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  the Persians who have been born since Cyrus the Elder.” He highlights

  the virtues of the great man: Cyrus, while hunting as a youth, killed a bear in a one‐on‐one fight (X. An. 1.9.8) and, as satrap of Lydia, he was favored by cities and individuals as one who could be trusted to help his friends and harm his enemies. By honoring highly those brave in war

  and by excelling in benefactions to friends, Cyrus made himself more

  widely loved than any man, Greek or barbarian, according to Xenophon

  (X. An. 1.9.28).

  Some commentators have seen in the panegyric an apology from

  Xenophon for his joining the expedition: not only was Cyrus essentially good, but he cleverly manipulated the Greeks so as to make them help

  him, and did not reveal his true plan except to the Greek generals – who did not include Xenophon at that point (Rood 2005: xxiii–xxiv). Yet even cunning intelligence is a high virtue for the Greeks, and so we can both admire Cyrus and excuse Xenophon.

  After his victory the Persian king savagely cuts off Cyrus’ head and

  right hand, and the Greeks valiantly face Tissaphernes and his forces, sing the paean, and “advance to the attack more eagerly than before,” with

  some initial success (X. An. 1.10.10). The Ten Thousand then debate whether to rally or surrender (X. An. 2.1). The king’s ambassador comes with a demand for the Greeks to surrender in view of the odds, but the

  Greek leader Clearchus gives an ambiguous reply, saying that, “if we

  remain, there is a truce; if we retreat or advance, war” (X. An. 2.1.22).

  The Ten Thousand join Ariaeus; they make plans for a route to retreat

  from the king and agree to a withdrawal with Tissaphernes (X. An. 2.2–3).

  There are tensions between the Greeks and barbarians in the negotiations about surrender or unimpeded retreat, and in all cases Clearchus is characterized as “a man of good sense” ( phronimos). Clearchus “alone had the wisdom [ monos ephronei] a commander should have, while the rest were without experience” (X. An. 2.2.6); Tissaphernes himself says to Clearchus: “It is a pleasure to hear your sensible words [ phronimous

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  logous]” (X. An. 2.5.16); and, in his obituary, he is said to remain

  “prudent” ( phronimos) amid the terrors of war (X. An. 2.6.8).

  In the event, when Clearchus and four other generals meet with

  Tissaphernes, the Persian has them all seized and executed. This is an

  occasion for reflecting at length on the careers and characters of three of the five men – more pointedly, an opportunity for the author to give his views on their strengths and weaknesses in leadership. Clearchus was, we learn, not only prudent, but a lover of war and a severe disciplinarian: He was competent in figuring out how to get provisions and competent at impressing others that he must be obeyed … He was gloomy in appearance

  and harsh in voice, and he used to punish severely, sometimes even in

  anger … He used to say, it was reported, that a soldier must fear his

  commander more than the enemy. (X. An. 2.6.8–10)

  His one flaw may have been that, though a stern and able commander, he

  did not especially like being commanded by others (X. An. 2.6.15). The general Proxenus (Xenophon’s friend, who lured him on the expedition)

  was an educated and wealthy gentleman, but unable to inspire in soldiers respect or fear. A less able leader, Proxenus seems a more tragic figure, who could lead only the noble and principled individuals, while the

  dishonest plotted to manipulate him (X. An. 2.6.19–20). Menon, the general from Thessaly, is a paradigm of corruption and vice, reminiscent in content and vocabulary of the vicious pathology described in Thucydides’

  account of stasis (Th. 3.82–3). Menon was eager for wealth and power, and so he increased his wealth to get honors and sought honors to gain

  greater wealth; he employed perjury, falsehood, and deceit to gain wealth and influence; he thought transparency and truth to be folly. The man

  with whom he was friends was the one against whom he was plotting. He

  managed soldiers through complicity in dishonesty (X. An. 2.6.21–7).

  While the remaining books introduce some new thematic concerns

  related to expeditions through dangerous lands, they largely continue to explore the major motifs introduced in Books 1 and 2, leadership, pious respect for the divine role, the Greek–barbarian contrast, and the army as a microcosm of society or mirror of human nature. As leader, Xenophon

  himself of course gets the most coverage, while characters like Chirisophus, commander of the rearguard, is described only briefly throughout, for

  example in his brief speech at a meeting of the army (X. An. 3.2.1–3), in his praise of Xenophon for “words and deeds” that led the men to take

  action (X. An. 3.1.45), and in Xenophon’s single quarrel with him over a village chief who serves as a guide, is struck by Chirisophus, and then

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  escapes (X. An. 4.6.3). Xenophon’s self‐introduction (X. An. 3.1.4–10), discussed earlier, links leadership with divine direction. In a lengthy prelude to Greek reorganization, a dream rouses Xenophon and prompts

  him to stir the other captains too, to denounce to Cyrus the Persians’

  cruelty and the Greeks’ envy for Persian wealth, to refute other speakers, and to urge the captains to rise to leadership (X. An. 3.1.11–45).

  Prudence, timely intervention, well aimed argumentation, and advocacy

  of discipline and direction are highlighted as a leader’s qualities. The Ten Thousand then take to the march, beating off Persian attacks and eventually heading to the mountains (X. An. 3.3–4).

  The real Odyssey‐like narrative begins in Book 4 with a march through the snowy Armenian mountains and includes a vivid account of suffering

  from hunger, snow blindness, and sickness, all countered by solutions

  found by Xenophon (X. An. 4.5). Xenophon holds the reader’s attention through constant report, given dryly and without comment, of the foi-bles, ironic incidents, and tragedies of human nature. When Xenophon

  jokes with the Spartan Chirisophus about the latter’s ethnic habit of

  “stealing” as an admirable skill and recommends that Chirisophus prove

  himself by “stealing” a bit of the mountain pass en route, the Spartan

  retorts that the best Athenians steal public money and are well regarded for this (X. An. 4.6.14–16). Yet the humorous repartee results in the two cooperating to “steal” the pass. At another point not far along, the two commanders again face on the hillsides enemies who throw or roll stones down on the soldiers. There ensues a “dreadful spectacle” when Xenophon has a plan to dodge the barrage, and all the rocks are used up. Women

  throw their children, then themselves, from the cliffs; finally the men throw themselves. Xenophon concludes with the trenchant comment:

  “In this stronghold only a very few human beings were captured, but

  they secured cattle and asses in large numbers and sheep” (X. An. 4.7.14).

  The incident also evidences a thematic disparagement of the barbarians

  against the clever, flexible strategy of the Greeks. The Ten Thousand later encounter “the most warlike of all people they passed through,” the

  Chalybians and the Scythenians (X. An. 4.7.15–20), tribes that had a strange attire, cut off the heads of enemies and carried them on the march, and sang and danced when they met the enemy. Eventually the Ten

  Thousand arrive at Mount Theches, the first point overlooking the sea,

  where the soldiers famously erupt in joy with shouts of “The sea! The

  sea!” ( Thalatta, thalatta) (X. An. 4.7.21–4). The collective nature of the enterprise is reflected also in a communal stock of booty, used in part t
o reward local guides (X. An. 4.7.27), and in the common sacrifice and games held when they reach the sea itself at Trapezus (X. An. 4.8).

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  Books 5–7 recount the growing disunity among the Greeks, problems

  with the local prince Seuthes, and the long trek along the sea and Propontis to Pergamum. The conclusion of the journey still does not provide satisfying closure, Xenophon’s fate and return to Greece being uncertain

  (Flower 2012: 106–12). Yet it does ensure that his account of the chal-

  lenges of fate and of the enduring responses of men has been recorded: for him as for Odysseus, to memorialize honor is to secure glory. The

  conclusion also shows how, as a city on the march, a city of pan‐Hellenic composition, the men descend to barbarity and infighting, which only

  Xenophon effectively curbs. Book 5 begins with discontent in the Greeks’

  assembly and a desire to rush onto ships and sail home, until Xenophon’s more sober plan wins out – namely to work with local tribes to get provisions (X. An. 5.1.5–13). A fierce fight against the savage Drilae ensues as the Greeks seek provisions (X. An. 5.2.1–27), and Xenophon again saves the day, here with good strategy and aided by the divine: favorable seers, sacrifices, and a distracting fire “given by some god as a means of salvation” (X. An. 5.2.9 and 5.2.24). A discussion of funds acquired from the sale of booty gives rise to a digression on how Xenophon gave some to the gods and with others he later bought land and built his retirement home in Scillus – which was ordained by Apollo, paid annual tithes to Demeter, and contained a modest, sacred copy of the Temple of Artemis at Ephesus (X. An. 5.3.7–13). The devotion, though awkwardly intruding into the narrative, nevertheless records the historian’s thoroughly sincere piety. He is eager to make a note of it, and here such a note seems more justified than elsewhere in his corpus. Xenophon next negotiates a quid pro quo arrangement with the Mossynoechians, to fight their enemies in return for safe passage (X. An. 5.4.1–29); the Mossynoechians were friendly, but the

  “most uncivilized” ( barbarō tatous) people the Ten Thousand had met, doing private things in public and behaving oddly – which is reminiscent of the Odyssean adventures and, as mentioned above, inspires part of

  Apollonius of Rhodos’ Argonautica. Xenophon then meets with a hostile embassy from Sinope and in an effective speech defuses the situation by standing firm but offering friendship (X. An. 5.5.13–23). After considering the possible settlement of some Greeks in this territory, Xenophon’s speech unites the Greeks, seeking force in unity on the journey out

  (X. An. 5.6.28–33), and his next lengthy assembly speech defends his leadership and indicts Greek soldiers who take the law into their own

  hands (X. An. 5.7.5–33). Here comes also his elaborate defense (discussed earlier) of striking the mule driver (X. An. 5.8.2–8). In sum, Xenophon represents himself as enforcing order and justice among his men and

  toward local tribesmen. This is a virtual primitive laboratory setting, akin

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  to that in William Golding’s Lord of the Flies (1954), testing the roots of human behavior and our ability to maintain dignity or to establish basic social conventions.

  Book 6 opens with a feast for the Paphlagonian ambassadors to the

  Ten Thousand; the feast culminates in dances, including that of a female doing a Pyrrhic war dance (X. An. 6.1–13). A joke follows that the women are the ones who drove the king from his camp earlier (X. An. 1.10.2–3), which effectively makes the point – recalling the Artemisia episode in

  Herodotus (Hdt. 7.89–99; Flower 2012: 184–6) – that even females are

  more warlike than the Persians. The Arcadians then propose that a single leader be chosen to allow swifter decisions and more profit for themselves, but piety based on omens, as well as good sense, leads Xenophon to decline the sole command of the forces. It goes instead to Chirisophus (X. An. 6.1.17–33), for only a week – until the Arcadians and Achaeans splinter off, while Chirisophus and Xenophon form two other groups

  (X. An. 6.2.16). Each heads off separately, until a near disaster for the Arcadians causes all to reunite (X. An. 6.3.1–26). When the Bithynian horsemen of Pharnabazus threaten the men, a long exhortation from

  Xenophon counsels the latter to fight rather than retreat, and for wise, strategic reasons (X. An. 6.5.14–21); Greek victory proves him right.

  Finally Xenophon again intervenes and defuses a possible conflict with

  Cleander, the Spartan governor from Byzantium (X. An. 6.6.31–4).

  When, in Book 7, the Spartan admiral Anaxibius is persuaded by the

  Phrygian satrap Pharnabazus to usher out the army and take it across the Bosphorus by falsely promising to pay it off, only Xenophon’s eloquence stops his men from running into a “mad” scheme to sack Byzantium in

  retribution (X. An. 7.1.25–31). Xenophon’s reasoning is essentially that it is a hopeless cause to take on the whole Spartan superpower. His

  argument includes reflection about how even the empire of Athens fell

  against these peoples, “when we ruled over all the islands, and held the cities in Asia and others in Europe, including Byzantium” (X. An. 7.1.27).

  His men comply and avoid violence, while Xenophon at first sails off, but then returns when his men are duped and threatened by the new governor

  and admiral from Sparta. Rather than make a deal with the governor

  Aristarchus, Xenophon directs his men to accept a bargain and become

  mercenaries for the Thracian Seuthes (X. An. 7.2.10–3.14). Next follow lack of pay from Seuthes, corruption among some of the Ten Thousand,

  an offer from the Spartans for the soldiers to switch to a campaign against Tissaphernes, and accusations against Xenophon (X. An. 7.4–6). But Xenophon once more delivers a long speech defending his honesty and

  accusing the corrupt Greeks; this results in his departure with the troops

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  to fight for Sparta against the Persians (X. An. 7.6.11–38). In the last long speech in the Anabasis, Xenophon argues for his men to be paid by Seuthes, saying that the Thracian got his kingdom for the price of the

  mercenaries – again affirming the theme of purchasable power (X. An.

  7.7.20–47, esp. 25–6). If the last two speeches seem disproportionate

  within the narrative, it may be that the historian seeks to characterize himself, for the reader, as a man of Socratic wisdom and irony, one above venal aims and rather prizing, “especially for a man in power,” “excellence, justice, and generosity” (X. An. 7.7.41). As often in Books 5–7, the central issues are more economic than political or military, as is

  expected in a mercenary context. In all the maneuvering among power

  blocs, Xenophon depicts himself as maintaining a consistent loyalty to

  and wise direction of the Ten Thousand, even when they are near the

  journey’s end.

  The Anabasis cannot fairly be represented simply as the great heroic exploits of a mercenary army among Persians and sundry fierce barbarians. It is a story of survival, to be sure: it tells how the Greeks were duped into the expedition, then when the cause was lost, how they stuck together against the odds, and finally how they came apart when external pressures were less daunting. It is virtually a social experiment revealing the

  strengths and failings of human nature: how men released from conven-

  tional social structures can rebuild them, how a few display valor and

  selflessness, and how the majority require constant guidance (in this case, mainly from Xenophon) to stay the course, literally and figuratively.

  Power is still a driving force, leading Cyrus to try to gain Persia and Seuthes to seek his Thracian kingdom, but it is a tarnished force, more peripheral than in most historie
s, since money is not generally an

  honorable motivation, especially when patriotic fervor is absent from the subjects of the would‐be monarch.

  Hellenica

  If the Anabasis is reminiscent of Herodotus’ narrative of the Persian expeditions in reverse, as the Greeks threatening Persian hegemony, the

  Hellenica recalls Thucydides’ discourse on the shifting of power among the Greeks. But the series of Greek conflicts in the fourth century resemble rather a series of complex scrimmages between teams of loose alliance than the mostly bipolar Athenian–Peloponnesian confrontation. Xenophon’s

  long, meandering narrative is less unified than the texts of his two great predecessors, or even than his own Anabasis, yet it is arguably the most

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  ambitious extant historical subject undertaken to that date. The degree to which Xenophon’s account succeeds is another question; most recent

  scholars rate it as literarily less important, and with less evidence of formal or stylistic influence, than the Anabasis. Historians have also remarked on notable absences in the Hellenica, including the Second Athenian Confederacy, which some believe to be a deliberate omission designed to confound readers’ expectations and to present an alternative view, in which the alliance played a lesser role; others see it as the author’s despair at his native city’s ineffective efforts (for the former, see Jehne 2004: 463–80; for the latter, see Badian 2004: 33–53). Nor does Xenophon make any

  mention, for instance, of Epaminondas’ reestablishment of Messenian

  independence and of the foundation of Megalopolis as capital of the

  Achaean League. Scholars note the omissions and silences, with sugges-

  tions but without consensus as to possible bias behind them. We suspect they arise from lack of interest or fit with Xenophon’s Peloponnesian focus rather than from ignorance of Athenian ambitions and actions (Cawkwell

  1979: 35). Xenophon does not avoid criticizing the Spartans (X. Hell.