Battle of Marathon 490 BC | Greco-Persian Wars, Episode 5

The year is 493 BC. The Ionian revolt had just been crushed by the Persians, and now the dust began to settle over the Aegean world. This short period of peace would not last. The war might have been over, but Darius, the king of kings, had his mind set on revenge. The cities of Athens and Eritrea had supported the Ionians in their revolt against his rule, and now Darius was planning to pay back this insult with interest. In only a few short years, Darius would be coming for the Athenians, ready or not. Even before the Greco-Persian wars, the Persians had been interested in their empire's western flank. Like most young empires, theirs was bent on conquest in all corners of the globe, and the Persian kings in particular believed themselves to be guided by a divine mission of sorts, namely the bringing of order, truth and justice to the wider world. In their view, they were bulwarks of justice against the teeming jungles of deceit that lay just beyond their borders. And so while the Persian kings were still ambitious warlords doing what ambitious warlords do, it was this more universal imperialising mission that underpinned their empire and drove them to extend it to the ends of the earth. By Darius' time, Persian dominion stretched over two continents, and the new king of kings set his eye on a third. 513 saw Persian armies annex Thrace, giving Darius a useful base for his operations in Europe. But whatever plans may have had for the west were suddenly thrown out the window when feverish and befuddled reports flooded in from the west in 499. Ionia was in revolt, the west was in disarray, and Sardis, the greatest city in Anatolia, had been put to the torch. His mood was probably not improved when he heard of exactly who had gotten involved in the revolt. For the most part, the Ionians stood alone, with the exception of two mainland Greek cities, Athens and Eritrea. It was bad enough to have these currents of chaos flowing through the empire, but to have meddlesome Greeks from beyond the frontiers aiding and abetting opponents of order and justice? For Darius, it was beyond the pale. Legends told of how Darius, upon hearing of the Athenians' involvement, scooped up his royal bow, a symbol of both majesty and power for the Persians, and loosed an arrow into the sky, promising to bring the Athenians to justice. But before he could deal with them, he would first have to bring the Ionians to heel. The flames of revolt continued to spread, but by now the Persians were putting firebreaks in place. A new navy was being constructed, while Persian troops, marching swiftly down the empire's road network, began delivering a series of decisive blows to the rebel cause. By 494, Miletus was the only rebel stronghold on the mainland left, and after the Ionian navy was crushed that same year, even that city fell. By 493 BC, it was over. So as the dust cleared over Ionia, the rest of the Greek world nervously awaited the great king's next move. The Athenians in particular, as the main targets for Darius' rage, were numb with fear. One year into the revolt, the Ionians were defeated in a battle that spooked the Athenians into withdrawing all support for them, and as they watched the revolt flounder and collapse, they were content to bury their heads in the sand. Like it or not, the Persians were coming, for the Athenians, the only thing left to decide now was how the invasion would be greeted. Either they could square up to the invaders, or they could keel over and surrender, in the hopes that Darius would have a change of heart. Upon their choice hinged the fate of the Greek world. It was just as the revolt was wrapping up that the next generation of Athenian politicians began stepping onto the stage. Of this next generation, the most famous and important for us is Themistocles. Both dynamic and defiant, physically he was built like a boxer, while mentally he was cast in a very different mould, possessing the cunning mind of a master intriguer. His family, while well-off, was not particularly prestigious, but he more than made up for this with his gifts of foresight, intelligence, charisma and decisiveness. By the time he turned 30, the minimum age needed to run for the archonship in 494, his style was already on the rise. In the new democratic landscape of Athens, Themistocles blazed a political trail by actively courting the respect of the people. Instead of setting himself up on a distant estate like many aristocrats, he bought a home in the shabbiest part of town, known only for its pottery and prostitutes. Themistocles, with piercing insight that would characterise most of his decisions, could clearly see that the benefits outweighed the disadvantages. Firstly, it put him slap-bang in the middle of the beating, if slightly crusty, heart of Athens. It allowed him to keep a close connection with the denizens of the city, to tour the lower-class districts and to hear their struggles. Few politicians had thought to seduce the electorate so directly, with many of the haughty aristocrats viewing it as below them, and the poorer citizens, easily seduced by Themistocles's easy-going charm, eagerly threw their support behind him. His efforts paid off and he was already developing into a heavy hitter, so in 493, the following year, he threw his hat into the ring and ran for the archonship, which he won. That year also saw the end of the Ionian Revolt, as well as the arrival in Athens of Miltiades, the former ruler of the Thracian Chersonese, what we today call Gallipoli. Miltiades had been part of Ionia's revolt, but he had been forced to flee to Athens, his ancestral city, where he was immediately put on trial for the vague charge of tyranny in the Chersonese. The Athenians were understandably jittery in the tense atmosphere after the revolt. Miltiades already had aristocratic enemies in Athens, and the citizens were uneasy about inviting a former tyrant into the heart of their democracy. On the other hand, Miltiades was the most practised Persian fighter one could ask for, and his skills would be invaluable during the wars to come. As the archon for 493, Themistocles would have lots of influence over the trial. Fortunately for Miltiades, Themistocles saw the value in him and threw his weight behind him. Miltiades was soon acquitted, and shortly afterwards he was elected as one of Athens' ten generals. As a statement of intent, nothing could have been clearer. Win or lose, Athens would fight. Meanwhile to the south, developments in Sparta would also see that city put on a collision course with Persia. Relations between Sparta and Persia had been strained from the very beginning, and Sparta was always wary of Persian power. While the Spartans never acted out of altruism, they were pragmatic in their defence of Greece. They didn't like anyone messing around in their backyard, and they saw clearly that if Persia got a hold of Greece, kicking it out would be all but impossible. At the same time, this pragmatic realism was tempered by short-sighted isolationism. They were so focused on protecting their backyard from perceived local threats that they didn't bother helping the Ionian revolt, instead preferring to keep an eye on Argos, Sparta's arch-nemesis and rival for dominance in the Peloponnese. In all fairness to the Spartans, the revolt's chances of success were pretty slim from the start. While Sparta was instinctively isolationist, its king, Cleomenes, was anything but. He was much in favour of decisive, proactive strikes against threats, and presented the best chance for Sparta to provide a united front against Persia. Argos's hate of Sparta and Persia's recent triumph led the Argives into seeking an alliance with Persia, and the Persians, when the Argives arrived with their offer, were all too happy to accept. Argos got a powerful new ally. Persia got a base in Greece. Everyone, except the Spartans, would be a winner. Argos on its own was hardly a threat, but now, with Persia's backing, suddenly things got serious. Cleomenes, being the man of action that he was, immediately launched an invasion of Argos, smashing its army in battle and, more shockingly still, setting a sacred grove on fire, killing all Argive prisoners inside. Cleomenes' brutal efficiency worked its magic. Argos was left crippled and devastated, while Persia was given a clear warning shot. One Persian ally had been neutralised, but already ominous rumblings could be heard across the Aegean as the Persian war machine began limbering up for its invasion of Greece. Firstly, one year after the end of the revolt in 492, a large army was dispatched to conquer Thrace and Macedon and open up the land routes to Greece. The general in command of this expedition, Mardonius, achieved quick success, with Alexander the King of Macedon bowing down to him. In the aftermath of this campaign, Persian dominion now stretched to Mount Olympus itself, home of Zeus and the rest of the Olympians. And if things carried on the way they were going, it seemed that Persian dominion was only about to get larger. In 491, a swarm of ambassadors flooded Greece, all bearing the same request. Every major city in Greece was asked for earth and water. In other words, submission. And almost every major city gave it. Some, however, refused. In Sparta and Athens in particular, they made their defiance known by killing the ambassadors. And yes, in Sparta, they really did throw the ambassadors into a well. The Spartans told the Persians that if they wanted earth and water, they could find them down there. With these final insults delivered, Sparta and Athens set about bracing themselves for the war to come. First on the agenda was the tiny island of Aegina, which had given earth and water to the Persians. Both Sparta and Athens were alarmed by this thorn in their side, since Aegina could function as a naval base for any potential invasion, and the two cities petitioned the Aeginataeans to stop supporting the Persians. But it was at this point that the divisions inside the Spartan dual monarchy began to show. Sparta had two kings and two royal houses. Currently, the kings of Sparta were Cleomenes and Demaratus, and for reasons that I won't be covering today, they absolutely despised each other. Their mutual hatred came to a head when Cleomenes demanded that Aegina cease its collaborations with the Persians. Demaratus, always happy to stick it to his co-king, secretly told Aegina that he would support them if they stood firm. The Aeginataeans subsequently held firm to the Persian cause, and it wasn't long before Cleomenes found out why. Furious beyond belief at his co-king's short-sightedness, he resolved to finally do away with his colleague once and for all, and he planned to use the Oracle of Delphi as his weapon. He bribed the Oracle to issue pronouncements and support malicious tales that systematically destroyed Demaratus' reputation. The Oracle at Delphi supposedly spoke with the wisdom of Apollo himself, so the superstitious Spartans began to lose faith in their wayward king. In short order, Demaratus was disgraced, deposed and replaced. His successor was a far more malleable man, and would not stand in Cleomenes' way. Now that both Spartan kings were applying pressure to Aegina, the city caved and Persia lost another potential base in Greece. Cleomenes had done his work well. Then people found out about the bribes. The ensuing backlash led to Cleomenes being deposed, and a brief civil war broke out. Eventually Cleomenes was able to punch his way back to the throne, but the events had taken quite a toll on his psyche, and in only a short span of time people began to whisper that the king was mad. In the murky events that followed, Cleomenes sank further into lunacy, until it became too much for the Spartans, and he was imprisoned by his brother Leonidas. Not long after his imprisonment, he was dead, with strips of flesh cut out from his side. The verdict, however implausible, was ruled to be suicide. So the career of King Cleomenes came to a sudden and sordid end, and with him died a proactive and scrupulous strategist, who did much to shore up the cause of Greek freedom. In his wake, Sparta was left rudderless. Cleomenes was always active in his defence of Spartan interests, and he held the dominant grip on Sparta while he ruled. Leonidas, by contrast, was an unknown quantity, and very probably the murderer of Cleomenes. His power was still shaky. While the other king Cleomenes had put in place, a man named Leoptidas, didn't cut an inspiring figure either. All of Sparta's governing institutions were naturally conservative, and with an unproven king on the throne, the city was left in confusion. For the Persian king, watching from the sidelines, it was the perfect time. A task force had been in the works for several years now. A great armada of ships had been constructed, while 25,000 troops had been assembled from all over the empire. Darius gave the order. The army set off before stopping at the Cilician coast. Here they rendezvoused with the fleet, and departed west. The armada clung to the coast until it reached the island of Samos, where it suddenly swung west. The inevitable had finally come. The first Persian invasion of Greece was underway. Judgement day loomed ever nearer. The overall commander of the expedition was Dattis, a veteran of the Ionian revolt, who was well versed in Greek tactics and could even speak the language. Also aboard was Hippias, the former tyrant of Athens. He had been deposed back in 510, but now, two decades later, Darius hoped to reinstall him after Athens had been suitably punished. But before he could punish Athens, he had to get there first. So the invasion began an island-hopping campaign. First up was the island of Naxos. Its strategic position in the Aegean meant that it was imperative for Dattis' campaign, and sure enough, he quickly broke into the city, brutally sacking it in the process. Next was the island of Delos, one of the most sacred sites in Greece, as the supposed birthplace of Apollo and Artemis. As the dark news filtered back from Naxos, the Delians fled at the arrival of Dattis, but he made it clear from the outset that he meant no harm, and instead invited them to return. He announced that he had no wish to sully Apollo's shrine or shed blood, and instead partook in the sacrifices. With one hand he destroyed Naxos, while the other he extended in friendship to all those Greeks who would accept it. The iron gauntlet in the velvet glove, a lesson in empire that would be emulated down the ages. Next was Eritrea, the final stop before Attica itself. The Persian armada sailed inexorably onwards, and by late July he had reached the island of Euboea, before sailing north to settle the first of the great king's two vendettas. In awe of Persian firepower, the Eritreans retreated behind their walls. They were soon to regret their decision. For five bloody days, the defenders furiously fought atop their walls, while the Persians flung themselves relentlessly into the attack. Then, on the sixth day, the city was betrayed by its two leading nobles, and the invaders got on with the bloody business of the day. The city was gutted by fire, its inhabitants slaughtered and enslaved, all in less than one week. The fall of Eritrea was a spine-chilling warning for the Athenians, not only of the cost of failure, but also of the threats of treachery too. Only two defectors had been necessary to open the gates to Persia, a fact that sent a cold sweat down even Themistocles' back. All the Persians needed was one traitor, one weak link, one bad egg, and the defences would crumble from within. Publicly, Athens was set on defiance, but there were many who privately were less confident. In all likelihood, Persia probably had contacts inside the city already, and these collaborators, whomever they may be, sat ready for any Persian signal. It was this, the prospect of betrayal from within, that spurred the Athenians to take the fight to the Persians in the field. They would not cower behind their walls. They would fight, and upon their valour rested the fate of Greece. Finally, the time for action came. The warning beacons north of the city flared into life. The Persians were coming, and they were landing at Marathon. For the first, although not the last time, Persian outriders swept into the hilly land of Attica. But Democracy's army, 10,000 strong, was already marching out to meet them. Persian forces would soon try to break out of the plains at Marathon, but if they were quick, the Athenians would be able to block the roads leading off the plain, bottling the Persians in. This strategy was miltiadesis, but overall command of the army went to a man named Callimachus. Marching at godspeed, the Athenians beat the Persians to the draw, and blocked the exits to the plain. So far, so good. But it wasn't just the army that was on the march. In fact, on the other side of Attica, a famous Olympic runner named Philippides was bolting his way to Sparta, to warn them of the advancing Persians, and to summon them to battle. Philippides ran like his life depended on it, because, well, it sort of did, and arrived at Sparta in record time. However, the invasion coincided with the Spartan festival of Carnea, a time when Sparta could not go to war, no matter the gravity of the situation. Perhaps if Cleomenes had been alive, he would have spurned tradition, and leapt to Athens' aid immediately. But Philippides' pleas didn't cut any mustard with the religiously-minded Spartans. We can be sure that this came from genuine religious piety on the Spartans' part, and they banefully told Philippides that they would not be able to help Athens for seven days, and if you factor in the marching time, it would be ten days before they would arrive. Ten days. Could the Athenians stall for that long? Perhaps, for the train at Marathon was almost perfectly designed for a standoff. The Persians were camped on a plain, where their dominance in cavalry could be put to good use. The Athenians, on the other hand, were encamped upon higher, uneven ground. They had dug in and littered their surroundings with felled trees, negating the Persian advantage in cavalry, and favouring the defender. Therefore, the Athenians couldn't advance into the plain because of the Persian cavalry, and the Persians couldn't advance onto the Athenians' dug-in positions. Even with their superior numbers, the heavily armoured hoplite would savage the Persians' more lightly armoured soldiers. A day passed, then another, and then another. Philippides arrived from his long run, informing the Athenian command of Sparta's predicament. There were now only seven days before the Spartans would arrive. It seemed that the stalemate would hold after all, but Dattis was already beginning to wake up to the possibility of Greek reinforcements. He had not been expecting such a united front from the Athenians, and he knew that he had to break the stalemate quickly, or risk annihilation at the hands of both cities' armies. But while Athens controlled the land routes, Persia still ruled the waves. If he could somehow send some men to secretly sail around Attica, his contacts inside Athens would open up the city to him, and the game would be up. Once they held the city, they could advance on the Athenian army from two directions, and the demoralised Athenians would be crushed. Miltiades had anticipated something like this. The Persians would have to break the stalemate soon, and if he couldn't use the land, Dattis would use the sea. Of course, the Athenians couldn't retreat and let the army in front of them through, nor could they sit tight and let the Persians slip into Athens. This left them with one terrible option. They would have to march out onto the plain. Miltiades told his co-commanders in simple terms that this was the only way of securing victory, but the mood was tense. The Spartans were now only four days away, and on that fateful night, a commotion could be heard in the Persian camp. Were they moving to take advantage of the navy? In the dead of night, nothing could be made out, but whatever was going on, it probably wasn't good. At midnight, a few Ionian deserters snuck over to the Athenian camp and revealed the full horrific truth. The cavalry were away, they cried. Dattis's attempt to break the stalemate had begun. Judgment day, long awaited, had arrived. Most of the Persian cavalry, as well as a good deal of the infantry, had embarked and set sail for Athens. Now only roughly 15,000 Persians remained at Marathon. It was time. Athens had ten generals, and they all met at a council to decide what to do. Miltiades pressed for an immediate attack. The Persian cavalry was away, and they might now stand a chance fighting out in the open. Many, however, were unconvinced, and as the commanders cast their votes, four voted in favour of an attack, five in favour of waiting. The casting vote was left with Callimachus. Once again, he trusted Miltiades' experience, and he voted in favour. It was five on five, but Callimachus, as the overall war leader, broke the tie. It was decided. At 6am, the fate of Athens would be won or lost on the field of battle. Dawn broke over Marathon, and the Athenians marched forth. On the Greek side, there were 10,000 heavily armoured hoplites from Athens, as well as another 800 from Plataea. The Persians, meanwhile, had roughly 15,000 infantry, while most of the cavalry and some of the infantry had been sent away to capture Athens via the sea. Some cavalry stayed behind, but they were too weak to affect the battle. With their disadvantage in numbers, Miltiades advised that the centre of the Athenian line be thinned out to a depth of only four men, allowing them to match the Persians' frontage. The Greek wings, meanwhile, would be kept at full strength or eight ranks, to allow them to smash through their opponents. It's of some debate whether the Athenian decision to thin out the centre and keep the wings strong was actually a deliberate tactical decision, aimed at crushing the Persian flanks, or whether it was simply done out of necessity to match the Persian line. Personally, I think that if the Athenians wanted to simply match the Persian length, surely they would have thinned out their entire line equally, instead of dangerously weakening their centre. In my view, Miltiades believed that the battle could only be won on the wings, and planned appropriately, but alas. Kalamachus, as the overall war leader, held the position of honour on the right, while the Plataeans held the left. Themistocles and Aristides, two of Athens' rising stars, were stationed in the weakened centre, where the fighting would be thickest. Miltiades was allotted that day's command, so he stood back at a place where he could be seen and heard by all the men. Then, at 6am, he gave the order. Rays from the early morning sun danced across the hoplite's bronze panoplies as they marched forwards. Their march was slow and measured. They would need to save their breath for the fight to come. Sweat stung their eyes as they prepared to face this as-of-yet-invincible enemy. Some were stony-faced, while others shivered in terror, but all moved forward. As they drew close, arrows began to hiss overhead, a hailstorm of death, and the charge began. The Greeks raised their shields, braced themselves and raced forwards. This bronzed mass of 10,000 surged forth at the Persians, their voices raised in a piercing war cry. Some men fell to the arrows, but the armoured tide surged onwards, until it came crashing down upon its lightly armed foes. The power of the charge was terrifying, and already the reinforced wings of the army began to put the Persian flanks to flight, while the weakened centre of the Athenian line was fighting furiously to keep the mighty Scythians who manned the centre of the Persian army at bay. Carried by the sheer weight of their charge, the Athenians punched through the Persian flanks on both sides, driving their foes back towards their camp at the shore. The battle wasn't over yet though. Themistocles was fighting in the embattled centre of the line, fighting ferociously against the Showing immense discipline and cohesion, the Greek wings broke off the chase from their fleeing foes and swung back, crashing into the isolated Persian centre. Soon the Persian centre was routed, and the invaders fled headlong back to the shoreline. The slaughter was immense, as the Greeks pursued the embarking Persians, while other Persians fell and drowned in the marshes north of the plain. This pursuit was no easy business mind you, and Callimachus himself was killed in action. 6,400 Persians had been killed for only 192 Athenian losses. It was 9am, three hours after the battle had begun. They had done their bloody work well, but they were far from finished. The storming of the Persian camp had been furiously contested, and most of the ships were able to put to sea. Furthermore, the Persian cavalry was already well on its way to Athens, and just as the Athenians were storming the camp, a strange light could be seen glinting from the slopes of a nearby mountain. It was some sort of signal, and it wasn't one that had been pre-arranged by the Athenian command, which meant only one thing, betrayal. It was now a race back to Athens. If the cavalry could slip into the city with the help of their collaborators, they would have time to allow the rest of their battered army to arrive by sea. The Athenians would go directly overland, but the Persians had the benefit of a head start. It was anyone's game. For 26 laborious miles, they marched until, after much hardship, Athens swerved into view. As they returned to their homes, their families, and everything they sought to protect, they looked out to the bay, and there they saw absolutely nothing. The Persians had not yet arrived. Those who had flashed the strange signal from the mountainside, the unknown and unscrupulous Persian contacts inside Athens, suddenly evaporated with the return of the Athenian army, blood-soaked and grim, but victorious nonetheless. As the news of the decisive battle reached them, Persia's fair-weather friends had decided that the tide had now truly turned against the great king's forces. There would not be any betrayal now. As for the Persians, demoralised and reeling from the loss of over a fifth of their army, they decided to cut their losses. A while later, the first Persian ships slipped into the harbour. The war fleet hung in the waters for a while, before turning and leaving over the horizon. It was over, and the Athenians had won. A few days later, the Spartans arrived. With the battle rather embarrassingly won without their help, the Spartans didn't have much reason to stick around. They inspected the battlefield, congratulated the Athenians, and set off back home. In this, the Athenians' finest hour, an upstart city-state had put to flight the armies of the most powerful nation on earth, and the fate of history had been sent down a very different path. Yet the glow of the Athenian triumph only served to make it more intolerable for Darius, and while the Persians had been beaten for now, they would be back. And next time, they would leave nothing to chance.