The Boxer From The Sun

The Olympic Games 408 BC.

Aeschylus stood out from the throng of men who had formed a circle around a bronze statue of Zeus. He was a full head taller than most of the other men, and to honour his god, Apollo, he was clean shaven. He had a muscular build, the result of months of training for his debut at the Olympics, and his face was far more handsome than any of the other boxers who waited for the official to arrive that would determine who would fight who in the days competition.

There were men of various ages, shapes and sizes and Aeschylus knew he could be drawn against any one of them. He may fight against a skilled boxer man who had won laurels at previous Olympics, or he may fight against a first timer such as himself. His opponent might be a giant or he might be a midget. It was all down to luck and the mood of the gods.

“Ugly lot aren’t they?” said his cousin Sostratus who would assist Aeschylus during the competition, by helping fit the himantes, ox hide thongs that fit around the hand and fingers, not for protection, but to ensure hard blows against the head and body of the opponent.

Aeschylus did not answer. He was looking at the faces of the men he would be competing against and wondering which of them would be smashing their fists into his face and pounding his ribcage. He had been hit many times before in competitions at his home in Calchis and he had won a decent number of bouts, but they were against friends and family members and were little more than playfights.

An old, incredibly ugly man made his way through the crowd and stood next to the statue of Zeus and asked for quiet. He looked like his face had been made in the forge of Hephaestus and his body and limbs beaten with the club of Herakles.

“I am Diagoras. You will form an orderly circle around me. No one will talk. My assistant, Agape will approach each one of you and you will hold your hand out with the palm open. You will be given a stone and you will close your hand without looking at the stone. If these instructions confuse you, speak now”.

No one spoke.

Another ugly man appeared with a leather bag containing the stones and he gave one to each man in the circle. Once a stone had been given to each man, Diagoras spoke again.

“Every man may now look at his stone. If your stone is black, with a scratch mark down the centre, please step forward and identify yourself to the rest of us. You will be competing in the first bout.”

Two men stepped forward and made their way to the centre of the circle. A tall, thin man with a long black beard that reached to his navel announced, “I am Theagenes of Thasos.” The second man, far shorter and far wider shouted out “I am Orsippius of Rhodes. I am here to honour Zeus and to show that there is no finer boxer in Greece than I.”

“The rules are few but they must be followed” said Diagoras “No punching below the waist. No eye gouging. No holding your opponent. No kicking.  Finally, how is the bout won? The last man on his feet wins. If you concede defeat, your opponent wins. If you die, your opponent wins. There has been enough talk, now it is time for the first bout.”

Aeschylus paid little attention to the fight between Theagenes and Orsippius. Both lacked skill and strength and after 10 minutes of exchanging poorly aimed blows Theagenes conceded defeat. There was no applause or cheering from the other boxers and Aeschylus thought it an embarrassing start to the competition.

It was time to determine who would fight in the second bout and once again all of the boxers formed a circle; each received a stone and those with the scratched stone were to step forward and announce their identity. Aeschylus, feeling a little light-headed due to standing in the sun for so long, almost didn’t notice the scratch on the stone. It was his turn to fight. He grabbed his cousins’ arm and shouted “It’s me” and as he began to move towards the centre of the circle he caught sight of his opponent and forgot where he was and why he was there.

“You expect me to fight that”? Aeschylus shouted.

His opponent was a bald-headed man who looked to be in his fifties. He was short, generous around the waist and had short but powerful arms and legs. Aeschylus imagined himself fighting Herakles or Achilles, not a walking barrel.

“Must I be shamed before the fight even begins”? Aeschylus continued. He turned to his cousin and saw that he had moved away and turned his back to him. He looked at the boxers around him and saw the utter contempt that they regarded him with.

Oh Apollo, when will I ever be rid of my arrogance?

“You” shouted Diagoras pointing at Aeschylus “the one with the face of Adonis and the mouth of Scylla and Charybdis. You will leave. Your arrogance has shamed us all in this most sacred of venues. We come here to honour Zeus and all of those who dwell on Olympus and you insult your opponent with your foolish, ill chosen words. You have no place here.”

“Diagoras” said his opponent “let him stay. Yes, he insulted me but I have ignored the insult. My pride is not hurt and his words do not trouble me. The young are foolish and is it not the responsibility of the old to educate and guide? Allow me to do that. Let us bring honour back to this tournament”.

Diagoras turned to the older boxer and nodded. “He may stay. Let us hope he conducts himself better during the tournament. I now ask that you both identify yourselves so that we all know who we are watching”.

Aeschylus placed his hand upon his heart and shouted “I am Aeschylus. The Boxer From The Sun’”. The circle of boxers erupted into howls of laughter and Aeschylus flushed with embarrassment.

“Where did you gain that title boy? Someone shouted from the crowd.

“Probably his boyfriend.” Shouted another in response.

“Enough of this”. Diagoras said holding up his hand for silence. “Can his opponent please identify himself.”

“I am Antigonus” The older boxer paused and then continued “The Bull of Krios.” There was no laughter from the crowd, instead there was awe and admiration, and Aeschylus now appreciated the true extent of the shame he had brought upon himself. He was going to fight a man whose tale he had heard hundreds of times before.

It was time for the fight to commence.

Aschylus threw the first few blows. He had a much longer reach than his opponent and he was lightning fast. His right hand caught Antigonus on the cheek and blood exploded from it, catching in the long, greying beard. The left hand landed less accurately, awkwardly catching the side of his opponent’s nose. Antigonus seemed to be doing nothing except catching blows with his body and bleeding. Aeschylus knew that he could keep landing blows easily whilst staying out of reach of Antigonus.

Aeschylus felt but did not see the first blow. He felt as if an arrow had been fired into his left side. He felt the wind go out of him and his legs began to buckle as he had realised that Antigonus had moved in close to him and then staggered him with a punch of incredible force. Another blow smashed into his right side, and he knew he was in trouble. An incredible pain was surging through his body, and he knew that another punch would end him. If he were to recover, he needed time, and the only way to gain time was to attack. He could see that Antigonus was readying to throw another hammer-like punch and Aeschylus would have to throw first. He did, and he caught Antigonus in the solar plexus with his left and then threw a right than smashed his opponent’s nose into a bloody lump of red meat.

Both men moved away from each other.

“You are no soft youth, Aeschylus” said Antigonus.

“A compliment I do not deserve”.

The boxers cheered and Aeschylus smiled. There were no howls of derision now. It was difficult to hear but he caught snatches of conversation. “Much better than I thought he would be” and “Not the prick he seemed to be at first.”

They moved towards each other to engage and Aeschylus recalled the first time he heard the story of The Bull of Krios.

Many years ago there was trouble between the kingdoms of Hyperesia and Sicyon. Not the troubles of the ordinary people, the troubles of Kings and Queens. For many months, the two kingdoms sent their diplomats to talk with each other and find a solution, but none could be found. Reluctantly, it was agreed between the ruling families that the issue would be resolved on the battlefield. The two armies would clash, and whichever army broke first was the loser. It seems cruel to resolve differences in such a way, but this has been the way of the Greek cities since the time of the Trojan War. The cost of living in a great is one day the city may ask you to give your life for a cause. This day had come for the men of Hyperesia and Sicyon.

The two armies met at an agreed location at an agreed time near the Krios River. This may seem strange, but this was not to be a long war involving tactics and strategies, it would be a short battle with rules that had been agreed upon. The first army to break, lost!

Both armies utilised the Phalanx. A Phalanx consists of soldiers called Hoplites, who lock their shields together to form a protective wall and the first few ranks of Hoplites project their long spears out over the first rank of shields. The Phalanx will advance towards the enemy at walking pace and pick up speed the last few feet. The enemy Phalanxes will then smash against each other pushing and pushing until finally one overpowers the other and breaks the enemy. When Phalanxes break the Hoplites are exposed and vulnerable to the enemy.

Each city fielded 30 Phalanxes that day. A man named Antigonus commanded the army of Hyperesia and Anxtese commanded the army of Sicyon.

At noon that day the two armies clashed. Each army formed a single line of multiple Phalanxes that smashed into each other. Huge spears penetrated the small gaps between shields and skewered the men behind them. Bodies were broken as the enormous weight of the opposing Phalanx crushed men between their shields and their comrades behind them.

The gods were with the men of Sicyon that day. The centre of the Hyperesian line began to buckle and slowly and the men each side of the break began to panic. The equipment of the Hoplite is heavy and cumbersome. The impossibly long spear, the heavy awkward shield and the blinding helmet. The men of Hyperesia began to cast these aside and flee.

The battle was won.

The issue decided.

Peace.

Antigonus retained his shield and helmet but discarded the spear. He would have to restore order to the broken army. He was the first to notice that there were Sicyon Hoplites pursuing his men. The outcome of the battle had been decided and the two armies were supposed to separate and return to their homes. When he saw a Sicyon cut down a Hyperesian he knew the agreement had been dishonoured.

Then the Sicyon missile cavalry arrived.

The Sicyon cavalry began pursuing fleeing Hyperesian Hoplites and running them down or hurling light javelins at them. Antigonus saw more and more Sicyon Hoplites appearing, most of them having disposed of their cumbersome gear and armed with short swords which they were using to good effect to cut down his men.

“To me” shouted Antigonus as he rallied the men around him “we are betrayed. They aim to destroy us. We must retreat and it must be a fighting retreat. Arm yourselves if you wish to live.”

Men began to form small groups. Most were unarmedand more of them were being cut down mercilessly.

Antigonus was rallying a group of stragglers near him, urging them fight together, when a Sicyon on horse charged towards him and hurled a javelin at him that grazed his cheek and fell harmlessly to the ground. The horse charged by Antigonus and then stopped, startled by a group of Hyperesians who were rallying around their General. Antigonus grabbed the horse by its mane and with the strength of Herakles, pulled it to the ground, its great bulk crushing the rider beneath it. Another Sicyon on horse appeared, and Antigonus picked up the javelin from the ground and with a carefully aimed shot, skewered the rider through the middle. The Hyperesians cried out in victory.

“Herakles fights with us. Herakles fights with us.” Someone shouted. The shouting spread through the fleeing ranks and the Hyperesians stopped fleeing. They gathered in groups and picked up discarded weapons and began to fight back.

Antigonus was everywhere. He was attacked by a Sicyon Hoplite brandishing a short sword. Antigonus ducked and weaved and then smashed the man’s brains out with his helmet. He threw discarded javelins with greater accuracy than the Sicyon’s and he was now able to arm the men following him. The Hyperesians were no longer routing. They were now pursuing the Sicyons and as they cut down the treacherous enemy they shouted the name of the man who had turned defeat into victory.

Antigonus, The Bull of Krios.

Aeschylus threw many good punches at Antigonus. He continued to bloody the older man’s face. He left huge welts on the chest of Antigonus where his quick, sharp blows struck. His opponent’s ears were smashed and bleeding and his nose seemed to be hanging off his face.

But he knew he was spent.

He could barely raise his fists and his chest felt like it would explode with each breath. Antigonus had pummelled his head with terrific blows, and he now had difficulty focusing on his opponent. He was feeling lightheaded, and he fought the urge to vomit.

Not yet.

“Antigonus”! he shouted “I keep fighting to honour you. I no longer fight for myself. I fight to honour you, Antigonus, The Bull of Krios”.

Men began cheering. Men began weeping.

Aeschylus no longer tasted blood in his mouth. It was nectar or ambrosia. It was delicious and refreshing and it calmed him. He was falling towards the ground, and he saw that he was near a river. The light began to fade, and a dank gloominess enveloped him.

“You must pay to cross” somebody said but he could not see who.

I am at the Styx he thought to himself.

When Aeschylus awoke, he found himself in a tent, on a makeshift cot with his injuries a tended to. There was a lamp burning and he saw Antigonus sitting on a chair.

“You fought well. I don’t think I will ever box again”. Antigonus said.

“Maybe I did. But I shamed everyone. Arrogance is a family trait.”

“You redeemed yourself lad. Many were impressed. They hope to see you in four years”.

Aeschylus felt tears well up in his eyes and he hoped Antigonus did not see them.

“Antigonus, should I feel shame in defeat”?

“No” he said as he rose from the chair and walked towards the entry to the tent. He stopped and said, “But sometimes there is shame in victory”.

There was silence before Antigonus retuned to the chair.

“You have heard the story of the Bull of Krios”?

“Yes Antigonus. Many times”.

“It is all true but incomplete. There is more to it.” Antigonus went silent.

“What else happened”?

“We turned the tides it is true. My men chased the enemy back to their lines where the Sicyon General was already celebrating with the King and his family. They did not expect any threat, any danger. After seeing friends and family members cut down, after being deceived my men were animals. Animals” Aeschylus could see the tears pour down the face of the older man. His chest began to heave as he sobbed. “My men showed no mercy and I had lost control of them. I had kindled a terrible fire in them when I rallied them, and that fire burnt like the sun itself. They flayed the enemy General and King. The cruellest and bloodiest of all deaths. The arrogant King brought his family to the battlefield, including the women. My men…they…”

“Antigonus. Please…”

“Aeschylus, that name I have gained. That name I used today when you identified yourself as The Boxer from The Sun. I despise that name and I have never spoken it before. It is not you who was proud and arrogant today, it was me for using that disgusting name to gain advantage over you. It is I who shamed everyone today, even Zeus himself”.

Aeschylus slowly, painfully raised himself upright and placed his feet on the ground. He placed his arms around the sobbing man and said “Atigonus, let us share our grief together. Then we will go out and drink with other men. We will talk about the wrongs we have done and the things that we have done right. We will drink to being men, for that as all we are.”

“Yes, we will do that. We are just men”.

They slowly rose and together walked out of the tent to the ecstatic singing of the victorious and mournful wails of the defeated.