Chapter 19

“The Persians’ doom is coming!” Matonis laughed, as if the Greeks would actually do such a thing.

“It seems the Persians are genuinely eager to see us off,” Hylos said with a note of understanding.

Or perhaps Tissaphernes just wants you to think that, Davos thought, but he kept it to himself. He had a persistent feeling that there was much more to Tissaphernes than met the eye. His way of thinking was, after all, different from that of the Greeks of this era. Based on his in-depth contact with the Greek soldiers during this time, he had discovered that most of them had grown up listening to their fathers’ stories of how they had thrashed the Persians. They revered strength and preferred face-to-face combat. Even when they used strategy, it was mostly in the form of overt schemes; when it came to dealing with covert conspiracies, their minds truly seemed to have a few fewer twists and turns than the Persians’.

It was precisely because Davos understood that Tissaphernes was a masterful politician that a deep-seated unease lingered within him. “Xenophon, do you know our line of march?”

“Not clearly. It was all decided in discussion between Tissaphernes, Clearchus, and Ariaeus. However, it is definitely not the way we came. Because, as you know—” Xenophon shrugged. “Your General Menon led the way in ‘collecting’ a lot of nice things on the journey here, and the local Persians harbor a great deal of hatred for us… But don’t worry, we will make it back.”

Collecting? More like looting, Davos thought. In the eyes of the Persians, we are invaders. We are bandits. The thought always brought a flicker of irritation. He let out a quiet breath, trying to calm himself. “Do you know much about the mountains, rivers, cities, and roads of Persia’s interior?”

“Davos, this is my first time deep in Persian territory as well. Apart from a few famous cities I know from books, like Babylon, Susa, and Persepolis, I don’t know their specific locations…” Xenophon held up a stack of papyrus scrolls, his voice filled with excitement. “However, I have been keeping a brief record of what I see each day. When I return, I will write it all down, so that all of Greece can understand the state of the Persian interior!”

Davos gave a bitter smile. Alright, I know you’re going to write a book called the Anabasis, but that’s not going to solve our immediate problem.

Where can I find someone who is familiar with Persian geography? Davos wondered, vexed.

***

As time went on, although the Greek and Persian armies camped at a distance from each other, their soldiers would inevitably cross paths when fetching water from the river or gathering firewood. Often, a simple disagreement would escalate into a brawl, further increasing the animosity between the two sides.

A few days later, they reached the Physcus River, where they came face-to-face with an army led by another of King Artaxerxes’s brothers. He had been on his way to aid the King, but by the time he arrived, the war was already over, and he had no choice but to lead his troops back.

Fearing an incident, Clearchus ordered the entire army into full battle gear, with the baggage train protected in the center, and to advance westward in a combat column. The Persian army, for its part, showed no surprise at the appearance of the Greeks in their land, likely having been informed by Tissaphernes. They simply continued their march eastward. At their closest, the two armies were no more than a few dozen meters apart, close enough to see the faces and expressions of the men opposite them. The tension was palpable.

It did, however, give Davos his first clear look at the full composition of a Persian army. At the very front were two- and four-horse chariots. On each, one man was the charioteer, while the other one or two soldiers were responsible for combat; he could see spears stuck in the chariot cars, with shields and bows hanging from the sides. There were only a dozen or so chariots, and he didn’t see any of the legendary scythed chariots (with long, sharp blades extending from the wheel hubs). But a moment’s thought made it clear: the scythes must be detachable, otherwise they would be a danger to their own men during a normal march.

Following the chariots was the cavalry. Most of the horses stood about 1.4 meters high, noticeably smaller than the racehorses Davos had seen at the Olympics in his past life. They had bridles but no saddles, and certainly no stirrups; only a thick blanket was laid across their backs. Some of the riders wore helmets, while others wore only soft caps. They wore no leather armor and carried no heavy shields, and all were dressed in short tunics. They wielded a variety of weapons: horse archers were the most numerous, followed by javelin cavalry, then lance cavalry, and a few who carried short maces.

After the several hundred cavalrymen had galloped past, the massive infantry force came into view. After watching for a while, Davos noticed that the Persian infantry marched in a mixed formation: one large-shield bearer, his shield as high as a man’s shoulder and wide enough to conceal him, was followed closely by a spearman, who was then followed by six or seven archers. Then the pattern repeated.

This was very similar to the Persian battle order Antonios had described: when engaging the enemy, the large-shield bearers would form the first rank, creating a shield wall to protect the formation. The spearmen would hold off any enemy who tried to charge and break the shield wall, while the archers in the rear would rain down arrows to inflict mass casualties. Whether they were shield bearers, spearmen, or archers, they all had one thing in common: they were lightly armored or wore no armor at all. Taking this into account, along with the cavalry he had just seen, Davos could easily make a judgment: the Persian army was a force with excellent ranged capabilities and high mobility, but was weak in close-quarters combat. No wonder they were always defeated by the Greeks in pitched battles. In a face-to-face melee, their infantry was no match for the charge of the Greek hoplites. The strengths of the Persian army were better suited for ranged harassment and attrition, or even large-scale flanking and mobile warfare.

The two armies passed each other without incident. It was a false alarm.

After this small interlude, the army soon entered the land of Media[1]. This land had once nurtured the fierce Median people, whose empire had been the nightmare of the peoples of Mesopotamia. But several hundred years had passed, and their glory was no more. For various reasons, this region, now under Persian rule, had become somewhat desolate, and the terrain was beginning to grow hilly and uneven.

As the markets provided fewer supplies, the skirmishes between the two armies over resources when they made camp began to increase.

“Davos, this… this ‘puttee’ you made is really useful!” Hylos said, sitting in the tent and unwinding the cloth strips from his legs. “We walked all day again today. Normally, my calves would be so swollen by the afternoon I could barely move, but now I don’t have to worry about that at all!”

“Of course! Our Davos is the ‘Hades’ Favored One,’ after all! With the King of the Underworld’s blessing, how could any idea of his not work? A lot of the comrades in the other squads are starting to use puttees now too!” Olivas said proudly.

Davos said nothing. He had heard so much of this kind of praise recently that he was almost numb to it. He knew very well that these little tricks from his past life were only useful for improving the soldiers’ marching conditions and enhancing his own influence in Menon’s camp; they would do nothing to change the overall predicament of the Greek mercenary army.

“Davos,” Giorgis’s voice came from the corner of the tent, “there’s a rumor going around the army these past few days. They’re saying the Persians are going to make a move on us, capture us, and present us to the Persian King as slaves. Do you think… it could be true?”

This was the very question Davos had been pondering. Although there had been suspicion between the two armies all along, for such a rumor to spread so quickly in just a day or two, becoming common knowledge, was impossible without someone pushing it from behind—that was his experience from his past life.

Is it the Persians? Or is it one of our own? Why spread such a rumor? To break the treaty? To push the Greeks to a breaking point? Davos had no clear answers. Facing the concerned gazes of his comrades, he gave a bitter smile, but his expression remained calm. “There’s no need to be so tense. We just need to remain vigilant. We’ve made it through these past few days safely, haven’t we?”

Just as he was speaking, a figure ducked into the tent.

“Matonis, you’ve been out fighting again!” Hylos said with a note of reproach, seeing the bruise on Matonis’s face.

Matonis spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, his voice excited. “Don’t be fooled by how bad the Persians are at war. They’re not weak in a brawl! It was me, Martius, and a dozen other guys against more than twenty of them, and it still took a lot of effort to drive them off!”

As he spoke, he plopped down on his bedroll and rubbed his cheek, then said in a conspiratorial tone, “I wasn’t just out there to fight. I also picked up a piece of news.”

“What news?” Hylos asked.

Matonis scanned the faces of the others and announced loudly, “Just ahead is the fiefdom of Cyrus and his mother. I hear there are a lot of villages there, and they’re quite wealthy!”

“Does that mean we’ll get to eat something good?” Olivas shouted happily.

The others also grew excited. Supplies had been short these past few days, and no one had eaten their fill.