Thermopylae - Part One: Before the Pass

A Note Before We Start

Most of what people know about Thermopylae comes from a film, and the film was adapted from a comic book, and the comic book was adapted from a movie its author saw as a boy. Somewhere in that chain the number three hundred hardened into the whole story.

It was never the whole story. Roughly seven thousand Greeks marched to that pass. Three hundred of them were Spartans. On the last morning, when the position was lost and Leonidas released the army, seven hundred Thespians — farmers and townsmen from a city with no warrior reputation to protect — chose to stay and die with them. Almost nobody knows their names.

The real account is better than the myth. It is also harder, and less flattering, and more useful. What follows is that account, drawn from Herodotus, who wrote roughly a generation after the battle and interviewed men who had been there, and from the historians who have argued with him ever since.

We did not name a company after a movie line. We named it after something a man said with his back to a wall, and he deserves to be quoted correctly.

 


 

Before The Pass

In 490 BC, a Persian force landed at Marathon, twenty-six miles from Athens, and was beaten back into the sea by an Athenian army it outnumbered. For the Persian Empire — the largest state the world had yet produced, stretching from the Indus to the Aegean — this was not a catastrophe. It was an insult, and an unfinished errand.

Darius I intended to return and did not live to do it. His son Xerxes inherited the errand and spent four years preparing on a scale meant to end the question permanently. He cut a canal through the Mount Athos peninsula, where a previous fleet had been wrecked, so his ships would not have to round it. He bridged the Hellespont with boats lashed together, twice, after the first attempt was destroyed by a storm. He stockpiled supply depots along the invasion route months in advance. This was not a raid. It was an annexation, planned like one.

The Greek city-states were not a country. They were dozens of independent, frequently hostile communities with separate laws, calendars, and grudges. In the autumn of 481 BC, delegates from a fraction of them met at Corinth and did something close to unprecedented: they agreed to stop fighting each other and to fight Xerxes together. Sparta, the strongest land power, was given command of the army and the fleet. Athens, which had the ships, accepted a Spartan admiral rather than break the alliance.

Even so, the alliance was thin. Many cities sent nothing. Argos stayed neutral. Thebes hedged. Thessaly, whose plains the Persians would cross first, went over. The delegates first tried to hold a pass in Thessaly, marched there, saw it could be flanked, and came home. That left the next defensible line south: a coastal defile in Malis where the mountains came down almost to the water, called the Hot Gates for the sulfur springs that fed it. Thermopylae.

Holding a pass is not a plan for winning a war. It is a plan for buying the time to make one.

The strategy was joint. The pass at Thermopylae and the strait at Artemisium, forty miles northeast, were two halves of one position. If the Greek fleet did not hold at Artemisium, the Persian navy would sail past and land men behind the pass. If the pass did not hold, the Persian army would march down the coast and strand the fleet. Neither could be given up without giving up both. The men who went to Thermopylae went to hold one end of a line, not to make a gesture.

 


 

FITS. Fight In The Shade. Not a slogan. A posture. It belongs to a man who was told the odds, understood them exactly, and made a joke about the weather.

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