Victory, like a fickle wife, flew from the Greeks.
The gods died that day in Xenophon’s heart, though his intellect battled on to sustain a tenuous belief. Without gods the world was nothing, a place of torment and disillusion lacking order and reason. Yet, after Cunaxa, he had rarely known peace of mind.
The general took a deep breath and struggled to suppress
the bitter memories. A discreet knock came at his door. ‘Enter,’ he said, and his senior servant, Tinus, came in, bringing him a goblet of heavily watered wine. Xenophon smiled and thanked him.
Two other male servants fetched spring water for his bath, then towelled him dry. His armour had been polished until the bronze gleamed gold and his iron helm shone like purest silver. One servant helped him into his white linen tunic, while the second lifted the breastplate over his head, fastening the straps at Xenophon’s side. A bronze-reinforced leather kilt was slung around his waist and tied at the hip. Bronze greaves were fastened to his shins. Xenophon waved the servants away and took up his sword-belt. The leather was pitted, the bronze scabbard showing many dents, but the sword within was iron and keen-edged. He drew it, enjoying the exquisite balance of its short blade and leather-bound grip. Sighing, he slammed the blade home in the scabbard before buckling the sword-belt at his waist. He lifted his helm and brushed the white horsehair crest.
Holding the helm under his arm, he turned towards the door. Tinus opened it and Xenophon walked out into the courtyard. Three female servants bowed as he passed; he acknowledged them with a smile and lifted his face to the sunlight. It was a fine day.
Three helots were preparing the sand-pit to the judges’ instructions, shaping hills, valleys and streams. Xenophon stopped to examine their work. ‘Make that hill higher and more steep,’ he told one of the men, ‘and widen the valley floor. That is where the battle will be fought, and there must be room to swing the line.’
He walked on, through the open courtyard gates and out towards the hillside and the Shrine to Athena of the Eyes. It was not a large shrine, three pillars supporting a low roof, but within was the sacred altar. Xenophon entered the building, removing his sword and standing it in the doorway. Then he knelt beneath the altar upon which stood the silver statue of a woman, tall and slender, wearing a Doric helm pushed back upon her head and carrying a sharp sword.
‘Praise be to thee, Athena, Goddess of Wisdom and War,’ said Xenophon. ‘A soldier greets thee.’ He closed his eyes in prayer, repeating the familiar words he had first used five years before when leaving the lands of the Persians.
‘I am a soldier, Athena. Do not let this be an end to my glories. I have achieved so little. Let me live long enough to carry your statue into the heartlands of the barbarian.’
He glanced up at the statue, hoping for a response, yet knowing that only silence would follow. Xenophon rose and backed from the shrine. He saw movement on the acropolis and watched two boys embracing. Narrowing his eyes, he recognized one of them as Hermias. The other, then, must be the half-breed, the one they called Savra: a strange boy often seen running across roof-tops and high walls. Xenophon had only seen him twice at close quarters. With his curved, hawk-like nose he was neither handsome like Leonidas nor beautiful as Hermias, yet there was something about him. His blue eyes had a piercing look, both guarded and challenging, and he bore himself with a pride his poverty did not warrant. Once Xenophon had seen him running along Leaving Street, pursued by four other boys. On the second occasion Savra had been sitting with Hermias by the Temple to Aphrodite. He had smiled then at some light comment from Hermias and his face was transformed, the brooding glare disappearing. The change had shocked Xenophon and he stopped to stare at the boy. Savra had looked up then, seeing that he was observed. Swiftly his expression changed, like a mask falling into place, and the Athenian felt a sudden chill as those pale eyes focused on him.