The Ten Thousand

CHAPTER TWO

SEVERAL DAYS LATER, just at sunset, as the army's scouts were returning to camp for the evening, I was startled to see Nicolaus emerge from the trees limping painfully, a grimace on his face. His arm was draped over the shoulders of another Rhodian who supported him in his painstaking walk out of the forest, and his right foot was tightly wrapped in a filthy rag torn from his tattered tunic. Despite the swaddling, he left a trail of blood on the earth behind him as he moved.

"Nicolaus, what happened?" I exclaimed, sprinting up and relieving his exhausted comrade of the burden. The loss of any of the Rhodians, whether to death or injury, would be a considerable blow to the army, but Nicolaus in particular, who was developing into a tactician of no mean skill and a valuable advisor to Xenophon, was to be protected at all costs. "Has there been an attack?"

Nicolaus grimaced again and rolled his eyes. "Only on me, for my own stupidity. I walked too close to a badger hole, and the fucker must have been waiting for me. He tore into my foot like a slab of raw meat, and locked his jaws on me. I had to club him to death with a stick, and then use another stick to pry his jaws. He took a chunk off my foot." Nicolaus' comrade proudly pulled the dead creature from a cloth bag slung over his shoulder, its head flattened and pulpy. It was the largest I had ever seen, the weight of a kid goat, with a row of evil, pointed teeth on its lower jaw that protruded around the bared lip in a hideous grin, still stained with Nicolaus' blood. "Can you help me into camp?" Nicolaus asked.

I could not yet tell how serious the injury might be, but any animal bite was notoriously prone to life-threatening fever, and if the badger had been rabid as well-best not to think about the consequences for now.

After draping his thin body carefully over my shoulders and carrying him to the Rhodians' campsite, I raced off to fetch Asteria, who had accumulated a large stash of medical supplies. I found her outside her tent, on her elbows and knees, her face almost touching the ground. She was struggling with the unaccustomed task of blowing on glowing embers to ignite a clumsily stacked pile of unseasoned branches she had gathered. I squatted beside her and spoke her name, startling her. She jumped and looked up, and then with a sheepish expression pushed herself up to a more dignified kneeling position, wiping stray strands of hair from her perspiring face. As she did so, she left a long, sooty finger-smudge across one cheek.

"Asteria, I need help with an injured man," I said. "Bring your medical supplies."

Returning with her to the Rhodians' camp a few minutes later, I pointed out the injured boy, while Nicolaus' comrades stood in awkward and deferential silence, unaccustomed to the presence of a woman in their midst.

Asteria did not shrink from the blood-soaked wrapping, but quickly and efficiently exposed the foot, calling for more light as she did so. As someone trained the glare from a torch directly on it, she muttered softly under her breath. "This is beyond my experience," she finally said. "Clean arrow wounds, broken bones, fevers I have handled, but this-" and she looked almost sadly down at Nicolaus' foot. I bent down myself to have a closer view, and sucked in my breath in dismay.

The limb had already swelled to twice its normal size, engulfing the toes, which emerged from the bulbous foot like tiny, newly sprouted buds on a tuber. Much of the skin had been torn off or hung in shreds, as if flayed with a dull knife, and a large piece of the inner heel was missing, just below the ankle, where I guessed the furious creature had clamped down in his final death throes. The foot was riddled with deep puncture marks where the beast had chewed and gnawed, seeking purchase-some had penetrated down to the bone.

Asteria gently palpated the instep, toes and ankle while Nicolaus writhed and moaned in pain, two of his colleagues pressing his shoulders flat to the ground and muttering reassurance to him.

"I don't think anything is broken," she said finally. "That is fortunate. The foot is a complicated limb and rarely heals properly after being set. I'm worried about this bite, though, and the punctures. This type of injury is ripe for gangrene. Once that sets in, the whole foot is lost-possibly even more."

Of this I was only too aware, for the sickly-sweet smell of rotting flesh which is symptomatic of this disease was a familiar one in the Greek camp.

Asteria hesitated, staring at the foot, before getting up and strolling impassively over to the nearest campfire, deep in thought. She knelt beside it, poking gently in the embers, pondering her next course of action. After a moment she stood up again, having apparently made a decision, and returned, her eyes avoiding Nicolaus' sweating, inquiring face.

"Sit on his knee, Theo," she commanded in a low voice, "and hold his shin tight. Don't let his foot move." I jumped to the task, eager for something useful to do, and no sooner had I seized the bony shin and calf than she withdrew from behind her back the knife she was holding, which she had brought to a pulsing, red-hot glow in the coals. Kneeling quickly, she pressed the flat of the glowing blade hard against the enormous bite in the flesh of the foot, eliciting a loud sizzling sound from the steaming wound, as of fat dripping from a roasting flank into the fire. The sharp, acrid stench of burning flesh assaulted my nostrils as fiercely as it had when the flaming naphtha had seared the attacking Persians at Cunaxa.

For a moment Nicolaus was silent, perhaps in shock, or during that brief, merciful delay between the touch of burning metal to one's skin and the blinding white explosion of pain that bursts in one's head. Then he erupted into a desperate, sustained howl, a cry of rage and pain that shocked and silenced the rest of the camp, as men for hundreds of yards around stopped what they were doing to listen. His scream died down to a gasping choke as his lungs became depleted, but resumed again as Asteria turned the blade over to the other, still red-hot side and again pressed its sizzling flatness into the now crispened wound. The bleeding ceased almost immediately, and was now reduced to a quiet, insignificant oozing. She gazed at her handiwork in satisfaction. "Almost done, now," she whispered to Nicolaus soothingly, though whatever comfort he may have derived from these words was blotted out when he saw her step back to the fire to plunge her blade again into the coals.

Returning a moment later, she this time gently inserted the red-hot tip into each puncture wound, rotating the searing blade slowly to cauterize all sides of the holes. Nicolaus was passing in and out of consciousness from the excruciating pain, and when lucid, he was reduced to a despairing, breathless whimper.

The ghastly treatment was over as quickly as it had begun, though not soon enough for those of us watching in horrified fascination. Removing a long needle and a length of gut from her kit, she quickly and efficiently sutured the flaps of skin she found hanging freely from around the ankle and instep, and then rummaging again through her bag, found a small ceramic jar sealed with a piece of oiled fabric tied tightly around the top. Opening this up, she dipped in her fingers and swabbed Nicolaus' entire foot, both inside the wounds and out, with a greasy, foul-smelling balm that appeared to give the ashen-faced boy some relief. She then wrapped the entire limb in clean gauze up to the knee, tied it off tightly, and stood up, wiping her hands dry on her hips.

"Theo," she said, in a low voice of authority, "find him some uncut wine to help him sleep. I'll check on him in the morning and change the dressing. If we can stave off fever for three days he'll recover without loss."

I rushed off to take some wine from Xenophon's private store, which he used for libations during the sacrifices, and returned to find Asteria chatting quietly with several of the Rhodian boys, each of whom was asking her about their own wounds and ailments. Asteria patiently answered their queries as best she could, but I could see from her face that she was drained and exhausted, and I gently led her away from the grateful slingers, and sleeping Nicolaus.

Walking quietly back to the camp followers' quarters, we paused near a high hedge to rest. I was deeply impressed with her work on Nicolaus, and told her as much, but she wearily waved off my compliments.

"I learned about treating foot injuries from some notes left at the palace years ago by Democedes of Croton," she said, "but it was your countryman Hippocrates who perfected the cauterizing technique. I never had the courage to try it, until now. The pain is terrible, but short-lived. Thank the gods it was only his foot. It could have been much worse."

"Worse? His foot was in shreds!"

"True, but Hippocrates recommends the technique for treating hemorrhoids."

I recoiled, and she rolled her eyes at my squeamishness. "Theo, please, let us talk of something else. My spirit needs distracting."

I was not sure what she wished to discuss, but my mind immediately ventured to a question that had been gnawing at me for weeks, afraid to hear the answer from her for fear it might cause her to reconsider her own motives.

"Asteria, you had hardly even spoken to me before. What possessed you to steal into my tent in Cunaxa?"

She looked at me in surprise. "Because I am Lydian, of course," she said.

This response failed to penetrate, which she gathered from my silence.

"Of course, I was born in Miletus," she explained, which only confused me further. "Miletus has been under Lydian rule for centuries, but my mother traces her lineage directly from King Croesus, so I consider myself Lydian, even though the Persians insisted on calling me 'the Milesian.'"

I was thoroughly baffled by now, which seemed to flummox her.

"I'm surprised at you," she said, in exasperation.

"Then we're even," I answered. "I've known Lydians all my life-Athens is full of them-but I've never known one to grant me the favors you did, simply because you were born a Lydian!" I winked, but she ignored, or failed to notice, the jesting tone in my voice.

"Have you ever read Archilochus of Paros?" she asked, her eyebrows raised.

Naturally I had read the old Parian, back when Xenophon and I were schoolboys, but I had retained precious little, and indeed I had to confess that I had understood even less at the time I had read him. To me, his lyric poetry was of the densest sort.

"And you call us barbarians," she said dismissively. "Athenians seem to think that unless their history comes spoon-fed in simple prose straight from Herodotus, it can't be worth listening to."

The conversation had now shifted to a topic with which I was familiar. "Herodotus was a great man," I asserted, straightening my back and raising my chin at this rare chance to demonstrate my superior knowledge. "I once even met the master personally, when I was a young boy and he a very old man-though you can't imagine a crustier old gaffer than he was, and one less likely to attract the favors of a Lydian wench." I pinched her playfully on the haunches but she swatted my hand away.

"Well, since you are such a cultured Athenian," she retorted sarcastically, "you certainly know Herodotus' chronicle of King Candaules of Lydia."

"Of course, but I still dispute your characterization of Herodotus…"

"Would you care for me to recite Archilochus' verse form of the tale? Then you may be better capable of judging the prose of your own leaden-tongued hero."

Ignoring her dismissal of the education and culture I had struggled so hard to acquire at Xenophon's side, I took the bait and happily agreed to the recitation. She launched effortlessly into the polished iambic trimeter that Archilochus employed only for his most salacious verse, though from her lips it sounded as pure as a prayer. I would be wholly incapable of transcribing here her perfectly modulated pitch and crystalline vocalizing-it is impossible for a mediocre intellect to accurately render the speech of a superior one, especially fifty years into one's dotage. I will therefore limit myself to recalling it to the best of my ability in the thick Attic prose Asteria so disdained, but with which my pedestrian Muses have cursed me.

"You know, of course, that Candaules was madly, passionately in love with his wife," she began. "He was a very fortunate man, for if the gods ordain both that a man fall in love, which happens often, and that he love the very person with whom they ordain he is to spend the rest of his life, which happens only rarely, then that man is indeed blessed. And Candaules was thrice blessed, in that he also believed that his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world. It is just such an overabundance of fortune that leads the gods to take notice, and to pound in the nail whose head extends higher than the rest."

She paused to look at me, confirming that I was paying close attention, then continued.

"Candaules had one bodyguard, Gyges, whom he favored above all others, and to whom he confided all his affairs, even his most intimate thoughts; and Gyges never once betrayed his master's confidence. He was loyal to a fault. Candaules often rapturously described his wife's beauty and voluptuousness to Gyges," and breaking out of character and rhythm, Asteria added, "though you know better than I do what men talk about to each other when alone."

I felt the blood rising to my face and began heatedly denying that men discuss any such things with each other, but she rolled her eyes dismissively at me and continued.

"One day, while they were discussing Candaules' favorite topic, he remarked that Gyges did not seem to believe the claims he made of his wife's physical perfection. 'Since the truth is more persuasive to men's eyes than to their ears,' he said, 'I will find a way for you to see her naked, and then you will be convinced of what I say, not only with regard to her beauty, but to her other talents as well.'

"Naturally, Gyges was appalled at this suggestion, as any honorable man would be. 'What are you saying, master?' he said. 'You wish me to see your wife naked? Believe me, I know you are telling the truth when you say there is no woman on earth with a body like hers. But I was taught by my father to distinguish between right and wrong. Don't ask me to do evil merely to confirm what I already know is true. I would rather you blinded me.'

"But the king would have none of this. 'Courage, Gyges,' he chided. 'Do not take me the wrong way. I only wish to dispel any doubts you might have in your mind. Believe me, perfect white buttocks like hers are not seen every day, at least not by mortal men. I will manage it so that you will be able to inspect her beauty at your leisure, while she remains completely unaware that you are watching. Evil unnoticed by the victim is not evil at all, but merely a benefit to the perpetrator, and no one will be the worse for it.

"'Tonight, stand behind the open door of our bedchamber. When I go there to sleep, she will follow me. There is a chair close to the entrance, on which she will drape her garments one by one as she takes them off. She sleeps naked, and you, standing in the shadows behind the door, will be able to see her illuminated in the light of the lamp as if it were your own bed for which she was preparing. After she has finished undressing and turned her back on you to go to bed, you may stay and watch further, or slip quietly out the door without her seeing.'

"Gyges tried repeatedly to escape his master's request, but to no avail. That night, Candaules led Gyges to the hiding place, and a moment later the queen followed, carefully laying out each garment on the chair just as the king had predicted. Gyges watched in awe, his heart in his throat at the queen's beauty, which was more wondrous than he had ever imagined or than the king had described. He could scarcely breathe in his passion and fear, and his knees were so weak from trembling that he was afraid they would buckle beneath him and drop him gasping to the floor at the feet of the surprised queen.

"Shortly afterwards she moved toward the bed, and when he saw her smooth, white buttocks moving away from him, he cautiously slipped out of the room, in utter stealth and silence. Just as he disappeared through the doorway, however, the clever queen happened to glance back and see his shadow, and although she instantly guessed what had happened, she neither screamed nor gave any other sign that she was aware of her husband's and Gyges' terrible offense."

Again breaking out of character, Asteria explained to me slowly and carefully, as if speaking to a dense child, "Among Lydians, even men, it is considered to be a deep disgrace to be seen unclothed."

I felt my face heating up, as she paused and stared at me pointedly. All this time I had never been sure whether or not she had recognized me at Cunaxa as I watched her struggle out of her robe and escape naked behind the Greek lines.

"The queen mentioned nothing to her husband," Asteria continued, "but at daybreak, she summoned Gyges. She had often in the past spoken with him alone on official matters, and he was accustomed to responding to her call, thinking nothing of it. So this time as well, he obeyed her summons, not suspecting that she knew of his indiscretion the night before. Arriving in her presence, he knelt down before her with his head bowed, as was the custom in the Lydian court.

"'You have committed a foul deed, Gyges,' she said sternly, casting a baleful eye at the terrified soldier and holding the point of a large dagger to the back of his neck, 'for you have seen me naked, thus breaking the sacred mystery that holds between man and wife. You now have a choice. Kill the king, thereby assuming the Lydian throne and becoming my lord; or die now at my hands. In either case, you will never again obey my husband's unlawful orders.'

"'Poor Gyges remained motionless, in shock. Quickly recovering, however, he begged the queen not to force him to choose such a thing. But the queen had set her heart, and the more he pleaded not to kill or be killed, the harder she pressed the dagger to his neck. Finally, seeing no alternative, he gave in. 'If I must be forced to commit a foul deed for the second time in two days, then I choose to save my own life over my master's. Tell me how you wish me to kill him.'

"'You must attack him,' she answered, 'on the very spot where he showed me naked to your prying eyes, and you must wait till he is asleep, to ensure your success.'

"When night fell Gyges, seeing he had no alternative but to slay his master, hid behind the same door as he had the night before, this time with the queen's own dagger in his hand. The king entered first, as was his custom, and then the queen, who again, slowly and deliberately, took off each garment in the full light of the lamp, laying them on the chair as Gyges watched. After undressing completely she paused for a long moment, motionless, her full body visible to the watching soldier. He again could hardly contain his trembling from the combination of fear and lust, the two most violent urges that possess a man, both of them rising from the loins and up through the belly, feeding on and gathering strength from each other, constricting the chest, stopping the breathing, closing the throat, drying the lips and making the head swoon. The queen stood there in the light, as if giving him the opportunity to gaze upon her, and to strengthen his heart for the task, as he contemplated the reward that would be his after successfully completing his mission."

Again Asteria paused, staring hard at me with what seemed to be a mixture of desire and reproach. I reached my hand toward her face, but she shook her head distractedly, as if breaking a spell, and with a shrug indicated a note of finality.

"Of course you know the rest," she concluded with a wry smile. "Gyges stabbed the king to death in his sleep. Candaules' pale, plump wife passed into Gyges' happy hands, as did the kingdom, which was later approved by the Pythia at Delphi. Generations later, Gyges' descendant, King Croesus, brought on Lydia's war with the Persians and eventually its downfall."

This latter event was, of course, precisely the story that Xenophon had recounted to Aglaia on the road to Delphi so long ago. The chiastic structure of the sequences and genders amused me, but after a moment another thought occurred to me, clouding my spirits, and I brought it up to her only half in jest.

"Do you mean to say then, that since I saw you naked, I would have either had to have killed Cyrus myself and taken you as my wife, or you would have killed me?"

She smiled serenely. "You were ignorant of Archilochus; perhaps you know your Homer?

"Truly you are a wicked man, but not short on brains.

How could you say such a thing, how could you even imagine it?

As heaven and earth are my witness-I swear

I would never plot any harm to you. Trust me when I say

My heart is not iron. I have only compassion."

"You know too much," I muttered. "And it is you who are wicked. I refuse to play dueling quotations with a woman."

"That was Calypso, comforting Odysseus, in case you were unsure," she cooed sweetly, patting my hand, "and I would venture to say that it is not I who know too much, but you who know too little."

"Calypso was a nymph who nearly drove Odysseus mad," I said peevishly, "and I sympathize with him deeply. I asked a simple question. It is a mark of intelligence, not to mention good breeding, to say no more than is necessary but to tell at least what is required. You skirt the issue. Would I have had to kill Cyrus, to prevent you from killing me, my good queen?"

"Perhaps it is fortunate, dear Gyges," she said, "that Cyrus died the way he did, saving you the trouble. After all, I am Lydian."

At this she mashed her lips against mine in a clear sign that our verbal jousting had come to an end, for which I was grateful. As I ran my hands down her sides and waist, however, I was given pause when I again felt the large dagger in its sheath at her belt, which since her first night with me at Cunaxa she had never been without.

The next morning we felt the first frost of winter's approach, and as the pale sun rose we could make out a broad, open plain ahead of us, through the northern mountains to the country of the Kurds, and beyond that Armenia, a large and rich territory bordering the Black Sea where supplies would be plentiful. The Kurds, however, were a force terrifying to the troops. Word had spread among the men that several years earlier a Persian invading force of a hundred and twenty thousand men had entered the mountains to subjugate them, and not single man had returned alive. The only clue as to their fate was a donkey that had been set loose to wander from the Kurdish border back into Persian territory bearing an enormous sack on its back. When the animal was found by Persian scouts and the sack cut open they were horrified to find one hundred and twenty thousand human prepuces, dried and strung from a long wrought chain like those worn by Kurdish slaves. We hoped the story was an exaggeration, but it was impossible to say.

Xenophon offered sacrifice to the gods, for we feared that the mountain passes across the plain might already be occupied by Kurdish forces anticipating our arrival. The gods sent us an eagle, which circled the camp once and slowly drifted away over the northern peaks.

The army left at midnight.