Some of my young men ran up the hill, to see if there were robbers lying up there. Xanthos, who was not far behind, sent a party too. They all returned having met no one but each other. I said, “There are angry ghosts about here. Dexios did not have his offerings; and Skiron was not buried at all. We had better see to him, rather than have him killing wayfarers.” His bones were still on the tortoise rock, picked raw by birds; with some trouble we got them up and buried them, and performed the rites for Dexios. I had more cause today than most days to wish him alive.
Even without its robbers, the Isthmus Road is steep and dangerous. Its army of dead men needed to be appeased, and Earth-Shaker entreated too to touch it lightly. That was why I put up his great altar afterwards on the neck of the Isthmus, and founded his Games. As to why I chose that spot, I had good reason.
We came to it next day. Already we could see the stronghold of Corinth topping its blunt mountain, with smoke rising from the Mother’s sanctuary upon the crown. And, just when we were thinking our work as good as over, we found a pitched battle lay before us.
The Isthmus is wild country, a gift to those who know it. More of our quarry than we guessed had slipped through our nets. Here they all were, their old feuds forgotten, their backs to the wall. For behind them were the lands of law, the kingdoms of the Isle of Pelops, where they had committed incest or parricide, murdered their hosts or guests, forced sacred virgins, robbed the gods’ treasuries or the graves of kings. For such things as that, not some mere killing that a blood-price can settle and Apollo make one free of, a man would go to the Isthmus. Here, driven from their hillsides, in that same plain where now men hold the foot race before the god, and box and wrestle and cheer the chariots at the turn, their force awaited us, dark and bristling like the boar started from the covert who gathers his feet to charge.
We drew up our battle in a sickle shape, to hem them in. The Megarians took the center, because they had many chariots; I led the left flank of the Eleusinians, and Xanthos the right. It meant I was leading some of the men’s army, as well as my own Guard, and I was pleased no one seemed unwilling. Though I had had my share of war, this was my first set battlefield. I daresay I could not have made more of it in my heart if we had been meeting the host of some great city, Hazor or Troy.
The day was clear, the air still fresh with morning. Birds sang in the stone pines on the heights above. As I stood in my chariot I saw stretching before me the shadow of my helmet plume and my ash-wood spear. Behind me the talk of my young men sounded as it ought before the battle, light, fierce, and gay. The smell of dust and horses was in my nostrils, the smell of oiled wood and leather and new-scoured bronze.
“When I give the word,” I said to my driver, “drive well into them. Don’t wait for the footmen; it’s for us to clear the way. Is your knife ready, to cut the traces if a horse should fall?” He showed it me; but I wished again for Dexios. He did not look like a man whose heart was in it.
At Pylas’ signal, we paced forward at a walk, as the he-cat does first before he springs. When we could see their teeth and eyes, we paused to make ready, and I gave my men the speech I had prepared. I had got it, to tell the truth, mostly from old battle songs, thinking I could not do better than the bards and heroes. “When the trumpet sounds, and we raise the war cry, charge like the hawk plunging on the heron, whom nothing can turn once he is launched in flight. We know each other; neither sword, nor spear, nor arrow can hurt us half so much as dishonor in each other’s eyes. Blue-Haired Poseidon! Breaker of ships and cities! Bear us to victory! Before fall of sunset, put their necks under our feet and fill their mouths with dust!”
The warriors cheered; the trumpet split the shining air. I gave them the pitch of the paean, and the charioteer leaned forward. Two of my boldest lads, who were sworn lovers, took hold of the chariot either side, unwilling I should clear a path before them. My ears were full of good sounds, the clatter of chariots, the high yell of war cries, arms and shields rattling, the drumming of feet and hooves, shouts of challenge as men picked out an enemy. I marked out for myself a tall fellow giving orders, whose fall seemed likely to discomfort the rest. As the chariot bounced over stones and tussocks, I fixed my eyes on him and called to him to wait for me.
The line of faces rushed upon me, grinning or scowling or stiff-set; the chariot cut the press like a sharp-prowed ship thrust down the slipway into a dark sea. Then, all at once, it was as if earth hurled me from its breast. I felt myself pitched sidelong from the chariot, clean over the rail, upon some man who grunted and was hurled with me to the ground. My spear flew from my hand; my shield arm caught in the shield was nearly wrenched from the socket; the chin strap of my helmet burst, and my head was bare. I and the man below me writhed together, half stunned upon the ground. It was his foul smell that warned me he was none of mine. I came to myself just in time, and groped for my dagger and drove it into him. He sank back; I got my shield again and struggled to rise. Before I reached my knees, a dying man fell on me. This time I knew him. He was one of the boys who had charged beside my wheels. A spear blade had driven between his teeth and pierced his skull; as I got out from under him he gave his death-gasp. He had stopped a thrust on its way to me.
I found my feet, and my sword. In the press ahead the frightened horses thrashed and reared, dragging the chariot splintering on its side. One wheel was gone; the tilted axletree plowed the earth. Flat on the ground the charioteer lay with his white robe grimed and torn. There was no time to look again. I threw up my shield to ward a down-cut from my head.
For a moment, I seemed all alone among enemies. Then my head cleared and I knew the shouting voices round me. The Companions were all about and still coming up, yelling to each other like a pack of hounds after wild pig. I heard my name. A hand was waving my helmet; another snatched it and set it on my head. I gave the paean to let all the rest know I was alive, and we pressed forward.
I have never loved better any warriors serving under me than these, my first command. They were men of another country, of different blood; at first we had barely known each other’s language, and now we no longer needed it; we knew each other’s mind as brothers do for whom a look or a laugh is enough. In the year of the Games, when I make the sacrifice, I remember always that my life from that day forward has been their gift.
By noon the battle was over. We took no prisoners. They had fed the dogs and kites on many better men; it was their turn to be host. The day’s surprise was the booty we took after. Some had their own, others must have found the hoards of their fallen masters. We set a guard on it, of trustworthy men from all three forces, with barons of each kingdom to count it over.
The warriors drew together, as men do after battle, to dress each other’s hurts, and rest, and talk. My men and I were sitting round a spring which rose among some rocks; some were drinking the good water, others had stripped to wash in the stream where it flowed away. One man was badly wounded, his leg broken with a spear; I had been setting it, for want of anyone better, between two javelin shafts, and praising his deeds to take his mind off the pain. Someone called out to me. I saw Pallans, who had run beside my chariot; he was the one left alive. I had missed him, and thought he would be watching by the death-pyre. But it was a living man he dragged toward us, dressed in dirty white. I jumped to my feet; it was my charioteer.