The Road to Sparta

by Dean Karnazes

  Now the Greeks were in trouble. The most prudent strategy in the face of this new Persian ploy would have been for General Miltiades and his army to immediately retreat to Athens to defend the city from this vantage point, as the Spartans were soon to arrive and could join the fight. Only, the Spartans weren’t soon to arrive. Knowing this crucial piece of information changed everything.

  Had Pheidippides not arrived in Marathon and delivered his news about the delayed Spartan departure, the Greeks would have retreated back to Athens only to wait in vain for the no-show Spartans, and without Spartan reinforcements the Athenians would have been hung out to dry, for alone they posed no match against this new, doubled-pronged Persian attack. Pheidippides saved the day. His message about the Spartan delay proved essential in averting what would have been certain catastrophe.

  If returning to Athens in the absence of Spartan reinforcements was not a viable option, then what was the right thing to do? After great thought, General Miltiades decided that the Athenians would wake early the next morning and attack the current Persian position before they awoke and had time to set sail. It was the best thing to do given all of the dynamics at play. He gathered his troops around for a late-night briefing and explained to them that they were going to slightly alter their normal battle approach given the uniqueness of the situation and the distinctive configuration of the battlefield. The Greeks fought with shields and long, thrusting spears. They usually lined up in a tight phalanx formation, each man locking shields with his neighbor to form a seamless yet malleable continuous sheet of armor not unlike the interconnected protective shell of an armadillo. Plutarch described the phalanx as looking like “some ferocious cornered creature, stiffening its bristles as it turns to face its foe.”

  The Athenian phalanx was typically eight lines deep, but in this instance General Miltiades decided to thin the middle to four lines deep and reinforce the flanks with these additional layers. He also explained that instead of marching, they would need to move much quicker in this formation. In fact, they would need to run at the enemy. This innovative battle approach was unprecedented; no one had ever dared to charge the Persians head-on before. Miltiades reminded his men that they were fighting not just for their own lives, but also for the lives of all Greeks. This was their land, and it was the toil of their hands and those of their ancestors that had built everything they were defending. The Persian military, on the other hand, were slaves to a tyrant. These were not free men, but prisoners to a ruler who controlled everything. There was no democracy in Persia, only institutionalized slavery. The Greeks had built something worth fighting for, something worth defending and dying for. To these brave Athenians readying for battle, the fight was personal.

  They rose early the next morning, before sunrise. A hearty stew of vegetables and barley was prepared for the morning meal. The Greeks readied themselves for battle, knowing that they would have to strike quickly and decisively, and that even then their odds of survival were small. I believe Pheidippides took up arms with the others.1

  In the predawn darkness they snuck quietly down from their position along the hilltops like a colony of army ants. When they approached the valley, they noted that the Persians had yet to wake. Once at the bottom of the downslope, they came onto a flat exposed plain about a mile long that stood between them and the Persian position. As soon as they stepped out onto this open field, they would be spotted, and so they held up and silently fell into formation while remaining concealed within the rocks and crevasses of the foothills.

  Slowly they began inching forward, shoulder upon shoulder. Farther along they crept, hoping to avoid detection for as long as possible. With about 1,000 meters separating the two forces, the Persian warning trumpets began blaring. The Greeks had been spotted. Seeing this, General Miltiades pointed at the Persians and roared, Κατά πάνω τους! (Charge at them!) The Greeks broke into a furious sprint, wildly screaming, “Eleleu! Eleleu!” to summon all their courage and strength for the ensuing confrontation.

  Soon a barrage of arrows was launched by the Persian archers with their Scythian bows. The Greeks held up their shields to deflect the incoming projectiles. Some of the men were hit and fell, but others moved up in the phalanx to fill the void. They continued charging full-sprint, unabated by the archers’ arrows.

  The shields and spears the Greeks carried have been estimated to weigh somewhere between 45 and 75 pounds. Referred to as an Argive shield, these bronzed convex disks were so sturdy they could withstand the blow of an ax, but they were also too heavy to be wielded using only a central clasp. Instead, the back of the shield employed a dual bracing system consisting of a porpax (metal armband) through which the left arm was placed up to the elbow, and an antilabe (hand grip) to hold onto. The Greeks developed massive forearms to efficiently control these nearly impenetrable blockades and to effectively utilize their long thrusting spears, which were 7 to 8 feet in length and which they held with their right hand. These spears had foot-long metal tips and were counterbalanced by a chunky bronze butt-spike that could double as a bludgeoning weapon should the spear be broken. As a final piece of weaponry, the Greek hoplites carried a stout slashing sword that was tethered to their waistband. This smaller sword could be used in tight quarters or in close-proximity fighting when their thrusting spears were too long.

  On top of all of this, these fighters wore heavy bronze Corinthian helmets, bulky armor breastplates, and greaves over their shins, covering from the ankle to the knees. Needless to say, charging for that distance with such weight on one’s arms and encumbrances strapped to one’s body is no easy task, but these men had trained assiduously to improve their endurance, strength, and stamina so that they could master such equipment. These were hoplites, and this is precisely the type of warfare they had prepared themselves for.

  The Greeks needed to continue this aggressive pace without slowing, for the closer they got to the Persian front line, the more ineffective the Persian archers became and the more difficult it became for them to deploy their cavalry into battle. The Persians thought the Greeks were insane to be charging without cavalry or archers, but they steadied to meet the offensive with confidence, knowing that they possessed vastly superior numbers. The Persian military had conquered empires in the past, and they relished their reputation of invincibility.

  The Greeks continued sprinting onward like stampeding wildebeests. They were scantily clad in loose-fitting tunics that allowed their legs full freedom of movement, and their muscles and armor gleamed in the morning sun. The Persians had never encountered such an untamed onslaught; this was not how traditional warfare was waged. Miltiades’s approach was entirely disruptive, and it threw the enemy off-kilter. The Persians were lightly equipped, wearing only long white pantsuits with interlocking leather quills and feathered caps meant more to intimidate the enemy than to provide legitimate protection of the head. The Persians stood there dumbstruck, looking like some strange avian species. All they carried for protection were insubstantial wicker shields and swords. But what they did possess was a superior quantity of fighters, and that was their advantage.

  Not pausing to contemplate this numeric imbalance, the Greeks continued charging relentlessly forward, the gleaming bronze shield of each man overlapping and protecting his neighbor, their phalanx line forming a continuous, interlocking wall of advancing armor. A hoplite warrior could be stripped of everything, but he would never give up his shield. The thrusting spear and slashing sword were offensive weapons, but the shield protected his neighbor, to which there was no greater honor. Until death, a hoplite would always defend his fellow fighter, and the shield was that sacred instrument by which this was done. It would never be dropped or lowered, so long as the heart continued to pump. Death before dishonor.

  Onward they charged, bracing for impact.

  When the Greeks crashed into the Persian front line, an explosion reverberated into the air that, it has been said, could be heard from miles away. Immediately the Persi
ans were pushed back as the Greeks fought like wild animals attacking their prey. The two armies employed very different battle tactics. The Persians relied heavily on their skilled archers to inflict heavy casualties from afar, and then the cavalry was released to finish the job. They had never before encountered such disorderly battle conduct. The Greeks moved like savage beasts, knowing that they must strike quickly and decisively if they were to stand any chance at all for survival. Their battle strategy relied on the discipline and resoluteness of each hoplite warrior remaining in formation so that the phalanx stayed intact and uniform; every man understood the importance of his place in preserving this uniformity during the charge, protecting his neighbor, and presenting an impenetrable wall to the enemy as they raced forward.

  For the first time the Persians found themselves overwhelmed. Now that the Greeks were so swiftly upon them, their archers were no longer effective. Despite their smaller numbers, the Greeks were powerful in battle, thrusting their spears and slashing with their swords, as they cut down the Persian front line. Men screamed and moaned, limbs were severed, and skin was pierced. Suddenly, the hunters had become the hunted. The Persians’ lightweight wicker shields provided little protection against the mighty thrusts of a Greek spear. It was a gruesome encounter, and the sights and smells were hellish. Warfare in those days was a visceral experience, the enemy lanced and dismembered at close quarters. Homer masterfully captures the raw savagery of ancient combat in this passage from The Iliad:

  At last the armies clashed at one strategic point, they slammed their shields together, pike scraped pike with the grappling strength of fighters armed in bronze and their round shields pounded, boss on wielded boss, and the sounds of struggle roared and rocked the earth. Screams of men and cries of triumph breaking in one breath, fighters killing, fighters killed, and the ground streamed blood.

  The Greeks viewed war as glorious hell. There was no higher honor, no greater deed than that of displaying courage in combat, yet there was also no denying the tragedy of death and the somber remorse for the fallen. The terror and gore were at once joyous and grotesque. Homer continues:

  With that he hurled and Athena drove the shaft and it split the archer’s nose between the eyes—it cracked his glistening teeth, the tough bronze cut off his tongue at the roots, smashed his jaw and the point came ripping out beneath his chin.

  The battle raged on. The Persians kept coming and getting cut down, their thick, black blood spilling onto the earth and darkening the soil. Still, more and more of their ranks poured forth hoping to eviscerate the Greeks. There were so many Persian infantrymen that no matter how many were stopped, others quickly appeared as replacements. The Greeks continued battling as fiercely as they could. Their advancement had choked off the exit-way for the Persian cavalry and prevented these mighty horsemen from entering the battlefield. Holding this position and keeping these skilled cavalrymen at bay was imperative to Greek success.

  They fought bravely against the never-ending procession of emerging combatants, but inevitably the Greek phalanx began to weaken at its center. As the Persians drove forward in the middle, the more heavily fortified hoplite flanks continued relentlessly driving the Persians backward on both the left and right sides. Sensing this weakness in the midpoint of the Greek line, the Persians poured more and more men into this enveloping gulf.

  The whole thing was a trap. As soon as sufficient numbers of Persian men had entered this balloon in the middle of the line, General Miltiades gave a command, and the outer wings of the Greek phalanx swung inward to outflank the Persians and attack from behind. The invaders were now completely encircled by the Greeks and being assailed from every direction. Complete panic and pandemonium broke out amongst the invaders; the god Pan was clearly living up to his promise and casting his wrath upon these intruders.

  General Miltiades had proven to be polymechanos (endlessly resourceful) and a brilliant tactician. The inventive battle plan he’d devised and choreographed was executed perfectly, and the surviving Persians turned and fled back to their vessels. The Greeks had emerged victorious.

  Well, sort of. There were still a number of niggling issues that needed to be dealt with. Chiefly, many of the Persian warships had already departed during the land battle and had made their way southward from Marathon, rounding Cape Sounion at the tip of Attica, and were speedily heading toward the Bay of Phaleron to launch their counterattack on Athens from the opposite coastline. The Greeks needed to expeditiously make their way over to this location to head them off. They were exhausted from the morning’s fight, but there was little time to spare. First, however, they needed to honor tradition.

  The process began by gathering discarded Persian war artifacts and piling them at the point on the battlefield where the enemy had been turned back. The word trophy comes from the Greek tropaion, which derives from trope (a turning). At the turning point in the battlefield this trophy of abandoned Persian weapons was assembled. A large pyramid-shaped mound of deserted Persian battle gear and armament was erected at this spot. The trophy was now complete.

  Next came the duty of tending to the fallen. Early Greeks placed great importance on proper care and honor for the deceased. By count, the Greeks had lost 192 men, compared to 6,400 fallen Persians. A large communal grave was constructed and the bodies of the deceased placed into this hallowed burial mound, called the Soros. It would be a lasting tribute to those Greeks who had sacrificed their lives at Marathon. The Soros remains visible to this very day.

  With all the necessary postwar duties fulfilled, it was now time to go for a run.

  * * *

  1 This is my own conjecture; there is no historical record stating whether Pheidippides fought in this battle or not.

  30

  ONE MORE RACE

  The sundial’s shadow was rotating farther with each passing moment. It was time for the Greeks to mobilize. The Bay of Phaleron, where the departed Persian fleet intended to come ashore, was some 25 miles away along a rolling coastal road. Despite unthinkable fatigue, the battle-weary Greeks needed to reach this location as swiftly as possible. Additionally, another critical task had to be carried out. Someone had to inform the citizens of Athens about the battle’s outcome.

  What I’m about to propose is controversial, and no small amount of debate has swirled about the subject over the past few millennia, but this is my story and I’m sticking to it. Truth is, the real story of Pheidippides’s final run will never be known. So permit me if you will, dear reader, a romantic departure from historical record to tell a concluding fictionalized version of what happened next to this venerated hemerodromos. We all have our fantasies, and this is mine.

  The Greeks had to dispatch a messenger to Athens to deliver news from the battle. The ideal candidate for this role would have been, you guessed it, none other than the greatest herald the world has ever known, Pheidippides. This isn’t just some fanciful delusion of mine, either. From an ultramarathoner’s perspective, it makes perfect sense. Think about it. The Athenians needed every able-bodied man they had to deploy with them up the coastline to meet the incoming Persian fleet. Of all the war-weary men, one might logically conjecture that Pheidippides was most exhausted of them all. Clearly, he was in deep pain. The others likely assumed that he would finally seek rest right there at Marathon, his mission at last complete. While they hustled up the coastline to head off the Persians, Pheidippides would stay behind and recover.

  But the valiant hemerodromos would have insisted otherwise. Pheidippides was not done yet. He knew there was one last duty that needed completion, and he would have avowed that he was both capable of carrying out this task and also the best person to do so. Being personal friends with General Miltiades, a level of trust existed between the two men. Pheidippides had most likely already removed his helmet, breastplate, and greaves to lighten the load in preparation for the undertaking. And besides, he argued, the fact that he felt great pain meant that he was still alive. And if he was still alive,
he could run to Athens. General Miltiades granted his wish, and run he did.

  His journey had been a long one, there was no denying that, but it was not yet complete. Rest could wait another day; there was still one more race to be run. And with that he departed on a final marathon, knowing that soon it would all be over and he could have his rest.

  The other Athenians started their trek toward the Bay of Phaleron in a forced march (literally a stride to the best of one’s ability). Some men would shuffle, some would run or jog, slowing to catch their breath when necessary and picking up the tempo when they were able. Each man moved as quickly as he could, some running in pairs or in groups, others running solo, each focused on maintaining his fastest pace.

  Over the miles, the group thinned and separated into a long parade of hoplites scooting along the dirt pathway. As the frontrunners passed through local villages, they called to alert the residents. Soon, old men, boys, and women were collecting jars of water from the fountain houses and bringing them to the passing warriors. The villagers set up makeshift aid stations, not unlike those in a modern marathon, as they were willing and eager to do all they could to help their fellow Greeks overcome the invading Persians. More and more hoplites poured along the dusty roadway toward the Bay of Phaleron, grabbing mouthfuls of water and food from these aid stations as they passed.

  In the meantime, Pheidippides ran. Over the hills and through the valleys, along desolate stretches of rock and earthen pathways, past orchards and fields of grapes, through plenteous groves of olive trees he ran. Despite having covered countless miles in the previous days, he was determined to carry out this final mission and deliver news to his anxiously waiting Athenian kinsmen. He drew upon any remaining aristeia he could summon, his best self now shining more brightly than ever. Once he fulfilled this duty, once he made it to Athens and delivered his message, then could he rest, he told himself. But not until then. With chin tucked low and eyes fixed on the distant horizon, he continued relentlessly placing one foot in front of the other, one foot in front of the other.