Vardanas no longer wore his iron-scaled leather gown or rode the giant Nisaian charger he had used in the battle. That horse belonged to the king. The Persian rode his own horse, Rakous, a big strong beast but no Median monster. He had packed away his mail coat and wore one of his shabby old imperial uniforms with maroon trousers and yellow Median coat embroidered with flowers.
On his back he slung his bow case, which held forty arrows and a thick double-curved Persian bow made of strips of wood and horn glued together. From his belt hung, besides a sword with an ornate hilt of silver and ivory, a horrid weapon: a stout bludgeon with short iron spikes affixed to the knob so that they stuck out in all directions. On his head was a crested Greek helmet, for many foreigners have taken to this kind of headgear. He had the indefinable look, alert yet easy, that marks the seasoned soldier.
I put Vardanas in command of the Dahas, as he was the only one who could talk with them. They were typical Sakas, big men with long filthy hair and beards, pointed caps, short coats, and trousers tucked into high boots. Although Vardanas, having been promoted to troop closer, was second to me in rank, it seemed better not to set him in direct command of Hellenes any more than emergencies required.
The first day we spent much time in stopping to shift loads and make minor repairs. Remembering Xenophon's advice, I had laid in a store of straps. Hence we were never held up for long by breakage of harness. By evening we had shaken down into a workable cavalcade.
I chose a camping place near a village and sent Elisas to the village for food. The camp men cut down a small tree for firewood; the cook grumbled as he strove to start a fire in the drizzle. I rushed about counting noses and inspecting equipment until Pyrron, speaking Attic (albeit with a noticeable Doric accent), said:
"Don't take life so hard, my boy. The too tautly strung bow is the first to break."
I began an angry retort, but thought better of it and laughed. "Aye, 'tis true I'm over-anxious, best one. This is my first independent command, and I'll have nought go awry with it."
"Worry enough and something probably will," he said. "You exhaust yourself seeking knots in bulrushes."
"Worry not at all, as you seem to do, and something will go agley, too," I said. "I've been looking forward to serious talks with you, O philosopher, but I have been over-busy with my duties."
"You'll be frightfully disappointed. I gnaw at people's basic assumptions, and most folk loathe having their basic assumptions disturbed."
"I fear no truth, however painful. Now tell me, what is Aristoteles like?"
"I have never encountered him. From what I hear, he knows much and thinks he knows much more. A clever man, but an incorrigible dogmatizer—why, what's wrong?" he said, observing my change of expression.
It had suddenly struck me that I did not remember packing the king's letters. I rushed to the chests and rummaged through them, but no letters did I find. I was still rummaging and looking stupidly over and over in the same places a quarter hour later when Pyrron wandered into the tent and asked:
"What are you seeking so frantically, old boy?"
"Those two letters from the king. This is terrible!"
"My word! Have you looked in your wallet?"
I looked into the pouch at my waist. Sure enough, there were the letters, along with my comb, spoon, loose money, a map, and an amulet.
I took a long breath of relief and asked: "Why gave the king these letters to me to deliver instead of to you? These philosophers are your colleagues."
"He said I was too absent-minded and would surely lose them, although perhaps I'm not the only one with that failing."
Abashed that Pyrron should have caught me without my dignity, I came out of the tent with the Eleian and brought up another subject. I pointed towards the stream, where Kanadas was cooking his own dinner over a small fire. His food was made up largely of an Indian grain called rice, lately raised also in Sousiana and Babylonia as well. This, when cooked, becomes a mess of little white lumps.
"What's that fellow up to?" I said.
Pyrron replied: "Kanadas is a xatria or member of the warrior caste.
A high-caste Indian cannot eat with the rest of us, for religious reasons."
"What nonsense! I see his comrade eats everything he can lay his hands on."
"The other Indian belongs to the herding caste, much lower in the scale. So nobody cares what he eats. Anyway, why are their religious rules any more nonsensical than ours?"
I stared at him. "Are you daft, man? I'm a Hellene! I am civilized and these foreigners are not. Therefore, my customs must be right and theirs, as far as they differ, must be wrong."
"Who says so?"
"I do, of course. I mean, if all the great Hellenic thinkers agree that the Hellenes are the most civilized folk, it must be so."
"What do you expect them to say?" asked Pyrron.
"What mean you?"
"You wouldn't look for a Hellene to admit that other folk are superior even if they were, would you? Like everybody else, we think we are the best. So do the Persians: they hold the pure Persians to be the best of men; then come the other Arian races like the Medes; and lastly the rest of mankind, and the Indians feel the same about themselves."
I tried to be just. "I suppose 'tis natural for foreigners to grow up with such ignorant prejudices. They lack our advantages."
"Ah, but who determines which is prejudice and which is truth?"
Forgetting that even a fool can often pass for a wise man by holding his tongue, I barked: "I know there's something amiss with your argument, though I cannot quite see where the flaw lies. But I remember the Athenians killed Sokrates for questioning basic truths as you do. Take care the same befall not you. Now I must see to my men."
I went off gruffly to harass my little hipparchia. It was a stupidly discourteous way to treat Pyrron, especially after I had bragged of fearing no truth. Howsomever, I was young and unsure of my authority. Hence I felt that I had to snap at anybody I suspected of not taking it seriously. Luckily Pyrron, the most easy-tempered of men, took no offense.
After three days we forded the little Tabara and reached Taxasila, the capital of Alexander's ally, King Ombis. Taxasila is a town of good size, although no Babylon. The circuit of its mud-brick walls is about fourteen furlongs. The eastern approach is made unpleasing by the burial grounds, or rather unburial grounds, for many Taxasilans follow the Persian custom of exposing bodies for wild things to devour. We rode past, holding our noses, while vultures, kites, and jackals squabbled over the remains. On the other side of the road lie heaps of ashes where the Indians burn widows alive.
We camped outside the walls on the banks of the Tabara and ate our lunch. I decided we could do all our needful business during the afternoon and set forth the following morn. This announcement brought groans from the men, who were looking forward to several days of the pleasures of the city.
We had seen Taxasila before, when Alexander's army passed through on its way from the Indus to the Hydaspes. We had stopped for several days to rest and be entertained by King Ombis' musicians and dancing girls. After four years of seeing nought but the villages of Baktria and Gandaria, Taxasila had seemed like the capital of the world. Now the men wanted more of these joys.
I, on the other hand, was eager to be off. I thought the most dangerous parts of our journey would lie through the wilds of Gandaria and Arachotia. If any disaster befell us, it would be there. Hence I was anxious to put this part of the trip behind me. Sooner begun, sooner done, as we say in Thessalia.