The Death of Cyrus the Younger (Part 1)

“The King’s army is coming! The King’s army is coming!!…” A scout rider came galloping from afar, shouting repeatedly in Persian and Greek.

The soldiers, who were about to stop and rest, stirred restlessly.

“Pategyas, is what you say true? Artaxerxes has really come?!” Seeing the horseman just dismount, Cyrus the Younger asked impatiently from his own horse.

“Yes, Your Highness. Artaxerxes has come! Artagerses has come too! And that… damned Tissaphernes is also here!!” Pategyas panted heavily, his voice hoarse.

“Excellent, my friend! Excellent! He has finally come!!” Cyrus the Younger dismounted excitedly, ordering a servant to help him into his breastplate as he shouted to his adjutant, Ariaeus: “Notify the whole army! Prepare for battle!!”

“Yes, Your Highness!” Ariaeus hastily called for messengers: “Inform the Greeks immediately. Rapidly form battle lines on our right flank! Prepare for battle!”

The messengers sped away.

Ariaeus then summoned the Persian officers. Cyrus the Younger ordered them to deploy their men on his left flank, while he himself led eight hundred cavalry in the center.

The attentive Artapates asked: “How many enemies are there?”

“About sixty thousand… or perhaps eighty thousand…” Pategyas recalled what he had seen, a hint of fear creeping onto his face.

“So many men!!” the attendants exclaimed, their faces showing alarm.

“Ha! Are you afraid, my friend?” Cyrus the Younger stepped forward and gave Pategyas a vigorous embrace, showing no disdain for his dust- and sweat-covered body. Then he mounted his horse and called to those around him: “Friends, are you afraid?!”

Cyrus’s followers and bodyguards naturally all expressed their courage.

“Even if Artaxerxes has ever so many soldiers, he is still that cowardly Artaxerxes! Don’t forget—a little hunting dog could make him wet himself!” Cyrus the Younger’s crude remark drew a burst of laughter from those nearby.

“But I have you! And I have my army! Together we defeated mighty Athens—that Athens which once repeatedly beat us Persians!” Cyrus the Younger’s eyes swept over each man, and each man straightened his back.

“We also have the fierce Greeks! They are fighting alongside us!” Cyrus the Younger looked to the right—there, the Greek heavy infantry were slowly forming ranks. Seeing this, his heart swelled with confidence: “We are irresistible! We are invincible!!”

“Victory!” Artapates shouted first, and then everyone vied to shout: “Victory!!”

Faced with such high morale, Cyrus the Younger raised his right hand: “Friends! Warriors! After this victory, I swear by the supreme god Mazda that I will do everything in my power to repay your friendship and your efforts!!”

“Cyrus the Great!!” someone shouted. Then, like a mountain torrent bursting forth, the cheers rose in waves.

…

“Hey, Matonis. Any sign yet?” Davos couldn’t help tapping the shoulder of the soldier in front of him again.

“How many times have you asked?! No! No!” Matonis wiped his sweat-covered neck with his free left hand and shouted irritably: “Why haven’t the enemy come yet? The sun is already at its zenith! If we wait any longer, I’ll be roasted alive by its flames!”

“Matonis, even if your meat is cooked through, I wouldn’t want to smell it. I’ve been eating meat lately until I feel like throwing up,” joked a nearby soldier, causing a burst of laughter among the men.

“Shut up, Olivus, you lecherous bastard! If you want me to shove your hand down your throat so you can taste your own meat, keep talking!” Matonis shook his strong arm and threatened viciously.

“Oh dear, I’m so scared!” Olivus pretended to be terrified, prompting another round of laughter.

“Stand straight, all of you! Stop fooling around! Menon is coming!” Heilos had barely finished speaking when a shrill voice rang out: “You brats, what do you think this place is?! Your family’s banquet hall?!”

A soldier of medium build, with a red plume on his helmet, stood in front of the phalanx and pointed at them, cursing: “This is a battlefield! If you don’t give it your all, Hades will be happy to pay you a visit!”

“Menon with the rotten mouth!” someone in the ranks called out.

“Who said that?! Step forward!!!” The men choked back laughter, watching with glee as Menon stomped his feet and shouted in fury.

Just then someone shouted sharply: “Look, ahead!!!”

The soldiers immediately fixed their eyes forward. In a moment, the smiles on their faces were swiftly replaced by terror.

At the far end of their sight, dust rose to the heavens, shrouding hills, trees, and houses in a gray haze.

A moment later, a thin black line emerged from the dust, began to stretch to both sides, and gradually thickened…

Soon, when the soldiers could barely make out the shapes of the enemy, countless flashes of light under the dazzling sun began to blind their eyes.

Armor, spears, shields… Their cold gleam stretched endlessly like the Milky Way in the night sky; the sounds of marching, shouting, and horses neighing merged into rolling waves of noise that made even the earth tremble—let alone men’s legs.

Just as Olivus felt he might fall, Heilos’s voice rang out: “Prepare for battle!”

“Prepare for battle!!”

“Prepare for battle!!!”

The Greek mercenaries put on their helmets one after another, took the round shields hanging from their left shoulders, grasped their thrusting spears, and began to beat their shields.

“Boom! Boom! Boom!…” The tremendous noise made Olivus and his comrades realize that they too were part of a mighty force, and their hearts gradually calmed.

The Persian King’s great army was still advancing slowly and steadily: scythed chariots in front, followed by unarmored archers, then light cavalry, and finally infantry with long shields and infantry with spears and wicker shields. The heavy cavalry was divided in two—one part guarding the Persian King, the other deployed on the far left wing of the battle array…

The vast Persian host, like thick clouds before a storm, pressed slowly forward, suffocating.

At this moment, Cyrus the Younger, accompanied by a few attendants, rode fast along the battle line to the left and right, giving instructions to every Greek mercenary commander…

Amid continuous cheers, he reached the far right end of the Greek formation, where he could even see the roaring Euphrates River not far away.

“I salute you, Your Highness!” Clearchus made a military salute.

Cyrus the Younger looked down at this Greek, the one he trusted most. Pointing to the enemy’s center where the Persian King was positioned, he said: “When battle begins, I want you to lead your men straight at the enemy’s center. Crush Artaxerxes, and victory in this battle will surely be ours!”