At The Piraeus

The tall figure stands at the quayside, in the early morning glow, watching a crew prepare a warship. Other vessels (mainly merchantmen) were also stirring into life. He walked along, past the huddled bundles, each a slumbering mercenary hoplite - Achaeans, Arcadians, Carians, Ionians and Athenians. The hoplite contingent would be embarking in a few days time, and prepare for the journey across the water to Egypt - that disease-ridden, stinking, ignorant piss-smelling subject state of the Great King. The Noble shuddered, but entertained himself at the day when his troops would capture the Satrap. Then, there would be a reckoning...

A New Adventure

Ademus rode at the head of a column of mounted hoplites, moving slowly through the crowded port of Piraeus. Everywhere the streets were filled with the sights, sounds and smells of busy commerce. Fishermen, sailors, traders and merchants were mixed in with farmers, tradesmen and labourers, all bustling about on their individual errands. No one seemed to pay any notice to yet another group of mercenary soldiers moving through the city.

As they approached the port itself, he could see their destination; a large group of soldiers assembled near a number of waiting transports. Off to the side of the throng was the Persian Psammeticus, watching from under the shade of a large decorated parasol.

Ademus instinctively disliked the man, as he did almost all Persian nobles. They were haughty and arrogant almost to a man. Every one of them was a slave to the King of Persian, yet they all pretended that they were masters. They affected noble airs, yet could act in the basest of ways.
No, he did not like him.

And yet, if by siding with Psammeticus in his struggle he could do some harm to the Great King who had harmed Hellas so greatly, then he would swallow his distaste for a time and work with the man. And if he could earn some gold for himself in the process, well what was the harm in that? It seemed only just that the Medes should pay for their own destruction.

Whereby the Persian views the Hellenes

The Noble Psammeticus watched with some trepidation as the latest batch of mercenaries arrived - what scruffy, dusty fellows! He gritted his teeth and moved forward to try and locate some sort of leader. Curse these peasants! They all looked and dressed alike, so there was no easy way of determining status. He came to a brawny fellow, unpacking his kit. He looked slightly more important than the rest of the rabble.
"I say, my dear chap! May the heavens shine their blessings upon you and.." he started the familiar greeting ritual but was rudely interrupted.
"No, you want him" said the burly one in a gutteral accent, pointing to a greybeard who appeared to be clutching a cage containing a quail, as well as the usual dusty equipment. The Persian addressed the greybeard, who was now rooting through his bundle. The Gentle Persian noted that there was egg and breadcrumbs in the fellows' beard and down his chest...Dear Gods! These barbarians are truly ignoble peasants!

"Come my dear fellow, let us talk of the forthcoming events. My slave shall bring sweet delicacies, and a fragrant oil. Let us repair to a more suitable location; I have reserved rooms in a nearby quaint hostelry..."

May the Gods protect me! He thought. These are my soldiers - a horny-handed peasant farmer, and an addle-pated commoner, who mixes with the footsoldiers in public.....

On the Quay

The Athenian officer cast a worried eye across the water to the waiting transport ships. We should be half way to Egypt by now he thought to himself. But who could have imagined that so many soldiers would respond to the Persians request? Thousands had poured in from all over Hellas, eager to take the Persians gold in exchange for the opportunity to kill more Persians. One would like to believe that this was a great outpouring of patriotic enthusiasm, but Ademus was more realistic than that. These were mostly desperate men taking work in the only place they could find it.

And now they were here, crowded together in the Piraeus, more coming in every day. At first the locals were happy for the extra business - the taverns and brothels were overflowing with idle mercenaries. But as time past, tensions grew and more fights were occurring every day. It was past time for this army to move. But they must wait for the proper sacrifices to occur, and that would not happen until tomorrow.

"What are you doing here you old goat?" bellowed a voice across the pier. "Gods, they will hire anybody won't they?"

Ademus turned to see his old nemesis Geryon grinning at him from the midst of a crowd of soldiers. Two months before they had had a knock-down-drag-out fight in front of half the Athenian army. Although the fight had been a draw, Geryon found that his status had gone up and he discovered that he liked being the centre of attention.

Geryon came over and slapped Ademus on the back with enough force to make the older man's wounded shoulder scream with pain. Gritting his teeth, Ademus said "Good to see you again, I think."

Geryon laughed. "Want a rematch?" he asked. "Well you can't have one until this is over. If I'm going to command this army, I can't be seen fighting with common soldiers."

"You're in command?" blurted Ademus, barely able to disguise his surprise and horror. "When did this happen?"

"We are just going to arrange it now." Said the larger man. Behind him the gathered soldiers nodded and murmured their agreement. "Someone has to lead this rabble, and who better than its greatest warrior - ME! Come with us and I'll put in a good word for you, maybe get you a small command of your own."

"Err, Thanks" Replied Ademus "But I'll take my own chances with the men that I brought."

"Suit yourself, but I don't have many officer positions left to give out! Now where is that Persian weasel?" With that Geryon and his entourage moved off to find Psammeticus.

Ademus shook his head in dismay. The expedition had not even left yet, and already it was nearly a disaster. This was not turning out as well as he had hoped.

Having embarked...

I stood on the prow of the battleship ‘Hammerhead’, looking at the host of other warships, riding at anchor in the Harbour. I clutched my green Marines cloak about myself. I had come aboard with several of the Hamippoi as the ships’ marine complement. I did not trust this longhaired Medish ‘Lord’ – although he had persuaded me to sign on to his army. We would sail for Naukratis – the town founded by Greek Mercenaries in my Grandfathers’ time, on the banks of the Nile. There, we would muster, and Persian officers would be appointed to the Mercenary units. We would march south, ostensibly as a training exercise, before meeting Psammetichus’ forces hidden in a camp in the desert. The Mede would declare himself Satrap, and start raising support in the villages (he was very popular, he informed me...). Our scouts would keep us informed as to where the Garrison troops were moving, and we would defeat them on a field of our choosing. With a plan this simple, nothing could go wrong.....

The Sacrifice

The priest, Pallas, has arrived to perform the sacrifice. The bull enters first, garlanded and beribboned. Then Pallas comes into the room. An overemployed maiden (as there were few maidens at hand, she was in Thargelia as well!) follows up, carrying a basket of cakes, along with carriers of vessels of water, carriers of incense and, finally, musicians.

The water and incense are carried around the crowd in a circle to keep the sacred from the profane. All present wash their hands (in order to get rid of any evil spirits), take a handful of grain and raise their hands to the sky. Water is sprinkled on the bull's forehead, and it nods - showing that it wants to be sacrificed. After the prayers, the crowd throw grain on the altar and the bull. The bull's forelock is cut and placed upon the fire.

While music is being played, the bull is stunned with a club, its throat is cut and Pallas catches its blood in the amnion (the dish meant for the purpose). The gods' portion - the bones and entrails - are laid aside. As this is done, an eagle flies into view. It is blown back by gusts of wind - but goes past, and finds a rich harvest further on.

"This is a sign! Despite all difficulties (and there will be many) there shall also be great success."

Wherein the Noble Persian sets sail

Seeing the barbarian priest approaching, the noble persian ordered his party to repair aboard the Flagship (a Carian dreadnought called 'Bulls'-Head'). Once the future Satrap of Egypt had inspected his especially-rigged quarters and taken his position under the awning in the vessels' stern he gestured to the captain to weigh anchor. The Bulls-Head and some smaller vessels would speed ahead of the main fleet to rendevous with his agents and people in Egypt.

He settled himself down, and allowed a small plate of chilled sweetmeats and some sherbet to be brought. He disliked the sea, and dreamed of the water-gardens of his villa in Thebes.....

Egypt

The thing about Egypt was that you could smell it long before you could see it. It was an exotic heavy scent carrying over the waves; the smell of moist rich earth, lush crops, desert sands, and strange spices all rolled into one. It was so different from the arid lands of Hellas. Now as Ademus stood at the prow of the transport carrying his troops, he could see the bright green of the Nile delta growing on the horizon.

Not a moment too soon, in his opinion. Ademus had always enjoyed sailing, ever since his early days as a marine. But racing under oar, cutting through the waves in a sleek warship was a far cry from sitting in the hold of a merchantman while it bobbed on the waves like a piece of driftwood.

In order to save time, gain surprise and avoid 'complications' that might arise from travelling through Persian territory, the squadron took the most direct route from Athens to Egypt. For the first two days they had had good winds, carrying warships and troop transports swiftly as they hopped from island to island. First they sailed past Kithnos, then Seriphos, Siphnos, Siknos, Thera, and finally to Crete.

Then the storm hit them. Fortunately they had enough warning and were able to find safety in a sheltering bay. The warships were drawn up onto the beach, while the merchantmen dropped anchor and rode out the storm.

From the heaving deck of his ship Ademus could see the waves pounding the fleet while the wind drove torrents of rain down on them like arrows falling from the sky. One ship began to drag its anchors and was almost dashed upon the rocks before its anchors found a firm hold and saved its cargo from watery doom. Elsewhere both sailors and soldiers set about the desperate task of bailing their ships of water that seemed to be coming from all directions at once. .

Most of the men were landlubbers, soldiers not sailors. They suffered terribly from the cold, the rain, and the violent motion. Ademus felt most sorry for his servant Aion, a Scythian who had never been to sea before. The poor man spent all his time hanging over the side of the vessel, vainly trying to empty his stomach of the contents that had long since been sent as an offering to Poseidon.

Perhaps Poseidon accepted the offering, because the storm lasted less than a day. Then after brief repairs and with clear skies and a calm sea, the fleet continued on its way. The last portion was the most dangerous, the run through open sea from Crete to Egypt. If a storm hit them on this leg, the whole fleet could be lost. But the signs were good. Prayers and sacrifices were made and then, like a diver jumping off a cliff, the fleet left the safety of Crete behind and sailed with all possible speed to the south.

For a moment at least, the gods had smiled. No storm had come to harm them and now at last they were nearing their destination.