BUSINESS AND PLEASURE.
Its religious obligations discharged, for the games, as has been already
said, were regarded as a service of thanksgiving for deliverance, the
army turned its attention to secular affairs. One indispensable duty,
one curiously characteristic, by the way, of the Greek soldier’s temper
of mind, was to call the generals to account. For a Greek soldier, even
when he was selling his sword to the highest bidder, never forgot that
he was a citizen, and that as a citizen he had the right of satisfying
himself that his superiors had done their duty with due care and with
integrity. The Ten Thousand accordingly put aside for the time their
military character, and resolved themselves into a civil assembly. Their
generals were no longer the commanding officers to whom they owed an
unhesitating obedience, but the magistrates who had just completed their
term of office, and had now to render their accounts[76] to those who
had elected them.
The meeting of the army, perhaps I should rather say the assembly, was
held on the same ground which had served for a race course. One by one
the officers were called to answer for themselves. With many, indeed,
the proceeding was purely formal. The name was called, and the man
stepped forward on a platform which had been erected where it could be
best seen by the whole meeting. If no one appeared to make a complaint
or to ask a question, the soldiers gave him a round of applause, if I
may use the word of the noise made by clashing their spears against
their shields; this was a verdict of acquittal and the officer retired
with a bow. And this was what commonly happened. After all, the leaders
had, on the whole, done their duty sufficiently well; there was proof of
that in the simple fact that such a meeting was being held. But all did
not escape so easily. If, indeed, only a few voices of dissatisfaction
were heard, the matter was not pushed any further. When the second
appeal was made by the malcontents, they, seeing that they were not
supported by their comrades, preferred to keep silence. The man would,
in all probability, be their officer again and he would not be likely to
think pleasantly of any one who had accused him. But where, on the other
hand, there was anything like an agreement of dissatisfied voices, the
complainants took courage to come forward, and the examination was
proceeded with in earnest. One officer had had charge of some of the
property of the army; there was a deficiency in his accounts and he was
fined twenty himal[77] to make it good. Another was accused of
carelessness in his duties as leader, and had to pay half this sum. Then
came the _cause celebre_, as it may be called, of the day, the trial of
Xenophon himself. Xenophon was generally popular with the army, as,
indeed, he could scarcely fail to be, considering all that he had done
for it; but he had enemies. The mere fact of his being an Athenian made
him an object of dislike to some; others, as will be seen, he had been
compelled to offend in the discharge of his duty.
“Xenophon, the son of Gryllus,” shouted the herald at the top of his
voice.
The Athenian stepped on to the platform.
An Arcadian soldier, Nicharchus by name, came forward and said, “I
accuse Xenophon the Athenian of violence and outrage.”
A few voices of assent were heard throughout the meeting; and some half
dozen men came forward to support the the prosecutor. Accuser and
accused were now confronted.
“Of what do you accuse me?” asked Xenophon.
“Of wantonly striking me,” replied the man.
“When and where did you suffer these blows?”
“After we had crossed the Euphrates, when there was a heavy fall of
snow.”
“I remember. You are right. The weather was terrible; our provisions had
run out; the wine could not so much as be smelt; many men were dropping
down, half dead with fatigue; the enemy were close upon our heels. Were
not these things so?”
“It is true. Things were as bad as you say, or even worse.”
“You hear,” said Xenophon, turning to the assembly, “how we were
situated, and indeed, seeing that you suffered these things yourself,
you are not likely to forget them. Verily; if in such a condition of
things, I struck this man wantonly and without cause, you might fairly
count me more brutal than an ass. But say--” he went on, addressing
himself again to his accuser, “was there not a cause for my beating
you?”
“Yes, there was a cause,” the fellow sullenly admitted.
“Did I ask you for something, and strike you because you refused to give
it?”
“No.”
“Did I demand payment for a debt, and lose my temper because the money
was not forthcoming?”
“No.”
“Was I drunken?”
“No.”
“Tell me now; are you a heavy-armed soldier?”
“No; I am not.”
“Are you a light-armed then?”
“No; nor yet a light-armed.”
“What were you doing then?”
“I was driving a mule.”
“Being a slave?”
“Not so; I am free; but my commander compelled me to drive it.”
A light broke in upon Xenophon. He had had a general recollection of the
occasion, but could not remember the particular incident. Now it all
came back to him.
“Ah,” he cried, “I remember; it was you who were carrying the sick man?”
“Yes,” the man confessed, “I did so, by your compulsion; and a pretty
mess was made of the kit that I had upon the mule’s back.”
“Nay, not so; the men carried the things themselves, and nothing was
lost. But hear the rest of the story,” he went on, turning to the
assembly, “and, indeed it is worth hearing. I found a poor fellow lying
upon the ground, who could not move a step further. I knew the man, and
knew him as one who had done good service. And I compelled you, sir,”
addressing Nicharchus, “to carry him. For if I mistake not, the enemy
were close behind us.”
The Arcadian nodded assent.
“Well then; I sent you forward with your burden, and after a while,
overtook you again, when I came up with the rear-guard. You were digging
a trench in which to bury the man. I thought it a pious act, and praised
you for it. But, lo! while I was speaking, the dead man, as I thought he
was, twitched his leg. ‘Why he’s alive,’ the bystanders cried out.
‘Alive or dead, as he pleases,’ you said, ‘but I am not going to carry
him any further.’ Then I struck you. I acknowledge it. It seemed to me
that you were going to bury the poor fellow alive.”
“Well,” said the Arcadian, “you won’t deny, I suppose, that the man died
after all.”
“Yes,” replied Xenophon, “he died, I acknowledge. We must all die some
day; but, meanwhile, there is no reason why we should be buried alive.”
The man hung his head and said nothing.
“What say you, comrades?” cried Xenophon.
One of the oldest men in the ranks got up and said, “If Xenophon had
given the scoundrel a few more blows he had done well.”
A deafening clash of swords and spears followed, and the verdict was
accepted.
The other complainants were now called to state the particulars of their
grievances. Dismayed by the reception which their spokesman had met
with, they remained silent, one and all. Xenophon then entered upon a
general defence of his conduct.
“Comrades,” he said, “I confess that I have many times struck men for
want of discipline. These were men who, leaving others to provide for
their safety, thought only of their own gain. While we were fighting
they would leave their place in the ranks to plunder, and so enriched
themselves at our expense. Some also I have struck, when I found them
playing the coward and ready to give themselves helplessly up to the
enemy. Then I forced them to march on, and so saved their lives. For I
know, having once myself sat down in a sharp frost, while I was waiting
for my comrades, how loath one is to rise again. Therefore, for their
sake, I raised them even with blows, as I should myself wish, were I so
found, to be raised. Others also have I struck whom I found straggling
behind that they might rest. I struck them for your sake, for they were
hindering both you that were in front, and us that were behind, and I
struck them for their own sake. For verily it was a lighter thing to
have a blow with the fist from me than a spear’s thrust from the enemy.
Of a truth, if they are able to stand up now to accuse me, it is because
I saved them thus. Had they fallen into the enemy’s hand, what
satisfaction would they be able to get, even if their wrongs were ten
times worse than that Nicharchus complains of? No,” he went on, “my
friends, I have done nothing more to any one than what a wise father
does to his child, or a good physician does to his patient. You see how
I behave myself now. I am in better case; I fare better; I have food and
wine in plenty. Yet I strike no one. Why? Because there is no need;
because we have weathered the storm, and are in smooth water. I need no
more defence; you have, I see, acquitted me. Yet I cannot forbear to say
that I take it ill that this accusation has been made. You remember the
times when I had for your good to incur your dislike; but the times when
I eased the burden of storm or winter for any of you, when I beat off an
enemy, when I ministered to you in sickness or in want, these no one
remembers--” and here the speaker’s voice half broke, partly with real
emotion, partly at the suggestion of the orator’s art. A thrill of
sympathy ran through the audience. “And you forget,” he went on, “that I
never failed to praise the doer of any noble deed, or to do such honor
as I could, to the brave, living or dead. Yet, surely it were more
noble, more just, more after the mind of the gods, a sweeter and
kindlier act, to treasure the memory of the good than to cherish these
hateful thoughts.”
When the speaker sat down, there was nothing that he might not have
obtained from his comrades.
That night there was a great banquet. This served a double purpose.
Quarrels were made up, and some other difficult relations of the army to
its neighbors were satisfactorily adjusted. The fact was, that the
Greeks, partly from their want, and partly in the hope of filling their
pockets after a long and profitless campaign, had been plundering right
and left. The natives, on the other hand, had not been slow to
retaliate. Plundering cannot be done satisfactorily in company; but any
who ventured to do a little business on his own account ran a great
chance of being cut off. Under these circumstances both parties thought
it might be possible to come to an agreement. If the Greeks would not
plunder, the natives would leave them unmolested and even furnish them
with supplies. The chief of the country, accordingly, sent an embassy,
with a handsome present of horses and robes of native manufacture. The
generals entertained them at a banquet, to which, at the same time, they
invited the most influential men of the army. The chief’s proposals
would be informally discussed, and proposed in regular form at a general
meeting the next day.
The generals did their best to impress their guests. Meat, bread and
wine were in plenty; and the eparch of Trapezus sent one of the
magnificent turbots for which the waters of the Black Sea were famous.
All the plate that was in the camp was put into requisition to make as
brave a show as possible; and, at the instance of Callias, some handsome
vessels of gold and silver were lent by the town authorities.
But, in the eyes of the guests, the most impressive part of the
entertainment was in the performances which followed it. The libation
having been made and the hymn, which supplied the part of grace after
meat, having been sung, some of the Thracian soldiers came upon the
platform which had been prepared for the performers. They wore the usual
armor of their country, a helmet, greaves, light cuirass, and sword, and
danced a national dance to the sound of a flute, leaping into the air
with extraordinary nimbleness, and brandishing their swords. One pair of
dancers were conspicuous for their agility. Faster and faster grew
their movements, and with gestures of defiance they alternately
retreated and advanced. At last, one of them, carried, it seemed, out of
himself by his rage, thrust at his fellow with his sword. The man fell.
“He is killed!” screamed out the guests, and rose from their seats.
Indeed, the man had fallen so artistically and lay so still that any one
would have thought that he had received a fatal blow. The Greeks,
however, looked on unmoved, and the strangers, not knowing whether this
wonderful people might not be wont to kill each other for the
entertainment of their guests, resumed their seats. The dancer who had
dealt the blow stripped the other of his arms, and hurried off, singing
the Thracian national song:
“All praise to Sitalces,
Invisible Lord,
The spear point that errs not,
The death-dealing sword,
The chariot that scatters
The close ranks of war,
Red Ruin behind it,
Blind Panic before!”
When he had left the stage a party of Thracians appeared and carried off
the fallen man, who had remained without giving the slightest sign of
life.
Another dance in armor succeeded, performed this time by Æolian
tribesmen from the Menalian coast. A man came on the stage, and, laying
aside his arms, made believe to drive a yoke of oxen, and to sow as he
drove. Every now and then he looked round, with an admirable imitation
of expecting some unpleasant interruption. This came in the shape of
another armed man, who was supposed to represent a cattle-lifter. The
ploughman caught up his arms, and ran to encounter him. The two fought
in front of the team, keeping time as they struck and parried to the
sound of the flute. At last the robber appeared to vanquish his
adversary, to bind him, strip him of his arms, and drive off the team.
The next performer was a Mysian, who danced, again in armor, what we
should call a _pas seul_. He had a light shield in each hand, and seemed
to be fighting with two adversaries at once; his action was
extraordinarily life-like and his agility almost more than human. In
curious contrast with his performance was the stately movement of some
Arcadians heavy-armed, who, with all the weight of their armor and
accoutrements upon them, moved to the tune of the warriors’ march with
as much ease as if they had been perfectly unencumbered.
“Good Heavens!” cried one of the envoys to his next neighbor, “what men
these are! Their armor seems not one whit heavier to them than a shirt,
and they carry their swords and their spears as if they were twigs of
osier.”
One of the Mysians, whose dialect was not very different from that of
the speaker, overheard the remark. “Ah!” he said to himself, “we will
astonish these gentlemen still more.”
He drew one of the Arcadians who had just performed, aside. “Send Cleone
on the stage,” he said.
Cleone was a dancing-girl, famous for her agility.
By good luck she was at hand, having indeed expected to perform for the
amusement of the company. The Arcadian made her put on a light cuirass
of silvered steel, which she wore over a scarlet tunic. She had a short
gilded helmet, buskins of purple, and sandals tied with crimson strings.
In her left hand she carried a small shield, and in her right, a light
spear. Thus accoutred, she came on the stage and danced the Pyrrhic
dance with tremendous applause from all the spectators.
The astonishment of the native guests was beyond all expression.
“What!” cried their chief, “do your women fight?”
“Of course,” said the General whom he addressed, “of course they fight,
and very pretty soldiers they make.”
“Women soldiers!” gasped the man.
“Why,” said his host, “did you not know that it was the women who routed
the Great King, and drove him out of our camp?”
FOOTNOTES:
[76] The examination of accounts (euthuna) was one of the most important
constitutional usages in the Athenian commonwealth. All magistrates on
coming out of office, and ambassadors returning from a mission had to
undergo it. The existence of this usage would make the difference in the
eyes of an Athenian between a constitutional and a despotic government.
The other Greek States, though we know but little of their internal
arrangements, probably had some similar institution.
[77] Rather more than £400.