Trotting several hundred yards along the road to a better vantage point, Xenophon noticed another steep hill behind the one occupied by the enemy. It had not yet been taken by the Persians and was substantially higher, with a narrow, rocky approach separating them. He returned to Chirisophus, slightly breathless.

"We have to seize that height now," he said, "before the Persians figure out what's going on. My troops are tied down by Tissaphernes three miles back. Either you send your Spartans up to take that hill, or stay here and command the army while I take up a detachment of your men. Either way, make yourself useful."

Chirisophus glared at him. "Your choice, General," he said sarcastically, emphasizing the last word for effect. "It is for me to follow your orders."

I took a deep breath as I saw Xenophon pause for a moment, deliberately sizing the Spartan up before finally deciding, yet again, to ignore his insulting tone of voice. I could only attribute Xenophon's restraint to his overriding desire to maintain the army's unity at all costs, even in the face of personal insult. Gryllus had long ago warned that Spartans were not to be trusted. Thank the gods, I thought, for the Rhodians' unquestioning loyalty, for this was a great source of comfort, as well as a considerable defensive advantage.

Xenophon shielded his eyes against the sun and peered back up at the hill. "I'll need three hundred men," he said. "You'll know in an hour whether or not we are successful." Chirisophus nodded and began selecting men, and I will give him credit, he picked three hundred of the biggest, meanest, ugliest sons of Orcus he had, and assigned them to Xenophon for the rush up the hill. We set off immediately, but Xenophon stopped Nicolaus and pulled him aside. "You wait here."

The Rhodian looked at him quizzically, then his eyes narrowed in resentment. Like all his countrymen, he was sensitive about his youth and small stature, and resisted every attempt to favor him with lighter duties.

"Why, Xenophon? I'll take down three Persians with my sling for every one your Spartans trample."

Xenophon grinned at the boy's spirit. "It's not that-I need someone I trust to wait here for Lycius and explain the situation to him. I don't want him to receive all his news from Chirisophus."

Nicolaus nodded warily at this, and Xenophon wheeled his horse to gallop off after the troops, who by now had already started their ascent.

As soon as the Persians on the lower hill noticed the squad circling behind them and aiming for the unoccupied heights, they too detached a squad of several hundred men, who began racing for the same position. A silence fell over both armies. Although neither of the attacking squads could see the other one climbing the opposite side of the hill, both armies down on the plain could see the entire race. A cheer was suddenly loosed from the Greeks down below, followed a second later by an echoing cheer from the Persian camp, as the Greeks lapsed back into silence. Like a race in the Olympic games with every spectator in the stadium urging on his own countrymen, the troops roared their encouragement to their fellows on the hill.

Xenophon rode back and forth on his struggling horse among the panting Hellenes in the climbing squad, waving his sword and shouting until his voice was raw. "Move, you bastards, move! The Persians are attacking on the other side! This is a race for Greece!"

The men sweated and panted, pushing themselves to exhaustion, their eyes fixed only on the summit. One strapping fellow, his chest barrel-thick and his thighs as sturdy as stone pillars, began complaining in a voice that could be heard even over the grunting and swearing of his comrades. I looked closely at the soldier-he was clearly an athlete, or a former one, a man who should have been leading the charge rather than tailing behind and moaning. I was certain I had seen him before, but was unable to recognize him, with his face obscured behind the nasal and cheekplates of his battle helmet. I pointed the man out to Xenophon, and as we watched, he pulled up short and straightened his back, panting, his hand groping behind him in a frantic attempt to scratch his shoulder where the straps to his breast and back plates must have been rubbing him raw.

"Fucking officers!" he burst out in a fury to the men around him. "They ride their stinking horses, while we slog up this mountain in the dirt, lugging our gear like fucking slaves in the salt mines!"

The man continued to rant, but it was this insult that hit Xenophon like a slap in the face, and he turned beet red in fury-it was a look I had seen many times in the past, but mostly adorning the expressions of Spartan drill sergeants, and I had usually managed to avoid its being directed my way. He leaped off his horse without a word, tossing me the reins, raced over to the laggard and placed his face within inches of the enormous, raving brute.

"Get your ass back to camp and help out the laundry girls!" he shouted. He then grabbed the dumbfounded man's shield and began racing up the hill with it himself, no mean feat while wearing his stiff cavalry armor and continuing to bellow at the troops to urge them on. The other men whacked the soldier on the head and back with the flats of their swords as they passed, jeering and insulting him as he stood motionless and dumb. Finally, out of sheer shame, he put his head down and again charged up the hill, bellowing the paean to mighty Apollo, which was soon taken up by the rest of the climbers and the army on the plain below. Catching up, he swiped his shield back with a glare, and Xenophon, exhausted, caught the reins of his horse I threw him and struggled to remount in his armor.

The roaring of both armies below indicated it was a close race. Xenophon was forced back off his horse by the steepness of the pitch, and he struggled to tear off his unwieldy armor to continue the assault on foot. The men were climbing now hand over hand, loose rocks and gravel rolling down on the climbers below as they scrambled furiously upwards, sweating, swearing, struggling to hold onto their shields and swords. The lead climbers were only twenty-five feet from the summit, then ten feet, when I saw to my horror the flat-ridged crest of a bronze Persian helmet appear on the summit from the other side, and then another. The leading Greeks, engrossed in the effort of the climb, did not themselves notice this until the first half dozen of them had flopped in exhaustion on the topmost boulders-and there was a moment of pause as the exhausted climbers from both sides opened their eyes and noticed their mortal enemies facing them not six feet away.

Greeks and Persians struggled to their feet, uncertain whether to come to blows with each other or to peer down the opposite sides of the peak to see how many more of the enemy might be close at hand. The two Persian climbers had far outstripped their fellows in their race for the summit, while practically the entire body of Greeks, at Xenophon's desperate urging, had remained close together during the climb and were now poised to arrive at the summit as a body. As a result, the lead Greeks and Persians did not come to blows at all; for as soon as the Persians looked down both sides and compared the relative distances of the two attacking squads, they decided their best chance for safety was in yielding the summit to the Greeks. With a shout they leaped off their side onto the heads of their fellows below, who quickly turned and half ran, half slid down the steep incline. The cheers on the Persian side of the plain fell silent, while those on the Greek side rose to a deafening thunder. We took the summit without a single loss, and as Xenophon and the remaining hoplites struggled gasping to the top, we peered down on the Persian troops occupying the neighboring height overlooking the road to the north. They, in turn, had ceased their jeering and shooting at Chirisophus' forces below them, and were now standing still, staring up at us in consternation.