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Authors: Steven Pressfield
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landmass. The Egyptianâs hand swept over the outlines of Ethiopia, Libya, Arabia, Egypt, Assyria, Babylonia, Sumeria, Cappadocia, Armenia and the trans-Caucasus. The fame of each of these kingdoms he recited, quoting the numbers of their warriors and the arms and armaments they carried.
âA man traveling fast may traverse all the Peloponnese in four days. Look here, my friends. Merely to get from Tyre to Susa, the Great Kingâs capital, is three monthsâ march. And all that land, all its men and wealth, belong to Xerxes. Nor do his nations contend one against the other as you Hellenes love so to do, nor disunite into squabbling alliances. When the King says assemble, his armies assemble. When he says march, they march. And still,â he said, âwe have not reached Persepolis and the heart of Persia.â
He rolled the map out farther.
Into sight arose yet more lands covering yet more leagues and called by yet more curious names. The Egyptian reeled off more numbers. Two hundred thousand from this satrapy, 300,000 from that. Greece, in the West, was looking punier and punier. She seemed to be shriveling into a microcosm in contrast to the endless mass of the Persian Empire. The Egyptian spoke now of outlandish beasts and chimera. Camels and elephants, wild asses the size of draught horses. He sketched the lands of Persia herself, then Media, Bactria, Parthia, Caspia, Aria, Sogdiana and India, nations of whose names and existence his listeners had never even heard.
âFrom these vast lands His Majesty draws more myriads of warriors, men raised under the blistering sun of the East, inured to hardships beyond your imagining, armed with weapons you have no experience in combating and financed by gold and treasure beyond counting. Every article of produce, every fruit, grain, pig, sheep, cow, horse, the yield of every mine, farm, forest and vineyard belongs to His Majesty. And all of it he has poured into the mounting of this army which marches now to enslave you.
âListen to me, brothers. The race of Egyptians is an ancient one, numbering the generations of its fathers by the hundreds into antiquity. We have seen empires come and go. We have ruled and been ruled. Even now we are technically a conquered people, we serve the Persians. Yet regard my station, friends. Do I look poor? Is my demeanor dishonored? Peer here within my purse. With all respect, brothers, I could buy and sell you and all you own with only that which I bear upon my person.â
At that point Olympieus called the Egyptian short and demanded that he speak to his point.
âMy point is this, friends: His Majesty will honor you Spartans no less than us Egyptians, or any other great warrior people, should you see wisdom and enlist yourselves voluntarily beneath his banner. In the East we have learned that which you Greeks have not. The wheel turns, and man must turn with it. To resist is not mere folly, but madness.â
I watched my masterâs eyes then. Clearly he perceived the Egyptianâs intent as genuine and his words proffered out of friendship and regard. Yet he could not stop anger from flushing his countenance.
âYou have never tasted freedom, friend,â Dienekes spoke, âor you would know it is purchased not with gold, but steel.â He contained his anger swiftly, reaching to rap the Egyptianâs shoulder like a friend and to meet his eyes with a smile.
âAnd as for the wheel you speak of,â my master finished, âlike every other, it turns both ways.â
We arrived at Olympia on the afternoon of the second day from Pellana. The Olympic Games, sacred to Zeus, are the holiest of all Hellenic festivals; during the weeks of their celebration no Greek may take up arms against another, or even against an alien invader. The Games would be held this very year, within weeks; in fact the Olympic grounds and dormitories were already teeming with athletes and trainers from all the
âA man traveling fast may traverse all the Peloponnese in four days. Look here, my friends. Merely to get from Tyre to Susa, the Great Kingâs capital, is three monthsâ march. And all that land, all its men and wealth, belong to Xerxes. Nor do his nations contend one against the other as you Hellenes love so to do, nor disunite into squabbling alliances. When the King says assemble, his armies assemble. When he says march, they march. And still,â he said, âwe have not reached Persepolis and the heart of Persia.â
He rolled the map out farther.
Into sight arose yet more lands covering yet more leagues and called by yet more curious names. The Egyptian reeled off more numbers. Two hundred thousand from this satrapy, 300,000 from that. Greece, in the West, was looking punier and punier. She seemed to be shriveling into a microcosm in contrast to the endless mass of the Persian Empire. The Egyptian spoke now of outlandish beasts and chimera. Camels and elephants, wild asses the size of draught horses. He sketched the lands of Persia herself, then Media, Bactria, Parthia, Caspia, Aria, Sogdiana and India, nations of whose names and existence his listeners had never even heard.
âFrom these vast lands His Majesty draws more myriads of warriors, men raised under the blistering sun of the East, inured to hardships beyond your imagining, armed with weapons you have no experience in combating and financed by gold and treasure beyond counting. Every article of produce, every fruit, grain, pig, sheep, cow, horse, the yield of every mine, farm, forest and vineyard belongs to His Majesty. And all of it he has poured into the mounting of this army which marches now to enslave you.
âListen to me, brothers. The race of Egyptians is an ancient one, numbering the generations of its fathers by the hundreds into antiquity. We have seen empires come and go. We have ruled and been ruled. Even now we are technically a conquered people, we serve the Persians. Yet regard my station, friends. Do I look poor? Is my demeanor dishonored? Peer here within my purse. With all respect, brothers, I could buy and sell you and all you own with only that which I bear upon my person.â
At that point Olympieus called the Egyptian short and demanded that he speak to his point.
âMy point is this, friends: His Majesty will honor you Spartans no less than us Egyptians, or any other great warrior people, should you see wisdom and enlist yourselves voluntarily beneath his banner. In the East we have learned that which you Greeks have not. The wheel turns, and man must turn with it. To resist is not mere folly, but madness.â
I watched my masterâs eyes then. Clearly he perceived the Egyptianâs intent as genuine and his words proffered out of friendship and regard. Yet he could not stop anger from flushing his countenance.
âYou have never tasted freedom, friend,â Dienekes spoke, âor you would know it is purchased not with gold, but steel.â He contained his anger swiftly, reaching to rap the Egyptianâs shoulder like a friend and to meet his eyes with a smile.
âAnd as for the wheel you speak of,â my master finished, âlike every other, it turns both ways.â
We arrived at Olympia on the afternoon of the second day from Pellana. The Olympic Games, sacred to Zeus, are the holiest of all Hellenic festivals; during the weeks of their celebration no Greek may take up arms against another, or even against an alien invader. The Games would be held this very year, within weeks; in fact the Olympic grounds and dormitories were already teeming with athletes and trainers from all the
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