Then we crossed another river that coursed over a vast high plain strewn with many villages. Here messengers reached us, sent by the Persian governor, saying that he had hired interpreters and wanted to speak with our commanders.
As soon as Xeno told me, I begged him not to go, but he just smiled. ‘You really think we’re so stupid? Don’t you think we’ve learned our lesson? Rest easy that we won’t let anything happen this time.’
And so the entire army went to the meeting, because the vast plain allowed it. Drawn up as in the days of Clearchus’s command: in five rows behind a front two thousand paces long, in full battle gear, shields polished to a high sheen, crested helmets, greaves gleaming, the points of their spears seeming to pierce the sky.
Sophos, Xanthi, Timas, Cleanor and Agasias, on horseback, within calling distance of each other. Sophos slightly in front of the other four.
Ten paces behind them, in the spaces between them, were Xeno, Lycius, Archagoras, Aristonymus . . . and Neon.
Behind them, a small cavalry division, no less impressive than their commanders.
Facing them was a large contingent of Armenian troops, perhaps even those we had fought at the Centrites. At their head was the satrap, Tiribazus, in command of a magnificent cavalry squadron. His black beard was carefully curled and he wore a soft mitre on his head and a golden sword at his side.
The interpreter came forward. He spoke perfect Greek, a sign that he came from one of the cities on the shore of the northern sea. It must not be so distant, I thought hopefully.
‘I speak in the name of Tiribazus,’ he said, ‘satrap of Armenia and the eye of the Great King. He is the man who lifts the Great King to his horse. Tiribazus wishes to tell you this: do not burn the villages, do not burn the houses, take only the food that you need and we will allow you to pass. You will not suffer further attacks.’
Sophos turned to consult his senior officers. He did not speak, but shot an inquiring glance to each of his men in turn. Each one of them gave a nod, and Sophos turned back towards the interpreter. ‘You will tell Tiribazus, satrap of Armenia, eye of the Great King and his personal attendant, that his proposal is agreeable to us and we mean to stay true to our pledge. He will have nothing to fear from us, but should he fail to respect our pact, he should take a good look at the men lined up here and remember that all of those who have attacked them have suffered a harsh punishment at their hands.’
The interpreter nodded and made a bow, then went to report to the satrap. He soon gave another nod to indicate that the agreement was valid, and the Greek army made a perfectly synchronized wheel to the right to face north. The Armenians did not make a move, but later the scouts told us that they were following us at a distance of about ten stadia. They evidently didn’t trust us.
We proceeded in this way for several days, climbing higher and higher with the Armenians still at our backs. One morning I woke up at dawn and the vista that opened before my eyes was spectacularly beautiful. The mountainous landscape stretched out all around me as far as the eye could see, but looming over the infinite ridges and peaks were three or four snowy white summits which stood out against the intensely blue sky. For a brief moment they were struck by the light of the sun and they lit up like crystals, like precious gems, sparkling over the vast mountain chain still immersed in darkness.
They shone with a rosy colour, so intense and clear that they seemed to be made of some heavenly substance unknown on earth. Titanic jewels carved by the hands of the gods! I noticed that there was also a group of young warriors contemplating the spectacle with the same wonder and admiration. Xeno was still sleeping, exhausted by the strain of ensuring safe conditions for the army’s onward journey. The solitary gems of the land of Armenia would not make their way into his diary, into the dense, regular script that filled his scroll, which was becoming more voluminous day by day.
When he awoke I pointed them out to him, but the magic had vanished. He told me, ‘They’re simply mountains covered with ice. We have some in Greece as well: Olympus, Parnassus, Pelion and Ossa. But they’re certainly not as high as these. The ice reflects the light as only a precious stone can. You might see it happen, if you’re lucky.’ But his tone held no enthusiasm or expectation.
One evening we arrived at a group of villages clustered around a large palace. Each one of the villages had been built on a rise, with thatched-roof houses made of stone. A wisp of white smoke rose from each of the chimney tops. The setting sun accentuated the smoke rising dense through the cold air, and made it take on a pink glow. There were hundreds of houses, scattered over a dozen little hills on the high plain. There was no sign of life coming from the palace.
The soldiers moved in to find shelter in all those houses and they found them full of every kind of treat: wheat, barley, almonds, nuts, raisins, aged wine that was strong and sweet, salted or smoked mutton, beef and goats’ meat. It was a land of plenty.
I stayed with Xeno and his servants in a thick-walled building standing at the edge of the first hill we’d encountered. It was obviously used for storage and drying meat, but it was cosy and Xeno preferred it because it had a hearth and we didn’t have to share it with anyone else.
I lit a fire and cooked our dinner. I’ll never forget the sense of comfort, rest and tranquillity that I got from that simple dinner next to the man I loved in such a marvellous land. I had never imagined that such a magical place could exist. And then . . .
It snowed!
I had never seen it and I didn’t know what it was. The merchants who crossed Mount Taurus in the winter had often described it to us when we were children, but there was nothing that could have prepared me for what I was seeing with my own eyes. I had opened the door and my surprise was so great that I was struck dumb. The reflection of the flames in the hearth radiated outside and revealed an apparition of astonishing beauty: the manifestation of the greatness of nature and of the gods who inhabit this world and take on changing forms with the passage of the seasons.
Innumerable flakes of white fell from the sky in a soft, gentle dance, swirling through the air and alighting on the ground, which grew whiter and whiter with every passing instant. A light, downy carpet like the fleece of a newborn lamb. The smoke rising into the night sky from the chimneys in all the other houses seemed alive with the spirit of the flames inside. The snow, which was falling thicker and faster now, even took on a reddish cast as it tumbled in front of the smoke, before returning to its immaculate white nature. If filled me with a sense of dazed wonder, so deep and so vibrant that I can’t describe it and I can’t even recall it properly.
Even though it was night there was a barely perceptible light in the air – a soft, diffuse, omnipresent light, free of shadows – which would let you walk without losing your way, distinguishing each shape, each presence. It was the white flakes that had imprisoned the light inside and radiated it outwards from the ground and the sky.
I don’t know why, but I found myself thinking that only Menon’s immaculate cloak could blend into that whiteness, leaving no sign of his passage but his silent, empty footsteps. Footsteps that I could see . . . or couldn’t see, had perhaps only imagined.
I could hear a dog barking; the howling of his wild brother answered him from the forests on the mountainsides, which had been transformed into slumbering white giants. I could hear the voices of our soldiers, the sentries calling out to each other, and then nothing.
The whole world was white, both earth and sky, and everything was swallowed up into that immeasurable silence.
I slept deeply, next to the burning fire. Xeno had found a big log that burned all night long, filling the room with a mild, agreeable warmth. Maybe it was the quiet and the soft, comforting atmosphere that helped me sleep, maybe it was knowing that I’d done the right thing when I chose to run off with Xeno. I’d lived intensely, seen enchanted landscapes and visions out of a dream. I’d experienced violence and delirium along with moments of aching sweetness.
Xeno
was warm, too, next to me, and I could feel him moving now and then. Once he opened his eyes and his hand sought the hilt of his sword before his body relaxed again and drifted back into sleep. Outside under an awning, his horse Halys let his presence be known with snorts and soft neighing or by dragging his hoofs over the frozen soil. He was a proud, powerful animal, and he’d often saved Xeno from mortal danger. I loved him too, and in the middle of the night I brought him a blanket to protect him from the chill. He rubbed his snout against my shoulder: that was his way of thanking me.
The next morning we were awakened by an incredible din outside and Xeno rushed out with his sword in hand, but it was a false alarm. Our men were outside playing like children in the snow: they were tossing it at each other, burying their comrades in it, pressing it between their hands into balls which they threw or fired from their slings.
The inhabitants of the village had come out of their houses as well, and they watched smiling as the warriors come from afar amused themselves in such an inoffensive way. Some of their own children joined the fun before their parents could stop them.
The sun was shining, just coming up over the vast snowy expanse and setting off a magic sparkling effect all over the white mantle, as if it were full of diamonds or rock crystals. At the horizon I could see in the distance, at three separate points, the lofty peaks struck by the rising sun, turning them red as rubies. I wondered what they would be like when we’d got far enough to see them up close. Then all at once the air was full of cries of alarm and despair. Some of the houses had caught fire.
Sophos seemed furious and ordered the men to put out the fires immediately. A score of them ran over with buckets and shovels to throw snow on the houses because the water had frozen. It was futile: they had roofs of wood and thatch, and were burned to ash in no time. The blackened ruins that remained were an insult to the blinding white of the village. The people who had lived in those houses were huddled together, and weeping.
Sophos had the assembly sounded and the men drew up on a level clearing outside the village.
‘Who set those houses on fire?’ he demanded.
‘They just caught fire,’ mumbled some.
‘All of them? Fine. If those responsible for this act of bravado come forward and confess, they’ll get off with a punishment. But if I have to find them out, and I will find them, I shall apply the maximum penalty: they will be executed. We have a pact with the Persians: they allow us to pass through, we do not burn their villages. Whoever was playing with fire today has jeopardized the lives of all his comrades.’
About twenty soldiers, heads hanging, took a step forward. One by one.
‘Why?’ asked Sophos.
‘We thought we’d be leaving today.’
‘And so you thought nothing of depriving these people of a roof at the height of the winter.’
No one said a word.
‘All right. You’ve acted like idiots and you will have to learn at your own expense what it means to be without a roof in the winter. Tonight you’ll sleep in the open, outside the perimeter guarded by the sentries. If you don’t survive, all the better: I’ll be free of a bunch of idiots. But first you’ll help the inhabitants of the houses you’ve burned to repair the roofs and to put in new windows and doors.’
The men obeyed. When night fell they were escorted outside the watch circle and abandoned there, with a dagger, a cloak and a shield as their only means of survival.
21
I FELT BADLY FOR THEM.
They had been irresponsible and stupid. They had burned down the houses of poor people who had never done them any harm. But wasn’t it normal to have twenty dolts in a group of ten thousand?
After all, they hadn’t killed anyone. And they risked paying for their bluster with their lives.
‘If it stays clear, they’ll die,’ said Xeno.
‘Why?’
‘Otherwise they’ll be killed by the enemy when they realize they’re outside our sentry ring.’
‘But why should a cloudless sky kill them?’
‘Because heat escapes upwards: if there are clouds, they keep it down. It’s like having a roof over your head.’
‘Does Sophos’s order hold for everyone?’
‘It does for you.’
‘But I’m not a soldier.’
‘That doesn’t change anything. Chirisophus’s orders hold for everyone. He is the high commander, and what’s more, they deserve this. It’s right that they experience for themselves what it means not to have a roof in a land like this, in this season, at night.’
I tried to think of a way to carry out some blankets, but Xeno warned me not to do it. I settled into a chair by the window and every now and then I’d check the sky: I could see clouds drifting in from the west, but they were still very far away. If they didn’t get here in time to cover the sky, those boys out there would be dead.
Xeno told me a story, one of those that they act out in their theatres. The story of a girl like me who disobeyed the orders of the king of her city out of the pity she felt for two young men: her brothers.
‘The king of an ancient city of my land, called Thebes, had decided to leave his kingdom to his two sons, but he made them swear a pact. They would share the rule of the city by governing one year at a time, alternating with each other. At the end of the first year, the son who had been in charge would leave the city, and the other would enter and reign for that year. Unfortunately, their thirst for power won out, and when Polynices showed up to take his turn, the other, Eteocles, refused to leave the city. So Polynices contracted an alliance with six kings and laid siege to Thebes.
‘The warriors on both sides fought furiously, stoked by implacable hate. The two brothers finally decided to face off in a duel, but their fight to the death left no victor. Both brothers died from their wounds.
‘Their successor, whose name was Creon, decreed that the bodies should be left unburied, as a warning for anyone who went against blood ties or broke the faith of a sworn promise.
‘The two brothers had a sister named Antigone, who was betrothed to Creon’s son. She chose not to heed the will of the king, who had threatened to execute anyone who defied him. Antigone gave her brothers a ritual burial by tossing a few handfuls of dust onto their bodies. She was surprised by the king’s guard and was brought to justice. Antigone proclaimed herself innocent, claiming that there was a higher law than that of the king and the government: the law of the heart, of pity for the dead, no matter how heinous a crime they had been guilty of. Every person had a moral obligation to provide funeral rites for his relatives: a law of the soul and the conscience, superior to any law established by man.’
As Xeno told me the story of Antigone, time had passed without my realizing it, and when I turned to the window I could see that the snow was falling thickly. The sky was white and every trace of human presence had been cancelled. The magical vision that enchanted me so – who could ever have imagined amidst the dust of Beth Qadà that a similar miracle could exist! – those marvellous white flakes, millions of icy butterflies suspended in a dance of love before surrendering to the light foamy blanket on the ground, did not let me forget that nature is always cruel, and that what for me was enchanting – sitting here by the warmth of the fire – could be deadly for others.
‘So how did the story end up?’ I asked, as if awakening from a dream.
‘Badly,’ replied Xeno. ‘A long chain of deaths. So don’t go getting any strange ideas. Sleep now. I’m going to inspect the guard corps.’
But I’d already made up my mind and Xeno’s story only convinced me further – why else would he have told it to me? I would take fleeces and goatskins to those stupid boys out there in the snow protected only by their cloaks. But as I was gathering them up, a trumpet blare tore through the still atmosphere with a long alarm call. I dropped the skins and went outside. There were big fires burning on the mountains all around us, huge blazes shooting out red flares that formed a tremulous red hal
o in the falling snow.
The warriors left the houses they had occupied, armed and wearing their cloaks. Sophos and his commanders addressed the soldiers. ‘It’s too dangerous to lodge separately in small groups. They could surprise us in our sleep under the cover of night and massacre us in silence. We’ll spend the night all together at the centre of the main village, armed and ready for combat! Anyone found hiding inside a house will be thrown out of the camp with only a cloak and a dagger.’
And so it was. The men scattered straw taken from the haylofts over the ground and lay down all together. Only the women remained in the houses. I joined Lystra, who I’d found cover for in a barn, where the body heat of the animals would protect her from the frost.
It snowed all night, and next morning we woke up to a thick white layer covering the ground. Our men were sluggish and sore, but the hay, straw and raw wool cloaks had protected them through the long night.
The twenty men who had been driven outside the ring of sentries seemed to have disappeared. Those idiots must have wandered off in search of shelter and got themselves killed.
‘So much the worse for them,’ observed Xeno. ‘They should have thought about it beforehand.’ But he hadn’t even finished speaking when the blanket of snow erupted at various spots and the twenty warriors arose like spectres from the Underworld.
‘Will you look at those bastards!’ exclaimed Xeno. They’d survived by propping up their shields with dried branches and covering them with their cloaks, thus creating tiny but effective shelters that preserved their body heat. Curled up beneath their shields, they were protected from the cold all night long.
Xeno burst out laughing and the others had a chuckle as well at seeing their comrades returning unscathed to their units.
The Lost Army Page 27