I periodically looked at my new mates, Stephanos in particular, to gauge their level of exhaustion. Surely they had to feel as I now did. Most of their faces shouted the same expression of physical agony. I watched as the unfortunate recruit who had vomited earlier in the day now wavered in his footing. He began to wander off the road and collapsed. I learned his name was Labdacus while our handlers punished him. Callisthenes was first on him, screaming in his face and kicking his torso. We were instructed to continue marching and our wayward companion would catch up. Luckily we were only two miles from where we were to set camp for the evening. Our line almost collapsed as one when we were informed of our arrival. Few words were exchanged that night. The only additional energy expended was to consume our allotted grain and water. Stephanos and I ate in silence. His morale had clearly waned yet he did not utter a word of discontent. I was thankful of his resolve since it would not have taken much to convince me to desert our undertaking that evening.
Labdacus and Callisthenes made it to camp about ninety minutes afterwards. He looked like a walking corpse. He was probably not going to make it to Cappadocia. I fell to sleep immediately on the hard ground that evening using my pack to support my head. Our meagre rations were not enough to replace the energy I had expended and hunger pains carried me off to sleep.
Chapter 11
We were awakened the next morning at sunrise to the screams and kicks of Callisthenes. My body resisted every effort to rise this early after yesterday’s exertion and cried out for food and drink. My eyelids strained to remain open; my neck struggled to hold the weight of my head. As I rose to my feet, the swelling had subsided in my lower legs but now a debilitating soreness manifested itself with each muscle contraction. My blisters stung with each step, forcing me to rearrange the leather straps on my sandals. My inner forearms ached where they met my inner elbow from holding my sarissa. It was unclear to me how I would summon the motivation and strength to march for another day; then I saw Callisthenes tormenting Labdacus, who sluggishly rose to his feet and my motivation materialized.
Labdacus’ lethargy attracted the attention of our handlers and I used this time to limp over to Stephanos. “I’m hurting,” was my morning salutation.
“So am I,” he whispered, looking at Labdacus. “After the first day, however, it is clear that our stamina to endure this march is about average, therefore we must ensure we outperform the bottom half of our line. They can’t show up to Eumenes’ camp empty handed can they? Listen, we must make a vow to ourselves right now to not waver in our march, to not succumb to our body’s demands to quit. If one of us begins to falter, the other will come to his aid. The goal is to avoid the beatings.”
Stephanos had clearly thought our situation through to a level that my fatigue would not allow and I was grateful for it. I joined him in this vow of survival and felt I would follow him to the River Styx at that moment. Our conversation was interrupted by our handlers calling us to muster. We lined up in two ranks and received instructions for the day. We were to eat, train, and march until sundown. I had a feeling this schedule would repeat itself many times over before we reached Cappadocia.
The morning meal was a paltry affair. Our small contingent carried most of our supplies on mules and would resupply when stops were made to cities along the Royal Road. Eating my mashed grains and drinking my two cups of water did not satisfy my stomach’s painful hollowness. I noticed the same look of dissatisfaction from my new mates and I looked to Stephanos, “This is all we are to eat until sundown?” He responded with a glance that reminded me of our newly recited vow.
Morning drill was exhausting. We performed countless repetitions of holding our sarissas upright at the port-arms position, then levelling it and thrusting forward several times before bringing them back to port-arms. These exercises lasted for two hours and brought my forearms past muscle fatigue. My hands began to loosen their grip of my heavy spear. One recruit dropped his spear to the ground during a thrusting exercise. The sound of the heavy pike reverberating on the ground was loud and terrifying since we all knew what it meant. Everyone looked to Labdacus as the culprit, but to our surprise it was Bacchylides. He quickly recovered his sarissa off the ground but it was too late. His offense insulted our two older handlers most and they were on him within seconds. We continued our drills as Bacchylides was continuously struck and derided in front of us. Sensing our exhaustion, Agathon now called out rapid orders to thrust our spears continuously. The high rate of repetition became too much for me and I was now on the verge of dropping my sarissa. I questioned how Labdacus could withstand this torture as long as I. Stephanos, observing my descent, encouraged me to remember our vow, “Just a little longer, brother.” His words aided my strength for several more thrusts until I heard the deafening sound of another spear hit the ground, and another. We were ordered to halt; those who dropped their sarissas were beaten. Stephanos had spared me the same fate and I felt further indebted to him.
Our handlers allowed us to rest for thirty minutes while they broke camp. The thought of another day’s march was daunting but Stephanos’ words steadied my resolve. I just had to outlast the lower recruits in our line. After our brief intermission, we were called to our feet with sarissas at the port-arms position. As we departed, every step I took was deliberate and forced. I could feel the soreness and tension within my legs like a clamp had been fastened to them. The sting of each blister felt like a dagger rubbing my skin raw. The muscle fatigue within my forearms formed a painful tension in the inner bend of my arm. At first, I kept all thoughts out of my mind and resembled a walking carcass. This strategy allowed my physical ailments to take prominence, so I next attempted to envision reaching the end of our march but such a goal seemed too distant to grasp. I thought about joining the army of General Eumenes and fighting to keep the world under Greek rule; but my inner insecurities surfaced and I did not think myself worthy of joining such a great cause. Finally my mind settled on my family. This pain I endured all went towards rebuilding my character in my family’s eyes. I thought about returning home to Ilandra triumphantly, gaining the respect and admiration of all. I foresaw my uncle Argos parading me to the Ilandran council, as he did Leandros, to declare me hero of the city and archive my adventures. I visualized the look of pride my uncle, mother and sister would have when speaking of me and when in my presence. I pictured our whole family together again, enjoying the blessings of good health and fortune. This was the stream of consciousness that propelled me through my physical misery, and I would return to this place of warmth and familiarity many times over the course of my hardships to come.
These inspiring musings, or mental masturbations, allowed me to forget my current hardship for a precious interval, but eventually a misstep over a large pebble forced me to rebalance my sarissa and my focus rushed like Hermes out of Ilandra and unto the Royal Road of Asia Minor. My body’s injuries had been neglected during my cerebral departure and now they shouted at me twofold, like a baby crying for the attention of its mother. In my mental absence, a new malady vied for my attention- a terrible thirst. We had not drank water since departing camp several hours ago and I was forming collections of foamed saliva at the corners of my mouth. My tongue was devoid of all moisture, my throat was parched, my skin was chapped and a sore was beginning to form on my lower lip. My ailments had brought me back to reality too early, however, since I judged we still had two hours left in our march. My body would not allow my consciousness to flee it again despite my best efforts with each ache and pain grasping at my attention, forming an unbreakable chain between my current situation and my subconscious. I felt the recurring wobble of my heavy sarissa at the port-arms position as my exhausted forearms frequently gave out. I felt the unsteady trembling of my knees with each new step. I figured we now had close to an hour’s march left.
I again thought of Stephanos’ words but this time I was not fortified by them. I was at the end of my abilities and none of the other recruits had faltered.
Surely others were suffering their own collection of torments during the march. Was I at the bottom of our order of merit? I began to feel ashamed that Stephanos would tie his fate to someone so unworthy of it. My ensemble of misery brought the attention of Agathon, who was now riding next to me atop his horse. I was panting through my mouth and reached my breaking point. He began insulting me and ordered our line to begin thrusting exercises. Agathon watched my feeble repetitions as each thrust saw my spear point lower closer to the ground. “Do you strike a midget?” yelled Agathon. “Bring that fucking point up!”
But I physically couldn’t. Agathon was aware of this and would have the whole line execute the drill until I dropped my sarissa to the ground. I figured I had about ten more thrusts in me. “Keep your point up!” encouraged Stephanos, observing my plight.
“Shut up!” was Agathon’s response to his support. Stephanos’ words strengthened me to raise the point about two inches higher than my previous thrust, but no more. Agathon looked in sadistic anticipation with each thrust, awaiting me to give him an opportunity to discipline my ineptness. I estimated about five repetitions remained when we all heard the loud, terrifying thud of a sarissa hitting the ground. It was Labdacus. Agathon ordered us back to port-arms as he rode over to the poor soul who already had Callisthenes fast upon him. Labdacus’ surrender was followed by another collapse to my right, and another in front of me. Our handlers instituted their punishment and marched us about fifteen minutes farther to the nearest well along the road, where we set up camp for the evening.
Words between the recruits were again scarce as we devoured our dinner of mashed grain and water. A cavernous pain remained in my stomach upon completing my meagre ration and I feared my body would not have requisite sustenance to complete tomorrow’s burdens. With what little energy remained, I lanced three blisters which instantly relieved pressure as they seeped blood and puss. I asked Stephanos how he was faring and he weakly responded to remember the vow. I admitted that I was very close to giving up on the march and was barely saved by his words of encouragement and Labdacus’ surrender. I also confessed my fears of not being able to make it to Cappadocia. He reiterated that they couldn’t arrive at General Eumenes’ camp empty handed and we just needed to survive a little longer. I was fast asleep on the hard ground before he finished the sentence.
The next morning we again awoke to Agathon’s screams and Callisthenes’ kicks. We were ordered to muster in two ranks and informed we were to eat, drill, march, and camp- a routine that was becoming familiar, however tonight we were to camp outside a moderately sized town. My soreness had mildly subsided but my muscle fatigue was more pronounced this morning. Our inadequate breakfast was provided and my hunger pains worsened. Our morning drills consisted of one hour of spear work followed by a one hour introduction to unit tactics. They formed us up in five-man columns to show how we were to use our sarissas in concert during battle. This was a welcome addition to our training, for it allowed several of us to rest as two five-man columns practiced the new techniques. Our two older handlers circled our formation like hawks critiquing individual performances with a small club that could be jabbed into one’s side if offense warranted. Agathon shouted movement orders to simulate formational movements in battle. Participating in these manoeuvres gave me a better understanding and appreciation of the importance of keeping my spear at the ready at all times. It was the first time I had any infinitesimal notion of what it was like to be a soldier in a Macedonian Greek phalanx. This hour of reduced hardship lifted my spirits and gave my maladies time to heal. My lanced blisters stung less, my legs felt less sore, my arms were less fatigued. When it was time to begin our march, I felt a renewed vigour to continue our trek- which quickly dissipated after the first hour. My small surgery on my feet alleviated most of the blister pain and my muscles were slowly acclimating to their new arduous demands; but my fatigue and my extreme thirst remained. My dehydration caused my nascent lip sore to metastasize into a festering legion, which I licked incessantly.
I ignored these remaining hardships by returning to Ilandra and basking in the glow and pride of my family. This pleasant fiction was so far from my current reality, yet it comforted my anxieties and removed me from the march. A midday collapse to my right ripped me from my mental escape and I came crashing back to the road and the march. The unfortunate victim this time was a recruit named Rhexenor. Our handlers reacted differently to his failing, however, and they hurried to bring him water instead of punishing him. It became apparent that he was dehydrated to the point of near death and had begun to seizure. Agathon ordered everyone to rest alongside the road and drop their spears. Our two older handlers brought water stored on one of the mules to us and we were allowed to rest for several moments. I immediately layed back against the ground and entered a semiconscious state that induced a mild euphoria. Our hiatus was abruptly ended by Agathon, who reached his breaking point on the level of sloth he could witness and we all resumed the march. The rest of the day was divided between my visits to Ilandra and conducting countless spear thrust exercises. No one else fell out of the march and we reached the boundary of Kadoi near dusk. Upon arrival we were called to formation and told we were picking up new recruits the morning after next from the town. We would not march tomorrow and would not begin drills until after midday. This news was welcomed by the line as we were given leave for the evening.
We took our dinner and I noticed the chasm in my stomach had lessened despite our portions remaining the same. This night was the first time anyone had enough energy to socialize after a march and we all sat in three circles of various sizes getting to know each other. My circle consisted of Stephanos, Bacchylides, Rhexenor, and a Theban named Dion. Our banter consisted mainly of sharing a small bit about our background, griping about our hardships along the march, and discussing what to do with our precious night of freedom. Stephanos assumed control of the group and announced we would find women and wine for the evening. No one objected to the suggestion and our group made our way to the sordid neighbourhoods of our temporary home.
It was an easy task finding the right establishment and the five of us took seats around a soiled table. The tavern served both wine and women and was occupied by several disorderly locals and a few female employees of acceptable appearance. Stephanos bought the table the first jug of wine and a loaf of bread. Our march thus far had driven our party ravenous and such provisions had never been more satisfying as they were this night after several days of hard toil. Our spirits were high that evening as like-minded men formed bonds over alcohol and the shared experience of hardship. Stories were traded from our past, good natured ridicules were exchanged, jugs of wine ordered, and house women, recognizing interested customers, now joined us at the soiled table.
Our merriment’s crescendo reached a level that now attracted the attention of some of the local patrons, one of which walked directly over to Bacchylides during one of his many tales of inflated exploit and assertively stared at him during the account. This abrasive intrusion gave Bacchylides pause, to which the patron interjected, “Please, don’t let me stop your epic saga of bullshit, boy.” His confrontational tone immediately hastened my heart rate and silenced the mood of our table.
“My story is for my mates, stranger. Nor is it meant to offend,” Bacchylides responded in a wavering voice while not making eye contact with the imposing man.
“I see bragging nobodies like you come through here often, always ranting about some heroic deed of the past and some nonsensical declaration about what you will do when you the join the armies. Let me tell you something, you little shit; I’ve seen real battle in Alexander’s wars. I know what it is to take life in combat. You’re worthless, and I don’t want to hear your man-pleaser spout off anymore glorified nonsense in my town.” The man was about forty-five and clearly drunk but held an imposing physique nonetheless. Bacchylides and the rest of our group looked down towards the table as we received our admonishment. His presence overpowered
our aura of inexperienced arrogance. Half of me even agreed with his characterization of us when, suddenly, Stephanos stood up to him face to face, displaying a fuming demeanour.
“I’ve had enough of washed up drunks like you telling me I don’t know anything and am not worth a damn. You’re fully aware of why we are passing through your insignificant little town, and yet you mock our determination to do our part to keep the world Greek. Remove yourself from our table!” was Stephanos’ parting orders to the stranger. His confidence in the presence of a man I considered my superior was inconceivable to me. The local patron was at first shocked, then infuriated with this insult. Bacchylides now stood beside Stephanos, compelling my unwilling legs to also stand and move towards the confrontation. Nervously making my way, I witnessed Bacchylides strike the patron in the stomach, causing him to hunch over, while Stephanos struck him in the temple several times. The stranger managed to make a crazed lunge at Stephanos, clawing and punching at his face, while I assisted Bacchylides in bringing the man to the ground where the rest of our party now joined in repeatedly kicking the man until he yielded. Stephanos then spit blood from his injured mouth onto the man, sat back down, and called over one of the house women who were watching the familiar scene from a distance.
By the Sword Page 10