The Ten Thousand

CHAPTER TWO

"IT ALL STARTED when my old rooster died," Nicarchus said, his eyes bleary in the firelight but with a sly grin spreading across his face. That night, unable to sleep amidst the sounds of singing and celebration surrounding us, Xenophon had awakened me for company. Approaching a fire that had been built high and was particularly well attended, Xenophon was hailed by the men, who invited us to join them and have a swig or two from their wineskin-they seemed to have already spent the extra darics Cyrus had promised them.

Nicarchus the Arcadian, one of Proxenus' sergeants, had been laughing so hard at a joke that I thought he would burst his gut. When he saw us approach, he gained control, clapped Xenophon on the shoulder, and ceremoniously dusted off a space on a log for us to sit down. Normally a reserved, even rather morose individual who spoke slowly and with the drawn-out vowels of his native country, his face was ruddy from the unaccustomed wine and he was feeling especially voluble tonight.

"What a pleasure you're able to join us, Cap'n," he drawled, overcompensating in formality to offset his lack of concentration, and passing me the dripping skin. I looked around the fire and saw twenty faces in various states of inebriation grinning at me, and I wondered if I might have better spent my time that night continuing to try to sleep. "We was just singin' a few old songs and discussin' the glorious history and culture of my dear native land." He reached back over to reclaim the wine.

"Don't listen to him, sir," said Gellius, a hard-bitten old veteran who alone among the others seemed to be maintaining his sobriety. "As if Nicarchus ever had anything to contribute to Arcadia's glories! He's just a drunk old farmer too much into his cups to even tell a story straight."

Nicarchus drew himself up in indignation. "A drunk old farmer, you say?" His eyes struggled to focus. "I'll have you know, I was the biggest egg producer in all of Arcadia, and would still be livin' the good life there today 'stead of settin' here on my arse with you lice-bitten pig turds, if it warn't for that damned rooster." He looked around the campfire expectantly, waiting for someone to take the bait. I saw a few of the men smiling and shaking their heads in exasperation.

After a few seconds of silence, my own curiosity got the better of me, and against my better judgment I asked Nicarchus, "What rooster?" Several of the men groaned.

"Well now, sir," he said thoughtfully, "it's quite a story, and I might add, an instructive one at that." I began to think we might end up seeing sunrise out here, but the men were happy, the wineskin continued to be passed, and I made myself comfortable.

"Y'see, I had a large farm, with the biggest hen coop in those parts-a hundred and eighty laying hens, I had, at least they were layers, until a fox got my rooster. I depended upon those eggs for my livelihood, y'see, so I go into town to the poultry dealer, and ask for the best cock he has, because I have a lot of hens that need servicing.

"The dealer reaches into his cage and pulls out the biggest rooster I ever seen. He has a huge red comb, muscles bulging on his legs, and a Spartan lambda tattooed on his shoulder, which was shaved. Shit, if Clearchus were a rooster, this would be him. 'His name is Leonidas,' the dealer tells me, 'and he'll cost you a bundle, but he'll keep your hens satisfied.'"

The men chuckled, and Nicarchus leaned forward to poke at the fire.

"Well, I take Leonidas home and throw him in with the hens, and sure enough, he struts around like the overgrown sack of chickenshit he is, picks out the hen he wants, jumps on her, and before she can even let out a squawk, he keels over dead. I pick him up by the neck and think, 'What the hell did that bastard sell me? This old buzzard barely got it up once before he fell down cold.'

"That same afternoon I take my dead bird back to the dealer and show him what happened. Well, I have to admit, the dealer was nice enough about it all, even apologizin' for Leonidas' sorry-ass performance, and I almost begin to feel sorry for the feller. So then he reaches back into his cage and takes out another rooster, even bigger than the first. This one has a bright yellow comb and blue eyes-looks like a fuckin' Scythian-and I'll be damned if he isn't wearin' a spiked leather band around his neck like Cerberus the hound, and kickin' the shit out of the other roosters in the cage. Well, I take him home and throw him in the coop with my hens, to see if I can get my money's worth out of this one.

"That blond rooster, I swear, he don't even strut around. He just jumps on the first hen he sees, does his duty quick-like, jumps onto the second one and nails her to the wall, goes for the third and isn't even breathing hard, when all of a sudden-he just up and dies too, like old Leonidas. I'm beginnin' to think there's something wrong with my hens."

At this, Nicarchus sighed sadly and reached out for another swig of wine, as if to quench his sorrows.

"Well," Nicarchus finally drawled, "I grab that old blond giant of a rooster and drag him back to the poultry dealer and shout, 'Listen you son of a bitch, my business is going to hell in a handbasket, all because you can't sell me a bird that can keep his peter straight for two hours before he dies on me! You give me a working cock right now, you camel-jawed ape, or I'll burn your piece-of-shit store to the ground.' So the guy begins to look a little worried, and he reaches into his cage and pulls out the scrawniest, wrinkled old bird I ever seen. His comb is drooping down over one eye, he don't have more than two feathers on his entire body, and he can barely stand because of the kicking he received the day before from the Scythian bird. But that sorry-ass old rooster still has a bit of life gleaming in his eye, and the dealer says, 'I wouldn't inflict old Polyphagus here on anyone, but you're desperate, and he's my last bird, so here you are.'

"Polyphagus. Wretched name and pathetic bird. I'm furious, I can tell you, but I see no other choice, so I just take that pitiful old fowl home and toss him in with the chickens, without a lot of hope. I'm not even goin' to bother to stay and watch-don't think I can bear it-but then just as I'm turnin' to leave I see old Polyphagus stand up straight and tall, and I tell you, I am amazed to see that the old brute is hung like a donkey. He looks all around hisself at my one hundred eighty hens, gets a evil grin on his beak, and goes through every one of them chickens like there is no tomorrow, and then the dumb bastard musta lost count, because I'll be damned if he doesn't go back through every one of them a second time. There's hens layin' around on their backs everywhere with silly smiles on their faces, and when I go to look for Polyphagus I find he's punched right through the wall of the chicken coop and is trying to rape my dog.

"Well, you can bet I'm amazed. I grab him by the neck and lock him in the woodshed that night so's the hens can get some rest, but the next morning I go fetch him and throw him in the coop again. Old Polyphagus is practically frantic at having been kept celibate for, what, a whole twelve hours? and before I can catch him again he's gone through every hen, my boarhound, a prize sow and two of my cows. I finally seize that priapic son of a bitch, give him two smacks upside the head to calm him down and throw him back in the woodshed so's I can patch up my animals.

"The next morning when I go to get Polyphagus again, I find the old bastard has drilled right through the wall of the shed and escaped. The chicken coop is a shambles, a hundred eighty hens lying around everywhere panting and worn out, the hound trembling in the corner, and my old sow sitting in her water trough trying to cool down. I'm afraid Polyphagus has taken off to the neighbor's farm, so I go grab my mule, who's staggerin' around bowlegged, and I take off to catch that bird before he does any more damage.

"You can imagine, at least his trail isn't hard to find. Shit, the road is littered with casualties. Limping goats and sore-assed sheep. A quivering tortoise climbing back into its shell, three lame quails. I even find a big old hairy-assed boar tryin' hard to stifle a smile. Finally, I come around a corner, and there's old Polyphagus lyin' flat on his back, motionless, his tongue hangin' out, while two vultures are circlin' low overhead. I guessed Polyphagus had finally had enough, and the best rooster I ever had was now one with the gods.

"I yell, 'Polyphagus! Nooo!' and I slide off the mule onto my knees.

"But damned if that old rooster doesn't open one beady eye to look at me, nod over toward the vultures and whisper, 'Stop shouting! You'll scare them away!'

The men roared, and I reached over to claim the wineskin again. Xenophon had just taken a swig, although unfortunately it was precisely at the story's conclusion, and he was now alternately laughing and gasping as he spattered wine from his nose over the feet of the man next to him.

"A fine yarn, old man," he choked hoarsely, tears streaming from his eyes. "I'll think of you whenever I eat eggs!" As we took our leave the first pink rays of dawn began arching across the eastern sky.

Trudging back to our tent, Xenophon gazed at the vast expanse of glowing sky, and we paused on a small rise to view the entire extent of the camp. The thousands of tents were laid out in neat rows almost to the horizon, a city sprung from nowhere, as if commanded into existence by the very hand of Zeus. Men were beginning to emerge, scratching and yawning, stirring up their fires from the night before. Smoke drifted lazily, hovering shadelike in low pockets or in hazy swirls, before meandering almost reluctantly to tree-height where it dissipated in a breeze as yet unfelt by those below. The stifling heat of the previous day was only a distant memory, or a faint worry of the harshness to come, and the crispness of the air, the wafting scent of oil simmering over a fire, and the stark beauty of the vast desert emerging from the night filled us with a sense of elation.

In Cyrus' compound at the side of the encampment I saw several of the women emerge from their tent, cloaked head to foot in the veils they wore for modesty when in the presence of men, even at this hour of the morning. They chattered gaily with each other as they bustled about their tasks, though I could not make out their words, and presently I saw Asteria, whom I recognized from her graceful movement and slight build even without seeing her face. As she emerged from the tent she stood motionless for a moment, gazing up in our direction, though I could not tell whether she was looking at us, or at the streaks of pink light arching across the sky. I gestured to her faintly with my hand, not enough to draw the attention of others, but sufficient that if she were looking at me, she would notice. She stared motionless for a moment longer, and then turning away briskly she skipped cheerfully over to the older women nearby, from whom a moment later I heard peals of laughter.

Turning back to Xenophon I found him already facing the same direction as me, his thoughts focused on the same sight. He looked at me and smiled.

"A fine sight to start the day," he said. "Dawn and her attendant goddesses."

And he raced me down the hill, just as we had done on those warm summer days in Athens so long ago.