The Ten Thousand

by Michael Curtis Ford

  After a few minutes more of ritual chatter, Tissaphernes and his retinue bowed deeply and retired to their carriages, this time surrounded by silent Greeks. He took the message back to the king and returned several days later with a smaller, less ceremonial escort, and most important of all, a positive response. Tissaphernes promised to escort us home with his army, providing markets along the way, if the Greeks agreed to behave as if they were on friendly territory. There was to be no violence by either side. Tissaphernes and Clearchus sealed their agreement with an oath and a handclasp, and the captains and officers on both sides drank to each others' health. Tissaphernes then returned to his troops to make arrangements for the journey, and Proxenus, Xenophon, and I went back to our Boeotians, to announce the plan and to bide our time until departure.

  We waited there outside the village, alongside Ariaius' troops, for three weeks, as the men became simultaneously more dissipated from the forced inactivity, and nervous at the lack of progress. The site afforded little in the way of distraction or comfort. The armies were camped near a series of vast grain fields that were now withered and fallow, relentless in their flat, brown monotony. Water we drew from a large, muddy irrigation canal that Tissaphernes had ordered the villagers to open for our use. The water's mineral content stained everything, from our pots to our garments, a kind of dull orange that served as a depressing counterpoint to the unremitting glare of the sun, which was unbroken by the shade of any trees or landscape features. Our hide and canvas tents afforded little respite from the throbbing, airless heat, and in fact were too unbearably close and stifling to sleep in by night. Most of the men simply cut their shelters along the seams and rigged them as awnings propped by spear shafts, to the seething disapproval of Clearchus, who viewed this as one further obstacle to battle readiness. Nevertheless, he ultimately bowed to reason, and complied with Proxenus' suggestion that the men be allowed this small concession to comfort.

  Food and supplies were procured by pooling our dwindling funds and sending several squads with pack animals into the wretched, foul-smelling village on market days, to wander among the low-slung mud and thatch huts and attempt to barter better prices in large quantities from the wily locals. Our success was mixed, and the wormy, withered vegetables and rancid horsemeat the marketing squads procured made us long for the hearty, if repetitious fare we had enjoyed during the first months of our march out of Sardis.

  During these hot, heavy days of enforced village living, the Greeks and the native troops became increasingly soft, losing all perspective as to their true situation. Ariaius' men were deserting to the enemy in droves, and we feared for Ariaius himself, as he received visitors every day from among his Persian relatives, friends and even former comrades-in-arms from the king's forces. He swore that these were merely messages of reassurance from the king, who had pledged that he bore Ariaius no malice for his campaign with Cyrus, and promised to honor the truce, but Proxenus' suspicions grew daily.

  "Why are we dallying?" Proxenus finally exclaimed to me impatiently one day, as we took inventory of our stocks for the thousandth time. "Why are we waiting for the king to collect his troops, or to fortify his position? We are in hostile territory, with no provisions except what the benevolent Tissaphernes has given us, and his strength is increasing daily. Which army has time to bide-ours or theirs? Is the king simply going to let us freely return to Greece to laugh about how we got the better of the massed forces of Persia with our ten thousand men, and had our fill of date wine besides?" He swept his maps off the camp table in disgust and stalked outside the tent to assemble the men for yet another review of arms.

  I pondered our position. Was Proxenus advocating retreat without the king's permission? That would be suicide, for if we left Tissaphernes' protection we would have no provisions other than what we could loot from the surrounding countryside-a much less certain method than using the markets the village provided us, notwithstanding our dwindling supply of coin. Pillaging would entail breaking our solemn vow to Tissaphernes to keep the truce. Moreover, we would have no guides to lead us back, although Proxenus had developed severe doubts as to the reliability of the king's guides in any case. And leaving now would severely reduce our forces, for it is certain that Ariaius would not accompany us. Our situation was bleak, although a casual observer would never have concluded this, from the laughter and games of the men outside, as they bided their time in the camp.

  If Clearchus was thinking the same thing he gave no indication of it when Proxenus finally decided to approach him with his concerns. Hardly looking up from a procurement report he was reviewing in irritation with a trembling and stammering quartermaster, he dismissively waved off Proxenus' worries.

  "If Artaxerxes had wanted to attack us, he would have had no need for the oaths and pledges we swore," he said. "The king and Tissaphernes don't have shit for brains. Let them break their word in front of the whole world. We might all die, but we'll take down five of his for every one of ours, and I'll not add to our disgrace by breaking our word in the bargain."

  Proxenus returned to the tent furious at Clearchus' refusal to act, although Xenophon reminded him that one could hardly expect otherwise. We had little time to stew further, however, for the next day Tissaphernes arrived with his forces, who despite our worst fears were not in battle array, and he put Clearchus and Proxenus instantly at ease with his jovial manner. His wife, the king's daughter, was accompanying him, this time with her entire train, and Xenophon and I watched in astonishment and amusement as Clearchus stepped out of the camp to greet them.

  "Did you see Tissaphernes' baggage?" I asked, and pointed out to Xenophon the approaching retinue of servants, wagons loaded with gifts, and silk-bedecked slave girls that the general's wife kept in attendance. For sheer opulence, the train rivaled Cyrus' during the march out of Sardis. Xenophon let out a low whistle.

  "Looks like Tissaphernes plans to travel home in style," he said.

  I peered at the wagons carefully. "Do you think any of them contain weapons? Could he be plotting any treachery?"

  Xenophon smiled. "I think just the opposite," he replied. "I don't believe our friend Tissaphernes has any intention of mussing his clothes by getting into a scrap with a few wayward Greeks accompanying him along the way."

  The two armies left the next day. Tissaphernes led the way along the Euphrates, gathering retainers as he traveled, and continuing to provide us with supplies by means of a thrice-weekly market, while Ariaius accompanied him leading his own native troops. The Greeks followed behind, still in full battle order, still suspicious of the Persian's intentions, maintaining a wide distance between ourselves and Tissaphernes' forces. Every night we camped several miles behind Tissaphernes' party, which led to grumbling among the men because of the inconvenience this caused them for gaining access to the market and the slave girls, but a fierce harangue by Clearchus about maintaining military discipline quieted their complaints for a time. After several days of this arrangement, however, his paranoia seemed to be having a damaging effect, as unwarranted suspicions gradually increased the level of tension between the two armies. Hostilities even broke out once or twice between companies of Greeks and Persians who ran into each other in the country on routine scouting patrols or while gathering firewood.

  It was about this time that the two armies passed over an enormous irrigation canal, as wide and as swiftly flowing as a river, amazing the men with its breadth and depth, and the next day we reached the Tigris, near the city of Sittace, a mile and a half distant on the other side of the river. We camped in an idyllic setting overlooking the river, covered with soft grass and shaded with wide, overhanging trees. Tissaphernes' forces crossed the river first and camped on the other side with Ariaius' men, out of our line of sight, consistent with the custom that had developed over the past several days. That evening, as I strolled around the camp with Proxenus and Xenophon reviewing preparations, a Persian runner approached us, breathless and ruddy-faced, bearing a small pennant ide
ntifying him as a member of Tissaphernes' personal escort.

  "The gods be with you," he panted. "I seek either Proxenus or Clearchus, with a message from Ariaius."

  "I'm your man," Proxenus answered. "Speak your mind." I thought it odd that Ariaius would address a message to Proxenus, rather than to his personal friend Menon, who was a Greek officer of equal rank to Proxenus, but I kept silent and merely edged closer to listen. The runner glanced uncertainly at me, and then continued.

  "Ariaius asked me to preface my message with a reminder that although he travels with Tissaphernes in his train, he was true to Cyrus and remains loyal to his Hellenic friends. Ariaius bids me warn you to be on your guard tonight against an attack. Tissaphernes has deployed a large force just on the other side of the bridge, and means to destroy it to prevent you from crossing, trapping you between the river and the canal."

  I stared at him in amazement. Proxenus acted swiftly. Seizing the man by the scruff of the neck, he half dragged, half pushed him to Clearchus' headquarters, which stood a few hundred yards away, to make him repeat his story. On the way there I caught sight of Asteria as she staggered up from the river to the camp followers' quarters, a yoke across her frail shoulders, bearing two buckets of water, a task to which she was wholly unsuited. Asteria did not see me at first, for her eyes were fixed on the messenger, focusing on nothing else. I glanced at the messenger's face just as he, in turn, looked at her, and with a hint of recognition his mouth tightened slightly in a grim smile and he nodded almost imperceptibly. Asteria flushed white, not pink as might a woman suddenly confronted by a hidden or past lover, but rather pale in fear, and quickly averted her gaze. The whole episode had taken not more than a few seconds, but it was something that stayed with me for weeks afterwards, though I wondered whether I had merely imagined it.

  Clearchus' reaction upon receiving the messenger's news was to let fly a string of oaths that sent every man in the vicinity scurrying for cover, hoping that his wrath was hot somehow directed against him. The messenger quaked, for if anything, Clearchus had developed an even more frightening reputation among the Persians than among us, as a result of his execrable treatment of the king's ambassadors. "Let him live," he said grudgingly, for it was apparent from the boy's fear that he was no idle prankster bent on tormenting the Greeks, but rather a genuine messenger from Ariaius, and was telling the truth. Clearchus then sent out Tolmides to summon the officers to his table for a council. The sun was already dropping low in the west, so the matter was urgent.

  I attended the meeting with Xenophon, and could see the worry etched on everyone's faces. The men were tired after several days' march, and our position was weak, hemmed in by wide bodies of water passable only by pontoon bridges. Our "island" would be difficult to defend-the terrain was almost perfectly flat, with no natural rises or outcroppings from which we could mount fortifications, and it was ideal for cavalry runs, which the king could send in droves, while we were limited to our forty or so existing horse. Clearchus cursed again and again as he reviewed the situation out loud.

  The fact, however, that Ariaius had sent his message not to a friend who knew him intimately, but rather to Proxenus, had raised doubts in Xenophon's mind, and he spoke up for the first time in the presence of the senior officers without first discussing the matter with Proxenus.

  "General, with your permission: Ariaius' claim is not logical. Why would the Persians both attack us and eliminate the bridge? If they attack, they will either win or lose. If they win, why destroy such an asset? They will need it afterward to return home, and we would be doomed, bridge or no bridge. If they lose, they will need the bridge all the more, to escape death at our hands, rather than being trapped here on the island."

  Clearchus listened to him attentively, with a somewhat surprised look on his face, which I did not know whether to attribute to his having noticed Xenophon in his camp for the first time, or to his actual words. He pondered this for a minute, and then asked the messenger how much country there was between the Tigris and the canal we had passed the morning before.

  "A great deal, your lordship, as well as many villages, some cities, and much fruitful land such as that on which you are encamped."

  The other officers then saw Xenophon's point, which Clearchus had understood immediately. The Persians had sent this man with a message to be wary of an attack, precisely to dissuade us from cutting the bridge over the Tigris ourselves. This would have afforded us an impregnable position, defended by the river on one side and the canal on the other, with plenty of provisions from the country and villages in between, and able to wring further concessions from Tissaphernes. From our standpoint it was laughable, for since Cyrus' death, there was not a Greek among the entire ten thousand who did not yearn to return home as soon as possible, and be out of this foreign territory with its strange customs and headache-inducing wine. Attempting to hold out against the king's forces, against those odds, was inconceivable. But the Persians remained as fearful of us as we of them, and suspicions of treachery were shared by both sides. Hence the complicated game of cat and mouse Tissaphernes was playing with us, to protect his rear.

  Clearchus took no chances, and placed a heavy guard on both ends of the bridge that night, with backup cavalry runners posted to inform him within minutes if an attack had begun. However, he ordered the captains not to breathe a word of the affair to their men; let them get a good night's sleep. Any uproar like the one that had ensued after the battle, which he had quelled with the wild ass story, would this time have much more dire consequences, with the Persians practically within shouting range of us on the other side of the river.

  The next morning the army was up before daylight, crossing the thirty-seven vessels that made up the pontoons of the floating bridge before the Persians had even finished their breakfast. Again, Clearchus took every precaution, moving all the heavy troops over first to establish a beachhead and guard against a Persian attack while we were vulnerable on the narrow bridge. Our baggage and camp followers came last, rather than protected in the middle as is usually the case, for our rear was secure, protected by our position on the island. I watched the crossing with Xenophon from a height on the far side. The rising sun reflected red and orange off the glinting river, broken only by the bridge's tenuous line, like a single thread lashing a sleeping Titan to the earth. The bridge bowed outward as the river's current pressed the middle vessels downstream, and it strained in seeming frustration at the restraints holding it fast to the banks at the two ends.

  Despite the water's sluggish calm, negotiating a narrow pontoon bridge with wagons and pack animals is tricky business. Like an army or a man, any complex system that appears stable and solid from afar is, from a closer perspective, actually a unit comprising many interconnected components, each engaging in myriad tiny rebellions against the other, constant assertions of independence, and a linked bridge such as this is no exception. The vessels of which it was constructed rocked and tipped, the grass ropes binding them creaked and strained. As each squad of hoplites, each herd of terrified, squealing swine, each tippy cartload of cooking supplies and heavy equipment miraculously made its swaying way across the narrow length, Xenophon let out an audible sigh of relief and offered a small nod of thanks to the gods.

  While watching the camp followers I could make out Asteria gamely tramping across with a crowd of other women, bearing a bundle on her shoulders that seemed far larger than she should be required to carry. A feeling of shame that I was unable to do more to help her troubled me greatly during this long phase of marching, tempered only by her smiling dismissals when I asked her about it at night.

  "Women are much better marchers than men," she declared, only half-teasingly. "Look at your troops when we make camp. The men sweat and collapse on the ground like pigs, calling for their squires to help them take off their armor. The women don't even pause-we begin immediately to gather firewood and cook. Even I, who had never gathered a piece of firewood in my life!"

 
; I conceded her point, though still sought to assist in any way that would not disrupt my own duties. Her one request was for medical supplies, and here I was able to help, for I had ready access to the officers' kits, and I passed herbs and salves and sutures to her whenever I could, with which she maintained the strength and the health of the group of women she accompanied.

  The armies continued their march north along the Tigris for several more weeks, under the same conditions of suspicion, and the constant tension exacted a toll on the men. Marching through foreign terrain with hostile natives on all sides is stressful enough; being dependent upon the mercy of a foreign army ten times your size, which you had fought and humiliated just weeks before, was sufficient to make a Spartan weak in the knees. When we reached the River Zapatas-four hundred feet wide and sufficiently difficult to cross that the armies set up a camp for several days-Clearchus finally decided to take matters into his own hands. He was no diplomat, but the continual stress of the journey and the suspicions between the two armies were moving his men to the flashpoint, and he was concerned that the isolated incidents of patrols coming to blows might ignite into a full-fledged conflagration between the two sides, from which the Greeks would receive the worst. He sent word to Tissaphernes that he wished a private meeting with him, the first since the initial truce had been pledged between them weeks before, and Tissaphernes readily agreed. Surprisingly, Clearchus invited Xenophon to accompany him and his bodyguards, as his official secretary. Proxenus was bemused.

  "Looks like your star is rising in Clearchus' eyes," he said. "Is it that Persian fragrance you've taken to wearing lately, or did you slip a potion into his wine? I had better start looking for a new aide-de-camp." But his eyes were laughing. Proxenus had never wished anything but the best for his cousin, and I was hoping this new responsibility fit into his designs. As for Xenophon, although accompanying the general on official business was from any standpoint an honor, I wasn't sure whether he should rejoice or fear for his life-and that, whether at the Persians' hands or Clearchus'.