Demaratus
I have just returned from the war
council. The king was in a terrible
mood, and the experience was not pleasant.
Our losses were extremely heavy from the day's fighting. Hydarnes reports over 2,000 casualties in the
Immortals alone. He will immediately
make up that loss, of course. They are
known as the Immortals because there numbers never vary; there is always another to take the place of
the slain.
Nevertheless, we are faced with an
intractable problem. Word from the fleet
is also not good. Many ships were
reported lost in a storm off the island
of Euboea, having
tried to come up behind the Greek
fleet. We will get no relief there. The Greeks continue to deny us the opportunity
to flank them from the sea. Our scouts
in the mountains have reported no luck in their attempt to find a way around to
Leonidas' left flank. We are left with
the same alternative as today: a frontal assault.
We learned a few things, though. We will be wary of Leonidas' fake
retreats. Also, if we give them little
rest, they will find it hard to rotate their fresh men. Many of their number were killed today, no
doubt of that. The king asked what I
thought, though the others seemed resentful of my presence. It is as if after ten years, they are finally
noticing I am a Spartan. I told him I
believe the Greek force in the pass to have between three and five thousand men
with very few Spartans among them - perhaps only the king's guard. Three hundred, maybe, plus their supporting
Helots. Nevertheless, that is enough to
hold us for quite a while, especially if they are receiving any kind of
reinforcements from the landward side.
I repeated my assertion, made some
days ago, that we should try to work our way around the Greek fleet and land on
the Peloponnese, threatening Sparta
directly. With that kind of threat, the
Spartans would have to focus on defending their homeland and leave the defense
of Northern Greece to less able soldiers. I was shouted down again, of course. Even after today, the council still believes
they can beat Leonidas here, at the pass.
They lose sight of the objective.
We must divide to conquer. What
we do now only unites.
And so, tomorrow, we will attack
again. We will try to keep the pressure
on them, even more so than today, and give them no relief. Perhaps it will work. It is a strategy. But is it the best we can do? I think not.
Later, on returning here to my
tent, I was approached by Medarnes. He
had been in the thick of it, he told me, and had received a sword cut across
his shield arm.
"The Greek son of a whore slashed right through my shield!" he
said. "I got him, though. Went right under and took out his legs. It's hard to reach anywhere else. This one wasn't wearing greaves."
He was talking excitedly, still
wound tight from the stress of battle.
I'm sure he's now sleeping the drugged sleep of the dead. In any event, he had something else on his
mind.
"This Athenian of yours, this son
of Androcles," he said, heatedly. "What
do you know of him?" I continued
walking, looking out to sea.
"He is a prisoner of war, captured
by the Navy," I said. "He has been
forthcoming in his knowledge of the enemy and helpful in the exchange of
messages. There is little else I
know. Why do you ask?"
"Do you not recognize the name,
Androcles the Athenian?" he said, the agitation clear in his face.
"There is something to his name." I
replied. "I cannot place it."
Medarnes stepped back, stomping his
foot hard on the sand.
"You above all men should know!" h
shouted. "You knew my father! Androcles was one of those Greeks who came
over seeking aid from Darius!"
He ran his hand savagely through
his oiled and blood-smeared hair. "The
Great King, as was his decision, gave land and money to these exiles." He snorted derisively.
I remembered now. Yes, there it was. It was shortly after I myself had arrived in
the king's court. Yes. There was a party of Athenians, oligarchs who
had been thrown out of Attica and, like the
former Athenian tyrant Hippias before them, had come to the Great King seeking
vengeance. Darius, always the diplomat,
had set them up nicely, as he did me, biding his time and waiting for just the
right moment to strike the Greek homeland and add another nation to the empire.
Unfortunately, his expedition,
launched ten years ago, failed when the Athenians routed us on the field of Marathon. We
exiles have had to wait until now to regain Greek soil. Yes, I remembered Androcles now. A handsome man, proud of bearing. A natural leader. If Lysis was indeed his son, I could see the
resemblance.
"I remember, Medarnes," I said,
finally. "But why should I know better
than anyone?"
"Because you are Greek as well!" he
exclaimed. "And because it was over your
land that my father was killed!"
I was still not getting the
connection.
"My land?" I replied, puzzled. "What are you talking about?"
Medarnes looked exasperated, his
pushed-in face growing darker.
"It was Androcles the Athenian who
claimed rights to portions of my father's land.
Land Androcles swore had been given to him by the Great King," Medarnes
raged. "My father had been told by the king to give that land to you, another
Greek! My father went to visit this
Androcles and never came back. He was
found in a ditch near the home of the Athenian." Medarnes was now nearly incoherent with
remembered grief and anger. "When we
went looking for the Greek dog, he was nowhere to be found."
"Are you sure Androcles killed
him?" I asked.
"Of course he did!" Medarnes
cried. "Who else had reason? And why did
he run, if he didn't?"
He had a point, of course. But I resented his suggestion that all Greeks
were somehow related and equally culpable.
Besides, I had no memory of a land deal, and up until now, very little
memory of Androcles. Finally, Lysis had
proven useful to me thus far, and I was, and still am, loathe to give up a
useful person.
"Medarnes," I said, as soothingly
as I could, "if you feel this strongly about your case, bring it up to the
king. I'm sure you will get a hearing."
"The king is occupied, and not to
be disturbed," he said acidly. "Or
hadn't you noticed?"
I decided I'd had enough of the
interview.
"Medarnes, I know nothing more of
this son of Androcles, and the issue is not mine. Save your personal quarrels for better
times."
Leaving Medarnes fulminating in my
wake, I turned on my heel and made my way back to the tent, where I found Lysis
waiting, guarded by two warriors bearing the mark of the king's secret police.
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