sing of it, but it happens too often. Men cut themselves or walk
into the sea. Men die from wounds that ought to have healed.
Priests are busy, saving what they can. Good doctors make a
difference. But on the day after a defeat, the men who matter are
the leaders. Anyone can lead men after a victory. Only the best
can lead after a defeat.
I awoke the day after Lade to the realization that Stephanos
was dead. And Philocrates. And Nearchos. One by one, the
weight of them came to my mind, so that it was as if their shades
were gathering around me.
Philocrates was on my ship, wrapped in his chlamys, and
Stephanos was wrapped in his himation on Trident. To a
Greek, that’s some consolation. We would honour them in
death.
But not today.
I got up, poured myself a cup of wine and felt the pain of al
my muscles and al my wounds, new and old. My head hurt. I
said a prayer to my ancestor Heracles for strength – and I began
to clean my armour, promising that if ever I came through this to
to clean my armour, promising that if ever I came through this to
my farm in Boeotia, I would build a shrine to Heracles and put
his lion on the inside of my shield. Do you sheltered children
know what armour looks like after a fight? Sprayed with blood,
with al the fluids inside a man, with ordure – shit – and the
leather ful of sweat and fear. But I had no hypaspist to do it, and
I needed to look like a hero.
When my armour was clean and bright, I began on my shield.
The rim was broken where the brave Aegyptian had almost
kiled me, and the raven of Apolo seemed to me a mockery.
Apolo had promised me victory. Apolo had alowed the
Samians to betray us. Apolo had alowed treachery to triumph
over virtue. Fuck him.
Let me say now, before I go on with the story, that we would
have won Lade if the Samians hadn’t cut and run. I know that’s
not the popular view. I know that today, Athenians suggest that
the Ionians were an effeminate bunch incapable of defeating
Persia without the spine of Sparta and Athens to hold them to
the task – but that’s al crap. The Phoenicians came to that battle
wary of us, and the Aegyptians wanted no part of it and, in
effect, only fought to defend themselves. If the Samians had held
their place in the line, Epaphroditos would have routed the
Aegyptians, and we would have won.
Why do I tel you this? Because my rage and bitterness were
boundless. The cupidity, the foolishness, the greed of a few men
had kiled my friends and robbed me of my love.
The day after Lade, I wanted revenge.
Let me be clear, honey bee. I stil do.
Let me be clear, honey bee. I stil do.
I washed in the sea – that hurt, believe me. Nothing like salt
water on new wounds. Then I put on a clean wool chiton and
boots, and my newly cleaned shirt of Persian scales. I put my
sword belt on my shoulder.
Black came into my tent as I finished arming myself. ‘So?’ he
asked.
‘Gather the men.’ I said no more, and he went.
Idomeneus took his cue from me, and he had a Tyrian cloak
on his shoulder and my good bronze breastplate on his back
when he came to me. Harpagos looked like a fisherman in a
wool cap. I beckoned him to me, walked him into my tent and
bade him dress like a trierarch.
‘Part of leading is play-acting,’ I said. ‘You must dress the
part. Today, we have to pul them up a hil the way an ox puls a
cart. Everything matters.’
He shrugged. ‘Yes, lord,’ he said.
I dressed him in a red wool himation and a plain linen
chitoniskos with a leather stola. Idomeneus brought him a fine
Cretan helmet from a dead Phoenician officer.
The helmet was covered in repoussé, a work of art.
‘I’ve never owned anything so fine,’ Harpagos said.
I shrugged. ‘Enjoy it,’ I said.
Idomeneus grinned. I frowned at him. ‘You are the only man
in this camp smiling,’ I said.
‘Good fighting yesterday,’ he said. ‘We lived. No reason to
cry.’
cry.’
That was Idomeneus – a man who lived at the edge of
madness, I suspect.
Black wore a magnificent chiton when we emerged – purple
with red and blue edge-stripes like waves, as nice a piece of
cloth as I’d ever seen. And he had the sword I’d taken from the
old Persian – not that I begrudged him it.
So we made a good show. The men were surly and quiet, but
when they saw us, they understood immediately, and I saw men
wipe their faces and look at the dirt on their hands. Good.
‘We lost,’ I said. There were about three hundred men on the
beach, where the day before fifteen times that many had eaten
breakfast and offered sacrifice. ‘We lost, but life goes on. Lord
Miltiades wil not stop fighting. Neither wil we, as long as there
are fat Aegyptian merchants to take and gold to spend.’
Al that got was a grumble.
‘The Persians won’t stir today,’ I said, pointing across the
bay. ‘We hurt them badly, and they’l lick their wounds. But
tomorrow, they’l come for us. So we’l have to be gone – away
downwind to Chios, where we’l put Philocrates and Stephanos
in the ground. And say the rites for al those who went down.’
That got a better reaction.
‘But first . . .’ I said, and every head came up – every set of
eyes locked on mine. ‘But first, I mean to complete our crews in
Miletus, and take off every man, woman and child we can save.
Before the Persians storm it. Which wil happen any hour.’ I
looked around, and the only sound was the wind making the
empty tents flap like untended sails.
empty tents flap like untended sails.
‘We came here to save those people,’ I said. ‘We can stil
save some. Anyone with me?’
Not bad, thugater. Not bad at al. They were al with me, as it
turned out.
We kept a good watch al day, so we knew when the
Persians launched their assault on Miletus, just a few stades
distant. They didn’t take it by surprise, or anything like – but they
knew that the town was nearly empty, and probably further lost
to despair than we were on the beaches.
Most of the fleet of Miletus was lost in the fighting. The
handful of ships who survived ran for Samos and Chios. Not a
single ship ran for their own port – not even Histiaeus himself,
who left Istes in ‘command’ of a city denuded of fighting men.
As I say – we kept watch. Twice we saw patrols set off from
the beaches opposite, but neither came any closer than ten
stades. My two ships were hidden by the bulk of the island.
Who would have expected us to hide in plain sight?
At sunset, we launched. Most men had slept al day. Our
muscles were stiff, but we ate every animal we found on the
beach – cows, goats, al abandoned by the Greeks – and we’d
stowed carefuly the best of the loot
from the rest of the
campaign, our weapons and little else.
Once afloat, we lay on our oars in the channel between Lade
and Miletus, our oars muffled and every man silent. The rocks
hid us from the town and from the besiegers. But we could hear
the fighting. The town was faling. There was no question of it.
the fighting. The town was faling. There was no question of it.
I was in a curious race with time. I couldn’t let my ships be
seen against our shore when we moved – or the Phoenicians and
the Aegyptians and the Cilicians would be on us like vultures.
But if I waited too long, the town would fal.
Black waited with apparent impassivity, but Harpagos
walked up and down the command deck of his trireme, and his
bare feet were the loudest noise in the channel. Guls moved and
cried. The wind blew through a camp devoid of Greeks. In the
distance, there was a murmur like summer thunder.
I remember the darkness of that hour, and the despair I hid.
If I must remind you, the disaster of Lade lost me Briseis. For
ever, as it seemed. The Persians have a phrase – they tel a
condemned nobleman to ‘go and hunt his death’. Wel – I was
on the edge of hunting my death, or perhaps past it – but I had
my men in order, and I had fired them for this task, and I meant
to do an honourable job before I hunted my death.
The sun was a line of crimson in the west, and our shore was
dark as new pitch. ‘Let’s go,’ I whispered.
‘Give way, al,’ Black said.
Every oar dipped, and we ghosted down the channel,
folowed by Harpagos. We made the turn, and there was the
town.
Miletus was afire. The palace on the acropolis was burning,
great gouts of fire leaping into the air like live daimons, and the
summer thunder sound we’d heard was now the great-throated
roar of a city being destroyed by fire and sword.
Miletus, the richest city in the Greek world.
Miletus, the richest city in the Greek world.
We crept up the passage to the harbour, our oars carefuly
handled, our huls tight against the mainland shore to avoid being
seen. I began to curse. I could see soldiers in the streets of the
lower town and people running and being kiled, but there was
no resistance.
‘Apolo, render justice,’ I said aloud. ‘You owe me better
than this.’
And just then, I heard the horn from the Windy Tower.
Of course, that citadel on the harbour was the last to fal – I
should have guessed it from the first. I could see men on the
wals – archers – and my heart leaped.
‘Lay me under the sea wal by the tower,’ I said to Black,
pointing.
‘Aye, lord,’ he said.
We turned in the mouth of the harbour and I loved my men –
every oarsman of them – as we raced for the tower.
I leaped to the jetty and Idomeneus folowed me.
‘Pole off,’ I caled, ‘or we’l be swamped. Wait for my
word.’
Black waved.
They were fighting hand to hand on the steps of the tower
when I slipped in the postern with Idomeneus. The startled
sentry took one look at us – and at the two great dark huls
behind us on the tower’s jetty – and he fel to his knees. ‘You—’
‘We came for you,’ I said. ‘Take me to Istes, if he lives.’
We ran along the wals, al my wounds and al my fatigue
forgotten, where men were leaning and pointing at the ships. It
forgotten, where men were leaning and pointing at the ships. It
was worth it – al the waiting and the strain on muscles – to see
those men, who had thought that they were dead, realize that
they were going to live.
Istes was in the arch of the courtyard steps with a dozen
other hoplites, holding the entrance. I watched him fight for a
minute. In that time, three souls went to Hades on his blade, and
as many fel back, wounded or simply too frightened to face him.
To fight that wel – when you have no hope – is a great gift.
Or a great curse.
In the Pyrrhiche, we practise replacing one another in
combat. It is practised in every town, in every polis, in every
gymnasium. No man can fight for ever.
‘You switch with him,’ I said to Idomeneus. ‘I’l get this
organized.’
Idomeneus flexed his shoulders and set his aspis and grinned.
‘Aye, lord,’
‘Don’t go and get kiled,’ I said. ‘I’m low on friends,’ I
added.
His mad grin flashed and he kissed me. ‘I’l do my best,
lord,’ he said.
He stepped up behind Istes – none of the other men in the
courtyard seemed to feel any need to give their lord a rest. Then,
in between kils, he tapped twice – hard – on Istes’ backplate.
Istes flashed a backwards look.
Idomeneus tapped a rhythm on his shield – and one, and two
– Istes pivoted on his hips and slid diagonaly to the right rear,
and Idomeneus lunged forward, right foot first with a sweeping
overhead cut that forced the Persian facing Istes to back a step,
and then Idomeneus filed the spot and kiled the Persian with a
feint and a back cut, and the line was as solid as it had been a
moment before.
Istes sank to a knee and breathed. Then his helmet came off,
and he raised his head and saw me.
For a long moment, al he did was breathe and look at me.
‘You’re as mad as he is,’ I said, pointing at Idomeneus. ‘I
came to rescue you, you soft-handed Asiatic.’
Then he embraced me. ‘Oh gods, I thought we were al dead
and no man would even sing of our end. There’s no counting the
fucking Persians. And there’s Greeks with them – armoured
men, fighting for their slave-masters.’
‘I need you to get your men off the wals and into the ships,’ I
said.
‘There are fifty women and children, as wel,’ he said. ‘When
the lower town fel, the smart ones ran here.’
‘I have two ships,’ I said. ‘I wil leave no one behind, even if
it means I have to swim.’
Then he embraced me again and ran off through the
courtyard, caling for his officers.
The hard part would be holding the stairs and the gate until
the boats were loaded. The men on the stairs would be unlikely
to live – and it is harder to get men to die when they know there
is hope.
is hope.
But Istes’ men loved him. He told off ten to take the places of
those fighting at that moment, who were the first to go to the
boats – stil dazed from combat and from their turn of fortune.
The next trick was to get the archers off the citadel wals
without letting the Persians and Lydians know they were leaving.
I saw Teucer and waved. He came down off the wals. ‘I
heard you were here,’ he said, a grin covering his face. ‘It’s true
– you’l take us al off?’
I laughed. Despair had left me. Save a hundred lives and
you’l find it hard to
despair. Every Milesian going on board my
ships gave heart to my rowers. Every woman with a babe in her
arms was like new life for a wounded marine.
I tapped Idomeneus when I saw him flag. The Persians were
relentless. They came in waves, determined to finish us. And they
stil didn’t know we were leaving.
He hamstrung an archer with a thrust under his shield, pivoted
as the man screamed and I was in his place before the man had
falen to the ground.
The Persian behind the faling man had a long spear with a
heavy bal of silver on the end. I stabbed at him – three fast
strokes, the same attack every time. The third time went past his
defences and my spearhead went through his wrist, into his neck.
The man to my left fel – I have no idea what happened – and
suddenly our line was gone.
I powered forward into the press, and my spear played on
them like a stork taking frogs. I felt faster and stronger than other
men, and I felt no fear. I was the saviour of Miletus that night,
men, and I felt no fear. I was the saviour of Miletus that night,
and the flames of the dying city framed my victims.
I cleared the stairs. What more can I say? I put down eight or
ten men, and the rest fled. I took blows on my armour, and my
opponents were not fuly armed men, but it was stil one of my
best moments, and yet I remember little, save that I stood alone
at the head of the stairs and breathed like a horse after a race,
and behind me the line restored itself and the men began to cal
my name.
‘Ar-im-nes-tos! Ar-im-nes-tos!’ they caled.
Down at the base of the steps, I heard officers caling, and
men were forming. I picked up a heavy spear that lay discarded,
hefted it and then I stepped out into the arrows of the Persians.
Two thudded into my shield, but I knew that the gods had
made me immune. I stepped up and threw that spear into one of
the Persian officers. He took it under his arm, and I stepped
back and laughed. I took advantage of the lul to look at the
citadel doors, but they were smashed, and nothing could close
the gate but a line of men.
‘Come to me,’ I yeled at the Milesians, and they shuffled
forward warily – I might be their saviour, but I was a stranger.
‘Stand here.’ I beckoned to the men in the courtyard. ‘Close up
– like a phalanx. No spaces. Listen to me. Their arrows can’t
reach you here. When we retreat, the left files retreat up the left