The boys grinned, and sheepishly threw over their shoulders a couple of tattered blankets I produced for them. Their teeth still chattering from the cold and the excitement of their recent adventure, they narrated in turns what had happened, tripping over their words in their impatience to relate their finding.

"We were collecting firewood for breakfast around the bend of the river, when we saw a family on the opposite bank laying some sacks in a little cave in the rock. We thought it might be wealth being hidden from plundering, so we stayed out of sight until they were gone. Then we stripped and dove into the water with only our knives, to swim over and steal it. We almost broke our necks, though-the water was only knee deep there, so we started wading. We crossed all the way to the other side without even wetting ourselves above the waist! The bags were nothing-just old clothes-but the crossing point is good. There are steep banks and loose sand along both sides, enemy horsemen can't come near it. So we came straight to you, and forgot our clothes…"

Xenophon poured a libation at once from the precious store he and Chirisophus kept for the sacrifices, and told the boys to drink up, because they were the gods' fulfillment of his dream. We took the lads to Chirisophus, to whom they related the same story, and with much rejoicing and further libations the decision was quickly made that the Rhodians would lead the army to the crossing point a mile upstream.

The men kept magnificent order, remaining in a single compact unit with the baggage train in the middle of the hollow square. The troops' armor and weapons shone in the weak sun that was just beginning to burn off the mist, through which they emerged, rank by rank, into the view of the Armenians glaring at us in hostile formation on the other side of the river. Chirisophus positioned himself on a small hillock facing the enemy troops on the far bank. Throwing off his scarlet cloak with a broad, dramatic flourish that they could not help but notice, he disdainfully placed a wreath on his head, as if already crowning himself for a great victory. The Spartans around him hooted at Chirisophus' mocking gesture, but as I looked across at the Armenians I saw no reaction among their troops. The fore ranks of their archers and men-at-arms stood motionless, in an attitude more of puzzlement, I thought, than of contempt, while the enormous band of undisciplined, skittish mountain ponies ridden by their cavalry troops stamped impatiently, snorting puffs of vapor into the crisp air as their riders struggled to hold them to alignment.

Xenophon's soothsayer advanced to the water's edge, and the troops on both sides of the river fell silent, anticipating the outcome of the sacrifice. In full view of all three armies he seized the freshly washed and bawling he-goat from the waiting herdboy, and straddling it from behind he paused deliberately, as if to ensure that all eyes were properly trained on the victim. Not a sound could be heard but the dull rushing of the river behind him as he pulled back the flowing sleeve of his knife arm and held the instrument high into the air, allowing the sun's rays to catch and bless the flashing blade, and then slowly lowered it to the quivering creature's throat.

Drawing the blade quickly across the animal's neck, the seer grasped the horns more tightly with his free hand as the beast's head jerked once in shock and pain, and then he let it collapse limply, as the blood spurted and sprayed into the water, spattering the hems of the priest's white vestments a bright crimson. We craned our necks, peering intently at the scene, as the priest straightened up slowly from his bloody task, and with a triumphant shout that carried bell-like across the din of the water, he proclaimed, "Zeus Savior, Lord and Protector: Victory!" We lifted our weapons and shields and erupted in a great cry that resounded between the steep sides of the riverbank. The massed enemy troops on the other side, both cavalry and footmen, stood watching in silence, unmoving and expressionless, their own weapons and armor glinting fiercely in the sun.

Chirisophus gave a shout, and then plunged into the water with his division, half the army, wading in near perfect formation across the deepening river. They were led by Lycius and his ragtag band of cavalry, and as the men marched into the steadily deepening flow they trusted implicitly in the Rhodians' account that the water would not rise above their waists. In reality, the crossing was even easier than expected, for Rhodian boys are short, and the water scarcely rose to the middle of a full-grown man's thighs. The Armenian troops on the far side let loose a barrage of arrow and sling fire, but since they dared not approach closer to the Greeks, most of their missiles fell short, to the chagrin of their officers whom we could see exhorting and even beating their targeteers to advance within shooting range.

Xenophon, meanwhile, had split his half of the army again into two parts, his hoplites remaining at the river bank to guard the provisions and cover Chirisophus' crossing, while the Rhodian slingers and other light troops doubled back downstream toward our previous night's camp. As they progressed in a quick trot, they loudly sounded the horns and reeds, purposely warning the enemy of their march and leading the Armenians to assume that Xenophon wished to cross at a point downstream, thus trapping the enemy in a pincer maneuver between his and Chirisophus' troops. Taking the bait, the overeager Armenian cavalry leaped into action, falling out of their tenuous formation, and galloped madly downstream in a disorganized mob to defend against Xenophon's audacious assault on their flank.

Seeing this, Lycius whipped his horse in the middle of his crossing, and in an inspired display of sheer nerve, raced his band of cavalry straight across at the larger, but unorganized, mass of enemy riders, to the accompanying roar of Chirisophus' marching infantry. The astonished Armenian cavalry skidded to a halt in confusion as to which of the two attacks, Xenophon's or Lycius', most required their attention. They stood dumbly for a moment, their horses milling and rearing in growing alarm at Lycius' fast-approaching and frenetically screaming riders. Suddenly, the Armenian cavalry wheeled as one, like a flock of starlings startled by a loud noise from below, and scattered in panic into the hills, to the deafening shouts of Xenophon's light troops who had been watching the scene unfold from the near side of the river.

Chirisophus, meanwhile, who was steadily completing his own crossing, kept his men in formation and pressed straight toward the wonder-struck Armenian foot soldiers. The Armenians, seeing their cavalry fleeing like rabbits and the strangely armored, hypnotically chanting Greek warriors advancing relentlessly toward them out of the misty depths of the river, themselves panicked and quickly retreated off the high banks.

Chirisophus captured the heights without a struggle and pumped his fist in triumph, and Xenophon, seeing that all had gone well with the initial crossing, now doubled back toward the pack animals and hoplites. By the time he returned with his winded troops, the last of the Hellenic baggage train had crossed and was now safely in Chirisophus' protection. Xenophon then lined up his hoplites with their backs to the river, facing the gathering Kurd forces, and prayed for the strength and time to cover the Rhodians' crossing before the Kurds charged and overwhelmed our now vastly diminished and outnumbered troops. As his men stood nervously in array, facing the approaching Kurdish army, he paced in front of them, his mind racing to improvise a strategy.

"Hold your weapons!" he shouted finally, "until the first Kurdish sling-stone hits a shield. When you hear the rattle of that stone, chant the battle hymn, sound the salpinx and go at the enemy for all you're worth. We have only one chance-terrify them!"