War is both king of all and father of all, and it has revealed some as gods, others as men.
The Father of All
IN SEPTEMBER OF 490, the Persian king Darius, long vexed by the stubborn recalcitrance of the self‐ governing Greek cities on the edge of his empire, landed an army of thirty thousand men at the Bay of Marathon, about twenty-six miles northeast of Athens. The Athenians, ten thousand strong, along with one thousand soldiers from the nearby city-state of Plataea, took up their position on the hills overlooking the plain where the Persians had encamped. After a close debate, the Athenian Miltiades persuaded the other generals to attack despite being outnumbered three to one. To achieve surprise and minimize the effect of the Persian archers, the Greeks either jogged for a mile or ran the last couple of hundred yards, to the amazement—and gratification—of the awaiting Persians. "For it seemed to them suicidal madness," wrote Herodotus, "for the Athenians to risk an assault with so small a force—at the double, too, and with no support from either cavalry or archers." 2 The Persians broke through the attenuated center of the Greek line, but the Greek wings turned the Persian flanks, then joined together behind them and routed the whole army, driving it into the sea. The Greeks lost 192 men, the Persians 6,400.