearchus was well aware of their state of mind. Around midnight he sent a herald through the camp to announce that a donkey had escaped and kicked up a fuss, and that there was no reason for alarm. The herald reminded the men that there was a double row of sentries posted all around the camp and that they could rest easy.

  The voice of the herald was the voice of their commander, the man who stayed awake while the others slept, who suffered their same hunger and hardships, but who always had a plan for their salvation, a clear way out, a solution in reserve which could check their panic and dissipate the confusion.

  Calm soon reigned over the camp. A few fires were even lit, and many of the men managed to rest.

  I thought of Melissa. Where was she? Had her defender returned to her? Had she brought one of the severed heads along with her, planting it in front of her tent to ward off intruders? Certainly not. The heads must have remained behind, topping their iron poles on the abandoned field. No flash of desire had remained in their glassy eyes. Any resemblance to the men they had been ended precisely where Menon’s blade had made its mark.

  So where was Menon? Even his perfect body would be dirty and sweaty now. And Melissa wouldn’t have her leopard to pet.

  I felt Xeno tossing and turning in his sleep. He was thinking of tomorrow as well, perhaps wondering how long he would have to wait for death and how it would come.

  I fell asleep beside him and slept enveloped in his warmth, as always. Death couldn’t touch me and, even as far as Xeno was concerned, I was certain that my love would be sufficient to ward off any danger.

  I knew that that was just wishful thinking on my part. My dreams might easily be swallowed up by the moonless night and by the dank, stagnant air rising from the ground. And yet, when the sun rose, a miracle happened. When Xeno woke me he was already armed, but there was an incredulous expression in his eyes. ‘The King wants a truce!’ he exclaimed.

  It seemed impossible and yet it had happened.

  ‘It was just after sunrise. Sophos and I were reporting to the commander to see if there was something we could do. We were talking when a soldier ran up announcing visitors.

  ‘ “Visitors?” Clearchus repeated.

  ‘ “Yes, commander,” the soldier replied. “Ambassadors of the Great King who ask to be received.”

  ‘We were shocked and on the verge of saying “Tell them to come here,” but Clearchus instead replied, “Tell them that I’m busy.”

  ‘ “But you’re not busy, Commander,” said Sophos.

  ‘ “Yes I am,” Clearchus retorted. “I’m thinking of how to receive them. It won’t hurt to keep them waiting a little while. We don’t want them to think that we’re too eager to negotiate; they’d take that as a sign of weakness. But there’s a bigger reason. I want my men in perfect order, their hair combed, their armour gleaming. The sunlight reflecting off their shields will be blinding. We want them to see seamless discipline, intact morale. The ambassadors won’t report my words alone back to their King; they’ll have to tell him what a Greek phalanx drawn up in battle order looks like. This will take a little time. I’ll receive them when I’m ready.”

  ‘Then he goes back to chatting with us and tells us the story of the donkey that he’d had the herald proclaim to the camp, and there we were, all laughing, even on our empty stomachs. It’s been nearly an hour since the messenger arrived and it seems he’s ready to meet them now.’

  He hadn’t finished speaking when the bugles blared, sounding the assembly. The soldiers ran towards the centre of the camp.

  Clearchus appeared.

  He’d combed his hair and gathered it at the nape of his neck. His armour was polished to a high sheen and he held a spear in his left hand and a staff in his right.

  ‘Men!’ he began. ‘A legation of the Great King has asked to be received. I want you lined up in perfect formation, four deep. They have to see an army, not a flock of sheep! Do you understand me? And now, my bodyguard.’

  He started walking up and down the ranks, and if he saw a man who was too forward or too far back he gave him a tap with his staff, so that the line was perfectly straight. Then he chose eight men, the tallest and most brawny, to act as his personal bodyguard.

  Another bugle blare was the signal to take up shields and close ranks. As the soldiers carried out the order with a harsh clang, he sent a man to summon the ambassadors.

  The three legates came forward, and their stupor at seeing the phalanx in full battle array was immediately evident. The line-up was rigorous and impeccable, the soldiers’ arms gleamed menacingly. Those boys were cramping up with hunger yet they stood straight and tall before the foreigners to demonstrate that they had not been conquered and were not fearful. On the contrary, they inspired fear. I saw Socrates of Achaea bareheaded at the centre of his unit, the eyes of his men perfectly trained on him. There was Agias of Arcadia, leaning on his spear like a statue of Ares. Menon was there, of course. Menon of Thessaly, bright as Orion, the star that portends doom. On his shoulders a cloak of the purest white – how had he managed that? And there were Agasias the Stymphalian, Lycius of Syracuse, and Glous.

  They were standing ten paces in front of the front line, spaced precisely at the same distance one from the other like pawns on a chessboard. Sophos, that’s who was missing. He always disappeared in such situations. He dissolved into the air like a mirage.

  The ambassadors announced that the King was willing to call a truce but that he wanted Clearchus to pledge that there would be no sacking or aggressive actions on his part. Clearchus replied that before making any promises he wanted to feed his men. The Great King would have to arrange for this at once, or they would attack with all the force they could command.

  As he said those words his eyes scanned the formation as if to demonstrate that he wasn’t in the business of making idle threats and that his merest glance would suffice to unleash the red cloaks.

  That must have been a signal to his officers, because they turned around to face the troops and what happened next seemed like an omen. From the first to the very last, one thousand warriors angled their shields one after another to catch the rays of the sun and reflect them forward. The move was so quick that it looked like a lightning bolt had set the phalanx aflame.

  The Persians were speechless. They leapt onto their horses and were gone in a matter of moments.

  It wasn’t long before they were back, which led us to understand that the Great King must have been very close indeed. If not the King himself, someone who was authorized to act in his name.

  They announced that the request had been granted. We should follow the guides and before evening we would reach a group of villages well supplied with food and drink.

  We were saved.

  11

  WE WERE GIVEN GUIDES who would lead us to where we would find food. It was no easy journey. We encountered several canals full of water and each time had to find a way to cross. Clearchus was the first to act, grabbing an axe and chopping down tall palm trees to build footbridges over which the men, wagons and horses could pass. If there was not enough material handy to build a wide enough bridge, the wagons were dismantled. The wheels were rolled across the footbridge while the flatbeds were rope-towed across the water as if they were rafts, and then reassembled on the other side.

  With Clearchus setting this example even though he was no youngster, the men pushed themselves as hard as they could to fin
ish the job and shorten the time separating them from food and rest.

  It wasn’t the first time that I’d thought those men had already used up the last of their energy, but once again I witnessed the miracle of new strength and stamina pulled from exhausted bodies. I was beginning to believe in the legend of the red cloaks myself. It was true that each one of them was worth ten Asians.

  Finally, towards nightfall, we arrived at the promised land: a group of villages scattered over a fertile plain. There were hundreds of palm trees richly laden with dates, dozens of granaries with their typical pointed-dome tops, brimming with wheat, barley and spelt, and jars full of palm wine. The officers had to give strict orders for the men not to gorge themselves on the food and drink. Modest rations were handed out, but many of the men became sick afterward nonetheless, with vomiting and headaches.

  The doctors blamed that type of wine, which the men weren’t used to, and the hearts of palm: the shoots of those plants were very hard and full of fibres that were hard to digest. But in any case, the men finally found sustenance and the opportunity to regain their strength.

  I asked myself time and time again why the King had made such a mistake. All he would have had to do was bide his time or trick us in some way, and in the end hunger and exhaustion would have decided our fate. Why didn’t he decide to wait it out? There’s only one explanation: the King thought that there was no limit to the endurance of the red cloaks, was sure that nothing could bend them. It’s also strange that he didn’t think of poisoning the food and drink we were given. Xeno imagined it was because of his noble and sentimental nature; he assumed that the King admired their valour and courage and simply thought that men of their temper didn’t deserve an unworthy death.

  That may be. The fact is that the next day the ambassadors sent by the Great King arrived. It was quite a high-ranking delegation: there was the brother-in-law of the Great King himself, and one of the most brilliant generals of his army, Tissaphernes. He had greatly distinguished himself in the battle against Cyrus, and the King had awarded him the governorship of Lydia, the province which had been ruled by the late prince. They rode up on magnificent Nysean chargers harnessed with gold and silver trappings. They were sumptuously garbed in trousers made of the finest gauze and were escorted by a squad of horsemen from the steppe wearing leather helmets and cuirasses and longbows slung over their shoulders.