A Captain of Thebes

by Mark G McLaughlin

  “Oh? Really? Well, Klemes, Solomon says the satraps are all looking for experienced soldiers. Arsites, the governor of Hellespontine Phrygia, is already engaged with the Macedonians over in the Troad. Spithridates of Ionia will no doubt march to join him. Those two are the first line of defense for the Persian empire. Sure, they can field hordes of levy infantry, but such troops are poorly armed, rarely armored and of questionable value. They will run if given any excuse – or opportunity.”

  “Surely there is more to the Persian army than a bunch of peasant rabble,” remarked Klemes, whose knowledge of military affairs was only slightly greater than that of agriculture.

  No,” replied Dimitrios. “The satraps can also call upon large numbers of tribal light cavalry to scout and harry the enemy as they advance, but they, too, will not prevail against a Macedonian line of battle. They serve a purpose. They plink and pluck away at the edges of an enemy formation, but that is all. When it comes to actual hitting power, the Persian governors rely on men of their own class: the local nobility.

  “Those magnificent horsemen are a sight to see,” Dimitrios continued. “They are fabulously wealthy, and each rides to war encased in armor and armed with bow, sword and mace. As valiant as these men of privilege and breeding are known to be, however, they are warriors, not soldiers. They seek out single combat. They yell their own name and shout a challenge as they charge. They are terrifying, but they fight on their own or as groups of individuals, rather than as formed units. The Macedonians, however, are a machine – and they will spit them on their long pikes and roast them for breakfast.”

  Klemes grew a bit paler with every sentence Dimitrios spoke and with every point he made in what had become something of a lecture. “So the Persians are already doomed, then?” he asked with a tremble in his voice.

  “No, not by a long shot,” continued the captain. “This swirling mass of light and heavy cavalry needs a base to maneuver from, that's all. It needs a solid, staunch block of hard men to stand firm and hold their ground. Something to encourage the reluctant levies to stand and fight. The satraps need heavy infantry to anchor their armies. For that they rely on the Greek mercenaries, in solid phalanxes. Veteran soldiers, like me.”

  Klemes seemed uneasy with these answers, and while still resolved to follow his brother wherever he led, found his doubts as to the wisdom of this enterprise beginning to take root. “I recall what our father said about mercenaries, if you don't, brother. He had a very low opinion of their worth as soldiers – or even as men. You know...”

  “Yes, I know what father used to say, but things are different in Persia. We Greeks prefer to fight our own battles, and as such are suspicious of hirelings or those paid to stand in the ranks where men of quality should otherwise stand. But Persian governors and kings have been hiring such mercenaries for as long as anyone can remember. Herodotus writes of it, so does the Athenian Xenophon. He was a general of such mercenaries in the years immediately following the Peloponnesian War. Xenophon's written account of his experiences fighting first for one Persian on the losing side of a civil war and then of fighting his way home back across Persia may have been meant as a cautionary tale, but it has instead only inspired other Greeks to take up the mercenary trade. That book is also said to be one of Alexander's favorites, and he supposedly often cites it in support of his arguments that no Persian army could stand up to Greek heavy infantry, let alone the Macedonian pike formations that had defeated them. 'For if Xenophon's hoplites had cut their way from the Aegean coast to Babylon and back,' he has been rumored to say, 'then how could the Persians hope to stand against Macedonia's even more superior army?'”

  “And yet it is just such a 'superior army' you intend to go up against – again?”

  “Yes, Klemes. I have to. And I am not alone. There are many who have left Greece for Persia, ready to fight the next battle against the little tyrant. Solomon knows of a number of Athenians of note in Ephesus in particular, who are getting ready to fight, and so that is where I intend to go.”

  “All right,” shrugged Klemes. “I guess I should have known you would have it all figured out. But,” and he said this quite sternly, “you also should have known better than to try to talk me or Ari out of coming with you.”

  “Well, I suppose I do,” replied Dimitrios a bit sheepishly, “but I had to try. You know that I would be lost without you two to look after me, right?” added Dimitrios with a grin.

  “And me without you,” replied Klemes.

  “Same goes for me, too,” added Aristophanes. “Which is why I brought along these,” he continued, as he reached inside his cloak to pull out three small iron bars, none much longer than a hand's breadth.

  “What are those for?” asked Klemes.

  “For the oath, of course,” Ari responded.

  “What oath?” asked Dimitrios.

  “Our oath to remain together, no matter what happens, and that none of us will leave either of the others behind...or without seeing their corpse receives the proper rites, should it come to that.”

  Klemes and Dimitrios both nodded in agreement. “That doesn't need to be said, I hope you know,” said Dimitrios to Ari.

  “True,” replied Ari, “but it somehow feels right to make it all formal and legally binding.”

  “Okay, but what do those little iron rods have to do with that?” asked Klemes.

  “It is something I read once, about how to seal a treaty two kings each tossed an iron bar into the sea,” replied Ari. “They said that they would keep their oaths until the iron would rise up from the sea and float upon the waves.”

  “Ari,” sighed Dimitrios, “you know iron doesn't float.”

  “Exactly.”

  Part III

  Ephesos

  On the Coast of Asia Minor

  Year Three of the Reign of Alexander of Macedon

  15

  Ephesos

  The Temple of Artemis

  The journey across the wine dark sea had been a lengthy one, as the Athenian ship of state on which Dimitrios, Klemes and Aristophanes had taken passage stopped at every major island on the way from Athens to Ephesos. The ship had made a circuit of the Cyclades, stopping at Ceos, Siphnos, Melos, Paros, Naxos, Mykonos, and many even smaller islands in between before lurching east to Icaria. From there, they went on to Samos before finally reaching the great port city of Ephesos. Since its founding by Greek colonists over six centuries ago, the city had grown into a key center for traders seeking access to the markets of Asia. It also attracted thousands of pilgrims who came to honor and ask the blessings of the goddess Artemis, whose temple, legend had it, was built by the son of the river god Caystrus.

  A true wonder of the world, it was praised in poetry and song as the nearest thing man could create to rival the glorious marvels of Olympus. And like that home of the gods, it mounted to the clouds, and when touched by the sun, its brilliancy was beyond anything else on earth.

  Even grander and larger than the Parthenon, the temple was more than a place of worship or a tribute to the gods. The temple was both the very heart and the pride of the city – both of which suffered greatly when it was looted by raiders, ravaged by floods and destroyed for a third time when the city fell to the Lydian king, Croesus. Each time, however, like the fertility goddess for whom it was built, the temple rose again from the earth, reborn. It was at the feet of this thrice-risen holy place that Dimitrios, Aristophanes and Klemes came to give thanks for their safe passage across the sea and to ask a blessing for their coming endeavors.

  “I do not see how making a sacrifice to Artemis is going to help us very much,” said Klemes to his brother. “After all, she is a goddess of fertility, not war. Just look at her statue – and what are those, breasts or eggs on her chest, I can't quite make out?”

  “You're the physician, Klemes,” chided Dimitrios. “If you can't tell an egg from a breast then perhaps you should go back to Cos for further study. It isn't that far from here, you know, maybe another
week at sea down the coast, if that.”

  “I have had enough of ships and voyages at sea, thank you, brother,” said Klemes. “And of sleeping on rocky beaches, night after night...”

  “You know the sailors won't spend the night at sea, Klemes,” piped in Aristophanes. “They can't see where they are going in the dark, and they don't want to wind up crashed on some rocks or stuck on a sand bar. Besides,” he added, “it wasn't every night. There were a few nights when the moon was full and if the sail wasn't filled by the Etesian Winds they would row at night, their way lit up by the phosphorescent glow on the sea, or that weird, greenish white light that seemed to emanate from the mast.”

  “So, a few weeks at sea and all of a sudden you're an old salt?” joked Klemes. “Pshaw; you'd never even seen a ship, let alone set foot on one, until we got to Piraeus. This was not my first crossing of the sea, you know, so I think I know more about what I am talking about than you do!”

  “Shhhh, that's enough you two. Show some respect; we're in a temple after all...”

  “Yeah, but a temple to a fertility goddess...”

  “Who is also the goddess of the hunt, might I remind you, dear brother, or didn't they teach you that at that fancy academy for hypocrites...”

  “Hippocrates, brother. The academy of Hippocrates, not hypo...”

  “I know, I know. But what I said still stands. Besides, this is the biggest temple any of us have ever seen or that has ever been built, so that says something about Artemis. Praying to her must get results, otherwise why would anybody build such a thing...”

  “Yeah, well it seems not everyone had their prayers answered. Look at the scorch marks. Somebody tried to burn this place down not long ago...” remarked Aristophanes as he pointed to the extensive and as still yet unrepaired damage.

  “That was over 20 years ago,” Dimitrios replied, “at least that is what I heard a priest outside telling some worshippers. I heard that Alexander believes the fire was caused by Zeus, hurling lightning bolts on the night Alexander was born to celebrate the birth of his half-human, half-god son.”

  “Is Alexander still prattling on about being of divine origin?” remarked Klemes. “I doubt this fire was sent from the heavens. More likely some madman or someone whose prayers were not answered....”

  “Or the answer he got was 'no,'” interjected Ari.

  “Either way,” remarked Dimitrios, “I am sure that arsonist is in Hades, probably suffering from a different kind of fire, if there is any justice in religion, anyway. Besides, you can see they are working at repairing that damage – and adding on to the temple. So what I said still holds. There must be something to this goddess.”

  “Well, since we are not asking for help making babies then what is it that we need from the goddess of the hunt,” said Klemes. “After all, what or who is it that we are hunting, Dimitrios?”

  16

  Ephesos

  The Palestra

  With its magnificent temple, vast marketplaces and immense harbor, Ephesos was the brightest star in the glittering constellation of Greek colonies that bejeweled the shores of the Aegean Sea. As it was a gateway for people and trade coming into or exiting Asia Minor, so was Ephesos also a conduit for news and information about what was happening in the world, and especially events of importance playing out in the cities of Greece and the Persian Empire. The wealth of information, however, was in itself a problem, for rumor and gossip too often contradicted, confused and suborned the truth. Among the best places to gather, sift through and corroborate that information were, as in all cities, the bathhouses and taverns.

  Finding the taverns where those who truly knew what they were talking about as opposed to just spewing forth their opinions or speculations, however, was the real challenge. Men in their cups rarely told tales without bias, while those seeking someone to stand them a drink would say whatever they thought their patron wanted to hear. While Dimitrios made his way from tavern to tavern where, with his knowledge of the wine trade, he could hob-knob with the wealthier and more worldly merchants and tavern keepers, Klemes and Aristophanes made the rounds of the best bathhouses.

  “My teachers claimed that water has many healing properties,” Klemes told his young friend as they strolled down Curetes Way, from the Gate of Hercules toward the center of the city.

  “Didn't do much for Agamemnon, thought, did it,” joked Aristophanes.

  “That he was murdered in his bath by his wife upon returning home from Troy in no way diminishes, let alone contradicts, what I was talking about, Ari. Remember, Odysseus is said to have bathed frequently while a guest of Calypso, and the last thing he did before leaving her island was to bathe.”

  “It is not bathing I object to, Klemes. It is bathing in public, especially in my condition.”

  “Ari, you have nothing to be ashamed about. You are a strong, fine-looking young man. Your scars were won in honorable battle, and just because you need assistance with your ablutions...”

  “But in the palestra with its wrestlers, and the adjacent gymnasium with all those athletes and others showing off their muscles and talents at sport...”

  “As you once did, if what Dimitrios told me is true, and as I am sure you will again, once you have healed properly.”

  “But will I? Will I ever heal 'properly,' as you put it? Back in Thebes you said I would never again be able to stand in the phalanx or march...”

  “Yes,” nodded the physician, “and, sadly, I still believe that. But I also said you might someday be able to ride a horse, and that you could do many other things besides being a soldier. You also have a brain – and a healthy and a smart one at that, young man. You can read and write and do your numbers, and you know at least a little of the sciences, thanks to that father of yours. Any fool can bear a shield, wield a spear and get himself killed. That's my brother's game, but it does not have to be yours. Ah, here we are,” said Klemes, who had kept the conversation going as Ari hobbled down the stone street. “Now see, you did that long walk all by yourself, with only a walking stick to help keep you steady. You are getting better, Ari, and will continue to do so, if you let yourself, that is. Now, let us go inside. We have work to do.”

  The “work” to which Klemes referred was to discover, as Dimitrios was trying to find out in the taverns, if there were any mercenary companies recruiting or expected to be passing through the city. One did not simply just set up a stall in the agora and call for men to take up arms, as Dimitrios had explained, and to walk into the citadel and ask its commander would not do either. That could get one escorted from the city, thrown in jail or impressed into the garrison, none of which were what Dimitrios, Ari and Klemes had in mind when they braved the seas to reach Asia. Mercenaries were a type that most people and cities knew of and needed, but of which they were also suspicious, and as history had shown too often, with good reason. Even finding a mercenary company that was enlisting would not be enough; it had to be the right company, a gathering of professional soldiers who would fight not just for pay but for honor. Even better would be one that also had a cause to fight for.

  “Exiles dine on dreams,” Dimitrios had explained to Klemes and Ari. “We just need to find some fellow exiles who share our dreams of standing up to Alexander.”

  “And of revenge. Don't forget about that,” Aristophanes had reminded his friend and the physician at the time they had that discussion. “We have 30,000 dead and enslaved Thebans whose souls cry out for justice against that murdering monster.”

  As they entered the palestra, Klemes and Aristophanes were impressed by the number of wrestlers practicing their sport. The gymnasium alongside was also packed with young men hard at work at their exercises. That the clientele was drawn from the best families was even more evident from the public bath which served the wrestling school and the sporting arena. Its size, beauty and cleanliness also spoke of the wealth of this patrons.

  There were several similar complexes in Ephesos, but this particular public bath
was very popular among the city's more exclusive athletic clubs, as Dimitrios had learned while scouting the taverns. Where such men congregated, Dimitrios had explained to Klemes, there were certain to be those who knew something of war. It was in this environment they might learn of preparations being made to fight the war that Alexander's advance forces had already begun up north.

  With his leg not yet completely healed, Ari dared not ask to participate in a wrestling match and could not physically join those running around the track. There were other ways to stretch his muscles, of course, and once Ari had disrobed and begun his exercises, he saw that several of the other men also bore scars, some of which, he imagined, had been gained on the field of battle.

  While Ari joined in and began to mingle with his fellow athletes, Klemes sought out the areas where older men, all modestly clothed rather than nude like the athletes, were discussing matters of the mind, rather than of the body. He moved about on the fringes of each of several of these groups. As he was disinclined to argue philosophy and even less interested in debating the merits of one poet or dramatist versus another, Klemes moved on from one to the next, until he overheard one man speaking about the merits of gymnastic exercises in regards to keeping the mind and body healthy.