The Sacred Band
Didn't quite get this finished in time for the contest deadline, and it went slightly over the word-count,
but nevermind, I'll just dump it here in case anybody has a little spare-time.
The Sacred Band
Chaeronea, Greece. 338 BC
Isidor feinted a jab with the blunt spear-point at Nisos's belly, then switched target swiftly to strike at his head. Nisos moved his head to one side just quickly enough and the spear-point glanced off the cheek of his corinthian helmet.
'Nearly had your eye on the end of that one.' Isidor laughed. 'Allow me to gloat, it's not often I get one in against you.'
Nisos smiled, dropped his spear and removed his helmet. He wiped away glistening sweat then embraced Isidor and kissed him tenderly.
'You can get one in against me anytime, beloved, and you fight as well as I do.'
'Not quite, but thank you. I'm just happy to have you watching my backside tomorrow.'
'And what a nice backside it is,' Nisos reached down to squeeze Isidor's buttocks, 'well worth protecting.'
They both laughed until a voice interrupted.
'If you two are finished sparring, do you have energy enough left for me, Nisos?'
It was Theos. To Isidor, his eyes seemed to shine with eagerness past the bronze nose-guard of his helmet as he looked at Nisos. It made him feel a little uneasy.
'Of course he has, Theos. I'll leave you two to it.'
Isidor retired to bathe in the shade of a tent awning. The ring of white linen tents, that flapped in the gentle breeze, enclosed the grassy space where the three-hundred men of the Sacred Band laughed, sparred and caressed. He lay back with a glass of diluted wine to watch Nisos and Theos train.
Their muscles stretched and clenched under a sheen of sweat as a noon sun flowed down onto them. Isidor admired the sculpted form of Nisos's bronzed back that rippled with each thrust like an animated statue, down to his cloth-clad buttocks. He felt a stirring in his groin.
Soon, they finished their practice, smiling and praising each other breathlessly as they removed their helmets. Then Theos stepped close to Nisos as he spoke, heaving chests almost touching.
Isidor felt the uneasiness again, uncoiling in his stomach. He stood and approached Nisos and embraced him extravagantly, whispering into his ear. 'Let's get out of here for a while, go for a walk.'
Nisos regarded him curiosly, 'well, of course. Why not?'
They left the circle of tents and ascended a broken path whose rough stones struggled up a poppy strewn hillside. Isidor spoke wistfully as they walked.
'Do you remember the day we swore our oath to each other, at Iolaus's tomb, beloved?'
'Remember? Of course I remember. How could I forget? It was the day of our destiny, mine and yours - a union to match that of Heracles and Iolaus. The oath that sealed us together and to The Sacred Band.' He paused for a moment, then laughed, 'I also remember how we celebrated that night.'
Isidor smiled. 'Do you still hold that oath as dear as I do?'
Nisos looked at him intently, 'How can you ask me that, what cause have I ever given?'
'None, none at all. Forgive me. Ignore me. It's just that...I see the way others look at you sometimes. I wonder if you notice,' he replied, as they crested the top of the breeze-caressed hill. On the opposite slope, the white stone of an acropolis thrust proudly from green folds.
Nisos embraced him and whispered, 'No, I never notice. There is only you, beloved.'
Together they lay and looked out across the fertile plain of Boeotia. The site of the coming battle. It lapped at the feet of distant mountains that stood over like guardians, behind which the sun retreated, leaving its ruddy legacy fading from the sky.
*********************************************
They returned shortly after nightfall, to the flickering fires of the Sacred Band's camp. There they joined the others as they lay with their oath-mates around the flames. Isidor felt an assured calm within him as lay with Nisos.
Polykles, eyes flickering, sat with his beloved Mentes and spoke gravely between sips of wine. 'These Macedonians are well-trained, this'll be a hard fight tomorrow. They say King Phillip learnt all he knows from us Thebans, and has applied that wisdom to this new army he has formed.'
'Aye', came a voice from across the fire, 'well trained they may be, but they do not know the bonds of love that we do. No enemy has defeated us Sacred Band for over thirty years. Tomorrow will be no different. Greece will not fall to these barbarians.'
'We are undefeated, yes. But what of the rest of our army? I don't doubt our fellow Thebans, but these Athenians?' He spat into the fire, which prompted laughter from those gathered. 'They will look to us to set the example. We will set them one that will inspire.'
'We will', answered the voice, 'but what of their elite cavalry? We have none, and I hear theirs is commanded by King Phillip's own son, Alexander. They say that even at his young age, he is a great warrior and leader of men.'
Polykles grinned, 'then it will be a great shame when he is cut down before his prime.'
There was more laughter as Isidor gazed into the fire. After a while, he noticed a familiar pair of eyes shining eagerly across the flames. It was Theos. Isidor followed his gaze to the resting form of Nisos.
Again, he felt envy writhing within him, but pushed it aside with a growl. Nisos stirred beside him and murmered, 'I'm going back to the tent. I suggest you do the same, get all the rest you can.'
Nisos left, leaving Isidor slowly sipping his wine by the fire.
He must have dozed off shortly afterwards, waking to find the fire burning low and that the moon had moved further along its slow course between the stars. Yawning, he pulled a burning stick from the fire to use as a torch and searched for his tent. Finding it, he pulled back the flap.
In the guttering light of the torch, he saw Nisos's muscular form draped across a fur blanket. Around him was wound the naked shape of Theos.
The uneasiness in his stomach flared and erupted, it seemed to consume him. A roar exploded from his lips.
'Your oath! YOUR OATH!'
He couldn't say anymore, but felt strangled with grief, and staggered off into the darkness - out from the circle of tents and their enclosed fires and onto a night-shrouded hillside. He threw down the torch and breathed the Jasmine scented air heavily. Among the night chorus of the cicadas he heard running footsteps. Nisos called to him as he approached.
'Isidor, I swear...I swear by my oath he came uninvited. I had no idea he was there until you called. Don't doubt me, beloved.' He attempted to throw his arms around Isidor, who placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back.
Isidor breathed through clenched teeth, 'You swear on your oath? The oath that binds us to each other, to no-one else. To love and defend each other to the death. You swear on that right after I catch you lying with another?'
In the dying light of the torch, Nisos pleaded with both hands,'Please listen to me...'
'No! Our oath is UNMADE,' Isidor shouted, then rasped, 'until you can find it in yourself to prove your faithfulness.'
He turned on his heel and stalked off into the night. The distant lament of a Jackal seemed to echo the cry of his heart.
***********************************************
Isidor watched the dust rise from the vast line of the Macedonian army as it approached across the plain, his heart low in his chest. It looked to be about equal in numbers to their own, around thirty-thousand men, but that was not the cause of any despair for him, nor any other man of the Sacred Band. The three-hundred men stood together as a phalanx six ranks deep, presenting a solid wall of spears. Each spear was twice as tall as a man. Their bronze and steel helmets and shields glittered like a statement of defiance.
Despite himself, he looked down the ranks for some sign of Nisos, but all the men looked identical in their horse-plumed helmets with nose and cheek guards. His gaze continued past the Sacred Band to the rest of the Greek army that stretched, away to his left, in one long line of flesh and metal across the low foothills, with the rugged bulk of Mount Parnassus squatting beyond like some titanic observer. His own phalanx had the position of honour on the right flank, hard against the shining waters of the River Cephisus.
He knew that this army would all look to the Sacred Band for inspiration. The thought sat heavily with him - he had little within that could inspire even himself today.
A strident voice interrupted his thoughts as Selagus, captain of the Sacred Band, came walking down the line, shouting encouragement.
'Proud hoplites of The Sacred Band, we know why we're here today. These Macedonians have come to take Greece, our motherland - home of civilisation, seat of democracy. Imagine that, in the hands of these barbarians,' he spat onto the floor. 'And yet we do not think of that as we fight. No, we think of each other, our beloveds, our oath-mates, stood beside us, shield to shield. We will not fail each other with cowardice or defeat.' He finished with a roar, 'We fight for each other!'
The men roared and lifted their shields and spears, Isidor joined them, but some empty feeling within him held back his shout. He focused instead on the approaching Macedonian ranks. They were indeed well trained: their phalanxes maintained an even line as they marched to their drums, tens of thousands of feet beating a rythm on the plain. Each carried a thrusting spear three times the height of a man, and as they approached they lowered their spears to point straight at the enemy. Their army formed one huge, deep, saw-edged line opposite the Greek's own. Alexander and his heavy cavalry were at their rear.
Despite their training, Isidor could see that the much larger phalanx that approached his own knew who they were up against, knew the name of The Sacred Band. He could see the trepidation in their eyes.
As they grew near, a sudden hush fell over the field, except for the drums and marching of feet. The Greeks lowered their spears at their opponents hearts, and the next few moments seemed to Isidor to take an eternity to pass. Then Selagus roared 'Slaughter them!'
The cry was deafening as the Sacred band charged the short distance as one into the spear-wall of the Macedonians. Isidor knew that the thousands of men along the Greek line would be following their example and attacking the enemy opposite, as he, together with his comrades, crashed through the enemy's longer spears to ram home his own.
Through the dust and cries the contest started. Each phalanx leant into their spears and pushed with everything they had. Spear points pressed through armour, flesh and bone as they bitterly contested this patch of ground. He could hear grunts, curses and raw shouts of encouragement as each mass of warriors tried to make the other give way.
Isidor knew this was where men failed, when steel was forced upon them and comrades were impaled by their side, something in them broke. Not so The Sacred Band, no man there would let his beloved see his courage fail, or ever take his shield from his lover's side. Isidor's heart felt pierced by his own loss of this. He didn't care about his vulnerability, only of the absence of his oath-mate.
With cries of fear, the Macedonian line gave a little, creating enough space for The Sacred Band to start thrusting and ramming their spears into their opponents. The enemy started to break, their phalanx shattered, they began to retreat. The Sacred Band held fast, and watched them go, but shouts of dismay to Isidor's left drew his attention.
He saw that the Macedonians were retreating all along the Greek line, but apart from the enemy that had engaged Isidor and his men, they seemed to be in good order.
The dismay came from the Sacred Band as they watched the rest of the Greek army charge across the plain in pursuit. Isidor cursed as the Macdonians stopped, re-grouped, and turned to re-engage. A large gap had opened between his unit and the rest of their army.
Selagus, somewhere among the men, roared.' Advance, Advance! Close that gap!'
Isidor could see it was too late, the phalanx they had beaten had rallied and was being re-inforced by another. With a crash they charged into The Sacred Band and stopped them advancing.
Again Isidor and his comrades pushed their spears into the enemy with every muscle they could call upon, forcing them back in a desperate attempt to seal the line, but he knew they were not going to make it.
He watched with despair as Alexander and hundreds of his elite Companion Cavalry thundered through the gap - a solid wedge of horse, rider and steel lance-points that wheeled around, churning soil and dust, to charge at the rear of the Sacred Band.
Again, shouts went up, but not of fear. Caught between the infantry and the cavalry, the rear ranks of the Thebans held and turned to face the new threat, presenting their spear-points. Isidor could see that, as heroic as this was, it would never be enough.
The horses slammed into the spear wall and the whole phalanx staggered under the onslaught as they where compressed. Desperation took hold. Isidor could barely see as a huge dust cloud, kicked up by the horses, enveloped them. His world was momentarily restricted to the smell of dust, blood and sweat, then he could see the cavalry re-forming for another charge.
The Sacred Band's rear was faltering, dozens of slain friends and comrades lay among broken horses and spears. Again, the horses charged. Isidor could feel the whole phalanx tense as each oath-mate pressed his shoulder into the back of the man in front, spears held forward. The unit staggered as the cavalry tore into them.
This time the phalanx broke.
Their cohesion snapped. More dust swirled and Isidor could only hold up his spear as the shapes of running men and horses flashed around him. He could hear nothing above the cries and clash of weapons on shields. Then his world reeled as an almighty force slammed into him from behind, something ripping into his side that lifted him from the floor then slammed him back down onto his belly.
A cavalryman galloped on, blood dripping from his
lance-point, and disappeared into the dust.
Isidor rolled in pain, teeth clenched, his life pouring from him. He sat, shaking violently, and attempted to unsheath his sword, but the pain almost put him on his back. He could no longer feel his side, and knew he was dying. Almost without knowing what he was doing, a cry escaped from his lips.
'Beloved, beloved. Nisos!'
A shape seemed to answer his call, looming through the dust-clouds. The horseman had returned, a grim smile on his face as he levelled his lance at Isidor and kicked his heels into his horse.
Isidor, suddenly calm, stopped shaking and awaited his fate, the bitter steel of the lance point bearing down on his heart. It was just a few feet away when the horse reared violently, a spear jutting from its oncoming chest.
The spear was held by Nisos, his helmet gone, blood flowing from his temple and belly. With a cry he pushed on the spear and the horse fell backwards, toppling its rider. Nisos dropped the embedded weapon and swept out his sword. Staggering onwards, he almost fell on the cavalryman, but kept on stabbing into his face until he lay still.
He lay across his victim, panting hoarsely as blood flowed from his mouth. Isidor wept at the sight. Then Nisos crawled to Isidor, took him in his arms, and whispered to him.
'I always kept my oath, beloved, always, even until the end.'
'I know, Nisos, I know.' Isidor could no longer hold back his tears,and sobbed, 'forgive me, I was a jealous fool.'
'It doesn't matter, we're united again. That's all I care about.'
They lay bleeding together as the sounds of the last stand of the Sacred Band raged around them. Isidor knew they would fight until the last man.
'Greece has fallen, beloved,' he said, 'but we never did.'
Reply With Quote
Ahaaaaaar
Bookmarks