The enemy cavalry shot arrows into our shields while their spearmen rallied, trying to reform their battle line. We were exhausted. A runner came over behind our mass of men, “Reform the line! Three ranks!” We were going to stretch our line to match the length of our enemy’s.
Some grumbled but still formed up under intermittent arrow fire. We were not exhausted but tired all the same. It was like completing a foot race would be, one that was longer than you expected.
While we formed, our first rank knelt down while the second rank added a second layer of shields to the growing shield wall. Estriadites and I stood shoulder to shoulder in the second rank toward the left flank. Looking around, I found Helion to be within eyesight in the rank behind us, closer to the center. In the chaos after our push through the pass, Klysestes formed in the middle of the first rank, instead of his position of honor on the right flank.
The enemy’s battle line became a solid mass of spearmen with their wicker shields facing us. The shields they now had were smaller than the first ones I had seen, which I realized later were probably arrow screens. If they had archers behind them, they did not fire at us. Their cavalry moved to the flanks and continued to rain arrows down on us. “What’s to stop their cavalry from riding around behind us?” I asked my brother.
“Nothing, I suppose,” replied Estriadites. “Be ready to turn.” His answer did little to comfort me.
I heard not the call to advance but men around me stood up, formed the phalanx, and began to bellow the paean to the war god and our line started to move. While I sang, my eyes focused on the rider with the golden torc. Abda-Hajjir rode up next to him and his bodyguards began sending their own shafts at us.
Closer and closer, we marched as one toward the enemy line. I saw their faces over the shoulder of the man to my front, or rather, faces of men that were not covered by some sort of headscarf. In the pass, the enemy spearmen had taunted us while we advanced. Now they were silent, some grit their teeth, others looked around nervously. I assumed they sought escape from our men of bronze. There were no Kaloceans, they likely had been killed to a man in the pass.
Our ranks pressed in closer, snapping some of the arrows stuck in our shields on the backs of those in front of us. The tempo of our battle hymn quickened and the men were all but shouting the words as we closed on the enemy. The Elahkarian cavalry pulled away from their infantry’s flank, riding further from us. Short horn blasts came throughout the enemy line and they stepped back a few paces, careful not to show their backs to us.
A newfound energy entered my body at the sight of their fear. The joy of battle filled my heart. I needed to plunge into the enemy line and wet my spear with the blood of scared men. That is, until I saw their cavalry, no longer riding away from us but now galloping around our flank. “They’re drawing us in!” I yelled to Estriadites. The battle hymn drowned out every word. “It’s a trap!” He looked over his shoulder at the horsemen and nodded back to me, unsurprised.
The enemy spearmen braced to receive our advance. I could not tell if no one knew we were being flanked or if they simply were caught up in the bloodlust and cared not. Again, we had their spearmen beyond their reach of striking back. Iron spearheads pierced their wicker shields and unarmored bodies. One enemy parried a spear with his shield and rushed in to attack. My spearhead plunged into his chest over the shoulder of the man in front of me.
I ripped my spear free when I heard horns behind us. Over my shoulder, I saw enemy cavalry charging the back of our left flank. “Behind us!” I yelled. Our first rank fought on while men in our last rank and part of our middle turned to face the cavalry, spears out. Seventy horses charged our hoplites on the extreme left of our line. It was likely the same was occurring on our extreme right. The center of our phalanx had no cause to worry, provided we held our end.
The horsemen bore down on us and many horses slowed or reared up when meeting our spears. Horses will not charge headlong into a spear formation if they can help it. Horses close to us that reared up took spears in their bellies. Riders hacked at our spear shafts, knocking them aside to get in closer.
One by one, riders began to fall with spears in their stomachs, backs, and sides. Horses wined, men shouted, and the ground slowly turned red. I thrust my spear at a rider only to have him parry the blow, turn in his saddle, and chop his ax into the neck of a distracted hoplite. Estriadites stabbed him in the thigh and then in the arm. When he turned to ride away, another hoplite ran up and pulled him from his mount. The rider hit the ground with a thump and the hoplite pulled the man’s chin up. As he slit the man’s throat, an arrow took the hoplite in his armpit. The hoplite fell beside his enemy, both men coughing and choking on blood.
The cavalry pulled away from us and fell back. A few cheered and banged their spears on their shields, taunting the enemy. I looked over my shoulder to find the Elahkarian spearmen pushing into the first rank, trying desperately to cut any exposed skin. I turned quickly and buried my spear into a man’s eye and then the neck of the man next to him. “Help!” the hoplite in front of me yelled, his spear being held on to by an enemy wearing a white headscarf. I reddened the scarf and freed his spear.
Those distracted by the cavalry turned back to help our front rank, which was holding but being pushed back. Before long our enemy pulled back, not being able to reach us with their shorter weapons. The Elahkarians fell back and would bide their time, deflecting the blows they could, then rushed in between our spears and attack like demons, grabbing spear shafts and trying to pull shields down. When we began to kill and wound those men, they would jump back between wicker shields and others would renew the attack.
After a few breaths, we heard horns behind us again. “They’re charging us again!” yelled Estriadites. Some men turned to face the charge. I stayed forward and struck at the spearmen. My mouth was dry and sweat poured from under my bloodstained armor. When stories of war were told, no one had ever mentioned that within the press of combat, it was dreadfully warm.
The thundering hooves approached us rapidly. I gritted my teeth and braced. They crashed into our line again. I could hear the sounds of iron and bronze striking each other, spears breaking, and men dying. I thrust my spear at an enemy, missing my target then looked over my shoulder. Two horsemen were behind me slashing at hoplites.
I turned quickly and rammed my spear into the neck of a horse which collapsed and panicked, throwing its rider. It took so much effort to dislodge my spear that when I freed it, I drove my butt-spike into the back plate of the man behind me. He shouted something over his shoulder. I looked over my shoulder to find the enemy spearmen trying to pull his shield down. The hoplite rammed him with the large bronze shield, hard enough to knock him over. Once down, he stamped his foot down on the man’s groin and stabbed the Elahkarian behind him.
I became angry the more I turned back and forth between attacking enemies. This was not how war was supposed to be fought. The cowards tried every dirty trick they could think of. Of course, I was wrong. War is not fair. War is where you push an enemy’s head into a puddle and hold it there until they stop moving. Only victory matters in that moment. As soon as victory is not your foremost concern, the battle is lost.
While we struggled with the cavalry on our backs and their spearmen to our front, the center of our line was of singular murderous purpose. Though the enemy fought hard on the flanks, supported by cavalry, but their center could no longer hold. Being on the left wing, I had not noticed that our center broke to run down the retreating enemy center. The cavalry retreated again and the spearmen in front of us suddenly broke and ran, having been attacked in their rear by some hoplites from the center.
Ask any man who has stood in the press of bronze, slaughter happens after the battle, not during. The Elahkarian spearmen ran for their lives. We broke and gave chase. Those within a spear’s range were made to suffer. There were not many hoplites on the ground but those pursuing the enemy had to jump over piles of bodies made by our spears where our two battle lines had fought.
Whole contingents of Elahkarians became trapped in flight and banded together like our schiltrons had earlier in the morning. They backed in together, forming loose circles. There were pockets of ten here and there, some more than fifty, all fighting for their lives.
Seeing so many trapped, I stopped running. I planted my butt-spike in the ground and drank from my canteen. The enemy cavalry retreated and moved toward their infantry, careful to stay away from us. I took another drink and poured some water under my armor. The cavalry that had attacked us now number around fifty of the original seventy. They split into smaller groups and began to harass the hoplites attacking the remnants of their shattered spearmen, firing arrows into their backs or slashing with swords.
The rider with the golden torc, with Abda-Hajjir and his Elahkarian bodyguards, charged the group nearest me. A group of about thirty spearmen had been encircled by hoplites. The riders hit them at an angle for a glancing charge rather than ramming into the mass of men. Swords and axes struck bronze armor with harsh sounds.
Horses ran into the sides of unaware hoplites and the riders slashed and stabbed, relying on the momentum of their mounts to knock their enemies down. Golden torc shot an arrow into the throat of a man turning to fight. As he galloped away, turning in his saddle, he loosed another arrow into the face of a shield. The riders had knocked a small hole in the circle of hoplites and the enemy spearmen now surged toward it to escape the envelopment.
Estriadites was not far ahead, dispatching a downed enemy. Ripping his spearhead free, he looked around until he found me. I pointed my spear at the men who had been attacked by the cavalry. Nodding, we ran to provide what aid we could. Those who had been knocked down regained their footing and tried to fill the hole as enemy spearmen charged them.
The trapped Elahkarians were pressed between spears, striking helmets, arms, and anything else within reach. My brother and I, with a few other stragglers, charged into four spearmen that slipped passed the circle of spears. Estriadites stabbed one in the leg, wheeled and stabbed another in the throat. The other two were killed just as quickly by other hoplites.
I looked around quickly and saw no cavalry near us. Gripping my spear tightly, I pushed in. The now twenty Elahkarians were surrounded by maybe forty-five spears. Desperate men tried throwing their shorter spears at us. Seeing them bounce off large bronze shields, they drew the only other weapons they had and grimly awaited their fate. Our circle of bronze constricted around the enemy, pushing the enemy back with long spears until there was no longer any room to retreat. Their backs pressed into each other and men shouted and pushed each other with elbows.
Slaughter was a sweet song in that moment. Screams and battle cries filled the air. I pushed closer to our foes and thrust my spear with all the hate I could muster. An enemy deflected my blow with a wicker shield, but Estriadites’ spear struck home. We stepped closer. Estriadites lodged his spear into the shield of the next man while I struck over the top of his shield, into his chin. Men around them fell to the spears of our men, whittling the enemy down to half their number.
Men shrieked and groaned in pain until they received a second spear to silence them. One threw down his weapons and dropped to his knees, shouting in what I assumed was a plea for mercy, which he received in the form of a spear.
We closed in on the three enemies standing atop the pile of bodies of their friends when I heard the hooves behind me. Fifteen horsemen came at us, Abda-Hajjir and Golden Torc among them. “Behind us!” I screamed, barely able to get my words out. Some turned around quickly and jutted their spears at the horses. Abda rode close and turned away before impact, knocking spears aside with his sword. The horse nomads with Golden Torc loosed arrows into our men, mostly lodging in shields or ringing off helmets.
Abaenaxes burst forward from another part of our circle and ran at a horseman. A nomad galloped at him and swung with an ax. The old hoplite deflected with his shield turned with the horse and speared the rider in his hip as he rode away. Within a few heartbeats, the rider fell to the ground. Abda rode toward Abaenaxes, favoring his right side, his polished sword glinting in the sunlight. They both prepared to strike.
Abda deflected the spear with his sword and ripped it across the muscle of Abaenaxes spear arm. What infuriated me was the ease with which Abda struck. There was fluidity to his motion, like watching water run downhill, swift yet effortless. Abaenaxes involuntarily dropped his spear and fell to one knee with his shield up. Estriadites and I ran over with few other hoplites that gathered around him, shields and spears ready. I cannot say for certain, but I thought Abda’s face actually looked annoyed that he would not be able to finish the old hoplite. He yelled something to Golden Torc, who was nearby, but I could not understand him.
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Golden Torc trotted forward, stopped the horse, and appeared to be nocking an arrow. He waited, watching his men. The Elahkarian spearmen we trapped were now a knee-high pile of corpses, and his nomads, with the men of Abda’s bodyguard, rode around the schiltron, sending shafts into shields.
“Hand me a spear,” Abaenaxes stood and ordered, holding a hand toward me. Blood ran down his spear arm, his bicep looking as though it took the brunt of a butcher’s blade. “A spear!” I placed mine in his twitching hand, doubting if he could use it anymore.
Abda rode closer and shouted at us, “Do we finish our combat like men or are you content to hide behind boys?!”
Abaenaxes huffed with rage and dropped his shield. Readying to cast his spear, he pushed through the hoplites around him and with a running start, he extended his left arm. Golden Torc’s arrow flew through his nose, into his skull. His head kicked back as he fell onto his stomach. The spear rolled out of his bloody hand.
Golden Torc rode past us, with Abda-Hajjir to regroup with the nomad riders. Estriadites ran and hurled his spear as hard as he could. The spear soared through the air toward Golden Torc. I held my breath as it neared him. Falling between the horse’s neck and the rider’s body, the spear stuck into the ground. Golden Torc reared his horse and glared back at us. Other riders moved around him, but he maintained his gaze. Abda rode past and must have said something because he slowly followed him away.
I ran over to retrieve my spear. Abaenexes lay face down. “We have to go after them!” I shouted to no one in particular. I looked back to find that most of the hoplites had run off after other survivors and left there were Estriadites and some ten other hoplites.
My brother picked up a spear, “Come,” he snarled, “I take no slaves today.” He ran with purpose and we followed. The battlefield was cluttered with exotically dressed bodies, mostly the enemy spearmen that had been cut down while fleeing, interspersed with a dead horse here and there. Near a group of three dead horses, we found six dead hoplites.
In front of us, we saw a commotion, lots of dust was kicked up by hooves and feet. It looked like the bulk of our men ran into an Elahkarian rearguard covering their retreat. To our right was chaos. About sixty hoplites fought an equal number of enemy spearmen and riders spread out far, without formation. Cries of desperate men, angry voices, and combat were the music of that field. “We are needed here!” yelled Estriadites, pointing his spear to our right. We charged into the fight.
I ran up to a pair locked in combat and speared the Elahkarian in his side and the hoplite facing him rammed his own spear into the man’s chest, forcing him to the ground. Estriadites and the others spread out, searching for blood to spill. Another hoplite raised a sword to strike down an enemy when a nomad rider galloped by and cut his sword hand off at the wrist. Horsemen were buzzing through the combat like flies on a field of corpses.
A horse nomad came at me and struck at me with a heavy curved sword. I jumped out of the way rather than block the strike. My eyes were searching the field for Golden Torc and Abda-Hajjir. They would not escape. I would not allow them to leave this field. My attacker did not stop to turn, just continued toward another foe, a foe that threw his spear straight into the rider’s chest and watched him topple off the horse.
I saw the large hoplite with a red cloak and red horsehair crest walk over to him. It was Ankarathesos who stood over the rider, towering above him like the titan of a man he was. Our Tyrant was made for this, to be in the thick of battle.
He drew the spear from the dying man, spun and thrust its head into the belly of a spearman running towards his back, straight through the wicker shield. He roared and pulled his weapon free. I noticed that of the enemies that chose to stay and fight made more passes at Ankarathesos than any other hoplites near us. He was a great fighter and his head would be a trophy for anyone who could claim it, but he would make it damn hard for any to collect that prize.
Estriadites and I found an Elahkarian spearman rushing toward Akarathesos and we set ourselves between him and our Tyrant. I thrust my spearhead towards his leg, and he dodged as expected. My brother ran him through and left him on the grass to bleed and die.
The fight had gone well for us so far. Taking a quick sip from my canteen, I watched in awe as Ankarathesos swung his spear like a staff and knocked a rider off his mount, stabbing him twice with its butt-spike. Looking back at the dust kicked up from the larger battle, I saw Golden Torc emerge from the fighting, draw a curved sword and make for Ankarathesos. I ran as fast as my feet would carry me, putting myself in his path. Gripping my shield tightly, I rested my spear shaft on its rim, poised to strike.
Golden Torc galloped toward me hunched in his saddle, the bronze head on his helmet staring me down. He held up his sword to strike and I lunged. The rider expertly dodged my spear, shifting himself on the horse. As he passed me, he brought his sword down in an arc as striking me high on my back.
I fell forward on to my knees, bracing my fall with the rim of my shield. Dropping my spear, I frantically felt over my shoulder for blood. The cut in my linothorax armor was deep but there was no blood. Unarmored, that strike could have cut my spine. I grabbed my spear and spun around to counter his next attack. He had already ridden off toward Ankarathesos, leaving me behind as an afterthought.
Golden Torc charged our leader who was deep in his battle rage. Scattered around him were seven bodies of Elahkarians. Ankarathesos turned to face the horseman and swiftly struck at him, but Golden Torc’s sword swatted the spear away. Coming around for another pass, they struck again at each other. Our Tyrant thrust his spear at the enemy, only to have its head cut off. Rotating away, Ankarathesos dropped the spear and drew his sword from the sheath on his waist.
Golden Torc turned and waited. Ankarathesos stepped over a body and swiftly moved toward our enemy. The rider came at him. Ankarithesos planted his feet, blocked sword with sword, and rammed the rider with his shield, almost dismounting him. Golden Torc struggled to remain on his mount and pulled the reigns to stop while he settled himself. Ankarathesos ran up to him just in time and chopped his sword down on Golden Torc’s leg.
Estriadites ran up shouting for me, “Estrios! We have Abda!” I turned to meet him. “Come! We have their general cornered!” I looked back to Golden Torc, who was fighting for his life now and followed my brother.
****
Abda-Hajjir sat atop an anxious horse, surrounded by near thirty hoplites, spears ready. Inside the circle of warriors were bodies of men and horses. Nine Elahkarian bodies were loosely scattered around their general, some next to the bodies of their mounts. Around their dead were the bodies of seven hoplites. Some in the hoplite circle did their best to nurse wounds taken by those bodyguards.
Abda’s horse whined and stomped its hooves. Blood ran down from a cut on its neck and from another wound on its flank. Its eyes looked exhausted and fearful. Klysestes stepped forward addressing us, “Don’t let him flee. And if I fall, make sure he joins me.”
One thing I grew to realize from an early age was that our people love a good fight, and we love our heroes. I have no doubt that if Klysestes was not present our men would have rushed in and killed Abda without a second thought. When two great warriors face each other in the field, everyone near them wants to watch.
“Why doesn’t he ride through our men and flee?” I asked my brother.
Estriadites shrugged, “We’re too many and his horse is wounded. A horse can only be pushed so far.” I nodded, not knowing anything about horses. “Be ready though, he may yet try to flee.”
Klysestes walks toward Abda, “Abda-Hajjir, do you accept my challenge to single combat?”
Abda looked around under no illusions that any choice he may have had was already removed. “I accept your challenge. If that is the will of Assa-Mahura for me to meet my end at your spear, then I ride gladly into her arms,” replied the foreigner. With a twirl of his straight sword, Abda walked his horse toward Klysestes, moving carefully around the bodies of the men and horses surrounding him.
Klysestes moved in quickly, taking advantage of the dead obstructing the horse’s movements. The surrounding hoplites cheered him on and hurled insults at his opponent. The horse slipped for a moment on a body than rushed forward. Klysestes feigned a thrust then cut the horses neck with his spear. The mount reared up with a pain in its eyes and the spear thrust home into its underside. The horse kicked wildly with its front hooves. The spear ripped free and it seemed like the horse might fall.
Abda-Hajjir elegantly slid off his mount and backed away slowly. The horse, instead of falling, ran towards Estriadites and I. We were quick to open the rank and let the horse run. Abda looked ready to bolt but Klysestes moved between the opening and him, long enough for us to reform the circle.
I was close enough to see Abda’s dark eyes observing the men around him through the open face of his bronze helmet. It wasn’t fear that I saw on his face. He looked- calculating. His unusually calm face shown of a man displeased that he now has more work. Seeing him stand, I found his figure to be more intimidating. Abda was well built and slightly taller than me. He stood like a man in no need of a shield as if he were facing children. His sky blue robe, embroidered with thin purple, flapped in the breeze.
The scattered bodies were to Abda’s back, and as Klysestes moved in, so did the back side of our circle. The men wanted to get closer to the fight so they missed nothing, not being concerned with leaving too much room for combat. I looked back quickly and could barely see the fight where Golden Torc and Ankarathesos had been.
Klysestes struck quickly. His foe parried the spear and backed up a couple paces. The next strike was a feint. Again, he parried the real strike to his leg, backing up until his heel was against the corpse of one of his bodyguards. Klysestes thrust swiftly. Abda was barely able to redirect the blow with his sword, and leaped in closer, grabbing the spear shaft. He pulled Klysestes off balance and buried the edge of his sword into the rim of the shield.
Both struggled to wrench their weapons free and disarm their opponent. Abda finally dislodged his sword and chopped at Klysestes’ spear hand. Managing to move in time, Klysestes dropped his spear and moved back drawing his sword. Abda-Hajjir looked at his opponent’s short sword and smiled. “It is not too late to accept the generosity of my king.”
Klysestes remained silent, advancing slowly with his eyes over the rim of his shield, poised to strike. Abda glanced his long cavalry sword off the top of the shield, curved the blade in an arc and scraped his sword on his opponent’s bronze greave, just below the knee. Klysestes withdrew his leg on instinct and Abda rammed his shoulder into the bronze shield, knocking Klysestes off balance.
Abda’s hand grabbed the top of the bronze shield and he swung his sword down hard. Klysestes barely had time to gain footing, but he parried the blow with his short sword and swung horizontally. Abda pulled his head back to dodge the blade. Klysestes pulled the bronze shield from his grasp.
Abda backed up a pace and smiled. He seemed to be enjoying himself. Klysestes was breathing heavily but kept the large bronze shield facing his enemy. I didn’t want to take my eyes off the fight, but I looked around quickly for any riders that might attack us while we were distracted. Cavalry rode across the field in small numbers but none came near us.
Klysestes watched his opponent begin to circle him, as a predator and moved in quickly to keep the corpses behind his enemy. The closer he moved, the more Abda fell back, walking over a body. Abda looked quickly over his shoulder at the other bodies and walked back further. It seemed that he knew he might get pushed back amid the corpses, where if he was to stumble, he was determined to make Klysestes stumble too.
Klysestes rushed in with a thrust of his sword, missed, and swung two more times. Abda evaded the blows easily, not being encumbered by a heavy bronze shield. He stepped sideways over another body, drawing Klysestes deeper into the sprawling corpses. We shouted encouragement to our champion but could tell he was winded. His shoulders moved with short, quick breaths and his shield hung lower leaving his neck more exposed. With his sword hand, he pulled off his helmet and let it fall. Sweat from his matted hair ran down his face.
Abda smirked and raised his sword, but Klysestes rushed forward again. Abda parried the blow to the side and then cut back quickly. The long cavalry blade skidded off the top of Klysestes’ hastily raised shield and cut a chunk of the dyed horsehair crest from the top of his helmet. The long cavalry sword curved back around struck low at his leg again.
Klysestes fouled the enemy’s blow with his shield and thrust his sword at the same time. Abda moved backward but his heels caught on a dead horse. The short sword thrust into his gut. With a grunt, Abda fell backward over the horse and rolled back up to his feet, his blue robe splotched with purple from the bloodstained ground around him. Klysestes looked at the tip of his short sword, no blood. That meant there was scale armor under the enemy’s tunic.
Klysestes jumps over the dead horse. Both their feet made a squishing sound as they moved on the blood-soaked turf between three bodies. Klysestes lunged with his sword. Rather than dodge, Abda brought his sword across hard and knocked the weapon from his hand. With his sword arm across his body, he has no time to strike before the large bronze shield rammed into him. Klysestes put all his weight into the real attack, knocking Abda over on to the slippery ground.
Both men fell. Klysestes landing on top, his shield pinned Abda’s sword arm against his own chest. With his weight on the shield, Klysestes used that arm to leverage his body up. Still pinning Abda, he hammered his fist down. Again and again, the bronze vambrace on his sword arm crashed on Abda’s face. By the fourth blow, Abda’s nose broke, and he coughed blood. His left arm was up trying to deflect but Klysestes caught the arm and headbutted him.
The bloody vambrace rose and fell with a thud. Blood covered much of Abda’s face, soaking into his trim black beard as he lay there almost defenseless. With haste, Klysestes rose and threw his shield on the ground, grabbed the cavalry sword and swung it down. The blade bit through the leather vambrace, into the bone of Abda’s raised forearm and lodged itself there. Klysestes tried to pull it free but it remained stuck.
Dropping the sword, Klysestes grabbed his shield with both hands on the rim and dropped to his knees, straddling the wounded man. Holding the shield tight, he rammed it down hard on Abda’s throat, again and again. Abda made a gasping, sputtering sound. Satisfied, Klysestes dropped the shield and stood panting.
I walked slowly over to Klysestes, with heavy footfalls so he knew I was coming. Someone amidst battle rage should not be surprised. He turned his head. I drew the long cavalry sword I had taken earlier and held it with its handle out. His brief smile between breaths said enough as he took the sword. Abda was no longer moving. I wasn’t sure if he had died already but it mattered not. Klysestes took the man’s helmet off and buried the blade’s edge in his neck. Three more times and he stood holding the bloody head of Abda-Hajjir by its hair. He looked around and then back at me, tossing the sword on the ground near me.
Collecting my sword, I kept my eyes from the dead bloody face. The sight should have been welcome but it only turned my stomach. I diverted my eyes and saw nomad horsemen rushing toward us. I barely had time to yell before the arrow struck Estriadites in the head.