The Lost Army

by Valerio Massimo Manfredi

  ‘They’ll never go,’ said one. ‘We’ll never be rid of them.’

  ‘Then let’s wait here for them and get this over with once and for all,’ replied another.

  ‘They won’t come to us. They’ll stay up high so they can strike at a distant, roll boulders down on us, stage ambushes. They’ve learned their lesson: they hit and run, we can’t get a hook into them.’

  ‘Look! What’s happening over there?’ shouted a third.

  Many of the soldiers were rushing to the ridge where the officers on horseback had paused to watch something that was happening in front of them. I ran in the same direction, holding a jug as if I wanted to fill it in the torrent. What I saw when I reached the ridge made my heart stop beating: there was a river that crossed the valley from west to east; the torrent running alongside our camp merely flowed into it. On the other side of the river an entire army was drawn up!

  And these were not coarsely garbed shepherds. They were warriors wearing heavy armour, infantry and cavalrymen with leather cuirasses and leggings, and conical helmets with black and gold horsehair plumes.

  There were thousands of them.

  Their massive steeds pawed the ground, snorting clouds of steam from their nostrils.

  We were trapped. Caught between the mountain and the raging river, with a horde of implacable warriors at our backs and a powerful army facing us on the opposite shore. They had arrived just in time to cut off our passage, while the Carduchi – who we’d fooled ourselves into thinking we’d left behind – were right at our heels, more numerous and warlike than ever. How was such a thing possible? Who could have coordinated two armies from two different and hostile nations with such precision? A thousand thoughts and disturbing suspicions flooded my mind at once, and I was gripped at the same time by a feeling even more distressing than simple helplessness: even if our commanders were thinking the same thoughts as I was, there was no way out of this. No amount of planning or plotting would help. Only the gods – if they existed and if they cared about us – could release us from the plight that we found ourselves in.

  I could overhear two of the officers on horseback, not far from me. Their cloaks were whipped by the wind, bright red against the muddy sky. They were scowling. Their words seemed no different from my thoughts.

  ‘This time there’s nothing we can do. It’s over.’

  ‘Don’t say that! Do you want to jinx us? Who are those jokers anyway? They’re not Persians, but they’re not Medes or Assyrians either.’

  ‘They’re Armenians.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘The battalion commander said so.’

  ‘Our weapons are better, and heavier.’

  ‘But we have the Carduchi behind us. They’re willing to fight down to their last man.’

  ‘So are we.’

  ‘Right. So are we.’

  Timas arrived at a gallop.

  ‘What shall we do, Commander?’ asked the first of the two officers.

  ‘It’s not as bad as it seems.’

  ‘It’s not?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Who says?’

  ‘Commander Chirisophus.’

  ‘Who has a certain sense of humour, that’s what everyone says.’

  ‘What’s more, he’s a Spartan. They’re good at desperate situations. I’m not so optimistic.’

  ‘Nor am I,’ chimed in the other officer.

  ‘Wait, listen to me,’ said Timas. ‘The Carduchi know that if they try to come down from those mountains we’ll chop them to pieces. Actually, that’s exactly what we’d like them to do: just let them try, and we’ll finally be done with all their endless harassment. The valley is so wide here that they won’t be able to roll any of their stones down on us. But then there are those over there. They’re our real problem.’

  ‘What about the river? I’d say that’s a problem as well.’

  ‘True,’ replied Timas. ‘The council has decided that the only way to go is to ford the river, attack them and force them into a rout before the Carduchi decide to come down. When we’ve got a river between us the savages won’t be able to bother us any longer.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Now. We have breakfast and then we attack. We’ll need every bit of strength we’ve got.’

  Timas turned his horse and headed back towards camp. The bugle sounded to call the men to eat.

  ‘Right. So we have some breakfast, cross to the other side, cut them to pieces, then go on our way,’ mused the first officer. ‘What’ll it take? Sounds easy. But wait, how deep is the water?’

  ‘Let’s see,’ replied the second. He got off his horse and walked towards the river. The other followed and covered him with his shield as they advanced towards the middle of the current. The Armenians kept their distance and didn’t seem interested in what they were doing at all. Perhaps they already knew why.

  I instantly imagined why myself. ‘Careful!’ I cried out, at the very moment when the first of the two lost his footing and was carried off by the current. The second tried to grab him, but he slipped as well, and I saw them floundering in the swirling waves, trying desperately to grab onto any handhold. The horses whinnied, pawed the ground and flew off down the river bank with their reins dangling between their legs, following their masters.

  I started to shout, ‘Help them! Over there, in that direction!’ Some of the soldiers realized what had happened and galloped at breakneck speed along the bank, but they soon drew up short. They had to give up, powerless to still the hand of fate.

  SOPHOS WAS SERIOUS about his intentions. As soon as they’d had breakfast the army drew up and formed ranks behind a front about fifty men long. They marched rapidly towards the river. A few remained behind to protect the camp and to guard from an attack from the rear by the Carduchi, who were still shouting and sounding their war horns. They seemed to be increasing in number.

  Some of the men must have warned Sophos about the river after what had happened, but evidently there was no alternative plan and the army pushed forward. The head of the column entered the water, but the stones that covered the bottom were slick with algae and it was hard to keep their footing. They tried helping each other across, but they were not midway when the water had reached their chests, and the current was so strong that it became nearly impossible to hold onto their shields. Some of the men lifted them above their heads, but the Armenians immediately let fly with a volley of arrows and they had to lower them to protect their chests and stomachs. I watched wide-eyed as the army battled the river, but it was a losing fight. The violence of the swirling current was overpowering and the water was freezing cold. The trumpet soon sounded retreat and our men turned back, dragging the wounded behind them and calling out loudly for the surgeons.

  We were trapped. All the enemy had to do was wait. The Carduchi began a slow descent. The Armenians held their ground.

  Sophos sent units of peltasts, slingsmen and Cretan archers to stave off the Carduchi.

  Nothing else happened that day but you could feel a sense of impotence – if not despair – weighing heavily on the camp.

  Another night fell.

  At least Lystra would be able to rest and regain some strength. But where had Melissa gone? I couldn’t find her anywhere, although, towards evening, there were plenty of the young prostitutes accompanying the soldiers hand in hand to their tents. The warriors knew what was coming, and if this was going to be their last night on earth, it would be a night of pleasure. Towards midnight a group of Thessalians and Arcadians gathered around the campfire and after having eaten, began to sing.

  They were Menon’s men. Their voices were deep and powerful, and they called up the valleys and mountains of their homeland. I couldn’t understand all the words, but the harmony was so intense and heartbreaking that I felt tears coming to my eyes. Their song grew in intensity until all of their voices met in a single, thundering note, joining for a moment with the solitary cry of the bugle. They fell still, but their song
echoed up the mountains with such force that I thought it would awaken the very cliffs from their rocky slumber. It was only when I got closer to the crackling flame and could see the faces of the soldiers in the red glow that I realized that their last note had been a call to the Underworld, raised with such power that he could hear it. Commander Menon, from the world of the dead.

  I wandered around the camp with my head covered and listened to scraps of conversation, words overlapping other words, men groaning, calling, coughing. The voice of the army, the voice that from a distance sounded united and discordant, harmonious and clashing at the same time, broken down into the human and animals sounds that composed it. They cursed and swore, but their voices spoke of memory, of suffocated ire, of fear and melancholy. Mixed with animal sounds and the low panting of bodies clutched in the orgasm of a love that was beginning to feel like death.

  I went back to my tent but it was still empty. Xeno kept vigil with the other chiefs as they racked their brains for a solution, even now that no solution was imaginable. The long march of indomitable warriors seemed to have reached an end.

  When he came back, Xeno was scowling and depressed. From the few words he offered in explanation, I understood that Sophos seemed ready for a glorious death for himself and his men.

  ‘But you have to give them the hope of victory! Not only the hope, the certainty that they will win. You’re our commander, by Hercules!’ Xeno had protested.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Sophos had replied. ‘That’s what I’ll do.’

  None of the generals had any doubt that they were heading for death, not for victory.

  Xeno curled up on his mat, silently awaiting sleep. I sat outside, sitting on a stone and thinking.

  I thought, for an instant, that I’d seen, behind the trees, a white something fluttering, the ghost of a vague, fleeting figure, then nothing. The dead were coming to get us . . .

  And yet, in the meantime, the unforeseeable happened.

  As I LEARNED LATER, the two officers – one was called Epicrates, the other Archagoras, and both had been among the men who had seized the first hill at the pass – had struggled hard against the whirlpools and vortices created by the fast-flowing current that tried to drag them under. At every bend in the river, there were huge boulders that parted the eddying waters and created even more turbulence. They had tried again and again to grab hold of each other, but the force of the current parted them every time. They sank deeper as the weight of their armour dragged them down; in no time their thick linen tunics would be completely soaked through, and there would be no hope. Tossed by the current right and left, they kept on colliding with boulders, stones, rocky outcrops, and were tormented by sharp stabs of pain and by cramps. The chill of the water penetrated deep into their bones and it became harder and harder to draw a breath.

  All at once, when they were so exhausted they were about to surrender to the deadly embrace of the water, Archagoras spotted a trunk which had fallen into the river. It was a huge oak that was still rooted in the bank, but the water had gnawed at the roots until it seemed ready to carry off the felled giant. Archagoras headed that way with the last of his strength and managed to grab hold. He instantly felt something tugging at his foot: it was Epicrates, his comrade, who had also spotted their chance for salvation and was determined not to let it slip.

  His weight nearly tore the first man from the trunk. Realizing what was at stake, Archagoras held on even tighter to allow the other to pull himself up along his body; Epicrates caught hold of his belt, worked up to his shoulders and finally got his own hold on the trunk. They helped each other to climb onto the bank.

  The moment they were on land they heard a huge cracking sound as the oak broke free of its roots and was carried off in the roiling foam. They rested just long enough to catch their breath, then began to make their way upriver along the rugged bank so they could reach camp before the rest of the army gave up on them and moved on.

  Once again, exhausted and on their own in a hostile land, they had to win a fight against time. They marched on, gritting their teeth and ignoring the pain from the cuts and bruises they’d suffered from collisions with rocks on their long ride down the rapids. They marched on, overcoming muscle cramps and pangs of hunger. The stiff wind froze their wet clothes to their bodies. And yet their limbs refused to be paralysed, and somehow obeyed their staunch resolution to push on and reach their comrades.

  The grey dawn finally lightened the mountains and the forests all around them. They could still hear the voice of the river raging from the bottom of the rocky gully at their feet. Archagoras and Epicrates leaned over to take a look and noticed that there was a point where the river narrowed, generating the gushing noise they were listening to, but that further upstream, the river bed widened into a broad pool where the water seemed quite calm; only at the middle was the current very fast. The ebbing waters had formed a deposit of sand and gravel which slowed the river’s flow at the widest point between the two banks.

  As they were resting, they saw an old man, a woman and two children on the other side, entering a cave overhung by a rocky spike. They seemed to be hiding bundles that perhaps contained their meagre belongings.

  ‘If they can get across, so can we,’ said Archagoras.

  ‘Let’s try,’ Epicrates replied. They climbed down towards the bank, removed their armour, belts and swords, and lowered themselves into the water, each armed only with a dagger. The bottom was covered with sand and very fine gravel, and when they were at the middle, the water did not even reach their hips.

  ‘Do you know what this means?’ said Archagoras.

  ‘It means we’ve found the ford. The army can get across and attack the Armenians from the rear.’

  ‘Right. Let’s hurry to catch up with the others before they do something crazy.’

  They crossed back to the shore and after donning their armour, made their way towards a hill that rose a short way off, covered by an oak forest. A path had been created by the passage of shepherds and their flocks, and the two officers followed it to the top of the hill, from where they could see the camp, as well as the entire valley crossed by the torrent. They could see that the army had drawn up in a column formation in full battle gear and were making their second attempt to cross the river and attack the Armenians, while the Carduchi were descending the hill behind them to attack from behind. Archagoras started to yell, ‘Stop! Stop!’

  ‘Shut up, they can’t hear you. Let’s try to reach them. Come on now, hurry!’ replied Epicrates. He started down at a run, but no sooner had he taken off than an enormous bear emerged from the forest and blocked his way.

  ‘Get out of here, damn you!’ he shouted, trying to scare him off with a stick, but the bear became even more aggressive and he had to draw his sword to try to ward him off. The animal growled menacingly and opened his mouth wide, showing off his enormous fangs. He was standing on his hind legs, unsheathing his powerful claws. Epicrates tried to slip away to one side, but the beast was quicker than he was and bore down upon him. Archagoras shouted, ‘Wait, stop. Back this way! Turn back!’ But Epicrates could see his comrades down on the plain facing a deadly duel with the river and the enemies, and the last thing he wanted to do was turn back. A moment before the bear charged with all his might, Archagoras’s hands grabbed him and threw him to the ground.

  ‘What are you doing?’ he cried out, jumping back to his feet, but he realized at once what had happened. The bear had calmed down, and was crossing the path in the direction of the river.

  It was a she-bear and her cubs were playing on the brink of the ravine. She collected them and carried them placidly back into the woods.

  Epicrates caught his breath. ‘How did you . . .’

  ‘I saw the cubs and I understood,’ replied Archagoras. ‘I’m Arcadian, remember? I’ve been around bears since I was a child. The first rule is: if you put yourself between a cub and his mother, you’re dead. Thank heavens I saw them and knocked you out of her way
. Ready, then? Up for a run?’

  They raced down the hill at breakneck speed.

  Two SENTRIES posted along the river spotted a couple of men approaching at a run.

  ‘Stop!’ they shouted. ‘Or you’re dead!’ As one of them headed out towards the intruders, the other hefted his spear, ready to throw.

  ‘Idiot, don’t you recognize me?’ they heard.

  ‘Commander Archagoras . . . Commander Epicrates . . .’

  ‘Run to Commander Sophos, hurry. Tell him we’ve found the ford. Look sharp, we’re exhausted.’

  The two youths ran swiftly as athletes, continuously overtaking each other. Archagoras and Epicrates slumped to the ground, completely done in.

  The column was halted the moment before it plunged into the river.

  Archagoras and Epicrates were taken to Sophos’s tent. The war council was reconvened, only a few hours after they’d taken what they thought would be their last decision, to hear what the two officers had to say. Xeno’s new friend, Lycius of Syracuse, was present as well; he was in charge of the small cavalry group that had been formed after the wagons were abandoned.

  A detachment of two thousand men were sent to confront the Carduchi, who were taken by surprise and withdrew. The others remained in formation along the river bank.

  ‘The trunk of a tree that had been uprooted by some storm had fallen into the river,’ began Archagoras, ‘and I managed to seize hold of one of the branches. Epicrates, who you see here by my side, grabbed onto my right leg and in the end we both managed to hoist ourselves onto the trunk. It was a miracle: we were frozen and close to giving up.’

  ‘We climbed up to the bank,’ continued the other, ‘and set off right away. The current was so fast that it had dragged us downriver for stadia and stadia. We didn’t want you to leave us behind . . .’

  ‘. . . or to miss the party if you’d decided to attack,’ the first joined in.

  ‘Right,’ Epicrates continued, ‘but it wasn’t until the sun rose that we realized where we were: at less than an hour’s march from the camp. We were still trying to get our bearings when we heard some voices and hid. It was a couple of old people with two children who had just crossed the river and were on the other side.