“No, no,” Proxenos broke in. “Better to let them die on the vine. They’re like a rotten grape cluster with the gnats once its stem has been nicked. Why go in there? It’s too dark. We have thousands in this plain. They are a good stade or two from the safety of the Eurotas. We have them trapped on the wrong side of the water. They’ll starve while we tighten the nets. All of them are not worth one of our dead. Let them be.”
Melon agreed. “Proxenos is right, Ainias. Talos-you back step a bit. Well before morning we’ll have enough men to surround the entire farm five deep. We can throw embers through the windows. So for now let the Spartans be.” Melon planned to keep his shield all night on his arm, as he sat against a plane tree that had grown into the stones. He watched the shadows of hoplites run up as the call went out that Lichas or at least his kin was trapped. “But don’t think they’ll starve. Hardly. They’ll charge a little after daybreak. We need more guards here, but the army is scattered for thirty miles plundering and burning. Our men are looking for cattle and sheep, not the spears of Spartan hoplites.”
Ainias nodded and looked over at the Spartan enclave. “Remember Leuktra. They’ll fight their way out through our circle. Break out with Antikrates or someone like him at the front. They’ll march out to the sound of pipes, with torches blazing. Maybe Lichas, maybe his son will lead. But they’ll come out that gate before dawn and head for the river. These men won’t die without killing some of our own. Still, there is enough of us to slaughter the whole herd.”
The hoplites and their generals were crouched behind the long low field and cross walls, as sentries slung lead bullets and cast javelins over the high courtyard into the Spartans, sure they could wear down Lichas and his men. For the present there were at least stout walls between the red-capes and the Boiotians. Proxenos was sitting quietly. Some around him were sleeping by the campfires; others were drowsy but waiting for the men of Tanagra to come up, half-convinced these Spartans were already dead or would give up. Then Proxenos himself dozed off only to awake to the sounds of Doric shouting.
“To me. Spartans to me. Rally to me.” It was not even dawn light yet. The Spartans had surprised them in their breakout by beating the sunrise. The waking Boiotians jumped up just as the Elean guards ran past them in terror. Ainias, who was on the front watch at the courtyard, flew frantically behind the Eleans. Then he ducked behind the road wall when he saw his Boiotians. “We were wrong. There’s not fifty there, not by a long way, but three hundred hoplites, maybe even more-peers all by the look of their armor. Maybe even five hundred coming down the lane, keeping the walls on each side, and nothing to stop them in front, like a bull with his horns lowered trapped in town. All royal guard I reckon. They march in their capes as on parade. Here they come in a phalanx. They broke right through our ring. Get out from this road, up over the field wall, before they roll us over.”
No sooner had the Stymphalian yelled than he saw that even the Boiotian guards had fled as well. So Ainias looked at Melon as they struggled to get over the waist-high wall and hide behind the stones, whispering, “They’re passing right beside us, over there. Now. Stay down. Flat on our bellies, even in our armor under the wall where they can’t see us. Quiet.” Just as Ainias finished, the Spartan Antikrates strode through the courtyard gate into the narrow walled lane. He led more than three hundred men behind him, four abreast, the front three ranks with spears out, more than eighty men deep, all in perfect column. His nephew, the piper Doron, was hitting the war notes as they kept in time. Twice-widowed Elektra, the daughter of the daughter of Agesilaos himself, marched in the front rank. She wore no helmet but let her black hair wave over her breastplate. It was thick and wavy although Elektra herself looked like a skull with wrinkled skin pulled over. She was shaking a spear like a Harpy to her third husband, bald Lichas himself, beside her, laughing and chanting to her mate, “To the river and the city across. Kill the pigs in our way. My Lichas, lead us, my Lichas, lead us to Epaminondas.”
The front three ranks also had their shields out. The Spartans behind them put theirs above their heads, as bolts and stones rained on the little army from the flanks as it headed for the Eurotas. The fleeing Thebans had raised the shout and called for help. In reply, hundreds of Boiotians who had drifted off to ravage the nearby farms now answered back and in small bands headed for the sounds of the Spartan pipers. Some of the allies who had not fled ran alongside the road, on the other side of the field wall, parallel to the slow-marching army of Antikrates. They hoped at some point to leap over its walls, form a line, and block the passage of this two-stepping Spartan phalanx. But still they had no idea of the size or fury of the breakout, or that it was led by the entire savage clan of Lichas.
Most of these northerners did not know they were inside the compound of the Lichades, with the tower of Elektra herself opening to the walled lane, and that of slain Thorax, the son of Lichas, close by, beyond the apple orchard. This is where Lichas had raised his four boys. He had sent all of them to the
By the time the Spartans had passed out of the tower compound and headed down the lane toward the Eurotas, they found a mob of ravagers and archers waiting right at the start of the public road, with torches and iron bars, behind a barricade of a cart and some goats. Fools. The Spartans went through all of them in laughter. Behind Lichas and Antikrates, they tore through the Elean plunderers like the fisherman’s blade tears up the soft belly of the bluefish. Most of the ravagers blocking the way weren’t hoplites but light-armed thieves who hoped their numbers would turn aside Antikrates, or that the herd of goats might break through the red-capes better than they. Elektra herself cleaved the hand of an Elean who ran alongside and tried to pull her down.
“Proxenos, where’s Proxenos”? Melon looked along the lane wall where he thought the Plataian had hugged the dirt next to Ainias. Then the Stymphalian leapt up, “Look. He went after Antikrates’s flank.” Proxenos had run down alongside the lane. He jumped over the cross walls ahead to hit them at an angle. “Look, the madman charged them, way over there, by himself, as they passed by.” Ainias ran after the rear of the Spartan phalanx, which was at least four hundred paces ahead, spearing its way through the Elean ravagers-who threw their torches into the middle of Antikrates’s small company and fled in terror back into the orchards.
“No worry. No worry. Melon, there he is, down by that plane tree.” Melon saw something by the side of Ainias ahead, as he was limping at a wild pace toward another large bay tree, also grown into the farm’s wall, at the main crossroad to the Eurotas. Melon stopped when he saw the two of them, Proxenos with his hand on his belly. He yelled back to the others. “Over here for Proxenos.” The Spartans had passed by and were spearing their way onward to the Eurotas, still to the beat of their pipers.
Proxenos had a smile on his face, as he staggered up and leaned on the bay trunk, with his hand on his side. “I’m fine, Melon. Just pushed aside by that brute Antikrates with his spear. He swatted me without even a look. I gave him a stab and he turned and laughed at my sting. He nicked me as he marched on, and I managed to fall over this low wall as they passed by. No doubt he went away boasting that a tiny swat from Antikrates has killed a Boiotian hoplite.” They could hear the shrieks of Elektra echoing in the distance as the Spartans neared the last open bridge over the river. Proxenos fell back under the tree. Ainias grabbed at his tunic and tried to look at the wound. “More than a nick, Proxenos, you’ve got blood on your
Proxenos pushed him away and leaned against the wall. “No, no, it’s only red. Keep away. The breastplate stays on. Maybe a slice, but it is already drying, and two of those Eleans went to get wool, and if they can find it, some oil and honey. I’m fine. The blood stopped as soon as it ran. A hoplite keeps his armor on. Go look after that other fellow that the Spartan woman cut. He’s lying somewhere back along the wall, without a hand.”
Ainias was relieved as Proxenos kept talking, and wondered at what he had done. “Antikrates. Did you see him? You charged Antikrates as he marched at the head of the royal guard? Did you learn nothing from their final breakout at Leuktra? Look at their torches over there by the Eurotas-they are plowing a furrow through that mob of thieves. You thought one hoplite from Plataia could take down the son of Lichas? As they head over the Eurotas, they’ll kill a hundred of our own for their ticket across, and before the sun is even fully up.”
“But I almost did stop him,” Proxenos sighed. “At least I stabbed someone before he slapped his spear across my belly and gave me this scratch. Neto was right: There is a foul smell about this Antikrates. I caught it as he nicked me. Either we kill him or he’ll spear more of our own before this is all over. He’s a
