If I accept this generous gift, Leonidas addressed him, it must go into the war treasury of the allies.

As you wish. The Egyptian bowed.

Then convey the Hellenes' gratitude to your King. And tell him my offer will remain open, should God grant him the wisdom to embrace it.

Tommie passed the goblet to Aristodemos, who accepted it for the king. A moment passed, in which the Egyptian's eyes met first Olympieus', then settled gravely upon my master's. An expression of solemnity, sober to the point of sorrow, shrouded the marine's eyes. Clearly he discerned now the inevitability of that which he had sought with such charity and concern to avert.

If you fall in capture, he addressed the Spartans, call my name. I will exert every measure of influence to see that you are spared.

You do that, brother, Polynikes answered, hard as steel.

The Egyptian recoiled, stung. Dienekes stepped in swiftly, clasping the marine's hand warmly in his own.

Till we meet, Dienekes said.

Till then, Tommie replied.

Book Six. Dienekes

Chapter Twenty Four

They wore trousers. Pantaloons of purple, bloused below the knee, top-ping calf-length boots of doeskin or some other precious product of the tannery. Their tunics were sleeved and embroidered, beneath mail jackets of armor shaped like fish scales; their helmets open-faced and brilliantly plumed, of hammered iron shaped like domes. Their cheeks they wore rouged and their ears and throats bedecked with ornament. They looked like women and yet the effect of their raiment, surreal to Hellene eyes, was not that which evoked contempt, but terror- One felt as if he were facing men from the underworld, from some impossible country beyond Oceanus where up was down and night day. Did they know something the Greeks didn't? Were their light skirmisher shields, which seemed almost ludicrously flimsy contrasted to the massive twentypound oak and bronze, shoulder-to-knee aspides of the Hellenes, somehow, in some undivinable way, superior? Their lances were not the stout ash and cornelwood eight-footers of the Greeks but lighter, slender, almost javelin-like weapons. How would they strike with these? Would they hurl them or thrust them underhand? Was this somehow more lethal than the overhand employed by the Greeks? They were Medes, the vanguard division of the troops who would first assault the allies, though none among the defenders knew this for certain at the time. The Greeks could not distinguish among Persians, Medes, Assyrians, Babylonians, Arabians, Phrygians, Karians, Armenians, Cissians, Cappadocians, Paphlagonians, Bactrians nor any of the other five score Asiatic nations save the Ionian Hellenes and Lydi-ans, the Indians and Ethiopians and Egyptians who stood out by their distinctive arms and armor. Common sense and sound generalship dictated that the commanders of the Empire grant to one nation among their forces the honor of drawing first blood. It made further sense, so the Greeks surmised, that when making trial of an enemy for the first time, a prudent general would not commit the flower of his troops-in His Majesty's case his own Ten Thousand, the Persian household guard known as the Immortals-but rather hold these elite in reserve against the unexpected.

In fact this was the selfsame strategy adopted by Leonidas and the allied commanders. These kept the Spartans back, choosing to honor, after much debate and discussion, the warriors of Thespiae. These were granted first position and now, on the morning of the fifth day, stood formed in their ranks, sixty-four shields across, upon the dance floor formed by the Narrows at the apex, the mountain wall on one side, the cliffs dropping to the gulf on the other and the reconstructed Phokian Wall at the rear.

This, the field of slaughter, comprised an obtuse triangle whose greatest depth lay along the southern flank, that which was anchored by the mountain wall. At this end the Thespians were drawn up eighteen deep. At the opposing end, alongside the drop-off to the sea, their shields were staggered to a depth of ten. This force of the men of Thespiae totaled approximately seven hundred.

Immediately to their rear, atop the Wall, stood the Spartans, Phliasians and Mycenaeans, to a total of six hundred. Behind these every other allied contingent was likewise drawn up, all in full panoplia.

Two hours had elapsed since the enemy had first been sighted, half a mile down the track to Trachis, and still no motion had come. The morning was hot. Down the track, the roadway widened into an open area about the size of the agora of a small city. There, just after dawn, the lookouts had espied the Medians assembling. Their numbers were about four thousand. These, however, were only the foe who could be seen; the shoulder of the mountain hid the trail and the marshaling stations beyond.

One could hear the enemy trumpets and the shouted orders of their officers moving more and more men into position beyond the shoulder. How many more thousands massed there out of sight?

The quarter hours crawled by. The Medes continued marshaling, but did not advance. The Hellenic lookouts began shouting insults down at them. Back in the Narrows, the heat and other exigencies had begun to work on the chafing, impatient Greeks. It made no sense to sweat longer under the burdens of full armor. Dump 'em but be ready to hump 'em! Dithyrambos, the Thespian captain, called out to his coun-trymen in the coarse slang of his city. Squires and servants dashed forward among the ranks, each assisting his man in disencumbering himself of breastplate and helmet. Corselets were loosened. Shields rested already against knees. The felt undercaps which the men wore beneath their helmets came off and were wrung like bath linens, saturated with sweat. Spears were plunged at the position of rest, butt-spike-first, into the hard dirt, where they stood now in their numbers like an iron-tipped forest. The troops were permitted to kneel. Squires with skins of water circulated, replenishing the parched warriors. It was a safe bet that many skins contained refreshment more potent than that scooped from a spring. As the delay grew longer, the sense of unreality heightened. Was this another false alarm, like the previous four days? Would the Persian attack at all?

Snap out of those daydreams! an officer barked.

The troops, bleary-eyed and sun-scorched, continued eyeing Leonidas on the Wall with the commanders. What were they talking about? Would the order come to stand down?

Even Dienekes grew impatient. Why is it in war you can't fall asleep when you want to and can't stay awake when you have to? He was just stepping forward to address a steadying word to his platoon when from out front among the foreranks rose a shout of such intensity that it cut his words off in midbreath. Every eye swung skyward.

The Greeks now saw what had caused the delay.

There, several hundred feet above and one ridgeline removed, a party of Persian servants escorted by a company of their Immortals was erecting a platform and a throne.

Mother of bitches. Dienekes grinned. It's young Purple Balls himself.

High above the armies, a man of between thirty and forty years could be descried plainly, in robes of purple fringed with gold, mounting the platform and assuming his station upon the throne. The distance was perhaps eight hundred feet, up and back, but even at that range it was impossible to mistake the Persian monarch's surpassing handsomeness and nobility of stature.

Nor could the supreme self-assurance of his carriage be misread even at this distance. He looked like a man come to watch an entertainment. A pleasantly diverting show, one whose outcome was foreordained and yet which promised a certain level of amusement. He took his seat. A sunshade was adjusted by his servants. We could see a table of refreshments placed at his side and, upon his left, several writing desks set into place, each manned by a secretary.