Chapter 6

The generals who were thus seized were taken up to the king and there decapitated. The first of these, Clearchus, was a thorough soldier, and a true lover of fighting. This is the testimony of all who knew him intimately. As long as the war between the Lacedaemonians and Athenians lasted, he could find occupation at home; but after the peace, he persuaded his own city that the Thracians were injuring the Hellenes, and having secured his object, set sail, empowered by the ephorate to make war upon the Thracians north of the Chersonese and Perinthus. But he had no sooner fairly started than, for some reason or other, the ephors changed their minds, and endeavoured to bring him back again from the isthmus. Thereupon he refused further obedience, and went off with sails set for the Hellespont. In consequence he was condemned to death by the Spartan authorities for disobedience to orders; and now, finding himself an exile, he came to Cyrus. Working on the feelings of that prince, in language described elsewhere, he received from his entertainer a present of ten thousand darics. Having got this money, he did not sink into a life of ease and indolence, but collected an army with it, carried on war against the Thracians, and conquered them in battle, and from that date onwards harried and plundered them with war incessantly, until Cyrus wanted his army; whereupon he at once went off, in hopes of finding another sphere of warfare in his company.

The generals who were seized were taken to the king and beheaded. The first of them, Clearchus, was a soldier through and through and truly loved fighting. Everyone who knew him well said so. As long as the war between the Lacedaemonians and Athenians lasted, he could find work at home. But after peace was made, he persuaded his city that the Thracians were harming the Hellenes. Having achieved his aim, he set sail with authority from the ephors to fight the Thracians north of the Chersonese and Perinthus. But he had barely set out when the ephors changed their minds for some reason. They tried to bring him back from the isthmus. He refused to obey them any longer and sailed for the Hellespont. As a result, the Spartan authorities sentenced him to death for disobeying orders. Now an exile, Clearchus came to Cyrus. He appealed to the prince in words described elsewhere, and Cyrus gave him ten thousand darics. Clearchus did not use the money to settle into an easy, idle life. Instead, he raised an army, made war on the Thracians, and defeated them in battle. From then on, he constantly harassed and plundered them until Cyrus needed his army. Clearchus immediately went to join him, hoping to find another opportunity for warfare.

These, I take it, were the characteristic acts of a man whose affections are set on warfare. When it is open to him to enjoy peace with honour, no shame, no injury attached, still he prefers war; when he may live at home at ease, he insists on toil, if only it may end in fighting; when it is given to him to keep his riches without risk, he would rather lessen his fortune by the pastime of battle. To put it briefly, war was his mistress; just as another man will spend his fortune on a favourite, or to gratify some pleasure, so he chose to squander his substance on soldiering.

These, I think, were the characteristic actions of a man devoted to war. Even when he could enjoy peace with honor, without shame or harm, he still preferred war. When he could live comfortably at home, he insisted on hardship, so long as it led to fighting. When he could keep his wealth without risk, he preferred to spend it on the pastime of battle. In short, war was his mistress. Just as another man spends his fortune on a favorite or some pleasure, he chose to squander his wealth on soldiering.

But if the life of a soldier was a passion with him, he was none the less a soldier born, as herein appears; danger was a delight to him; he courted it, attacking the enemy by night or by day; and in difficulties he did not lose his head, as all who ever served in a campaign with him would with one consent allow. A good solder! the question arises, Was he equally good as a commander? It must be admitted that, as far as was compatible with his quality of temper, he was; none more so. Capable to a singular degree of devising how his army was to get supplies, and of actually getting them, he was also capable of impressing upon those about him that Clearchus must be obeyed; and that he brought about by the very hardness of his nature. With a scowling expression and a harshly-grating voice, he chastised with severity, and at times with such fury, that he was sorry afterwards himself for what he had done. Yet it was not without purpose that he applied the whip; he had a theory that there was no good to be got out of an unchastened army. A saying of his is recorded to the effect that the soldier who is to mount guard and keep his hands off his friends, and be ready to dash without a moment's hesitation against the foe—must fear his commander more than the enemy. Accordingly, in any strait, this was the man whom the soldiers were eager to obey, and they would have no other in his place. The cloud which lay upon his brow, at those times lit up with brightness; his face became radiant, and the old sternness was so charged with vigour and knitted strength to meet the foe, that it savoured of salvation, not of cruelty. But when the pinch of danger was past, and it was open to them to go and taste subordination under some other officer, many forsook him. So lacking in grace of manner was he; but was ever harsh and savage, so that the feeling of the soldiers towards him was that of schoolboys to a master. In other words, though it was not his good fortune ever to have followers inspired solely by friendship or goodwill, yet those who found themselves under him, either by State appointment or through want, or other arch necessity, yielded him implicit obedience. From the moment that he led them to victory, the elements which went to make his soldiers efficient were numerous enough. There was the feeling of confidence in facing the foe, which never left them, and there was the dread of punishment at his hands to keep them orderly. In this way and to this extent he knew how to rule; but to play a subordinate part himself he had no great taste; so, at any rate, it was said. At the time of his death he must have been about fifty years of age.

He loved the life of a soldier, but he was also a born soldier, as his actions showed. He delighted in danger and sought it out, attacking the enemy by night or day. In difficult situations, he kept his head. All who ever served with him on campaign would agree. But was this good soldier equally good as a commander? It must be admitted that he was, as far as his temperament allowed. In that respect, no one was better. He was exceptionally skilled at planning how to supply his army and then obtaining the supplies. He could also impress upon those around him that they must obey Clearchus. He achieved this through the sheer hardness of his nature. He had a scowling expression and a harsh, grating voice. He punished severely, sometimes with such fury that he later regretted what he had done. Yet he did not use the whip without a purpose. He believed that an army was no good unless it was disciplined. One of his sayings has been recorded. A soldier must fear his commander more than the enemy, he said. Only then would he stand guard, refrain from harming his friends, and be ready to rush against the enemy without hesitation. So whenever the soldiers were in difficulty, they were eager to obey him and wanted no one else in his place. At such times, the cloud on his brow lifted and his face became radiant. His usual sternness was filled with such vigor and strength against the enemy that it suggested deliverance, not cruelty. But once the danger had passed, many deserted him if they could serve under another officer. He was so lacking in charm, and so constantly harsh and savage, that his soldiers felt like schoolboys with their master. In other words, he never had the good fortune to command men motivated solely by friendship or goodwill. But those who served under him obeyed him without question. Some were assigned to him by the State, while others served him through poverty or some other pressing need. Once he had led them to victory, many things made his soldiers effective. They never lost their confidence in facing the enemy. Fear of punishment from him also kept them orderly. In this way, and to this extent, he knew how to command. But he had little taste for serving under someone else, or so it was said. He must have been about fifty when he died.

Proxenus, the Boeotian, was of a different temperament. It had been the dream of his boyhood to become a man capable of great achievements. In obedience to this passionate desire it was, that he paid his fee to Gorgias of Leontini¹. After enojoying that teacher's society, he flattered himself that he must be at once qualified to rule; and while he was on friendly terms with the leaders of the age, he was not to be outdone in reciprocity of service². In this mood he threw himself into the projects of Cyrus, and in return expected to derive from this essay the reward of a great name, large power, and wide wealth. But for all that he pitched his hopes so high, it was none the less evident that he would refuse to gain any of the ends he set before him wrongfully. Righteously and honourably he would obtain them, if he might, or else forego them. As a commander he had the art of leading gentlemen, but he failed to inspire adequately either respect for himself or fear in the soldiers under him. Indeed, he showed a more delicate regard for his soldiers than his subordinates for him, and he was indisputably more apprehensive of incurring their hatred than they were of losing their fidelity. The one thing needful to real and recognised generalship was, he thought, to praise the virtuous and to withhold praise from the evildoer. It can be easily understood, then, that of those who were brought in contact with him, the good and noble indeed were his well-wishers; but he laid himself open to the machinations of the base, who looked upon him as a person to be dealt with as they liked. At the time of his death he was only thirty years of age.

Proxenus, the Boeotian, had a different temperament. As a boy, he had dreamed of becoming a man capable of great achievements. Driven by this desire, he paid his fee to Gorgias of Leontini¹. After spending time with that teacher, he convinced himself that he was ready to rule. He was on friendly terms with the leaders of the age, and he was determined to match their favors with favors of his own². In this frame of mind, he threw himself into Cyrus’s plans. He expected the undertaking to bring him a great reputation, great power, and vast wealth. But despite these high ambitions, he clearly would not pursue any of them by wrongful means. He would achieve them justly and honorably, if he could, or give them up. As a commander, he knew how to lead gentlemen. But he failed to inspire enough respect or fear in his soldiers. Indeed, he showed more consideration for his soldiers than they showed him. He was certainly more afraid of earning their hatred than they were of losing his loyalty. He thought that a true and recognized general needed only to praise the virtuous and withhold praise from wrongdoers. It is easy to see, then, why the good and noble among those who met him wished him well. But he was vulnerable to the schemes of the base, who thought they could treat him as they pleased. He was only thirty years old when he died.

As to Menon the Thessalian³, the mainspring of his action was obvious; what he sought after insatiably was wealth. Rule he sought after only as a stepping-stone to larger spoils. Honours and high estate he craved for simply that he might extend the area of his gains; and if he studied to be on friendly terms with the powerful, it was in order that he might commit wrong with impunity. The shortest road to the achievement of his desires lay, he thought, through false swearing, lying, and cheating; for in his vocabulary simplicity and truth were synonyms of folly. Natural affection he clearly entertained for nobody. If he called a man his friend it might be looked upon as certain that he was bent on ensnaring him. Laughter at an enemy he considered out of place, but his whole conversation turned upon the ridicule of his associates. In like manner, the possessions of his foes were secure from his designs, since it was no easy task, he thought, to steal from people on their guard; but it was his particular good fortune to have discovered how easy it is to rob a friend in the midst of his security. If it were a perjured person or a wrongdoer, he dreaded him as well armed and intrenched; but the honourable and the truth-loving he tried to practise on, regarding them as weaklings devoid of manhood. And as other men pride themselves on piety and truth and righteousness, so Menon prided himself on a capacity for fraud, on the fabrication of lies, on the mockery and scorn of friends. The man who was not a rogue he ever looked upon as only half educated. Did he aspire to the first place in another man's friendship, he set about his object by slandering those who stood nearest to him in affection. He contrived to secure the obedience of his solders by making himself an accomplice in their misdeeds, and the fluency with which he vaunted his own capacity and readiness for enormous guilt was a sufficient title to be honoured and courted by them. Or if any one stood aloof from him, he set it down as a meritorious act of kindness on his part that during their intercourse he had not robbed him of existence.

As for Menon the Thessalian³, his motive was obvious: he had an insatiable desire for wealth. He sought power only as a way to gain more plunder. He wanted honors and high position simply so that he could profit more widely. He cultivated friendships with powerful people so that he could do wrong without being punished. He thought the shortest path to his desires was through false oaths, lies, and cheating. To him, honesty and straightforwardness were just other words for foolishness. He clearly felt genuine affection for no one. If he called a man his friend, it was a safe bet that he meant to trap him. He thought it improper to laugh at an enemy, but he constantly mocked his associates. Likewise, his enemies' possessions were safe from him. He thought it was too hard to steal from people who were on their guard. But he had the special good fortune to discover how easy it was to rob a friend who felt secure. He feared anyone who broke oaths or did wrong, as if they were well armed and fortified. But he tried to take advantage of honorable and truthful people, whom he saw as weak and unmanly. Other men take pride in piety, truth, and justice. Menon took pride in his ability to cheat, invent lies, and mock and scorn his friends. He always regarded anyone who was not a rogue as only half educated. If he wanted to become someone's closest friend, he would slander those dearest to that person. He secured his soldiers' obedience by joining them in their misdeeds. He boasted freely of his ability and willingness to commit terrible crimes. That alone was enough to make them honor him and seek his favor. If anyone kept his distance from Menon, Menon claimed credit for a kind act. He had not killed the man while they were together.

As to certain obscure charges brought against his character, these may certainly be fabrications. I confine myself to the following facts, which are known to all. He was in the bloom of youth when he procured from Aristippus the command of his mercenaries; he had not yet lost that bloom when he became exceedingly intimate with Ariaeus, a barbarian, whose liking for fair young men was the explanation; and before he had grown a beard himself, he had contracted a similar relationship with a bearded favourite named Tharypas. When his fellow-generals were put to death on the plea that they had marched with Cyrus against the king, he alone, although he had shared their conduct, was exempted from their fate. But after their deaths the vengeance of the king fell upon him, and he was put to death, not like Clearchus and the others by what would appear to be the speediest of deaths—decapitation—but, as report says, he lived for a year in pain and disgrace and died the death of a felon.

Some obscure accusations against his character may certainly be inventions. I will confine myself to the following facts, which everyone knows. He was in the prime of youth when he obtained command of Aristippus’s mercenaries. He was still in his prime when he became very intimate with Ariaeus, a barbarian who liked handsome young men. Before he had grown a beard, he had formed a similar relationship with a bearded favorite named Tharypas. His fellow generals were executed on the grounds that they had marched with Cyrus against the king. He alone was spared, although he had done the same. But after their deaths, the king’s vengeance fell upon him. He was not beheaded like Clearchus and the others, in what seems to be the quickest death. Instead, according to reports, he lived for a year in pain and disgrace and died a criminal’s death.

Agias the Arcadian and Socrates the Achaean were both among the sufferers who were put to death. To the credit, be it said, of both, no one ever derided either as cowardly in war: no one ever had a fault to find with either on the score of friendship. They were both about thirty-five years of age.

Agias the Arcadian and Socrates the Achaean were both among those who were put to death. To their credit, no one ever mocked either of them for cowardice in war. No one ever found fault with either of them as a friend. Both were about thirty-five years old.