Mediterranean Hegemon of Ancient Greece Chapter 1: The death of Cyrus the Younger (1)

“The king's army is approaching! The king's army is approaching!!…” A scout cavalry unit thundered from a distance, their shouts echoing in Persian and Greek.

The soldiers, moments away from a brief respite, were immediately jolted into action.

“Patikias, is this report accurate? Is Artaxerxes truly on his way?!” Cyrus the Younger demanded, his gaze fixed on the cavalryman who had just dismounted.

“Indeed, Your Royal Highness. Artaxerxes is coming! Artagasses are with him! And that… cursed Tissaphernes is accompanying them as well!!” Patikias managed to gasp out, his voice strained and hoarse.

“Excellent, my friend! Truly excellent! He has finally arrived!!” Cyrus the Younger leaped from his horse with palpable excitement. As a servant assisted him with his breastplate, he called out to his adjutant, Ariaeus, “Relay the order to the entire army: prepare for engagement!!”

“Understood, Your Highness!” Ariaeus swiftly dispatched a messenger. “Inform the Greeks without delay and have them swiftly form up on our right flank! Readiness for combat is paramount!”

The messenger galloped off.

Ariaeus then summoned all the Persian generals. Cyrus the Younger granted them command of the soldiers on the left flank, while he personally led 800 cavalrymen towards the center.

Artapatus inquired with meticulous care, “What is the estimated enemy strength?”

“Approximately 60,000… perhaps 80,000…” A flicker of apprehension crossed Patikias' face as he recollected his observations.

“Such a vast multitude!!” The attendants let out gasps of fear.

“Haha! Are you feeling apprehension, my friend?” Cyrus the Younger stepped forward, embracing Patikias with a robust hug, unfazed by the scout’s dusty and sweat-soaked state. He then remounted his horse and boomed, “Comrades, do you harbor any fear?!”

Naturally, the followers of Cyrus the Younger vociferously declared their unwavering courage.

“Even with a larger host, he remains the same timid Artaxerxes! Do not forget, a mere cur could once send him scrambling in fear!” Cyrus the Younger’s blunt remark elicited chuckles from those nearby.

“And I have you all! My loyal army! Together, we conquered the formidable Athens! The very Athens that had repeatedly bested us in Persia!” Cyrus the Younger’s gaze swept over each man, inspiring them to stand taller.

“We also stand alongside the valiant Greeks! They fight shoulder-to-shoulder with us!” Cyrus the Younger glanced towards the right, where the Greek heavy infantry had commenced their deliberate formation. A surge of confidence filled him. “We are unstoppable! We are invincible!!”

“For victory!” Artapatus was the first to roar, followed by a thunderous chorus from everyone else, “For victory!!”

In the face of this elevated morale, Cyrus the Younger raised his right hand. “Friends! Warriors! Following this triumph, I pledge to Mazda, the most exalted deity, that I shall dedicate every effort to repaying your unwavering friendship and profound dedication!!”

“Cyrus, THE GREAT!!” Unbeknownst to who initiated it, the cry instantly erupted, spreading like a wildfire, engulfing the camp in a deafening roar.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Say, Matonis. Is something happening?” Davos couldn’t resist nudging the soldier in front of him.

“How many times must I answer? No! Nothing is happening!” Matonis impatiently swiped at his sweat-drenched neck. “Why hasn’t the enemy appeared yet? The sun is already high in the sky! If we linger here much longer, we’ll be roasted by its intense heat!”

“Matonis, even if you were roasted meat, I wouldn’t wish to smell it. One of these days, I swear, I’ll lose my appetite for meat entirely.” A jibe from a nearby soldier, Olivos, sent ripples of laughter through the ranks.

“Silence! Olivos, you incorrigible rogue, if you wish for me to place your own hand in your mouth so you can sample your own flesh, then by all means, keep talking!” Matonis threatened fiercely, waving his muscular arm.

“Oh, I am trembling with fear!” Olivos feigned a look of terror, prompting another wave of amusement amongst the soldiers.

“Everyone, stand at attention and cease the clamor! Meno is approaching!” The instant Hielos uttered these words, a sharp, commanding voice cut through the air: “Little children, what do you imagine this place to be! Is it your family’s dining hall?”

A soldier of imposing stature, his helmet adorned with a crimson feather, planted himself before the formation, wagging a finger at them and bellowing, “This is a battlefield! If you do not commit your all, then Hades himself will gladly welcome you!”

“Meno, with his foul mouth!” A voice from within the ranks grumbled.

“Who dared utter that?! Step forward this instant!!!” Laughter erupted as they watched Meno leap towards the front, his face contorted in rage.

Then, a loud shout pierced the air: “Look ahead!!!”

The soldiers’ gazes snapped forward. Swiftly, the smiles on their faces were replaced by expressions of sheer panic.

Billows of smoke and dust surged in every direction, cloaking the hills, trees, and structures in a uniform shroud of grey.

After a tense moment, a thin, dark line emerged from the haze, beginning to extend outwards to both sides, gradually thickening…

Moments later, just as the soldiers could discern the enemy’s faint outlines, countless points of light began to flash and gleam under the dazzling sunlight.

The armor, spear, and shield gleamed with a cold light, reminiscent of the boundless galaxy on a clear night. The clamor of footsteps, shouts, and the whinnying of horses merged into a surging wave that made the very earth tremble, let alone a man's resolve.

Just as Olivos felt his courage faltering, he heard Hielos's commanding voice, "Ready to fight!"

"Ready to fight!!"

"Ready to fight!!!"

Hellenic mercenary soldiers donned their helmets, unslung the shields from their left shoulders, gripped their spears, and began to strike them with a resounding rhythm.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!" The powerful thuds served as a stark reminder to Olivos that he was part of a formidable force, and his anxiety gradually subsided.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

The Persian King's grand army advanced with a slow, deliberate pace. Chariots led the vanguard, followed by lightly armored archers. Next came the light cavalry, and finally, the infantrymen, the sparabara, armed with long shields and spears. The heavy cavalry was strategically divided, with a contingent safeguarding the Persian King himself and the remainder deployed along the far left flank of the vast host.

The immense Persian army loomed like the dark, oppressive clouds that gather before a violent storm, slowly advancing and suffocating the spirit.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

At this pivotal moment, Cyrus the Younger, accompanied by a retinue of followers, rode swiftly from left to right, conveying his directives to each leader of the Greek mercenary contingents.

Amidst continuous acclamations, he reached the extreme right end of the Greek battle formation, where the roaring Euphrates River was visible in the near distance.

"Honor to you, Your Highness!" Clearchus executed a crisp military salute.

Cyrus the Younger gazed upon the Greek commander he trusted above all others. He then gestured towards the heart of the Persian King's army and declared, "When the battle commences, I want you to lead your men straight into the enemy's center. Eliminate Artaxerxes, and the victory in this engagement will undoubtedly be ours!"

1. Cyrus The Younger was the son of Darius II of Persia and the younger brother of Artaxerxes II Mnemon.

2. Artaxerxes II of Persia reigned as King from 404 BC to 358 BC.

3. Tissaphernes served as the Satrap (Governor) of Lydia.

4. Ariaeus was a Persian general who fought alongside Cyrus the Younger.

5. Meno was a Greek general who served under Cyrus the Younger as a mercenary.

6. Sparabara constituted the front-line infantry of the Achaemenid Persian Empire.

7. Clearchus was another Greek general and a mercenary under the command of Cyrus the Younger.