The Battle of Thermopylae

*For my history course this year (not the AP one), I had to write an essay about a Greek battle. I chose the Battle of Thermopylae, and this is the outcome :) Hope you like it!*






The Battle of Thermopylae


Pain. It is the only feeling I am aware of. My breath does not come easily, but rather in short spurts. I beg the gods to help me. I have been trained my entire life to endure pain, and yet I cannot tolerate this one wound. Groans of pain can be heard from all around me, so I know I am not alone in my misery. With my eyes tightly squeezed shut, I try to accept my fate: I am about to die. I hold no doubts regarding that fact. It is inevitable, expected to say the least. Dear Zeus, please have mercy upon me in my death.

Who am I? Where am I? Why did this happen? Who was it that speared me? I cannot remember my name, only that I am Spartan; only that I once had a brother; only that I am about to die because I defended my country from- who? Ah, yes; the cursed Persians. This battle is all I can remember in detail, this battle where three hundred of my countrymen have lost or are losing their lives defending the pass of Thermopylae. Have we succeeded? I cannot tell, but only hope that we have. It was three hundred of us Spartans against thousands upon thousands upon thousands of Persians. The Persian army was made of numerous men, far greater in number than ours. But our army was made of soldiers. A haze begins to drift over me, slowing my brain, all I can think of is my last battle, the battle I will lose my life to.

We were not the only soldiers there, of course. But we were the only men outside the gates guarding the pass of Thermopylae those first few days. We knew the Persian army was ten times larger than our own in number. But our leaders were certain that this narrow pass would be the only place where we could prevent the Persians from entering and conquering Greece. So we Spartans guarded the entrance through the gate, and the rest of the army was beyond. We spent our time preparing for battle, exercising and combing our hair. It has always been very important to us to insure we looked our best for battle. Four days passed before the cowardly Persians finally attacked. Word spread that our attackers were the Medes. I remember my brother and I exchanging excited, yet grim, smiles as we faced the oncoming men. The battle that ensued lasted most of the day, with few Spartan casualties. But, oh! the many deaths inflicted upon the Medes were beyond counting. Eventually, they withdrew and were soon replaced by more soldiers.

“They call themselves the King’s Immortals,” my brother had said.

“We will see,” I had replied simply. For the rest of that day, we battled the ‘Immortals’, again with few casualties on our side. As for the Persians, well, it became obvious that they were not immortal after all. I begin to recall our retreat feint we used on the Immortals: we would pretend to retreat in fear, the Persians chasing after us. At the very last minute, we would turn and slaughter the men behind us with little difficulty.

On the next day, the Greek armies alternated in who was guarding the pass, and the Persians were no luckier in battle than they were in the previous day. They again eventually withdrew, and we were confident of victory. Very early the next morning we received news of betrayal: a man had revealed the secret road that led behind the gates to the Persians. We knew at that moment there was little hope of survival now. Our leaders were torn on the decision of whether to go or to stay. Our great king, Leonidas, declared that he would stay, since we had originally come to guard this post. He told the others to leave, that we would defend the rear. Those who wished to stay were ordered by Leonidas to leave. Only the Thebans and Thespians remained, the former as hostages, the latter because they refused to abandon us to die alone. And by midmorning, the Persians attacked. My brother and I fought side by side; when our spears broke, we used our swords. I do not think that any army fought more fiercely than ours did. Then, misery of miseries, our great king fell. Immediately, my brother and I rushed to his body, we had been fighting near him before. With a fury unlike any other we defended his remains, gaining and giving many wounds. Our fellow soldiers were able to rescue him, but we were eventually forced to retreat back into the narrow pass. It was now with a desperate fear that we fought. It was clear that we would die, but we tried our best to live.
With a grunt, my brother fell against me and I stared in horror at the long spear protruding from his chest.

“Alpheus…For Sparta,” he had whispered. And he had died. Without another word, he was lifeless in my arms. I swallowed
rising tears. Maron, my brother, my good friend, was gone. I gently laid him on the ground, and looked around me. There were only a few Greeks left standing. Persians overwhelmed us from all sides. With an angry shout, I threw myself upon the Persians with revengeful fury, for my king, for my brother, for my country. It wasn’t long before the spear had hit me. The blinding pain overwhelmed my senses and I fell to the ground.

And so here I am. Breathless. Bleeding. Dying. The Persians have passed on. Will my country prevail? I cannot tell. But I can tell that Sparta will long be remembered for what she has done today, that I will long be remembered for my deeds today. I open my eyes one last time, to look at the sky and to make one last request of the gods. Remember me.