"So you're in lust with Asteria. Line up behind the rest of us."
Xenophon looked questioningly at him, and then quietly admitted, "I saw her too. Reading, no less."
Proxenus grunted. "She's a rare bird all right. Cyrus keeps an entire harem, of course-even travels with them on campaign, and it's usually that tall Phocaian bitch, the one standing behind him, that keeps his dog happy." He smirked for emphasis. "But it's Asteria the Milesian, the one you noticed, who is his favorite. She stays in his tent all the time, I hear, though not for the reasons you might think. And she's not a concubine-remember that at all costs. Cyrus once had a steward flogged for calling her one. Men say she's the daughter of one of old King Darius' satraps, and that she's somehow related to Cyrus as well-a niece or a cousin. She was raised in the harem in Persia along with the king's own children. She speaks Greek better than I do, recites Homer aloud when the prince wants to relax, and plays the lyre like a goddess. She also knows the medical arts, from studying with the king's physicians. I'm told she nursed Cyrus back to health after his bear adventure, when his own doctors had given him up for dead. Go ahead and admire her, but take care it's from a distance. If Cyrus catches you even looking cross-eyed at her, you'll be joining the ranks of his eunuchs faster than you can say, 'Bless me Uranus.' I have yet to meet a woman who's worth that."
Thus my first contact with Asteria, a girl who could read Homer, and who was to have such an impact on the rest of my life. Had I entered Cyrus' tent twenty minutes before or later, or had I not peered curiously into the dark corner, it is entirely possible I never would have looked into those kohl-lined eyes. So much of the future hangs upon the most ephemeral of webs spun by the Fates, the remote likelihood that one of a thousand possible results will be chosen by the deities. If a man were ever able to unravel such threads, he would have finally solved the mystery of the universe and attained the wisdom of the gods. In so doing, however, he would be struck down by those very deities in defense of their existence, as was Icarus upon approaching the sun.
Perhaps it is best to resolve not even to try to unravel those threads; but such resignation flies in the face of one's own humanity. It is a quandary.
CHAPTER THREE
OUR DEPARTURE FROM Sardis on the ninth day of March was splendid, a day of sunshine and confidence, and the entire city turned out along the route to view the spectacle. The men began marching at first light, and by midday not even half the enormous army had taken to the road yet. The tremendous cloud of dust raised by the tramping feet obscured the sun so that no one could see the entire army in a glance, but watching the thousands upon thousands of solemn faces as the troops passed by in their wide columns gave sufficient indication of power as to impress even the gods. Only Clearchus and his most recently recruited troops were absent, as they would be joining us later on the march.
The procession was led by long trains of surly pack camels, followed by herds of goat and sheep for the daily sacrifices, to obtain the gods' favor before battle and hazardous river crossings. These were followed by big-eyed, lowing oxen trailing enormous wagons laden with the troops' heavy equipment and supplies. The animals' early lead would allow them and the gear to arrive at the daily campsites first and begin seeking forage, and would allow the quartermaster's slaves to start setting up tents and cook sites for the arriving troops. The oxen were followed by forty elephants, which Cyrus had acquired from Indian traders. They were the first such beasts I had ever seen, and were fearsome, seemingly holdovers from the age of the Titans. They stood as tall as a small tree and were hairless and wrinkled, from a distance appearing to have a tail at both ends. If one didn't know better, they would seem to be walking backwards, although I soon learned that the large, flapping ears were a reasonably accurate indicator as to the location of the head. These creatures, however, were merely for show during the grand departure from Sardis. The forage they would have required would have been too difficult to support during a normal march, so after the grand review was finished, Cyrus ordered them to be circled back to the city to continue assisting in the construction of its defensive works.
Cyrus' native troops followed next: a hundred thousand Persians, Lydians, Egyptians and even Ethiopians, bedecked in their own country's armor and clothing, each with their individual drummers and pipers to keep the marching feet in rhythm, their native officers shouting orders in barbaric tongues. The pennants and standards of the native brigades flew proudly, and each unit tried to outdo the others during this lead march out of Sardis before the prince's watchful eyes.
Behind the infantry, led by the prince himself, rode the Persian cavalry, thousands of identical white Arabian stallions, prancing and snorting, their proud riders sitting erect and motionless, wearing pointed bronze helmets and chain mail that glittered in the sun like the squamae of fish. Surrounding them were ranks of pantalooned Medes marching in perfect precision, bearing gilded and bejeweled lances topped with silken banners woven in the form of dragons; as the breeze blew through their gaping jaws, they seemed to hiss with rage, their long tails fluttering behind them on the wind. Following the cavalry, in the place of honor usually reserved for the general's bodyguard, came the proud Greeks, marching in unison, their scarlet cloaks fluttering in the breeze and the long, oiled braids of the Spartans among them carefully dressed and flowing down their backs. It would have been wonderful to roll out a walking display of Proxenus' Boeotian engines, but the crowd was too pressing for it to be safe, and Clearchus, who detested the machines in any case, had vetoed any discussion of the matter among his captains, even during his temporary absence. Proxenus and Xenophon, along with the other officers, rode alongside the columns of marching troops, though not so much to keep them in order as to keep the crowds contained. So enthused were the onlookers by this time that it was difficult to restrain the women and girls from flitting into the columns to plant kisses on the men's faces, or the male bystanders from thumping our Greeks stoutly on the shoulders in a jubilant display of well-wishing and hope for success against the upstart Pisidians. Following close behind were Cyrus' six hundred cavalry bodyguard, his "Immortals," in demeanor and discipline every bit as fearsome as the Greeks. These men were hand-picked from every nation under Persian dominion, but were uniformed and armed identically, and had been trained for years to serve no personal desire and to favor no master before their duty of protecting Cyrus. They were somewhat put out at having to march behind the Greeks in the army's column, but during the course of the next few months, Clearchus made special efforts to ingratiate himself with them, as far, at least, as he was capable, given his lack of social skills. Eventually the Greeks and Cyrus' Immortals gained a grudging respect for each other.
The rear of the column consisted of more native infantry and the army's twenty "scythe chariots," the curved blades on their hubs sheathed for safety but still cutting ominously through the air, to the delight of the crowd and the utter disdain of the Spartans, who loathed any such gimmickry. Behind this was Cyrus' personal retinue, an enormous mob: the quartermaster general, with his ninety subalterns, responsible for billeting and feeding the troops; a company of haughty horsemen, couriers for the prince and the senior officers; and carriages bearing dozens of Persian seers, priests and their assistants. They were accompanied by an equal number of vehicles loaded with their supplies: lavish robes and other garments, ceremonial knives, chalices, incense, scrolls, and vessels. Next were the covered wagons bearing the royal wardrobes, which despite their size were dwarfed by those bearing the wardrobes of the Persian generals, much to the scoffing and hilarity of the Greeks. The importance of the marchers and goods declined rapidly from this point: fifty empty carriages and wagons used for reserve, an entire herd of unmounted horses, each led by a Persian boy in pantaloons and slippers, and an unending parade of vehicles reserved for the prince's concubines, valets, physicians, barbers, footmen, apothecaries, scribes, porters, tailors, laundry women, the head cook and his fourteen assistants, the prince's taster and two replacement tasters, engineers, historians-one's head spins.