Inside the dust-cloud Pelopidas and the Sacred Band ran in front of the advancing Thebans, taking up a position at the head of the charge. ‘Death to the Spartans!’ shouted Pelopidas.
‘Death! Death! Death!’ roared the army, and they began to run.
Eighty shields across and fifty ranks deep, the Thebans smote the Spartan front line like an axe-blade against timber. The first two Spartan ranks buckled and fell beneath the stabbing swords, the phalanx sliced open by the weight of the charge.
The Spartans bravely tried to re-form, but no army twelve deep – no matter how courageous – could hope to contain an enemy with fifty concentrated ranks. Unable to lock shields, Spartan warriors were cut down where they stood.
At the head of the charge Pelopidas powered into the Spartan ranks, Callines beside him. A sword lanced towards Pelopidas’ head but Callines blocked it with his shield, stabbing his own sword deep into the Spartan’s
groin. The phalanx moved on, slowing now but still advancing. Pelopidas was stabbing and hacking, oblivious to the many small cuts which bled freely on his arms and legs.
Behind him Epaminondas – at the centre of the phalanx, and not yet brought into the righting – peered through the dust, locating the Spartan King, Cleombrotus, who was fighting alongside his bodyguard a little to the right of the main advance.
‘Pelopidas!’ shouted the Theban general. ‘To your right! Your right!’
Pelopidas heard him, even through his bloodlust, and glanced round. He saw Cleombrotus and began to fight his way towards the Spartan King. Callines moved alongside him, the two men protecting one another and fighting as a team. Behind them the Sacred Band also altered the line of advance, homing in on the Spartan Battle King.
On the right Leonidas forced himself to the front of the two Spartan ranks ordered out to encircle the Thebans. Seeing the enemy closing on Cleombrotus, he ordered the men to close ranks. ‘The King! The King!’ he bellowed. The Spartans surged forward, desperately trying to reach the beleaguered monarch. ‘Fall back, sire! Fall back!’ yelled Leonidas.
Cleombrotus, realizing the danger, could not bring himself to retreat in the face of Thebans. ‘Stand firm,’ he told his bodyguard. ‘They will break upon us like the sea against stone.’
Parmenion and the cavalry had pushed deep into the enemy centre, the lightly-armoured archers fleeing before them. The Spartan cavalry had been routed. Parmenion swung left to see the Theban battle-line slowing as it sought to turn and crush Cleombrotus. His eyes flickered to the Spartan right, where he saw Leonidas had gathered two ranks to him and was forcing a path to save his King.
‘Thebans to me!’ shouted Parmenion. There were only fifty riders within hearing distance – the others were chasing down the fleeing archers – but the men galloped to him. ‘Follow me!’ Parmenion cried, kicking his heels to the stallion and charging the Spartan line.
The Spartans had tried to lock shields against the Theban phalanx, but they were more open on their left and the attacking horsemen clove through the ranks.
The move surprised the Spartans, who tried to turn and defend themselves. But this only weakened the front of the line, allowing Pelopidas and the Sacred Band to hammer through.
Cleombrotus cursed. His sword stabbed out, cleaving through the teeth of an advancing man and piercing him to the brain. Another Theban, then another, fell to the Battle King.
A scream came from beside him and he twisted in time to see his lover and companion, Hermias, fall – his throat slashed open. A dark-bearded warrior with a death’s-head grin leapt at him. Cleombrotus parried a thrust, then a second. But Pelopidas crashed his shield against the King, forcing him back, then dropped to his knees to ram his blade through Cleombrotus’ groin. Still the King tried to fight, but his lifeblood drained away – and with it his strength. His shield arm dropped and the Theban’s sword smashed his jaw to shards.
As the King fell, the Spartan centre buckled. Leonidas and his men finally forced their way to the front, gathering up the dead King and fighting a rearguard action back towards the defensive line of their night camp.