Rebirth

“Brothers, I’ve brought you some food.” Heilos squeezed into the low tent.

The quiet military tent suddenly came alive. Several men who had been lying down scrambled to their feet, snatching food from Heilos’s arms with the speed of starving wolves pouncing on prey.

“Heilos, if you hadn’t come soon, I’d have starved to death,” Matonis said, chewing loudly on half-cooked horse meat. The flesh he’d normally turn his nose up at now tasted indescribably delicious in his mouth.

“I got it from Antonios. Menon had them form a special team to drag dead and wounded horses off the battlefield, even with the risk of being attacked by Persians.” Heilos sighed, then looked with concern toward the man still lying at the far end of the tent. “How’s Davos? Has he woken up?”

“He woke up. But he’s been in a daze the whole time. No matter who talks to him, it’s like he doesn’t recognize them. Won’t say a word. I think he’s asleep now,” Georgios answered gloomily.

“I reckon he fell into the River Lethe while he was on Charon’s boat and lost his memory,” Olivus said.

“Shut up!” Matonis reached out to shove Olivus’s head, but Olivus shoved him away.

Heilos forcefully separated the two and scolded them: “We all came from the same town in Thessaly. We’re thousands of miles from home, surrounded by enemies. If we don’t stick together, we might never make it back.”

The tent fell silent.

Sensing the heavy atmosphere, Heilos tried to comfort them: “I’ve seen a few soldiers who took heavy blows to the head. At first they were confused, but after resting a while, they returned to normal. Maybe by tomorrow morning Davos will be smiling and greeting everyone.”

“Davos is supposed to be a veteran. How did he manage to fall while chasing the enemy?” Olivus started irritably, but when he saw Matonis glare at him again, he immediately shut his mouth.

“Heilos, did Cyrus the Younger win or was he defeated?” The brief silence prompted Georgios to voice the question that worried them all the most, yet which no one wanted to face.

Earlier, after they had chased the routed enemy and returned to the battlefield, they’d only found the Persian army still there, while Cyrus’s forces had vanished. Since it was getting late, neither side wanted to keep fighting. After a tense standoff, the Persians withdrew.

The Greek mercenaries then discovered their camp had been looted. Exhausted and hungry, the soldiers had no energy left to think about or inquire into that very important question.

“Cyrus the Younger was leading cavalry. Whether they won or lost, he could easily leave the battlefield and rejoin us tomorrow. Then we just fight the Persian king again.” Heilos said lightly.

“But the Persian king’s army was already far larger than ours. If Cyrus the Younger was defeated, the forces fighting alongside us tomorrow will be even fewer,” Georgios said worriedly.

“What’s there to fear? We heavy infantry number more than ten thousand! The Persians are as timid as rabbits! No matter how many they have, they don’t dare fight us! I haven’t had my fill of killing today. Tomorrow we fight again—perfect!” Matonis gave his own kind of encouragement.

“Even if Cyrus the Younger was defeated, we still crushed their left flank and killed a good number of them. Tomorrow they’ll have even fewer soldiers than today!” Heilos was equally confident.

“Those damned Persians destroyed our camp, stole our food, and made off with a lot of my silver coins! Tomorrow we’ll beat them and take back what’s ours!” Matonis said angrily.

“That’s right!” Everyone was united in anger. “Not only take back our stuff, but grab theirs too.”

“Oh!” Olivus remembered something and said excitedly: “I heard that Cyrus the Younger’s women were all seized too, except one who escaped. The one I told you about before… that Milesian woman as beautiful as Aphrodite. They say Clearchus took her into his tent. He’ll be enjoying himself tonight!” Olivus swallowed and leered.

“Don’t talk nonsense!” Heilos warned him.

“Olivus, if you’ve got the guts, go beat the Persian king tomorrow and grab one of his women for yourself.”

“Oh, that’s a good idea! Matonis, you’re actually smart for once.”

“Damn you, Olivus, you want another beating?”

While they were joking, a hoarse voice came from the far end of the tent: “Have you never considered the possibility that Cyrus the Younger was not only defeated—but killed?”

…

Tissaphernes arrived outside the Persian King’s great tent. The eunuch Masabades was already waiting at the entrance: “His Majesty is waiting for you. Enter quickly!”

As Tissaphernes unbuckled his sword and handed it to a nearby royal guard, he noticed the king’s most trusted eunuch seemed somewhat downcast. Thoughts raced through his mind: Could His Majesty be badly wounded?

Inside the tent, the air was thick with the scent of frankincense, mixed with a few traces of medicinal herbs.

Artaxerxes lay sideways on a couch, draped in a magnificent crimson robe. His bare chest was wrapped in white linen, and faint red bloodstains could be seen seeping through. A beautiful attendant was gently massaging his shoulders, while below stood the physician Ctesias.

Seeing Tissaphernes enter, Ctesias took his leave from the Persian King immediately.

Artaxerxes ordered him to wait outside the tent, so he could be summoned at once if the wound took a turn for the worse.

Tissaphernes watched the Greek doctor withdraw, then knelt on one knee, bowed his head, and said: “Great King, your servant has suffered defeat and comes to beg for punishment!”

Artaxerxes said nothing. Tissaphernes began to grow uneasy, remaining motionless on his knees.

After a long pause, Artaxerxes finally spoke: “You were defeated, Tissaphernes. But at least you dared to attack. I hear you led the cavalry around the Greek heavy infantry line to strike their rear, only to be beaten back by their peltasts, and were nearly hit by a Greek javelin.”

“Yes, Great King. You know all things!” Tissaphernes breathed a silent sigh of relief.

“You are far braver than those who fled before the battle even began. Rise!” Artaxerxes was still dissatisfied with the performance of the Persian left wing the day before, and then he raised his voice: “I was not as fortunate as you. Cyrus’s spear struck me, but thankfully my armor was strong enough. That gave me the chance to thrust him from his horse!”

Wasn’t Cyrus hit by the javelin of the guard Mithridates? Tissaphernes was surprised inside, but showed nothing of it. Instead, with excitement mixed with admiration, he said: “Great King, everyone used to say Cyrus was brave. But yesterday on the battlefield, just as we were about to suffer defeat, Your Majesty took a risk no king should have to take, stepped forward personally, and struck down that rebel Cyrus! You gave us an incredible victory! Great King, you are truly the King of Kings! You are the born hero!”

Masabades and Ctesias immediately also expressed their admiration for the Persian King’s courageous performance.

Artaxerxes’s face flushed red with indignation: “Cyrus has been competitive since childhood. As his older brother, I always gave way to him. Last time, at my coronation ceremony, he tried to assassinate me. For our mother’s sake, I forgave him! I never expected my kindness to be taken as weakness and cowardice. He dared to rebel!! For the stability of the kingdom, even though he is my own brother, I had no choice but to execute him!”

“The Great King’s mercy is known to all! Cyrus did not know his place, consorted with foreigners, and invaded the realm. He got what he deserved!” Tissaphernes spoke with passion and righteousness.

Artaxerxes nodded, then couldn’t help coughing a few times. The speech had cost him considerable energy: “My satrap, you have repeatedly reported Cyrus’s plots to me, and your governance of Asia Minor has always been outstanding! When this rebellion is completely put down, I will reward you handsomely!”

“Your Majesty, as the satrap of Asia Minor, this is my bounden duty!” Tissaphernes said solemnly.

Artaxerxes inclined his head and pointed with his left hand at a large clay jar placed on the wooden table in front of the couch. His face showed a complicated expression: “Inside this jar, Masabades has placed the severed head and hands of Cyrus. Take them to the Greek camp. Tell them to surrender immediately!!”

Note: Two eyewitness accounts of the Battle of Cunaxa have survived—one by Xenophon, the other by the Persian physician Ctesias, whose record was later quoted by Plutarch in the Roman era in his Life of Artaxerxes. In that account, the Greek heavy infantry’s defeat of the Persian right wing was far from as easy as Xenophon wrote. In this novel, I chose Xenophon’s account. Though his description is somewhat exaggerated, it helps explain some of the strange behavior of the Persians after the battle.