Episode 18 (479 B.C.):
At dawn the next day, thanks to the provisions sent by the allied cities, the soldiers enjoyed an abundant feast. The aroma of roasted boar filled the Athenian camp. Amidst laughter and camaraderie, citizens, metics, and slaves gathered around the bonfire to savor the feast. The rigid social structure divided them, but in the midst of the cruel war, they united like brothers. Comforted by the smoky flavor and juicy texture of the boar, fraternity reigned while they ignored, if only for a brief moment, the clashes to come. Even Zenodulos joined the group and chatted animatedly with everyone.
That same day, Mardonius, observing that more and more Greeks were joining the battle from afar, devised a plan to deal a crucial blow to Greek morale and logistics. A squadron of horsemen, swift as the wind and implacable as wolves, intercepted a mule caravan carrying vital provisions for the Hellenic camps. It was the same route they had brought the boar by. The news of how the Persians had burst out of nowhere, annihilated everyone on the route, both people and pack animals, and took all the supplies, did not take long to reach the ears of the soldiers. Misfortune, like a ubiquitous shadow, loomed over the camp. After all, nothing good lasts forever, don't you agree?
The soldiers of the Athenian regiment were greatly alarmed. Without food or water, they could not be ready for the enemy attack; they would be exhausted even before the horsemen also stormed their camps. Demosthenes was deeply concerned for his companions, while Zenodulos seemed calm; after all, dying of starvation was nothing new to him.
Thirst got the better of several soldiers. Just two hours after the bad news, ignoring the orders of their superiors and the advice of Demosthenes, several soldiers rushed to take water from the Asopus River, the same one that had their enemies on the other side of its banks.
At night they learned of the tragic fate of those soldiers: the thirsty men were massacred by the Persians and the river was stained red with their blood. Fear twisted Demosthenes' stomach into a knot, a feeling even more excruciating than the scorching thirst that wouldn't quit. In the face of uncertainty, one of the Athenian commanders sent a horseman to the Spartan camp to ask them for advice on how to proceed in such a situation.
After an hour, the answer arrived: There was a source of drinking water, but located a grueling five kilometers behind the Spartan camp. That only worsened the Greeks' already dire situation, but they had no choice but to organize themselves in shifts to walk such a long way to quench their thirst. Demosthenes could only drink at dawn and then went to sleep, still plagued by thirst.
Three days later, amidst the uncertainty and the exhausting monotony of carrying water bowls from camp to camp, more discouraging reports came in: those fearsome horsemen had flanked the Spartan camp and destroyed the well. Several of the Spartan comrades died trying to protect it. But the damage was already done, the eastern soldiers quickly retreated from the well leaving their enemies in uncertainty.
Panic spread through the Greek camp: food and fresh water supplies were scarce. A new rider was sent in search of instructions, and the response came quickly: an order to retreat. They had to move back several meters to occupy a more favorable defensive position, while approaching a new well.
As night fell, the mobilization began. Fatigue, thirst, and demoralization were reflected on the faces of the soldiers, even on the two immortals.
In the distance, the campfires of the Greek soldiers who were forced to position themselves at the foot of the river could be seen. Their new location was now facing the ruins of Plataea. What they did not know, and Demosthenes did not know either, was that they had gone to the wrong place.
Meanwhile, between exhaustion and useless quarrels, the Athenian regiment had not yet begun to retreat. The discussions revolved around the ownership of objects, the incompetence of some slaves to pack, or the insufficiency of the water stored for the trip.
Commander Aristides sent a horseman to the Spartan camp to request instructions on how to coordinate the retreat. The discussions continued, and Demosthenes, frustrated, shouted to put order:
— Enough! —Everyone turned to look at him—. We must unite as comrades, not be divided. Only then can we defeat our enemies and return home.
Many nodded in silence and continued to collect their belongings. The few who tried to keep fighting were silenced by their superiors.
When they had already begun the retreat, the horseman returned from the Spartan camp and went to Aristides, who was near Demosthenes.
—Sir, things are not looking better in that camp —The horseman said.
—What do you mean?
—They can't agree on the course of action to follow. Also, the Persians have begun to mobilize.
—Damn Spartans, they boast of being the best soldiers and can't even coordinate a retreat —The commander exclaimed in frustration —. Let's keep moving to the position we already discussed. Meanwhile they can decide what to do with their own troops.
—But what about the enemies?
—May the gods have mercy on us and not take us by surprise.
Demosthenes, with his stomach tied in knots with fear, continued on his way alongside his squire. The first rays of dawn illuminating a Spartan regiment in the middle of the field. In a heroic act, they had decided to stay behind to fight the approaching Persians. Many Athenians congratulated them from afar, while others criticized their senseless decision.
Demosthenes could only feel gratitude towards them. It was evident that they had sacrificed themselves so that the others could retreat safely. He raised a prayer to the gods, imploring them to grant them a place in the Elysian Fields.
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The Spartan soldiers formed a phalanx in preparation for combat against the fearsome Persian horsemen. However, there came a point when Demosthenes could no longer distinguish their figures on the horizon, which were gradually fading. Resigned, he continued on his way.
The sound of battle, death, the clash of swords, and the clanging of shields echoed in the ears of the Athenians. In the distance, another battle was also taking place.
—Sir, isn't there just one battle, isn’t it? —Zenodulos asked Cratinus, his superior.
—That's right, young man —The proud soldier replied. —. It seems that the other Spartans are also fighting. Stay alert
The Athenians and the Plataeans who accompanied them looked nervously in all directions. They were the only ones not fighting. Undoubtedly, the Persians would soon send a regiment to eliminate them.
And they didn't wait long. When the sun was already bathing the valley with its light, the reflection of armor similar to that of the Athenians could be seen in the distance. They were Hellenes like them, but under the orders of Mardonius.
—Those are the Thebans, fucking barbarian worshippers —Cratinus growled.
Thebes, a city located to the north, had been at odds with Athens for years, and this enmity increased when they decided to join the cause of King Xerxes months ago.
If the Athenians had felt any empathy for their Hellenic brothers, they would have tried to unite them in their fight, but the scars of past conflicts still festered. Upon meeting, both armies moved to their battle positions.
Demosthenes was aware of the impossibility of convincing them. He had already fought against other Greeks at Salamis, and the terror of disappointing someone as formidable as King Xerxes was reason enough to face his compatriots. So he didn't blame them.
The armor of the Theban generals shone with the golden gleam of bronze, while the others displayed a discordance of dark and silver colors. Their characteristic shields with two circular holes on the sides also bore an endless number of symbols, among which the mace of Heracles stood out, representing the place where this mythical hero was supposedly born.
Ordered into their respective battle formations, both the Athenians and the Thebans organized themselves into small phalanxes. Being so close to their opponents, Demosthenes could observe a elusive look in the eyes of his new adversaries; in the eyes of those fellow countrymen, one could see fear and doubt. It seemed that they were fighting out of obligation, rather than conviction, unlike the other Athenian soldiers who fought with an almost fanatical determination to reclaim their destroyed city.
The clash began with Athenian initiative. The frontline soldiers cautiously advanced against their enemies. They could not fight in the same way they had against the Persians, with their light armor and wicker shields. Since their current adversaries already knew and mastered the same type of tactics, they preferred to attack with caution. Demosthenes was in the third line at the time of the initial attack. The sound of clashing swords, spears, and shields echoed across that desolate wasteland.
Suddenly, the Athenian cavalry charged against the flanks of the Theban phalanx, causing its immediate collapse. The formation where Demosthenes was found himself forced to advance towards the center of the Theban army, being surrounded by enemies on both sides. They had no choice but to fight to the death against those young men, some even younger than the immortal.
The armor of those in the front lines was stained with blood. Demosthenes still hoped that his enemies would flee, and they didn't take long to do so. After an hour of fighting, one of his generals ordered the retreat and all the others followed in disarray. Some Athenians tried to chase them, but the generals on their horses stayed behind.
— Let them go! — Aristides shouted from the rear lines. —We must regroup and support the Spartans!
Reluctantly obeying, the other soldiers regrouped in that defensive line and, without even looking at each other, continued their formation. As if that fratricide had never happened.
The sun reached its highest point in the sky when Athenians and Spartans reunited. The generals met in the middle of both formations and conversed for a while. Unlike the ordinary soldiers, who showed the marks of battle on their faces and armor, the commanders remained impeccable.
Then, Aristides turned his horse towards his soldiers, a wide smile on his face.
— Soldiers! — He said enthusiastically. — The Persian general has fallen! All that remains is to destroy their camp on the other side of the Asopus River!
The death of Mardonius sparked a triumphant celebration among all the soldiers, even the Spartans celebrated the news they already knew, raising their spears to the sky and shouting the names of Apollo and Heracles.
Then, they marched towards the Persian wall, where their last forces were withdrawn. Now both Athenians and Spartans, Corinthians, Tegeans, Plataeans and many more marched as if the differences between poleis meant nothing.
In the middle of the two elevated terrains and across the river that wall could be seen. For a long time, their goal was to break it down and now it was close to being fulfilled.
The soldiers crossed the Asopus, fighting again against the "barbarians". People of different colors, clothes and languages succumbed to the Greek swords, were taken prisoner or fled far away. None were spared from the brutality of the invaders.
Destroying the wall with their weapons and shields, they plundered the Persian camp. Tents made of exotic fabrics, still defended by slaves and eunuchs, were taken by the soldiers as spoils of war.
The Persian camp was once again transformed into a hive of activity. The Greek soldiers, drunk with victory, eagerly plundered the tents, seizing everything they considered valuable: jeweled weapons, tapestries of exotic colors, gold and silver vessels.
A group of Spartan generals had taken over Mardonius' pavilion, a luxurious structure that looked like a miniature palace. It was the same that Zenodulus had already seen in the ruined Athens. For Xerxes had left it to his cousin before fleeing.
While the generals celebrated a banquet with the food made by the cooks abandoned by their deceased or escaped foreign owners, the ordinary soldiers began to retreat to their humble camps, what was left was for those who bore the surnames and titles of mythical characters and gods.
On the other hand, the helots, slaves by birth of the Spartans, were busy piling up the war booty: carved furniture, chests full of gold and objects of unimaginable luxury. Some soldiers, more greedy than others, even dedicated themselves to tearing off the rings from the fingers of the dead Persians.
Demosthenes, observing such a scene with horror, among rubble and fire, refused to participate in the looting. However, among the crowd of men snatching whatever was for their benefit was his squire Sosigenes. Perhaps he wanted to rebuild his farm with the money earned from stolen objects or was just a victim of the collective euphoria. In any case, Demosthenes prepared to retire, but out of the corner of his eye he saw another acquaintance.
None other than Zenodulos was among the pillage, helping his superior Odysseus to put rings and fine fabrics into a bag. Beside them lay the lifeless body of his former master.
Demosthenes no longer knew what to think. Among his companions, he could see great cruelty: they plundered, killed, stole, and raped in a frenzy of decadence. Surrendered and disappointed, he retired to a makeshift camp they had set up on the other side of the river, where the Greeks from the other poleis had been before, and went to sleep. He did not remember the dream he had that night.
The war was very close to being over. In Ionia another battle was taking place, but that was not of much interest to our 7... I mean, 6 immortals. The Persians would never again attempt a large-scale invasion of Greece. So they were safe, for now, and both immortal warriors could return to their city to fulfill their dreams. One of peace and the other one of power.