The Walled Orchard (33 page)

As soon as the news of that percolated through, most of the Athenians came to the conclusion that the expedition was no longer a good idea and that the sensible thing would be to go back to the Athenian camp as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, this proved to be rather more difficult than anyone imagined. To start with, nobody had the faintest idea where they were, and few people were willing to go blundering about in the middle of a battle asking the way home. There was also the small matter of the Syracusan army, which had been in just as much of a mess as we were, but which had somehow gathered itself together and was now busily engaged in killing Athenians. I believe that by this stage the Syracusans had chosen a password of their own, but had intelligently decided not to go about shouting it at the top of their voices. As a result, the only Athenians to hear it didn’t live long enough to communicate it to their fellows, and the Syracusans were able to distinguish between friend and enemy, to a certain extent at least.

The unit I was with was one of the first to start moving out, and by immense good fortune we set off in roughly the right direction. We tramped along at a great rate, firmly ignoring any human voices from any direction, and eventually found ourselves on the path that we had originally come up. Unfortunately, there was a solid line of men blocking it, and although in the moonlight it was impossible to make out anything beyond silhouettes, it stood to reason that any contingent blocking the only escape route from the battlefield was quite likely to be Syracusan.

By now, our taxiarch in charge of our unit (a man from the east coast called Philo) had gone completely to pieces and refused to have anything more to do with the exercise of command in the Athenian army. This suited the majority of us, who had not been unduly impressed with his achievements so far, and we held a sort of impromptu Assembly, at which various opinions were voiced. Two main parties quickly evolved; those in favour of attacking, and those who supported the idea of trying to get round the side of the enemy line without being noticed. The pro-attack lobby pointed out that there
was
no way to get round the enemy, since they straddled the narrow strip between two steep and rocky slopes, and anyone trying to go round would almost certainly fall to his death. The opposing faction, to whom I devoutly belonged, replied that the Syracusans were mighty warriors and invulnerable and would certainly kill us all if we attacked and, further or in the alternative, these people would probably turn out not to be Syracusans at all but Athenians, as had been the case all night, and that it was a terrible thing to kill one’s fellow citizens. Much to my regret, the pro-attack lobby won the day, and we lumbered off at a slow charge to break through the enemy line.

In the event we went through the Syracusan line like a stick through soft clay and made a pretty horrible mess of those fools who tried to stop us. As I’m sure you know, fighting in those days was more a matter of pushing and shoving than skilful manipulation of weapons offensive and defensive, and besides outnumbering the Syracusans we were so frantic with fear and general unhappiness that nothing much short of a mountain could have stopped us. Most of the enemy broke and ran before we got to them, and those that didn’t were simply rolled into the ground and trampled to death. In fact, I can remember treading on a man myself — I hope he was Syracusan, though of course many of our men went down too, tripping over or being shoved, and they were killed just as surely. The man I trod on had lost his helmet, and I looked down just before I got to him, to see his face staring up in terror at me. There was no way that I could avoid him without risking being pushed down myself by the great mass of men behind me, so I looked away and pressed on. As my foot landed on his face I heard a loud crack, even through my helmet, which I think must have been his nose. I think he screamed too, though it may have been someone else.

I was nice and snug in the middle of the formation, and although I had been separated from Callicrates, Little Zeus was beside me, as he had been all evening. He had been taking the whole thing in his enormous stride, apparently only upset because he had not hitherto had a chance of saving his benefactor’s life and so paying off at least part of the great debt he felt he owed me. It should have been reassuring to me to have such a large and strongly built companion, but it wasn’t, somehow. We had reached the path that led down from Epipolae, which was confoundedly narrow, and were starting to feel relatively secure when the formation seemed to bump into something and tried to stop. This was, of course, impossible; we had picked up a fairly considerable momentum by now, and the threat of being trampled made any movement other than trotting forward extremely hazardous. What had happened was that we had run into the back of another Athenian unit; but of course we weren’t to know that, especially in the middle and rear of the column, where you can’t see a thing except the back of the neck of the man in front of you. We all assumed that the front of the column had been charged by the enemy, and started pushing with all our strength. It was about then that the real and actual enemy, who had re-formed behind us after we had pushed through them, and of course knew all about the narrowness of the way down, came thundering up behind us and started carving up the rear of the column. There was absolutely nothing that any of the Athenians could do about this, particularly the ones being carved up; we were all wedged tightly together, with no hope of turning round or using our shields or weapons. Instead we instinctively pushed forward against whatever was in front of us, while the impetus of the enemy attack behind us hit us like a hammer striking a piece of metal on an anvil. The man in front of me lost control of his spear, and I was jolted forward on to the butt-spike of it with such force that the spike went clean through my breastplate. I had no idea whether or not it had also gone clean through me, and no real way of finding out, since I couldn’t move my arms. What I did know was that if anyone else pushed me from behind I would undoubtedly be spitted like a thrush, and this would do me no good at all. Since the only part of me which I could move was my head, I used it to bang on the head of the man in front of me to get his attention, and tried to explain the damage his spear was doing; but of course I couldn’t make him hear me. Just in time the idiot must have realised that his spear sticking out like that was a public nuisance and pulled it free; a moment later, I felt a terrific thump between my shoulder-blades and was hurtled forward, so that my nose ended up buried in the hair of the plume of the man in front.

I lost my footing and went down, instinctively trying to roll up into a ball and feeling that this was my just punishment for trampling on that man’s face. But the whole column had by now come to a dead halt, and apart from some fool standing on my ankle I came to no harm. The men in our rear had finally realised that they were being attacked by Syracusans and were desperately struggling to turn round. Most of them managed it at last, but only by ditching their shields and spears (which would have been useless anyway in that terrible crush), and managed to keep the enemy off them by grabbing hold of the shafts of their spears and pushing them aside. Fortunately, there was no room to draw a sword, let alone use one for its ordained purpose; and, anyway, by now the Syracusans’ progress was halted by the mound of dead or near-dead bodies that had been built up by their enthusiastic efforts. The whole extended column —two Athenian units and one detachment of Syracusans —had come to a standstill, with no realistic prospect of ever getting disentangled. To add to the confusion, another force of Athenians trying to get away from the battle had come up behind the Syracusans, and was happily demolishing them just as they had demolished us.

What had been holding everybody up was another Syracusan force, quite a small one, which had earlier been sent to block the path. Into this the Athenian unit in front of ours had run, and up till now they had been unable to shift the enemy in front of them, because of a similar build-up of dead and wounded men to the one which was now guarding the rear of my unit. Eventually, however, this dam had been burst by the sheer weight of people pressing down on it, and the Syracusan unit must either have broken and run or been pushed out of the way down the slope. Whatever it was that happened, the column started to move. The result was, of course, total and utter chaos, with everyone scrambling over each other in their hurry to get down to the level ground. I had just managed to lever myself back on to my feet when I was knocked over by someone hurrying past. I grabbed at Little Zeus to break my fall; luckily he was quite stable on his feet and was able to drag me on with him until I could get back into my stride. I dropped my spear, of course, but at that moment I could conceive of no more useless item of equipment in the entire world, and was heartily glad to be rid of it. I did, however, cling on to my shield, which I felt might well come in useful at some later stage in the proceedings.

What happened then I do not know. Part of the column in front of us came to a sudden halt — I think the path got narrower a little further down and this had caused a bottleneck — while the rest of us kept moving. As a result, Little Zeus and I were stranded and unable to move, while men from the ranks behind us came surging past us down the hill. I was uncomfortably aware that the enemy weren’t that far behind, but there was nothing I could do without risking being trodden into the mountainside, so I stayed where I was. After a while I saw my first close-up view of the Syracusan enemy
en masse,
and it did little to cheer me up. It was possible to tell them from the Athenians this time from the way in which the Athenians of our unit were hitting them and they were hitting back. I drew my sword and tried to turn towards them, and I confess that fighting was the last thing in my mind at that moment.

Then a man — an Athenian rushing down the path —tripped and collided with me, nearly knocking me over again. He grabbed hold of me to steady himself, and his helmet fell off. It was Aristophanes, the son of Philip. I cannot pretend that I was pleased to see him, since he had knocked most of the breath out of me and the Syracusans were nearly on top of us now, being driven down on to us by the Athenians above them. I tried to push him aside but he wouldn’t let go of the rim of my breastplate, which is what he had grabbed hold of, and we wrestled there for a moment; me trying to fend him off with my shield, and him refusing to be fended. He had both hands on me — he had discarded his shield and spear — and apparently saw me as a sort of altar at which he could take refuge. Just then, the Syracusans started washing round us, and one of them aimed a blow with his sword at Aristophanes’ bald and unprotected head.

I often wish, for the sake of the development of the Athenian Comic drama if for no other reason, that I had minded my own business at that point. If the Syracusan had killed Aristophanes, Aristophanes would of necessity have let go of me, and I could have joined in the escape with no further interruptions. But, like a fool, I put up my sword to parry the blow, and the weight of it jarred every muscle in my body. Atistophanes saw what was going on and let out a loud shriek, which seemed to do something to the Syracusan; I don’t think he would have bothered us any further if my fellow poet had kept his mouth shut. As it was, the Syracusan took another mighty swish, this time at me, and succeeded in cutting the plume and plume-holder clean off my helmet. I tried to hit back but couldn’t reach him. Then Aristophanes compounded his many felonies by letting go of me and running for his life. I lost my balance and lurched forward, received a dreadful glancing bump from the rim of the shield of another fugitive, and saw my Syracusan letting loose a third blow at me which I was in no position to parry. I felt it glance off the side of my helmet, shaking the brains up inside my head until they must have started to froth. The Syracusan realised that I was still alive and must have come to the conclusion that I was immortal, for he made no further attempt to do me violence and I was able to put my shield between his sword and my merrily vibrating head. As far as we were both concerned, the encounter was at an end.

That was when Little Zeus decided to intervene. He had had troubles of his own to contend with, I think, and had only just become aware of the risk to his beloved Eupolis. Anyway, here at last was his chance to save my life, and the mere fact that I was no longer in any sort of danger wasn’t going to stop him doing it. He jumped on the Syracusan with a roar like a lion and lunged at him with his spear. The Syracusan tried to get out of the way but wasn’t quick enough, and the spear point went through his forehead and out the other side, splashing a fair quantity of his brains over me. Little Zeus jerked his spear free, waved it jubilantly in the air, and set up a shout of triumph that must have been audible on the other side of Sicily. In his excitement he quite failed to notice the other Syracusan standing immediately behind him, at least until he stabbed him in the throat. Little Zeus fell silent in mid-yell — I think his windpipe was severed — and collapsed in a heap. The Syracusan left his spear in the wound and was swept away down the path before I could even think of trying to attack him.

I stood there for a moment, with another man’s blood and brains all over my face, wondering what on earth was going on. I felt completely numb and detached, as if I was invisible, like one of those gods in Homer who goes unseen through the throng of battle. Everyone knows that he and his friends and the people he knows will die sooner or later, and after a while the thought recedes to the back of your mind, being a problem that must be faced when the time comes. But you feel that you at least have a right to some notice of such an event, to give you time to prepare your mind for it. Now during the course of that night it had frequently occurred to me that I myself might get killed; but the thought that someone else, Little Zeus or Callicrates or any of my other friends, might get killed had not occurred to me at all, and the sheer surprise of the thing left me totally bewildered. I honestly have no idea of how I got down off Epipolae that night. I don’t think I had any trouble with the enemy; I’m sure I would remember something like that. I think I just stood there for a while, then walked away down the path. My brain wasn’t functioning at all. I can’t claim to have been shocked with grief; I’m not sure I was particularly horrified, although I was by no means used to such spectacles. I simply do not remember what I felt; it’s as though the contents of my mind had been wiped away, as marks are wiped off a marble floor with a wet cloth.