ead and cheese, and washed it down with enough wine to stiffen our courage a bit. We waited to the last minute to don our panoplies, but once we did, and were formed in our phalanx, eight ranks deep, I imagine that we were as fearsome to them as they were to us. To the sound of the flutes and the cry of the paian, we began to advance across the plain, walking at first. But then, as our generals had determined, we ran.
I was in the third rank, and near the right side of our phalanx. If you are a Hellene, more likely than not you have fought in a phalanx, and know what it is like to go into battle, but if you are a barbarian, perhaps I should explain it to you. Each man bears his shield on his left forearm and his spear in his right hand, and when we are formed up, the shields form a solid wall of protection. But the rightmost man in the phalanx has no neighbor's shield to protect his right side, so as he goes forward, his natural tendency is to move to the right, so as not to encounter enemies on his unshielded side. Every other man thus has to shift rightward as well, so that the whole phalanx advances not straight ahead, but at an angle.
It was the same way at Marathon. But we ran. We did this because the Medes and Persians make such a great use of archers, and it was better to run into battle and bring them onto our spears as soon as we could, rather than letting their arrows pick us off. As it was, their archers brought down some of us; a man in front of me, I think it was Aristagoras the son of Pelias, cried out and fell; I think he took an arrow in his face. I stumbled over him and nearly went down myself, but the gods were with me, and I stayed on my feet.
As we ran the ranks opened up slightly, and I could see some glimpse of the barbarians awaiting us, but mostly I was concentrating on running and staying in my place. For those moments, as we advanced at the run, my heart was pounding, but I think I...