The Spartan made no reply, but turned and led the way once more toward the east. They did not halt again until the mountain was at their backs, its peaks cutting a giant silhouette of purple in the crimson evening sky. After a brief rest they struck out along a water-course which brought them at daybreak to a larger stream that they judged to be the Granicus.
As they advanced, the hills became smaller and the country more open. They met several companies of the Persians, some with wagon trains and some on foraging expeditions; but when they explained that they were Greek mercenaries on their way to join Memnon, they were permitted to pass unmolested, since it was extremely unlikely that any of the Macedonians could have advanced so far inland. Finally, late in the afternoon, they reached an opening between the hills which gave them sight of a broad, rolling plain, through which the river ran like a band of silver. Far away they could see the tents of the Persian camp, spread out like a white city, and, a little to the right, a dark square, which they took to be the earthwork surrounding the camp of the Greek mercenaries. Although the Persians made use of the Greeks, they were so jealous of them that they always made them camp apart. Encounters between them were not uncommon, even when they were fighting in the same cause.
Descending to the plain, the three friends lost sight of the camp, but they took the river for their guide, knowing that it must bring them to their destination. They passed farms and cottages, from which the women peeped curiously at them, the men having been drafted into the army. They were emerging from a pasture behind a farm-house rather larger and more prosperous-looking than its neighbors, when they heard a commotion in which they distinguished the shouting of Greeks. Running forward, they found two foraging parties from the rival camps in angry dispute for the possession of a drove of cattle. The Greeks had found the cattle and were about to drive them away when the Persian party came up and demanded them.
Words led to blows. The Greeks were heavily outnumbered, and although they fought stubbornly, it was clear that they would be unable to hold their ground.
"Here is our chance," Leonidas cried. "Memnon! Memnon!"
He drew his sword and rushed into the conflict, with Clearchus and Chares behind him, shouting at the top of their lungs. The Greeks, encouraged by their unexpected succor, made a stand, while the Persians, not knowing how large a force was upon them, ceased to follow up their advantage.
"Drive in the sheep with the cattle," Chares cried, catching up a heavy stake from a hayrick and swinging it around his head with both hands. "Don't let them escape!" He brought the stake down upon the Persian heads like a gigantic flail.
Leonidas and Clearchus forced themselves into the thick of the fight, thrusting and hewing with their swords. The Greek foragers, regaining their courage, ran in after them. The Persians were unable to withstand the charge. They broke and fled down the road toward their camp in disorder, leaving half a dozen of their number upon the field.
"Praise be to Zeus, the Preserver!" said the lochagos, or captain, who was in command of the mercenaries. "Where did you come from?"
"From Antandrus," Leonidas replied promptly, "to join the army of Memnon."