Every day their murmurs became louder, as their suspicions received additional confirmation, and at Tarsus they made a formal protest, declaring to the officers who had enlisted them, that they were betrayed, and that nothing would induce them to go a step farther.
Almost all the officers were of the same mind, but there was one who thought otherwise. This was Clearchus the Spartan, a man who had received from Cyrus many favours, and who was anxious to prove his gratitude by doing his utmost to forward the prince’s wishes. To Cyrus the ultimate decision of the Hellene troops was of the gravest consequence; in his mind there was no question that the success of his plans depended on his being able to reckon upon their help.
Clearchus was at this time about fifty years of age. He possessed the entire confidence of Cyrus, and was in fact the only person who had been told from the first the real, though secret, object of the expedition.
He was a man born to be a soldier. A quiet, easy life in his native land was an existence altogether without charm for him; war, with all its dangers and hardships, was his natural element, and into this favourite pursuit he threw all the energy of his character. He personally supervised the provisioning of his men, and this was only one instance of the extreme care with which he attended to every detail. Nothing that could contribute to the efficiency of his company was too insignificant for his notice.
He had nearly all the qualifications of a great general, but in one respect he failed signally. For whilst he could always command the admiration and respect of his men, he was quite incapable of gaining their affection. He had not indeed any desire to do so, for he believed in discipline, and in nothing else. His orders were strict and severe, and he required instant obedience to the most minute particular. He was accustomed to say that an army without discipline was utterly worthless, and that soldiers should fear their officers more than they feared the enemy. Yet although he was so careful to exact obedience from others, he himself was but a poor hand at rendering obedience.[9]
The soldiers under the command of Clearchus never saw him unbend. His face was always stern, his brow contracted, his eye restless. He punished his men constantly, and severely, and often in moments of passion did things that he afterwards sincerely regretted. The consequence was that when there was no immediate danger impending, his men were often tempted to leave him and take service under a less strict officer. But in any time of danger or difficulty, the soldiers would follow Clearchus more readily than any one else, for they had unbounded belief in his ability as a general.
Nothing ever disturbed his presence of mind. However threatening the danger, he always met it with perfect calm and self-possession. At such times the stern, unbending face of Clearchus seemed to his men a tower of strength, the sight of his coolness and insensibility to fear inspired them with courage, and they felt an enthusiasm for their general, in which for the moment something like affection was added to respect.
IX
NEGOTIATIONS AT TARSUS
When first the soldiers of his company declared their intention of marching no farther, Clearchus refused to listen to them. He thought he had sufficient influence over them to compel them to do as he wished, but in this he was mistaken. For when he sternly ordered them to continue the march, and placed himself at their head to lead them on whether they would or no, they took up stones to throw at him, and if he had not quickly made his escape, they would have stoned him to death.