The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe-Chapter 10 - Menon

At dawn, the Greek mercenary army stirred to life, weary but resolute, preparing for another grueling march. Menon, having spent the night at Ariaeus' camp, hastened back to his own forces. Riding swiftly, he muttered curses under his breath, his frustrations fueled by what he perceived as calculated slights from the other Greek leaders. Assigning his troops to the vulnerable rear guard felt like a deliberate insult, their jealousy over his ties to the Persians manifesting as outright persecution in his mind.

As Menon approached his contingent, his sharp eyes scanned the soldiers' faces. While other units showed signs of exhaustion and discontent, his troops appeared notably different. Many marched with a surprising ease, chewing on dark, stringy cords that hung around their necks. Intrigued, Menon called over a junior officer to inquire.

"It's smoked sausage, Sir," the officer explained, holding up a string. "Filling and lasts for days."

Menon cut off a piece to taste. It was dry but flavorful, a welcome change from the usual rations. His mood lifted, though his curiosity remained. "Did Melsys come up with this?" he asked, referring to his logistics officer.

"No, Sir. It was Juleios, the one they're calling the 'divine favorite'!"

Menon's brow furrowed. The name stirred mixed feelings, a blend of interest and unease. "Where is this Juleios?"

"Assigned to the baggage train," the officer replied eagerly, unaware of Menon's growing irritation.

From dawn until late afternoon, the army marched without pause. Juleios trudged alongside his comrades, every step a monumental effort. His shield, spear, and javelins felt heavier with each passing hour, and his throat burned with thirst. Conversation had dwindled; even lighthearted banter seemed like an unbearable luxury. Still, the camaraderie of those around him spurred him onward.

The march finally halted, but relief was short-lived. News rippled through the ranks: Persian cavalry had been spotted nearby. The tension was palpable until the report was amended—it wasn't cavalry but grazing pack animals.

As the march resumed, Juleios noticed smoke rising in the distance.

"That must be the Persian camp," Xilos whispered, his voice tinged with apprehension.

To their surprise, the Greek column pressed forward, seemingly undeterred by the threat. As night fell, the torches carried by officers cast flickering shadows over the uneven terrain, making the march even more arduous.

The army eventually halted to set up camp. The sparse, wooded landscape offered little protection, and the soldiers scrambled to create makeshift defenses in the darkness. The proximity of the Persian forces added to the unease. Chaos erupted as pack animals broke loose, trampling through the camp and injuring several men. The cacophony of shouts and frightened cries threatened to spiral into outright panic.

At this critical moment, Clearchus dispatched the cavalry. Torches in hand, they rode through the rear guard, restoring order with strict commands and swift punishments for troublemakers. Slowly, the chaos subsided, though tensions lingered.

Menon seized the opportunity to vent his frustrations to Tolmides, the cavalry leader. "Clearchus is incompetent! Look at this mess. How can he claim to lead an army?"

Tolmides, ever diplomatic, offered no response.

"Where is he now?" Menon demanded.

"With the vanguard," Tolmides replied reluctantly.

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"Sleeping in comfort, no doubt," Menon muttered bitterly. "While we freeze on damp ground, he rests in luxury. What fairness!"

Despite his complaints, the soldiers were too exhausted to share his outrage. They settled into restless sleep, their grumbles fading into the night.

Melsys approached Menon with an update. "No losses," he reported with a smug grin. "We circled the carts, tied the animals, and everyone slept inside the ring. Very secure!"

"And the animals?" Tolmides asked, intrigued.

"Juleios suggested blindfolding them. Worked like a charm," Melsys said.

Menon's expression darkened. This Juleios seemed to be everywhere, earning accolades that made Menon uneasy. When Melsys suggested assigning Juleios permanently to the baggage train, Menon's tone grew cool. "We'll see," he replied curtly.

At dawn, Menon was summoned to a meeting of the leaders. Mounting his horse, he noted that the Persian campfires were no longer visible. Clearly spooked by the previous night's commotion, the Persians had retreated a full ten miles.

Arriving at the vanguard's camp, Menon found the other leaders already gathered. Clearchus, Proxenus, Agis, Socrates (not the philosopher), and Sosis stood fully armed, their expressions somber. Outside, four hoplite battalions formed a disciplined line.

Menon sneered as he entered the command tent. "I hope you all slept well, unlike my men, who had to endure the cold ground."

Clearchus, ever stoic, ignored the jab. Agis chuckled. "Since when does Menon care about his troops?"

Proxenus intervened, his tone conciliatory. "Menon, I heard your baggage train had no issues last night. Impressive. Perhaps you could share your methods?"

"Not just the baggage train," Socrates added with a grin. "Menon's men even had smoked sausages while the rest of us went hungry."

The leaders chuckled, their praise softening the tension. Menon, buoyed by their compliments, couldn't resist boasting. "Leadership isn't just about fighting. It's about strategy and resourcefulness. No matter the challenge, I find solutions."

Clearchus cut him off. "Enough. Let's hear what the envoy has to say."

The leaders turned their attention to the matter at hand. Menon fell silent, though his mind churned with thoughts of how he could turn the situation to his advantage.