I heard a rustling in the shadows in the opposite corner, though, and when I looked more closely, I noticed two dark, almond-shaped eyes peering at me with interest, coolly appraising me, and not averting themselves from my gaze as the eyes of Persian women usually did. I held their stare for long seconds, and was finally rewarded by the flashing of white teeth in a quick, shy smile as the girl silently giggled at her own audacity. She leaned forward slightly, her face emerging from the shadows into a thin beam of sunlight invading the tent through an open flap, and my heart stopped at her beauty-she was perhaps eighteen years old, her skin fresh and seemingly unmarred by any additional cosmetics, her only adornment being a bright yellow feather threaded carefully through her hair. Her face revealed an innocence and joy of expression that belied her inexplicable presence in Cyrus' tent, surrounded by fierce-faced Ethiopian guards and the bustling of military couriers. She smiled at me once more, then turned back to her task in the shadows-which I now saw involved handling a thick scroll. This astonished me more than anything else about her, for never before had I seen a woman reading.
Cyrus' advisors left after a few moments, and Proxenus stepped forward casually to the prince's table, informing him that he had brought a friend who was joining the expedition.
"Well done, Proxenus," the prince exclaimed. "Between you and Clearchus I'll have half of Greece fighting for me before we're through!" He flashed a friendly grin. "Xenophon of Athens, son of Gryllus?"
Xenophon seemed momentarily taken aback, but quickly recovered and stiffly replied, "Yes, sir."
Cyrus stood looking at him for a moment in some amusement. "At ease, my man! By the gods, who do you think I am, King of Persia? I've heard much of your father-all reports of the very highest order, I assure you, though I don't imagine he would say the same about me." The prince chuckled and stood up to walk around his table to where we stood. I was surprised to note how short he was. I somehow always imagine men's influence to match their height, and never fail to be disappointed at how modest in stature most great men are, or for that matter, how tall I am.
"I understand you're a follower of Socrates of Athens?" Cyrus asked. Xenophon glanced questioningly at Proxenus, surprised again to find how much Cyrus already knew of him, but Proxenus gave a slight shrug as if to say that he was on his own with his responses. "Indeed, you have company here among us," continued Cyrus. "One of my Athenian generals, Menon, is also a disciple of his-perhaps you know him? I regret never having had the opportunity to sit at the great man's knee myself, as I have never been to Athens and Socrates has refused all invitations to visit me here in Sardis. But Menon has been kind enough to repeat for me as much as he can recall. Indeed, I was most impressed with Socrates' justification of a soldier's life, and I am told that Socrates himself is an old veteran, and a well-regarded one, besides. As I recall, he said that to fall in battle is in many ways a desirable thing. A man is granted a splendid funeral, worthy of an archon, even if he dies poor, and though penniless, he is praised by great orators, who do not offer compliments lightly."
Cyrus paused for a moment to murmur something to his tall consort, who slipped away through the rear flap without a word, and then he turned back with his broad grin. "In any event, there will be no danger of any of my men dying in penury," he laughed. "And," he said, looking straight at Xenophon, "I'm delighted to have a man of culture in my camp. The Spartans are the most dour, ignorant mob of bullies you can imagine, and frankly, Proxenus, your Boeotians are a bunch of country jackasses, though I'll admit your engines are a marvel. Xenophon, I hope your duties won't be so heavy that you can't find the time to join me for some good Greek wine in the evenings, to tell me what your friend Socrates' latest outrages are that have your city's leaders so riled up." Cyrus began to walk us to the door of his tent.
"I'd be delighted to join you at any time, your lordship," Xenophon replied stiffly.
"So," said Cyrus with a wry smile, "I presume that Proxenus has found an appropriate position for you in our little army? Something that will loosen you up, I hope, before you turn into a Spartan yourself. I can't promise more than a daric or two a month as pay, but you can count on wealth beyond your imagining in the form of booty, if we are successful."
Xenophon considered how to respond as the three of us left the tent together, but hearing the sound of steel sliding on leather, I turned to find that the prince, with a playful grin, had drawn his sword and was brandishing its tip under Xenophon's chin. Proxenus looked on in barely controlled alarm.
Before anyone could move, some passing, mischievous godlet, some playful spawn of a satyr who was eavesdropping on our conversation, triggered the defensive reflexes I had developed during the long ephebe training in Athens. Without thinking I stepped in front of Cyrus and gave him a tremendous blow to the wrist with the heel of my hand. His sword went flying high in the air, impaling itself in the roof of his tent and eliciting a small, frightened shriek from within, and as I finished my swipe, I placed a hammerlock with my forearm around the prince's neck. In a trice, eight enormous Ethiopian guards had locked their spear points into position inches away from my face, but I fixed my eyes on Xenophon's, as I had been trained to do, as if in a trance, waiting for him to give the word before I broke the neck of the Prince of Persia. It was only then that my reasoning caught up with my body, the nasty satyr scampered away chuckling, and I realized with horror what I had done.
Xenophon was petrified and hoarsely ordered me to let go, with visions of spending the rest of his life in a Persian dungeon before he had even started on his adventure; but Cyrus, after the initial moment of shock, burst out laughing.
"Well done!" the good-natured prince exclaimed as I let him go. Proxenus was white as a sheet. Cyrus rubbed his wrist and babbled incomprehensibly to his guards, telling them in their barbarian tongue not to skewer us. "I asked for that one! I meant to show you that if you're going to do battle against Asians, you'll have to get used to treachery. I should have known that the Spartans aren't the only fighters in my camp. If you surprise the enemy as well as you did me, you'll be a general before the year is out!"
Proxenus glared, but I could see a wave of relief wash over his face at the happy outcome of the mock attack, and perhaps a glimmer of pride. Cyrus clapped his hands on the two men's shoulders as he walked us back to our quarters, while I walked alongside, and Proxenus kept a wary eye trained on me to be sure I didn't further endanger his livelihood.
"Proxenus, we're marching in three days. Find Xenophon any armor and weapons he needs, and make sure he has a horse to ride instead of that mule I'm told he straggled into camp on. And don't neglect our touchy friend here," he said, nodding at me. "If there's anyone in this camp I want to keep happy it's him!" And flashing another of his grins, he strode off through the tent alleys, to the approval of his men and the exasperation of his trailing counselors and bodyguards.
That evening, after the day's business was complete and Xenophon, Proxenus and I were washing up in the officers' bath, I mentioned the brief vision I had had of the lovely girl in Cyrus' tent. Proxenus looked at me strangely for a moment, then sighed.