The Battle of Thermopylae, as told by Lycrus

I wrote this about a year ago and wanted to see what you guys thought about it. Feel free to criticize it. Some parts may not be historically correct. If so let me know.

The battle of Thermopylae, the last of a band of three hundred Spartans...

Leonidas is right; we will never be able to destroy such a large force of Persians. Even the oracle, wise as she was, had prophesied that no Spartans would survive the battle that was to come. Why do we stay when there is no chance of victory?

We are Spartans, men of war. Our duty comes anything else, even our lives. I am Lycus, a man of Sparta, trained from a boy to be a soldier. Here, in the midst of a Spartan force, I am at home. There are over three hundred men alongside me who think alike. A force of three hundred may not seem like a lot to most men, but to those who know of us and what we can do, three hundred is almost overkill.

I beside my companions next to a mountain. A jagged cliff rises to my right. Another to my right. There is only one direction for the Persians to come, and that's through us. But there are too many Persians out there! Leonidas, our king, once said that the sun was shaded over by the amount of arrows flying into the Spartan force. I thank the gods for our shields and longer spears, or we would never have survived this long.

Right now we hold them off at the narrowest point of the chasm. We have only fifty feet to defend, and they can come to us in very few numbers. But that could change any minute, and even with that advantage we won’t hold them forever.

I hear Leonidas conferring with the leaders of our allies. He says that a way through the mountains has been found and The Persian King's immortals, his best soldiers, are coming through to cut off any means of our allies escape. If we are assailed on both sides, I am sure that it will not be long before it is over. Leonidas is urging them to save themselves and leave by way of the pass, and then be able to fight another day. Leonidas knows that they have no heart in this fight, but all of the Spartans under his command will not leave their post. My heart warms at this, for even though I know that I will die, it will be defending my country, and bringing honor to my country and my family. The allies hurry out of Leonidas' tent. I hear them telling their soldiers, and there are cries of disbelief, anger, doubt, and I even hear cries of joy at their departure. Everyone knows that there is only one way that the Persians found a way through, that a fellow man from Greece had to have led them to us. I wish that I could get my hands on him so I could kill that traitor! I know that every Spartan who hears it will feel the same.

Leonidas himself comes out of his tent and I begin to see the fire in his eyes. He motions to me and the group of me beside me who are preparing for death by brushing their hair and making their armor look nice to come to him.

He nods sadly, but still with the recognizable fire in his eyes. “Come, let us hold back these vile Persians, and give our country more time. Before we die.”

We follow the king to the front lines, where our small army is waiting. The front lines are engaged with the Persians, as it always is, and I notice the king look worriedly over to ensure that the line is strong. I hear the sound of footsteps and horses and look back to see the rest of our allies leaving. We are along now, with just the three hundred Persians. But then I see an unfamiliar helmet, and notice that the Spartan lines are dotted all over with Thespian soldiers. In fact, there seems to be twice as many Thespians than Spartans! I silently thank the gods. With the help of the Thespians, we will be able to hold the pass for much longer, and there is no question of their bravery now in my opinion. Just the fact that they stay when they know that they will die dispels any doubts I had previously. I will be proud to be fight along such men.

The king pushes forward through us, who are looking ready to die. It is a Spartan custom, that when you know that you are going to die in battle, you wear your finest armor and brush your hair. Every Spartan has done so. Our long hair is well combed and our armor shines brightly against the hot sun. In contrast to our bright appearance in the sun, the Persians wear no armor creating a multi colored landscape of fabric below me.

I hurry to catch up with Leonidas as he moves forward to be in the front lines with the hardest pressed of his men. He is there to cheer them on, to give them heart, to give the fight their all, until they die. I know that his appearance will give the men courage like nothing else.

We approach the front lines, and I see, for the first time, the chaos there. What they have been going through. Our men look tired, and bloody. Many of them have resorted to their short swords, and their spears lie broken beside them. The Persians lay in heaps in front of them. With no armor to protect them, they fall easily to our swords.

Now, it almost seems like a pause in the fighting. No Persians are coming to continue the fighting, but are waiting, shaking, thirty yards away. I look around and wonder why, but then when my eye catches the faces of my fellow Spartans, I have to hold in a laugh.

Their faces are brought back in the ugliest scowl I have ever seen on any man. Their long hair hangs ratted and bloody around their stained faces. They stand behind the corpses of the Persians, and their armor is covered in blood. They are waving their swords in anger, telling the cowards to come and fight.

In Sparta, we men wear our hair long because it is supposed to make a handsome face nicer, and an ugly face more horrible than before. According to those standards, I would have to say that the main reason why the Persians are holding back is that the ugliest men in all of Sparta are standing beside me.

Finally I see the whips start to fall on the backs of the Persians, and they advance forward, but so slowly. At first it is only small attacks of three or four men, which we easily deal with. Then I hear the call from the Persians and they are saying, “look! It is their king!”

I, along with several other men, stand in front of Leonidas. If they want to kill our king, then by Zeus, they'll have to go through me! The next small skirmish finds itself thrown at me, and I lower my spear to take their charge.

The first Persian impales himself onto the end of my spear, and he goes down to join his comrades on the ground, but I feel my spear being pulled down along with him. I look down for a moment, and pull to get the spearhead out of his side. I hear someone in front of me, then, and look up just in time to see a Persian swing his sword at my skull. I let go of the spear and duck, at the same time throwing myself forward. I catch the Persian around the middle and he falls to the ground with me on top of him.

We struggle for a few moments for possession of his sword, but I punch him in the face with my gloved hand. His grip on the sword lessens slightly and I wrench his arm over to the side, pulling the sword out of his grasp with the other hand. I plunge the sword down, and his movements stop.

I push myself up to a standing position, but only to see another Persian standing over me. I jump back and brace myself for his attack. He steps forward and aims a blow to my side, but I see it coming and parry it. Then I pull out my own sword and stab him in the chest. He goes down, and I prepare for another foe, but none come.

Then in a rush of memories I remember that the king is in danger. Did they get to him? I turn around quickly, and only too see that our king was safe, and had defeated a few Persians himself. Leonidas' eye twinkles when he notices me. “This isn't my first time at war, young one. I do know a bit about handling a weapon.”

I nod. Of course, he would have never become our king if he hadn't been very skilled in battle.

Then from behind us comes the sound of horses and men walking. Both the king and I turn to see what it is. I feel my heart drop as I identify the soldiers as The Persian immortals. I had known that they were coming, but did not expect it so soon. There are thousands of them now, filling the pass behind us. They push the rest of our group closer together forming a tight square. We are shoulder to shoulder, with not much room to move. I can feel the soldiers’ anticipation and eagerness, but like always they wait for our leaders command. “This is it,” I hear a man close by mutter. I look for the speaker, and find him looking down at his blade. He notices me looking at him in irritation, and he grins. “I feel sorry for them.” He says, and I grin back. He is right. We are all going to die, but we will take thousands of more Persians with us.

The king stirs beside me, and I know that his signal is soon. The men are getting edgy, like they will break any moment, but I know that they won't. “Fight to your up-most!!” The king roars. “Do not head the rapid approaching call of death, but fight as if death is already here!” The whole army of Spartans and Thespians charges. Some back to assail the men behind us and the rest straight at the main group. Then the king mutters to himself, “Send them all to Hades.” As we charge, I see him pick up a Persian weapon, a long sword. He then yanks out his own shorter sword, but only after throwing his spear into the chest of a Persian twenty yards ahead.

Then the two armies slam together and I am confronted by three Persians all at once. But my armor protects me. One of them slashes his sword against my chest, but it slides off. My sword, however, does not slide off, but strikes true. The other two Persians are killed in the same way. One jabs at my gut, and I leap aside, kicking the other in the knee with all of my strength. Then I thrust out with my left sword at the Persian's torso, and the soldier falls in a heap on top of his live companion, but his companion does not live for long. My other sword sends him to Hades as I leap over them.

I see the king in front of me, fighting alone. But he fights like a demon. The Persians are avoiding him like we avoid the plague back home. Even the immortals, proud soldiers that they were, did not dare combat our king. But Leonidas jumps into the middle of them and does not let them avoid him.

I am brought back to reality when my view of the king is covered by a Persian. I duck down and slam the pommel of my sword into his gut. He doubles over in pain and I flash my sword down upon his exposed neck, severing it instantly. The headless body falls to the side and I fight on. There are so many Persians standing with their back to me that I am overwhelmed. At first my pride forces me to succumb to fighting only those who face me, but after a moment I begin to realize that this is a fight to the death. They shall die with me.

I stand in one place, stabbing anything that comes close, an arm, leg, or torso. I even once almost stab one of my fellow Spartans, but I notice the familiar helmet and long hair, and stop my sword. I jump to stand beside him, and almost at the same time, he is killed.

I watch in absolute shock when the sword enters his body. I see the light fade from his eyes as he falls, and I just stand there with my sword down.

I had never before seen a Spartan soldier die in front of me. People always say that we Spartans are unkillable, but now I know better. I just watched a man die. That brings be back to the reality of how fragile our lives actually are, and how rashly we spend them. But I figure that any moment, or any life defending my country is one well spent.

It barely even registers when I kill the man that killed the man beside me. Then I am bombarded by Persians once more and I fight on, not even thinking for my own safety, but just to kill any Persian that steps into my path.

The fighting continues for some time, and I lose track of everything. I stay close to the king, but that is all I know.

After an hour of fighting, of which it seems like I killed an army of Persians myself, the small army of three hundred Spartans has been reduced to only fifty. The brave Thespians which gave us their help to defend the pass are all but gone, only a handful remains. We are standing in a tight circular group, still fighting, but putting our backs together for protection. I hear a man talking to another to keep his spirits up. He is saying that there was a man who had a fiery pain in his eyes, and had the chance to leave with the allies, but stayed, fighting with the rest of us. I know that the man, no matter how brave, had to be dead by now. But I also know that all of Sparta will sing his praises at home when they hear of his story. I just hope that there is one of us left to tell our story back home so he will be remembered.

The sun has passed over us now and the time seems to be around mid-afternoon, but there will be no lunch-break for us today, or ever again.

Then I see the king fall out of the group of the remaining Spartans, and at first I wonder why he is letting himself become so exposed. But then I see the reason why. His armor has a jagged tear running down the center where an arrow pierced, and blood is seeping out. He staggers in front of us and then falls to the ground. I watch him die.

The Persians rush for the body of our king, and at the same time as I do, twenty other Spartans charge forward to retrieve his body. There are easily five times as many of them fighting over the body. I bend down to take hold of the king’s right side, and another man stoops down to pick up the other side. The king hangs in our arms, and we have trouble holding him up with one hand, and holding a sword in the other. I silently apologize to the king when a Persian's sword hits his body, but he can't feel it anyways. Somehow we make it back into the group of Spartans alive with the king, but at such cost!

I can see the bodies of the men that fell trying to save our king. So many Spartans, easily half that rushed forward now lie over the bodies of their dead enemies.

There are only thirty or so of us left, and that number is decreasing by the minute. Leonidas was right after all, it seemed. He had thought that we could hold the pass only until mid-afternoon. Even now, the army is trickling past us as we try to force them back. But they are swarming over us, like ants do to a larger insect. Eventually, we will be overtaken and destroyed.

I see the man that helped me fall. A spear takes him out, and he lies on the ground, breathing heavily. I look down and see him mouthing the words, “take... out.” I cannot be sure if he means the spear, or our enemies. But I reach down and pull out the heavy spear. I cast the spear with all my strength and the head buries deep in the chest of his killer. I look down to tell the man that I carried it out, but he already is on his final journey to Elysium.

At that moment the whole force of Spartans left on the field break. The ten of us spread out like the wing of an eagle, and we wreak havoc on the field. We fight like Zeus himself (I beg his pardon.)

The Persians keep coming, and I keep killing them. I almost feel sorry for the men as I kill them. They never stand a chance against our battle\death-craze.

A huge man, easily six and a half feet tall swinging an ax rushes me. I am not very familiar with weapons of that kind, but I dodge. Every weapon has its limitations, I tell myself, except mine.

That proves true when my sword pierces his heart.

The next man is just your typical Persian, who only barely knows how to handle a blade. The sword in my right hand parries his strike, and I punch his face as hard as I can. The man crumples like a doll, and I almost pass him. But as I leap over him I flash my sword down. I run past him and something heavy and hard slams into my shoulder knocking me off balance. I fall to the ground, landing on my back.

When my vision clears, I see that what hit me was a body! I look up and see that one of the remaining survivors, a massive man, has no weapons save his hands. I see him physically pick up live Persian soldiers and throw them at others. I have never seen such a feat of strength in my life, perhaps he competed at the Olympic Games. Whatever the case, the man looks like a monster.

If any man had looked scary before the battle, it was nothing to this man. His armor is pretty much gone, and his clothes hang in pieces. His huge, ripped arms and legs are covered in cuts from the Persians, but he doesn't seem to care! His hair is covered in blood and dirt. His ugly face is smeared in everything and anything, making him look like your typical monster you only see in a night-mere.

But then a carefully aimed spear catches him in the throat and he topples over like pillar, but only after tackling the two nearest Persians, killing them on the way to the ground.

I shake my head in wonderment at soldiers like those, with no concern for their own lives, and definitely none for the enemy!

A Persian stands over me and I raise my sword to parry the attack that I know will come. It does and the force of the blow knocks the sword out of my hand. In desperation I kick between the man's legs, and he falls back momentarily, giving me time to grab a sword from the ground, which is now covered in both Persian and Spartan bodies alike. I jab up with the sword into his upper leg, and stand up. He grabs his leg moaning in pain, and I swing the sword at his neck.

Then someone comes up from behind me and as I raise my sword, I feel a searing pain shoot up my arm. I yell in pain and looking down at my arm, I recoil in shock.

My arm is gone, severed by a sword blow at the elbow. The stump is bleeding profusely and the pain is almost unbearable. The man behind me must know that I cannot do anything, because he doesn't kill me right away. I can hear his faint laughter.

Anger boils up inside me, and it makes me forget the pain in my arm which a second ago I could barely stand. I spin around and confront him evenly. He looks at me, surprised that I am even moving, but too late it registers to him. The stump of my right arm hits him in the nose, and I can hear the satisfying crunch of it breaking. Almost at the same time I kick out at his knee, and he yells in pain again. My left hand flashes out and I grab the sword in his hand. The sword is still wet with the blood from my arm, but I barely take any notice. The sword goes through his left arm, and slams deep into his chest, and I find that I cannot pull it out. I let go and he falls to the ground, still in disbelief. My anger doesn't stop there however, but I feel it building.

I lash out at the nearest Persian, and using some techniques I learned in training, I throw him to the ground with my one hand. I reach out for a sword, or any weapon, and my hand connects with a broken spear. The two feet left of handle serve well enough. I don't even hear the man's cries of mercy before the spear falls. I jump over him and grab a sword. I raise it above my head, and yell, “For Sparta!” I charge down into the ranks of Persians, now the last of the Spartans to defend the pass. The sun shines off my bronze armor, mingling with the blood, and I know that along with the stump of my hand which still burns with pain, I had to be a frightening figure to face.

I jump into a squad of Persian soldiers and lash out in fury at the men who dare to invade my homeland. The first two men fall almost without resistance, but the second pair work together and it takes longer to bring them down.

The fifth man happens to be an immortal, and he holds a spear and a sword. He holds the head of his spear out to keep me back, but I flash the sword down onto the handle and cut it off. Then I kick the rest of the spear aside and stab him in the gut. He falls clutching his stomach and I pass by him. Then I am encountered by two immortals in front of me. I start to engage them, but something made me look behind me, and I see another two immortals blocking my retreat. They have me surrounded, and there seems to be no way of escape, except through them.

I thrust my sword at one of them, and he steps aside parrying the attack. The man beside him swings his sword at my skull, and by some form of luck, it hits the helmet up above my head. The helmet is jerked off my head, which didn't feel good, but the sword doesn't touch me. I thrust again at the same man, and this time he isn't fast enough to stop me and the sword goes into his chest. He falls back, but another man fills his place.

Then, almost at the same time it happens. I feel the two swords enter my body from my back, but I barely feel any pain for a moment as I kill both men standing in front of me. But then I feel the agonizing pain in my chest. I know I don't have much time to live. I still feel the swords in my body however, and I whip around paying no attention to the pain. The two men who stabbed me die within the space of two seconds, but no one else fills their place. They must know that I am finished.

I know too that it is the death blow, and I can feel the pain building up.

The sky grows darker, and I start to feel cold. I look down at the men lying on the ground below me, and all of a sudden it doesn't look like such a horrible place to be. I slowly sink to my knees and then fall on my back. I don't even feel the swords being driven deep into my chest as I slam into the ground. My grip on my sword lessens by the second, but I still maintain a hold.

The sun seems to be growing dimmer in the sky, and for a moment I wonder if there is something wrong with it, but then I realize that the whole world is growing dimmer. Everything is flashing by as if in a dream. But as a man passes me I manage to jab the end of the sword into his calf.

“One last blow for Sparta,” I say to myself. The man stops, and he looks down at me. I smile at him. “I hope it hurt,” I say softly. Even talking has become difficult.

He scowls and stabs me again in the chest. I feel the blade coming in and going out, but I feel no more pain.

The words come out slowly and barely audible to even my ears. “And now... finally... I can go...” I cough and blood comes out of my mouth. The words become much more difficult to say, but I manage to say them. “Go... home.”

My eyes close and for a moment I struggle with death, but then I resign myself to the will of the Fates and die.

Sources: Founding of Christendom, Lives of Plutarch, The Histories (by Herodotus), The Story of the Greeks and my own imagination for the parts that don’t line up with history. 