Mission to Marathon (4 page)

Lucius and Callias brought them up to date with the news from Athens since Philip left.

Many people had wanted to build up defences round the Acropolis and collect food supplies to stand a siege until the Spartans and other Greeks could march to their help.

Others, led by the famous soldier Miltiades, said it would be better to march out and bar the way of the invaders and stop them before they got near to Athens. Surely the Spartans would arrive in time to help?

The Athenian army had ten generals. These generals took it in turns, a day each at a time, to command the whole Athenian army of about ten thousand men. After much argument the generals voted by a
slight majority to risk a battle in the open. Five of them agreed to give up their own day of command to Miltiades.

‘Very sensible,' said Callias. ‘He's quite the best. He knows what he's doing.'

‘Too many cooks spoil the broth,' said Nycilla wisely.

The young men had to parade. ‘Give our love to everybody,' Lucius called, as he seized shield and spear. ‘Tell them to lie low and take care. As soon as the Spartans get here—'

He sounded confident.

When he slipped over to the cave on the following evening, the Persians had not shown much sign of moving. They were very likely resting after the strenuous time they had had in Euboea. Cavalry patrols had galloped about across the plain, they had plundered and pulled down some empty huts, but they had kept their distance from the Athenians on their wooded slopes.

‘Lucky for us,' said Lucius.

‘Shouldn't the Spartans be here?' Nearchus asked.

‘That's the trouble.'

Pheidippides had got through to them with that message. He had covered that stupendous run of 140 miles and got back with the answer. It was rumoured that Pan had appeared to him on the road and given him super-human strength. Certainly from that day the god Pan was more popular in Athens than ever before.

Unfortunately the Spartans were just then celebrating an important sacred festival in honour of the god Apollo.

‘Very religious people, the Spartans.' Lucius sounded bitter, almost disgusted. ‘They said they had to obey the holy law. They must wait till the moon is full before they can march over to help us.'

By themselves the Athenians were hopelessly outnumbered. The strength of the Persian forces – judging by all those ships – might be 30,000. It was a wonder that they had not already advanced against the Athenians.

Lucius thought they did not fancy attacking heavily armed infantry in a strong position. They hoped to lure them down into the open plain where the Persian
cavalry could make rings round them.

Next day brought sudden hope. Looking up into the mountains Philip caught the welcome glitter of armour. It was as though a giant metal snake was winding its way down from the skyline. Could it be the Spartans after all?

The newcomers however turned out to be from the loyal Athenian ally, the little city of Plataea, over in the west above the Gulf of Corinth. Plataea had sent its entire army, only a thousand men, but a great encouragement.

‘Every man counts,' said Lichas. He and Nycilla's other two brothers went over to the Athenian camp, with a handful of young neighbours who came down from the hills.

They had no arms but their knives and hunting spears. ‘If the fighting starts,' Lichas pointed out, ‘there will soon be shields and weapons scattered around. And the men they belong to may be in no state to pick them up!' His sister shuddered. ‘We'll soon equip ourselves,' he assured her. ‘We'll be all right, you'll see.'

They were accepted as light infantry. Their knowledge of the ground might be useful. Philip wished he was big enough to join them, but had to admit that he would be of no use.

‘One thing worries me,' said Lucius.

‘What's that?' someone asked.

‘Five of our generals have given up their turn to Miltiades. Tomorrow's his last day to command.
He's
far our best chance of winning. What will happen if he has to hand over command to someone else?'

What would tomorrow bring? Not the Spartans, anyway, thought Philip.

Miltiades was spoiling for a fight. There was no doubt of that.

But Miltiades was no fool. How could he march out and attack a Persian army perhaps three times as big as his own?

The Persian cavalry were the greatest threat. Apart from small mounted patrols, riding to and fro across the plain, they had not so far been much in evidence. But they were there all right. Their horses could be seen in the distance, grazing in the wide marshes.

They could be rounded up and mounted fast enough if the Greeks came down on to the open ground. Miltiades must be well aware of that. He had experience of Persian
fighting in other places and other wars. And he had no cavalry of his own to throw against them.

Philip and Nycilla took their usual early walk next day on the higher slopes above the cave. Their elders encouraged them. Everyone wanted to hear if there was any sign of action round the bay. If the restless young were happy to make that steep climb no one would discourage them.

‘If only the Spartans would come,' said Nycilla for the hundredth time.

‘They won't,' said Philip. ‘Not today.'

Every night he scowled up at the moon and calculated. Even when the Spartans were free to start, even though they were famous for their forced marches, they could not compete with the speed of an Olympic runner.

The cousins mounted a crest which suddenly gave them a wider view of the bay.

‘Look!' the girl cried excitedly. ‘There are no horses! Where have they gone?'

The marshy pastures were almost empty. Philip looked to the right, bracing himself for some alarming sight – the massed
cavalry suddenly in movement against the Greek position. There was not a horse to be seen.

‘They must be in the ships!' exclaimed Nycilla. ‘Yes, I can see some being led on board!'

Philip swung round. She was right. There seemed to be great activity along that spit of land. Files of horses were led up gangways into the transport vessels. Some ships were already well out into the bay. Sails were being hoisted. A screen of war galleys, with their long banks of oars, was strung out across the open sea.

‘They are giving up,' said the girl hopefully. ‘They can see it's no good. Oh, Philip, it's almost too good to be true!'

‘It
is
too good to be true. The camp's still there. Look, the soldiers are all there. And they're forming up. Thousands of them.'

She stared down, mystified. She hadn't always listened, as Philip had, to the endless discussions of the men during the last day or two. She had found it so boring. But now she was desperate to know what was going to happen. She begged Philip to explain.

He did his best. If the Persians could not tempt the Greeks down into the plain, their famous cavalry was no use to them. But while the two armies glared at each other at Marathon, the city of Athens was left defenceless. If the Persian cavalry sailed south along the coast they would be able to land, practically unopposed, within a mile or two of their main objective.

‘Can Miltiades get back to Athens in time to stop them?' she asked.

‘Not with the rest of the Persian army on his heels! I don't see how.'

It seemed hopeless. It would be suicide if the Greeks at Marathon turned their backs on an unbeaten army almost three times the size of their own.

Philip turned his gaze back, despairingly, to the Greek encampment in the Sanctuary of Heracles. Despair turned instantly to disbelief.

The troops were already on the move. But the first marching column was not wheeling south along the road back to Athens. It was turning into the Marathon plain and heading straight for the Persian camp.

‘There's going to
be
a battle,' he said.

They stared down, speechless, as they tried to take in the scene.

Only Argus, nosing about happily as usual, had no idea that history – perhaps tragedy – was about to be made. His keen questing eyes were only at their knee-level. Perhaps he couldn't even see what was happening far below. And what would his dog's mind have made of it if he could?

The Persian host was already ranged in order of battle in front of their camp. Their backs were to the sea. Some of their fleet, both war galleys and transports, were lying off shore, but there was no sign of any horses being disembarked again. They were no doubt in the other ships that were already far-off specks, heading for Athens.

Probably, thought Philip, the Persian commander was not unduly worried. He had no cavalry against him. He had such superior numbers of infantry that they could surely cope with the Greeks alone.

That superiority was more obvious than ever now that Miltiades was forming up his own battle line. It was so thin by
comparison with the dense mass facing it. And so
short
. Both to right and to left the barbarians extended further.

Miltiades had realised the danger of this. His own left and right wings had been stronger than his centre. Now they were both thinning out to lengthen the Greek line until it faced the Persians from end to end. More files of men were leaving the centre and marching away to one flank or the other.

For some reason the general seemed determined to keep those wings up to strength. Was he taking chances, Philip wondered, making his centre so weak? What if that barbarian horde smashed its way straight through?

‘Ought you – ought you to go back?' he asked Nycilla.

‘How can I?' she answered fiercely. ‘My brothers are down there, just as yours are.'

‘I was only thinking – if the worst comes to the worst—'

‘Well?'

‘If our people have to fall back – some of them might come up here – with the
Persians close behind them—' He groped for words. How could he explain to her the horrors in his mind? Those murderous barbarians would be scouring the mountainside for fugitives!

‘I'd run then,' she promised.

‘You must. And so will I. We mustn't let them see us – or the way we go. We must get down to the cave – but we mustn't lead
them
to it.' That would be the final horror. Even their grandmother wouldn't be spared if they found her.

The Greek line was moving forward now. They had no idea where their brothers were. Not on the extreme left wing, thought Philip – that position, he imagined, would have been given to the Plataeans. They might be anywhere else in the battle line.

‘They're shooting!' Nycilla whispered.

Clouds of arrows were flying from the enemy archers. The Greeks continued their advance without faltering. Those helmets and breastplates and shields were giving the protection they were expected to. A trumpet sounded. As one man, the glittering ranks broke into a run.

A great shouting arose, a din of clashing weapons, as the two armies met.

‘I can't bear to look,' cried the girl in a strangled voice.

‘We're pushing them back!' Philip shouted joyfully.

Argus just paused, his puzzled head cocked, mystified by the medley of noises from below.

Philip had been only partly right. The Plataeans seemed to be doing well. So were the Athenians at the far end of the line. But in the centre, as he had feared, the enemy were breaking through. It was the sheer weight of their numbers, which Miltiades had been unable to match.

A few minutes ago the two armies had faced each other as thick, straight parallel lines. Now those lines had crashed together. They were merging into a shapeless mass, quivering in conflict, curving outwards or deeply dented, according to the way men pushed forward or had to give ground.

Miltiades must have known what he was doing when he kept his two wings strong. They were pushing back the men
facing them. With their longer spears and their defensive armour they exploited their advantage. And, remembering no doubt the instructions given them, they were not wasting time to chase after Persian fugitives but were circling round in orderly fashion to take the enemy's triumphant centre from behind.

‘It was wonderful,' he told the family afterwards. ‘Like a crab's claws!'

‘Look!' cried Nycilla. She herself could bear to look now. ‘They're running away! They're running into the sea!'

The Persian centre had turned to meet the surprise attack on its rear. There was a mass of struggling humanity, a blend of yells and howls of pain and clashing weapons. But some of the barbarians were already in terrified flight, many of them splashing into the shallows and wading out to find safety in the vessels lying just off shore.

It was getting to be little better than butchery. It was hard to believe afterwards. But a little later, when Philip and Nycilla knew it was safe to run down the mountainside on to the battlefield, they saw
evidence that for the rest of their lives they never forgot.

That little stretch of plain was strewn with bodies.

Hundreds – indeed, as it turned out, thousands. Almost all barbarians. The Greek casualties, dead or wounded, were already being picked up and tended by their comrades. But there had not been many.

No one was troubling much about the invaders. They littered the ground, their long Asian garments soaked with blood. Their shorter spears had been little use against the longer Greek ones. Their wickerwork shields had been a poor protection compared with the strong ones of their enemies.

Philip and his cousin rushed past them – sometimes over them – with no more than a shuddering glance. They saw Lucius and Callias and rushed over to them. Callias had a flesh wound which Lucius was trying to bandage. Nycilla made a tidier job of it.

‘Have you seen my brothers?' she asked anxiously.

‘Lichas picked up my shield and asked to borrow it,' said Callias. ‘They were all right then.'

‘We must find them,' said Philip, seeing the look on her face.