This was not simple. They first had to clamber up over the side of the Golden Dawn, and then step across the gap between the ships onto the slippery, unsteady heap of corpses on the other ship. Only beyond the human mound was there any chance of solid deck and the prospect of something steady under their feet.
Before they had made it that far, however, a shout of alarm from the sailors warned him that the damaged Phoenician trireme had swept around the stern of the float and was preparing to board them from the other side. That threat had to be faced, but to turn and face the new onslaught meant exposing their backs to the archers. Leonidas saw no alternative but to split his force. He ordered the Corinthian marines and the sailors to face the new threat, while he took his Lacedaemonians up over the side of the Golden Dawn.
Despite the unusual circumstances, thanks to a lifetime of keeping contact with their rank-mates and endless drill in adjusting their own movements to those of the men left and right, the Spartiates crossed onto the other ship in a line without serious gaps. That proved to be enough. When the archers realized that the wall of bronze was moving toward them, they broke and ran. Only the fastest made it. Anyone who slipped and fell on the bloody deck or tripped over rigging and scattered weapons was stabbed mercilessly by the “lizard stickers” of the Spartan spears.
When the line of bronze shields and scarlet cloaks appeared along the side of the ship, the Phoenician captain shouted furiously and the trireme backwatered wildly, pulling itself free of its victim. As it withdrew, the Corinthian merchantman settled into the water and started to list noticeably. Leonidas turned and led his men up the incline, to get back to the fight that was taking place at the far side of the float.
By the time they were back aboard the Golden Dawn, the enemy was pouring over the railing on the far side. There were bodies strewn across the deck of the far ship—Greek bodies for the most part. Arrows were pouring down on them again. It flashed through Leonidas’ mind that he might die right here, along with every Lacedaemonian under his command. He could clearly expect no help from the two Corinthian triremes, which were both fully engaged. The sailors were proving surprisingly poor soldiers—something he hadn’t expected, since they were defending their own ships and lives and had nowhere to escape. But there was no point thinking about it.
He called a halt to dress their lines. They were two men short—the man with the eye wound and someone else. No time to identify the casualties. At least they were on a level deck now and they could advance across it at a steady pace, drawing on their discipline and training.
The second Phoenician hadn’t rammed, forcing the soldiers to climb over the bows one or two at a time, but had come alongside. The enemy troops poured over the gunnel along the whole length of the ship. Fortunately, they were the same poorly armed and unarmored men, and were just as undisciplined as their countrymen.
Oddly, there seemed to be more of them, and the hindmost men were stabbing the men ahead of them in their backs! They were Greek marines!
At last Leonidas’ brain registered that there was another ship beyond the Phoenician trireme—the Orcelle!
The fool! But at the same moment, Leonidas felt such a rush of gratitude for the crippled Corinthian that it was as if he’d just been reinforced by the Guard. He increased the pace. Step and thrust, step and thrust. The enemy was going down before them with very little chance of defending themselves. The trick was to ignore the arrows, Leonidas decided. Raising his spear arm for the thrust, the man beside Leonidas took an arrow in the armpit and crumpled to the deck with a croaked-off wail. The man behind closed the rank with Leonidas without missing a beat. Step and thrust. They had cleared the deck of the Golden Dawn.
Ahead was a confused melee of sailors and an exceptionally large number of marines from the Orcelle, mixed with enemy archers and enemy marines. The sun broke over the horizon, and for the first time Leonidas could see that the Persians wore clothes of yellow and purple in bizarre stripes and chains of diamonds. It was the gaudiest sight he had ever seen in his life—all liberally splashed with red. And just beyond, the sun glistened blissfully on a calm and enchanting seascape.
By the time Leonidas made it aboard the Phoenician trireme, he realized that the Greek sailors had gained full possession of her after slaughtering the Phoenician crew. They cheered him and his marines as they crossed the trireme, heading for the Orcelle. Lychos was hanging over the side of his ship, clutching the rail. He was dressed in full panoply, and Leonidas knew that it must have half killed him just to put it on.
Leonidas shoved his helmet back and grinned up at the Corinthian from the deck of the captive trireme. “You stupid fool!”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Lychos grinned back at him. “I think the Phoenician captain died of pure astonishment when he realized a freighter was attacking him!”
“I sympathize!”
“It helped that my marines are first-class archers and sent him to Hades with an arrow in his throat.”
Leonidas threw back his head and laughed, then thought to ask, “Just how many marines do you have on board?”
“A lot. My father still won’t let me go anywhere without all the protection he can buy.”
“He’ll wring the marine captain’s neck when he finds out what you did!”
“But it was so beautiful, Leonidas! It was the most beautiful moment of my whole life—coming to your rescue.”
By midmorning, the self-satisfaction at having won this first engagement had worn off. Although they had lost no ships—not even the one they’d abandoned—the Harmony had damaged her ram and lost almost a dozen sailors in the violent encounter with the Phoenicians. Furthermore, four of the Lacedaemonian attendants fighting aboard the Harmony had been badly wounded, while Leonidas had three casualties among his Spartiates. None were dead, but the man who’d taken the arrow in his armpit was probably not going to make it, since several ribs were broken and his lung appeared to be pierced. He was bringing up frothy blood and having difficulty breathing. The man with the eye wound would survive, but for the moment the pain was excruciating and debilitating. There were a score of Corinthian casualties as well, mostly sailors. All this would have been tolerable if they had been out of danger; but it was obvious that at some point the Phoenicians would wonder what had become of the four triremes they had detached. If they sent just one ship back to investigate, the Greeks could handle it. If they sent more, the Greeks were finished.
Furthermore, the freighter that had been rammed by the Persian trireme was clearly sinking, only kept afloat by the others. They were going to have to either abandon her or put about and try to limp to a friendly shore for repairs. The problem was that, according to Erxander, the closest “friendly” shore was more than likely a base for pirates. Still, this was the decision Erxander and Leonidas made together. Setting what sail they could, the whole awkward formation swung about and started making for the nearest island.
The wind was favorable. Despite sailing under jury-rigged canvas on broken masts, they made progress and had just started to convince themselves that they might succeed, when three ships were spotted on the horizon behind them—rapidly gaining.
Leonidas went aft and stood sweating in the afternoon sun, staring at the horizon until his eyes blurred over. He had removed his armor hours ago, and wore a linen corselet instead. Still, with the sun reflecting off the sea and no shade anywhere, even the wind couldn’t cool him down. The sweat was particularly uncomfortable under the bandage on his arm, making it soggy. He stared at the dots on the horizon, while sweat collected in his eyelids and then ran down into his eyes.
It wasn’t just three ships, it was four, and then six and then ten. How could the Phoenician fleet commander spare so many ships? But then Leonidas remembered they had only seen the Phoenician fleet in the night. Maybe it had been larger than they first assumed.
The hopelessness of the situation was laming. The Orcelle lingered for several minutes, but then crammed on all the sail she ha
d and sped away, disappearing rapidly. The Liberty and the Harmony meanwhile turned about and took up a position astern of the convoy; here they lay side by side, bow to the Persians in the wake of the clumsy float, apparently undecided on how to proceed against ten—or was it twelve?—Phoenician triremes. Their oars dipped listlessly, just keeping them in position as the float drifted, more than sailed, eastward.
Prokles came up beside Leonidas. “Time to quit.”
Leonidas looked over at him, uncomprehending.
“You can’t fight all that.”
“What else can I do?”
“Don’t pretend you’re that stupid, Leo! I expect the Persian admiral will make quite a fuss over you—a prince and all. You should be able to negotiate a good deal—if you handle it correctly.”
“What do you mean?”
“No false modesty, for a start. Persians are hierarchical. Play up your bloodlines to the hilt. Descendant of Herakles and all that. Stress that you’re mercenaries for hire. The Corinthians are about to be slaughtered, but that’s no reason you can’t offer the services of your Lacedaemonians to the Persian admiral. Throw your shields aside as soon as the Phoenicians have come close enough for the Persian trierarchs to see what you are doing. In short, signal willingness to negotiate. The Persians will have heard about Spartans and will be curious. They certainly won’t dismiss the offer out of hand.”
“If I did that, I could never return home,” Leonidas told Prokles, dumbfounded.
“You can’t return home if you’re dead, either.”
When Leonidas continued to stare at him, Prokles asked sarcastically, “Are you sure all your men are as in love with suicide as you are?” He nodded in the direction of the other Lacedaemonians, who were silently gazing at the approaching enemy fleet. “Not all of them have just lost their wife and children.”
The remark lacerated Leonidas. He spun around and left Prokles standing. He crossed the deck to Oliantus, who was staring at the approaching triremes like the rest of them. As Leonidas approached, Oliantus came to attention, expecting orders. “Sir?”
Leonidas signaled for him to come farther aft, where they could talk unheard by the others. “We’re all going to die here—unless we surrender and offer our services to the Persians.”
“Have you gone mad?” Oliantus gaped at him.
“No. I’m going fight. I just want the men to know that it’s their own decision. I won’t be around to see who surrenders. Tell them that.”
“Sir, I won’t insult any one of them by passing that message on! Who have you been listening to? That exile?” He tossed his head contemptuously in the direction of Prokles.
“Don’t sneer, Oliantus. He’s talking sense.”
“He’s talking treason!”
“This has nothing to do with treason. One way or another, Lacedaemon is losing one hundred men. It ought to be up to the individual to decide if he wants to live a mercenary life in Persian service or die here.”
“With all due respect, sir: it makes a huge difference to Sparta’s reputation what we do here. The more Persians we take with us, the less eager they will be to tangle with us again. We have a duty to everyone at home to give the Persians reason to fear encountering us—even when we’re vastly outnumbered.”
Leonidas was startled by this long speech from Oliantus, who was generally a man of few words. Leonidas also realized he’d let Prokles goad him with the dig about his lost family. All Oliantus had done was to voice his initial thought: Prokles was a bad influence on him. He took a deep breath and smiled. “Thank you. Let’s kit up.” The others were watching intently while their commanders spoke together. All Leonidas had to do was make the motion of setting a helmet on, and the Lacedaemonians started back for the ’tweendeck space where they had left their panoply.
By the time they were back on deck, the two Corinthian triremes had pulled away. They were still side by side, but they were veering westward to put themselves in a ramming position as the Phoenicians swept in for the kill on the freighters. Leonidas tried to organize the sailors; but the fear in their eyes and the nervous glances they made, as if looking for a place to run and hide, suggested to him that they would be of little use. The Corinthian marines were made of sterner stuff and earnestly listened to his orders.
The basic tactic was to retreat to the ship in the center of the float, the Golden Dawn, and to make the Persians come to them there. Concentrated on the deck of this freighter, they would have almost the mass of a good phalanx and would be fighting with overlapping shields—a clear advantage. This would enable the second rank to hold their shields high over the heads of the front rank, protecting both of the first two ranks from arrows.
They got themselves into position with the sailors in the middle, tested the formation, and then dropped their shields to rest. They stood at ease while the Phoenicians closed the remaining thousand yards. The Harmony took out the leading Phoenician and the Liberty the second, with the now familiar sound of wood being smashed and torn apart. The next two Phoenician ships made only a slight detour around the pair of locked ships, and in a pincer movement closed on either side on the float. They thudded hard into the outer ships, only seconds apart. The marines were ready for them, all kneeling on one knee so they wouldn’t lose their balance. Grapples soared through the air and clunked on the empty decks of the outer ships. The first wave of arrows clattered around the Greeks bunched together on the deck of the Golden Dawn.
Abruptly, a wild flurry of alarmed shouting erupted from the Phoenician ships. The oarsmen started to backwater and the grapples were cut by the same men who had thrown them. The Greeks looked at one another in confusion. Then a trireme swept into Leonidas’ line of vision. This trireme took the closest Phoenician as it was still trying to back off, and it was so close that Leonidas could see the ram smash right through the side of the Persian ship. Muffled shouting penetrated his helmet, and turning his head sharply, he saw another trireme on the opposite side of the float take out a second Persian. Turning completely around, he saw still more triremes in line abreast, sweeping toward the Phoenician fleet like Vengeance incarnate.
“Chians!” The word penetrated to his helmet and his brain. “Chians!”
They had just been rescued by an entire squadron of twenty Chian triremes—the rebel ships the Phoenician squadron had been looking for when they stumbled upon the damaged ships of the Corinthian grain fleet.
Chapter 18
A Political Expedient
“Why do you keep the old bitch around?” Oliantus wanted to know, as he waited impatiently for Leonidas’ dog to catch up with them. They were returning from the drill fields to the HQ of the Mesoan Lochos, where their company office was located.
By the time Leonidas had reached Sparta after escorting the Corinthian grain fleet home, he discovered that on Kyranios’ recommendation, the five lochagoi had collectively named him company commander of the Menelaion Pentekostus in the Mesoan (Kyranios’) Lochos—if he would accept the position. Furthermore, his exploits with the Corinthian fleet had been greatly exaggerated.
Leonidas understood why the Corinthians had lined the harbor walls and cheered themselves hoarse when the last seven merchantmen and their two escorts, all of whom had been presumed lost, limped into the harbor flying bunting from their jury-rigged mastheads. After all, those seven ships carried precious grain still desperately needed by the city, and their surprise survival seemed like a miracle. But Leonidas had expected the Spartans to be more sober about the whole affair. After all, he and his men would all have been feeding the fishes if the Chian squadron (which had been chasing the Phoenicians for days) hadn’t caught up with them at that particular moment. Leonidas did not think he had done anything the least bit heroic. Lychos had. Even Erxander had—attacking when he thought he was outnumbered five to one—but not the Lacedaemonians. They had only done their duty and had had no real impact on the outcome of the engagement.
To his amazement, however, the Gerousia, the
ephors, and many ordinary citizens saw things differently and openly congratulated him. Leonidas had been pressed from all sides to accept the offered company. Men argued that he now had very valuable experience fighting as a marine (the undamaged portion of the Corinthian grain fleet made it all the way back to Kenchrea without a single incident and so no fighting), and he had witnessed a full-scale naval battle between the Chians and the Phoenicians. That made him too valuable to the Spartan army to allow him to enjoy the luxury of living as a private citizen. He owed it to his city to remain on active service, they said.
Leonidas allowed himself to be talked into taking command of the pentekostus, because that was what he really wanted. Leonidas wanted to serve his city; and after the experience with the grain fleet, he was convinced that Persia was a serious threat to Hellas and that command of the sea was going to be vital. Now he understood what Phormio had been trying to tell him. He even fantasized about the Lacedaemonian fleet becoming a place for poorer Spartiates to serve, just as in Athens and Corinth. If the sons of poorer Spartiates could not afford the agoge fees, and so were not trained as hoplites, why not allow them to serve with the fleet?
But Leonidas was careful not to speak about his hopes and plans in this regard. Sparta was a society that did not welcome anyone talking “out of turn.” Leonidas recognized that if he wanted to play any significant role in Spartan society, he first had to demonstrate his competence in leadership and collect political support among his fellow citizens. After his disastrous foray into teaching at the agoge, he also realized that he had the best chances of gaining respect and power in a military career.
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