The Lost Army (41 page)

‘Jason accepted the challenge and convinced the strongest heroes in Greece to join him. They built the first ship in human history, carved from a single towering pine tree from Mount Pelion, and left for Colchis. When he arrived there he asked the king for help, but it was the king’s daughter, the beautiful Princess Medea, who fell in love with Jason and told him the secret that would enable him to defeat the dragon and return home.

‘Jason captured the golden fleece, became king of his city, and married Medea.’

‘So it all ended up well?’

‘No, just the opposite. Their union turned into a nightmare and ended in blood.’

‘I wonder why your stories always end badly.’

‘Because they mirror reality. In reality, few things end up well.’

I felt the blood freeze in my veins. Was he trying to tell me that our relationship would end like Jason’s and Medea’s?

Xeno continued with his story. ‘Centuries later other groups of Greeks reached the land of Medea and founded a city at the mouth of this river, giving it the same name: Phasis. I know exactly where that city is. It’s on the coast of the Euxine sea, in a rich and fertile land. If we follow the river, that’s where we’ll end up, and our troubles will be over.’

‘And when we’ve arrived at the city of Phasis, what will we do?’

Xeno sighed. ‘We don’t even know if we’ll still be alive tomorrow, and you’re asking me what will we do then? We’ll try to survive, Abira, one day at a time. We’ll think about the rest when the time comes.’

All at once the serene vision I’d had of our immediate future dimmed, like the sky above us. The silence between us weighed heavily and I tried to return to our conversation.

‘So Sophos is happy with your idea?’

‘He agrees with me. He’s ready to support me in every way.’

‘What about the others?’

‘You want to know too much.’

‘Well, what about the others?’ I repeated.

Xeno hesitated, then gave in. ‘They’re against it. Not one of the other generals is convinced of this decision. We quarrelled about it, and a fight nearly broke out. Even Glous showed up, I hadn’t seen him for a long time, and he was against it as well. But I was firm, and I’ve got Chirisophus’s backing. We’re going where I say. There is no river that doesn’t lead to the sea. And this one goes to our sea.’

‘May the gods hear you,’ I said, and then fell silent. Down deep, I wasn’t convinced either.

Next day we resumed our march, but there was no enthusiasm, no determination. Xanthi, Timas, Agasias and Cleanor must have spoken with their subordinate officers, who must have informed the men. We were heading east, and that was where the Persian empire lay, everyone was well aware of it. But perhaps we’d never left. Perhaps we were still within the territory of the Great King. Maybe the whole earth, except for the land of the Greeks, belonged to the Great King.

One evening we reached the foot of a pass swarming with warriors who were barring our way. It was happening again. The same thing that had happened over and over. In that mountainous land, every valley was a territory unto itself, a little homeland that had to be defended tooth and nail. And that we had to take by force. How many valleys lay between us and the sea? How many passes would we have to seize? How many villages would we sack? I forced myself to scan the endless sweep of mountaintops, of snowy peaks, of shimmering waterfalls and turbulent rivers, and I couldn’t imagine the end. Not even Xeno, Xeno who knew everything, could tell me how many rocky cliffs we’d have to climb before we saw the glittering waters of the sea. That sea that I’d never seen, and that I was beginning to think I never would.

The river . . . it was close at times, other times it would meander away, but we never lost sight of it. It was our guide, the liquid, wavy path that would one day lead us to flowery meadows caressed by the gentle breezes of spring, where Lystra would watch her child take his first steps.

I heard a shout, a curt order, and then the yelling of thousands of men and the deafening din made by the warriors’ weapons as they charged. The commanders seemed to be running a game. They moved units from one area to another, made feint attacks only to withdraw and regroup the forces elsewhere, where they could deal the killing blow. It was like a hunting party, with the results taken for granted. I watched Xanthi striking with devastating power, Timas advancing at a run upslope, urging on his men, Cleanor dashing head-first behind his shield, overwhelming any obstacle, Xeno riding by with his spear held high, and all the others too, the heroes of that lost army: Aristonymus of Methydria, Agasias of Stymphalus, Lycius of Syracuse, Eurylochus of Lusia, Callimachus . . . I recognized them all, from the timbre of their voices, the way they gesticulated, that way they had of charging into the fray, calling back and forth amongst themselves. They were lions set free in the midst of a flock of sheep. No one could withstand them.

Before night fell, the defenders of the mountain pass lay strewn over the slope, each man where the fatal blow had found him. Our men camped at the pass, to guard it.

The women and the baggage animals arrived later, only when the reflection of the moon on the snow allowed us to follow the path. On the other side of the pass, there were dark spots scattered over the white expanse: villages and fortified settlements, standing each one on its own craggy rise. The provisions we’d taken from the Armenian villages were almost gone: the army was hungry.

The next morning at dawn, Sophos ordered that everything that was left to eat be distributed among the men, and then had the trumpets sound the attack.

The army encircled the villages one by one. The skirmishers went first, testing the inhabitants’ strategies of defence by attacking and withdrawing in waves, forcing the defenders into countering with arrows, darts and stones, primitive weapons and largely ineffective. Then they sent in the heavy infantry. I watched Cleonimus, Agasias and Eurylochus pounding in their heavy armour up the ramp that led to the village gate as if they were athletes running a mad race. Overtaking one another, pushing each other out of the way with shouts and laughter, crashing through the trellised gates with a mere shove of their shields, opening the way for their unleashed comrades.

It was there that I realized how far the love of liberty, the attachment to one’s homeland, the terror of an unknown enemy, could push people.

I saw the village women hurling their own children over the city walls onto the cliffs below and then following them to their fate, dashed upon the sharp rocks. And I saw the men, having fought to the last moment, their weapons chipped and broken, every possibility exhausted, joining their brides and their children.

After getting their fill of plunder the army went beyond the villages, always continuing along the river, always heading east.

We advanced for days without ever stopping, passing close to the other mountain we’d seen so long ago, at dawn, sparkling on the horizon like a precious jewel. It was immense. Its peak pierced the clouds and its flanks, furrowed in black, rose majestically over the vast highlands crossed by the river.

Then it began to snow, in big flakes, over the boundless, silent plain, for a day and a night without pause. Or maybe it was two days, or three: those terrible days have become confused in my mind, lost to my memory. The only thing I recall clearly is that we lost a servant to the blizzard.

The next morning, Lystra went into labour. I was hoping it would all be over before the soldiers had finished eating, or while they were breaking camp and preparing to march. I’d had our surviving servant fix a pallet of woven straw between two poles that could be attached to one of the mules, thinking that the animal could tow it or drag it along so she’d have a place to lie with her baby when it was born. But things did not go as I’d hoped. Her pains were prolonged; the contractions were strong, and she cried out with every spasm, but the child would not come into the light. Xeno arrived already armed and holding his horse by its reins. ‘What can you do? We have to get moving, you can’t make the whole army wait.’

‘I won’t leave her behind in these conditions! The wolves would tear her to shreds. She’s giving birth, can’t you see that?’

‘I’ll have her helped onto the stretcher, but we have to go.’

‘No! The baby is coming, she has to be able to lie down and be still. It won’t take long. You go ahead, leave me the servant and the mule with the stretcher. We’ll catch up to you. It won’t be hard to follow your prints in the snow.’

Xeno was loath to leave me there, but he agreed in the end, knowing how strong I was and how used to adversity, by then. ‘Don’t do anything foolish, be careful!’ he said as he waved goodbye. He urged his horse alongside the column so he could reach the head, where his scouts were.

It was still snowing, and the sounds of the army on the march were fading. The servant was worried and tense. ‘Let’s go now,’ he kept saying. ‘We can’t wait any longer. If we lose contact, we’re done for.’

‘It won’t be long now, the baby will be coming soon, very soon,’ I answered with ever-lessening conviction. I tried to help her. I pressed down on her belly. I shouted and pleaded. ‘Push! Come on, you poor little strumpet. Push out that baby, the child of a thousand fathers!’ With every passing instant I felt more impotent and gripped by anguish. The realization that we were not winning this battle against time made me feel like I was suffocating.

I burst out sobbing as I begged her to push. ‘Push out that little bastard, damn you! Push!’ At the same time, I started to yell, ‘Xeno! Xenoooo!’ as if there were any hope of him hearing me or helping me.

Lystra was pale, ice-cold and covered with sweat. Her eyes were deep, dark circles. Her breath came in short painful gasps.

She looked deep into my eyes with a sad, lost, expression. ‘I can’t,’ she said in a tiny voice. ‘Forgive me. I can’t do it.’

‘Yes, you can! Push, damn it. Look! I can see his hair, push him out, you’re almost there, you can do it!’

Lystra looked at me again with tears coursing down her wasted cheeks. Her head rolled backward and then she was perfectly still, her eyes open and staring at the flakes of snow falling from the white impassive sky.

I grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her. ‘Don’t die! Don’t die, wake up, come on now, I’ll take you away from here. It’s time to go now, we’ll go together!’ I didn’t know what I was saying, I was talking nonsense and shaking that limp body with her arms hanging loose like a disjointed doll’s. I covered her body with mine as if I could pass on a little bit of my warmth, and stayed that way weeping, I don’t know for how long.

When at last I snapped out of that daze, I looked around to ask for help and I realized with terror that I was all alone. How much time had passed? Where was our servant? Which way had the army gone? The snow was falling fast and heavy, and the silence that surrounded me swallowed up every sound, even that of my own breathing. All I could see were small clouds of vapour.

I tried to get to my feet but I couldn’t. The snow masked everything in a fluttery blur. The air was so dense with it, I couldn’t see a thing. All of a sudden, I thought I saw dark shadows coming my way.

I started to scream at the top of my lungs, until my cries died in my throat. I tried to move, to find the traces of the army, but everything looked exactly the same in every direction. I was alone, next to a corpse already stiff and completely blanketed by the snow.

I would die too.

I was almost dead.

I would follow Lystra and her child.

I would never see Xeno again.

Or the dusty village of Beth Qadà. The well . . . my friends . . . my mother. Nothing.

I was overcome with weariness: heavy, sluggish . . . sweet. I remember that I had a dream. As I was sinking into oblivion, I dreamed that I saw an indistinct shape advancing towards me. The shape took on the outline of a fantastic figure, a man. A horseman, white himself, on a white horse. His face was hidden behind the edge of the cloak that lay over his shoulders.

I dreamed that he jumped to the ground, light as a snowflake himself, and that he approached me.

‘Who are you?’ I asked when I saw him bending over me to lift me from the ground. Then his image dissolved in the swirling snow, vanished in the lethargy that locks out even dreams and visions.

I thought . . . death.

X
ENO.

The face that appeared to me in the dim light of the evening was his.

‘Where are we?’ I managed to whisper.

‘In camp. You’re safe.’

The thought of Lystra immediately welled up and brought tears to my eyes.

‘Lystra’s dead.’

‘I imagined as much. I’m sorry.’

‘How did you find me?’

‘The sentries found you outside, under a fir tree, nearly frozen to death.’

‘That’s not possible.’

‘I can’t understand it either.’

‘I think I saw . . .’

‘What? What did you see?’

‘A man covered with snow, all white.’

‘Maybe it was our servant. He hasn’t come back. Maybe he found you and brought you here.’

‘But where is he now?’

‘Somewhere outside, maybe. It would be useless to search for him now. It will be completely dark soon. It’s too dangerous.’