Pheidippides

From the 2016 issue: “Pheidippides” is a short story by Olivia Marstall, a thirteen-year-old aspiring novelist and student using the Old Western Culture curriculum. The story is written from the perspective of Heistanes, an Athenian soldier about to fight the Battle of Marathon.

Looking back on that day, I realized I never expected to win. No one did. The Persians would annihilate us, no matter how hard we fought. That was the inevitable outcome. We were going to fight because we refused to lie down and let the Persians walk on us, not because we thought we had the slightest chance.

“See you in Hades, Nes.” a comrade said, slapping my back. “No you won’t.” I retorted. “I’ll be resting in Elysium, while you’re stumbling around in eternal darkness.”

That was our way of quenching our rising fear. Fear that we would never again see our wives, children, fathers, mothers, and the countless other innocents we fought for. We were terrified, and so we joked. We all laughed uproariously and caused trouble, until we were told off, like a group of boys in school.

All of us, that is, except Pheid. He went about with a quiet assurance that astounded us. Now, as my companions and I boisterously shoved each other and quipped, he watched us quietly, sitting on the ground, tending his weapons.

I flopped to the ground beside him, my armor clanking. “Think I’ll see you in Elysium, Pheid?” I asked. He smiled at me. We were good friends, had been since boyhood. I was the one who had given him his nickname, and he had given me mine. Pheidippides and Heistanes had sounded too formal to our young ears.

“That’s the will of the gods, Nes.” Pheid said, rubbing a whetstone along the edge of his blade. “We’re hardly heroes worthy of the honor, but maybe someday.”

Another of our comrades swaggered up to join us. We called him Karos, because of his love for wine. He had been Karos for so long, no one remembered his birth name. Karos was a big guy, and a bigger braggart, but he was no coward, and an inspiration to us all.

“Pheid still believes we’ll make it?” he rumbled. I nodded. Karos scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You’re crazy, Pheid.” Karos laughed, his broad shoulders and deep chest shaking. “Just heard from the commander. Darius is bringing his Immortals and a full infantry.”

My heart sank. Darius’ Immortals were . . . “Unstoppable.” I breathed. I glanced up at Karos. For the first time since I’d met him, his face looked grim. He knelt beside me, and began absentmindedly scratching letters into the dirt with the tip of his dagger. I looked over, and saw he had written Φελιχια.

“Who’s Felicia?” I asked. Karos jerked his head up to look at me, clearly shocked. I gestured at the marks he’d made. He appeared to notice them for the first time. Embarrassed, he scuffed them away with his boot, and stood. “Best of luck.” he grumbled, before walking off.

I turned to Pheid. “Do you think Felicia is his beloved?” I asked. Pheid shook his head. “I have met Karos’ wife. Her name is Aglaia. Perhaps a child.” I frowned. “Karos is . . . married?” The thought was bizarre.

Pheid nodded. “To a lovely and steady-minded young woman, no less.” I shook my head sadly. “Just another maiden who is waiting for a husband who will never return.”

Pheid sighed, but it was not unkind. “Why do you not believe me?” he asked. “I tell you, the Persians shall lose thirty-two times the men we shall, and we will win!”

I smiled faintly and gently slapped his shoulder. “Whatever you say, Pheid.” I chuckled, but my voice caught, and it came out more like a sob.

Pheid gripped my arm and spoke, his voice quiet, but forceful. “Heistanes, listen to me. The Persians are infidels, barbarians, godless scum. We have the gods on our side, and the justness of our cause. I swear to you . . . ” he said, clenching my shoulder. “I swear, on the honor of my name, that we will win. And the honor of Pheidippides is no small thing.”

I almost believed him. I wanted to. But the odds were just too overwhelming. There was no way we could survive this.

“If the gods were on our side.” I said, standing, and breaking free from his grip, “They would have sent the Lacedaemonians. Ill-omens, hah!”

Pheid watched me go, his face sad. Perhaps if more of us had believed him, we wouldn’t have needlessly thrown ourselves into battle so recklessly, knowing what he had. How he knew, none could say. Perhaps Athena whispered in his ear. However he had known, Pheid was right.

Our small army advanced on the Persians’, vastly outnumbered. We formed a pincer, strong side flanks and a weaker middle. The Persians were fooled and marched right into our trap. We cut off their escape and trapped them. The swamps were dyed red with barbarian blood. Pheid had been completely correct, even down to the finals tally. Thirty-two times more Greeks than Persians died that day. One hundred, ninety-two Greeks. Over six thousand, four hundred Persians.

After the battle, I ran to find Pheid. My friend had got into battle with Karos last I’d seen. I found him surrounded by our comrades, all whooping and cheering. Pheid’s face was covered in sweat and grime, and he had a nasty gash over one eye, but he was grinning.

I didn’t even slow down, but crashed straight into him, wrapping my arms around him as he staggered, and picking him up, like he was a child.

“Pheid!” I roared. “How did you do it? We won! I don’t believe it! The Persians are defeated! We won!” I babbled joyfully, bashing him on the back. To his credit, Pheid never even said ‘I told you so.’ He just laughed and cheered along with the rest of us.”Where’s Karos?” I laughed. “There will be drinking tonight!”

Suddenly, silence. No one spoke. No one even smiled. I looked from stony face to stony face. “Pheid, did Karos . . . ” I didn’t finish my question. I didn’t need to.

Pheid nodded and quietly said, “He took on three Immortals single-handedly, to draw them away from some of the younger soldiers. He killed two before one of the infidels stabbed him in the back.”

I yanked my helmet off and let it fall to the ground with a thud. I stood bareheaded in honor of our unrestrainedly loud-mouthed, undeniably brash, unbelievably courageous, friend. A cool breeze brushed the hair from my filthy face as I bowed my head in remembrance.

We built a burial mound for our fallen warriors, a hill standing on the plain, a permanent testament to the courage of our lost friends. “They will be remembered as heroes for all eternity.” I murmured as we stood before the hill. “Their spirits shall rest in Elysium.”

Pheid chuckled softly. “Oh, I don’t know about that. Karos always said he couldn’t stand the thought of living Elysium. Too boring for him, he said. He thought the fields of Punishment sounded more exciting.” I smiled. “Perhaps Hades will employ him as a man-at-arms. He’d be happy to do that, as long as the wine is good.” I slapped Pheids shoulder and walked off. Alive or dead, Karos certainly made a stir. He was probably down in Hades causing trouble for the poor Lord of the Dead.

I was the soldier who delivered the harsh news to Karos’ wife, some time later. After much wondering, I finally learned who his Felicia was. His only child, a little daughter, had died of illness only a month before we met the Persians. Perhaps Karos had been preparing himself to meet his little girl.

After we completed the burial rites, our commander called the army together. “Men of Athens.” he said. “Brave warriors. You have shown yourselves to be honorable here, and have done what seemed impossible.”

We grinned and slapped each other on the back. “But.” the commander continued. “Out task is not over. The Persians are sailing to attack Athens. It will be the massacre of Miletus, only a thousand times more horrific, because the Athenians had the audacity to rise against the Persians.”

No one was smiling now. The fate of Miletus had been terrible. The thought of such evil striking our beloved Athens was dreadful to all of us.

“Unless . . . ” the commander paused. No one moved. A still settled over the swamp, as we waited, anticipating his words, our only hope for our city. “Unless someone can warn them. I need a man to run from here to Athens, to bring the news. Who will go?”

No one spoke. No one stepped forward. To run from Marathon to Athens, in time to warn the Athenians? Impossible.

“I will go.” a voice said. I closed my eyes, hoping that if I could not see the volunteer, I could pretend he hadn’t spoken.

“Your name?” the commander said. “Pheidippides.” my friend said. I lunged forward, desperate. “Pheid, no! This is madness, no man can do it!””

Pheid smiled calmly at me. “They said no man could stop the Persians, but we did. Now you say no man can do this, but,” he shrugged, “I will give it all I have. If it pleases the gods, I shall run my swiftest, and save our city.”

“Pheid, it doesn’t have to be you! Send the swiftest man, or the most enduring!” I pleaded, fearing for my friend’s life. Surely he would die of exhaustion somewhere along the way. Pheid shook his head. “Don’t you see, Nes? Speed and endurance have nothing to do with this. It takes faith. Faith in the gods. Faith in the impossible. I have faith. I will make it to Athens, and warn them. But I must start now.”

“Well spoken.” the commander murmured. Pheid shed his unnecessary armor, slung waterskins over his back, and calmly walked toward the mountain pass. I felt a shadow of sorrow darken my heart, though I could not say why. Perhaps I knew, even then, that I would never see my friend again.

At the top of the ridge, he looked back. It seemed to me that his face looked sad, but sure. Perhaps he knew that which I feared, was true. I raised my spear high in the air and shouted, “Pheidippides!”

The army behind me did the same, first one, then another, hefting their spears and yelling his name. The mountains echoed with our voices. And then he was off.

I never saw my friend again. When we reached Athens a few days later, I learned that he had done the impossible. He had run the distance from Marathon to Athens in a single day.

He arrived in Athens and gasped out his message, before collapsing to the ground, dead. The Athenians had time to prepare, and when the Persians arrived, they were waiting. The Persians were vanquished, thanks to my friend.

I have set down his name, so his courage will never be forgotten. Pheidippides was the greatest man I will ever know. To this day, I see the influence of my friend, in my life, and the lives of all the others who knew him. He had been right, about the Persians, about the race from Marathon. Most of all, he was right about faith.

Because that’s all that matters. Not strength, speed, wisdom, money, power, none of it. All it takes is faith. Faith in the impossible. —Heistanes of Athens