"It seemed like we'd been marching for a year by then. See, the prince Ariobarzanes Kianos had one army, yet to be tested in battle, while his brother-in-law Arirathes Herakleotes the Hellene had another, with whom I had marched and fought in Ipsos and Sardis. And the two armies were supposed to meet in the lands of our old Ptolemaioi enemies, combine our strength, and march along the southern coast to kick the Ptolemaioi out of our rightful territory. Carve out a new homeland for Pontic settlers, that kind of thing. And after Ipsos and Sardis we were feeling pretty good about ourselves. Sure, we'd lost good men, but we'd already taken two provinces, sent the Seleukids running back to the east, gotten well-paid after liberating the treasures of the gods from that temple near Sardis, done everything that the great king Ktistes had told us to."
"Then things started going wrong. We soon found out that the Ptolemaioi hadn't even bothered to cut the simplest trading roads through their impoverished province. So that slowed us down. Then when we actually located the other troops and combined our strength, it was the largest army Pontos had ever seen. Small by today's standards, but back then it was huge. With us all concentrated in one area, foraging was harder than ever. So rations started to run low, troops were grumbling a little. We were supposed to be inside the town of Side by winter, but even that hadn't worked out according to plan. And then we had this new leader, Ariobarzanes Kianos. Suddenly the great old king is dead, and the prince steps forward. People were whispering that the gods must be unhappy, that we weren't meant to be fighting the Ptolemaioi. Well, how would you feel in the circumstances?"
"Ariobarzanes wasn't one to be deterred. This was before he was, well, you know, but even then you could see signs of it. Right after the oath, he ordered the army to form up and march out of camp. I'd been promoted after Sardis to captain of a phalanx, so I had to chivvy my men into position. Back then we were just levies of course, not the professionals you see now. No metal armor, just padded cloth, and none of these fancy swords. Hand-axes were what we had when I fought in the phalanx, and we were good with them too. You still can't tell me that a sword can do much against one of those Eastern cataphracts - when your sarissa's broken and one of those great iron-clad beasts is stomping on your foot, an axe is your best friend. That was one thing I didn't like about being a captain, having to give up my hand-axe.
Where was I? Oh, the fight. Well, our spy had gotten a good look at the garrison of Side beforehand, and he said there was good news and bad news. The good news was that the garrison was lightly armed, just spears and javelins. The bad news was that there were more of them than there were of us. That was another shock - we had gotten used to fighting with the advantage of numbers."
"Anyway, we march up to this fishing town - that was all Side was back then, no roads, no port worthy of the name - and we get the last surprise. No walls! After Ipsos and Sardis we thought we knew how to take a town: you make a ram, push it up to the walls, let the skirmishers do their thing to clear the enemy away from the breach, then get inside quickly and lower your sarissas. At that point the battle would be as good as won, and that was when men became cautious, for none wanted to be the last to die before a great victory.
The battle of Side was different. With no walls to breach, our phalanxes advanced in front, with the skirmishers following. The streets were so narrow that Ariobarzanes ordered us to divide into three, with the other two full-strength phalanxes moving towards the side streets, while I had the honor of leading my own phalanx towards the main street. Then everything seemed to happen at once. The Ptolemaioi started boiling out of that town like rats from a sack, more men than we had ever seen before, horses too. I barely had time to order my men to drop sarissas and then they were upon us. I could see that the other two phalanxes were similarly hard-pressed, turning to face their attackers. That's the moment that's clearest in my mind: standing to the left of my men, looking like a damn fool in that fancy cape and crested helm they give you as a captain, telling my men to stand fast. Telling them their new king would do something to save us. Praying to my gods that I was right."
"Hmmm? Oh, sorry. I just get lost in that moment. Well, what happened then was that I heard this great thundering sound behind me, the new king came sweeping by on a charger blowing his horn, his bodyguard slams into the enemy spearmen pressing the phalanx to our left, and those spearmen all start screaming and dying and running away. I still hear that horn in my dreams, it sends chills up my spine to this day. That was when I started believing in Ariobarzanes Kianos."
"That wasn't the end of it, of course, just the beginning. I had only just turned back to cheer my men on when I saw their sarissas shiver. Ever been in a phalanx, history-man? No? You'd know what I was talking about if you had. In a phalanx, see, you're locked in tight with the men around you. Shoulder to shoulder, chest to back, so close to each other that you know which way they're going to step before they do it. All pointing your pikes forward, trying to keep them nice and lined up, taking strength from your numbers. Then, let's say someone on the far end of the phalanx suddenly sees something that scares him. Lots of things can do that to a man on a battlefield. He'll give a little involuntary flinch, and the tip of his sarissa will waver a little. Everyone around him will turn to see what he's looking at, and the odds are that some of them will flinch too. Pretty soon you've got this ripple going across the entire phalanx, and your spear-points are all making circles in the air. You always want to see that in an enemy phalanx, best sign of the battle. Means you can break them. Not so good in your own men. Anyway, my men were doing that because the crazy old Ptolemaioi general was charging us. Three score and two years old he was, almost as old as I am now, and still spurring a battlehorse on, just like old Ktistes did. Charging his horsemen into braced sarissas!
So things got desperate again. My men in the front rank were dying. Those in the ranks behind were dropping their broken sarissas and drawing their axes. The formation was falling apart because those damn Ptolemaioi bodyguards were chopping their way into it. Not a good moment. Then I hear thundering from TWO directions. Ariobarzanes comes charging in from our left, Ariarathes comes charging in from our right, and that Ptolemaioi general is stuck in the middle. Squish. When the old-timers get together now, we still argue about when the enemy routed. Me, I swear they had all started running before their general finally died, and I had a better view than most."
"Then comes the bit no-one really talks about, when you start stabbing fleeing men in the back, even as they're crying for their mother or their king or their gods. That's how battles are won, but you wouldn't know that from the histories I've read. You going to change that, history-man? Going to tell your readers how it feels to wade through blood?
Anyway. Anyway. Ariobarzanes called us back from the main street before we reached the square, chasing the stumbling and the wounded and the dying. Some of the men get a bit carried away in those moments, axe-crazed we called them. Every phalanx has a few, soldiers who let the bloodlust get to them. You soon find out who they are. They're the only ones who'll meet your eye right after a battle, and you can see the glee on their faces. As a captain, you have to decide where to put them in the formation. Some captains preferred to have them in the front rank, but I always figured that just meant they'd drop their sarissas sooner, so I stuck them on the side next to me, where I could keep an eye on them. So, I had to calm them down, reform the phalanx, clean up the lines a little. We all take a breather, and then it's finally back to the battle we know: lower sarissas, slow advance to the drumbeat, box them in on the square and push forward. Another bit that's not talked about much, but at least they die facing you and hurling defiance instead of begging for mercy. Mostly."
"We win, the Ptolemaioi lose, we take over their town. We count up our casualties, patch up the wounded - we didn't have chirurgeons back then, or even herbalists, your mates just wrapped a piece of cloth around any holes you had, and if you made it through the night you'd probably live, and if you didn't that's another one for the priests to worry about. Anyways, I figured my phalanx killed about ten Ptolemaioi for every man I lost. Damn good men. We got hardened after that battle, too. Tougher. "
"So, that was Side. Did you know that more men died in the battle than the place had inhabitants? That should have been another sign, really. What kind of king bothers going to all that trouble for a little fishing town? Still, we loved him for it, back then."
Re: Chapter 4: The Temple at Ephesos
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