From the Lost Diary of a Macedonian Soldier

By Theodore G. Zervas

I got up the following morning to the sounds of mules and donkeys.  Some two hundred men, mostly from the northern tribes, arrived to help with the cleanup.  They had brought with them extra clothes, blankets and food.  I was at peace in my sleep.  I wished they hadn’t come. I dreamt I was home, in my village with my family.  When I woke up, I realized that my nightmare was my own reality.  I wanted to be dreaming and not awake. 

The strategoi ordered us to pick up our dead first and load them onto the carts that would be drawn by the mules and donkeys that the northern tribes had brought.  They told us we would take care of our dead enemies later.  

We all walked around the battlefield collecting the bodies.  It was just yesterday we fought, and the field was still soaked with blood.  Most of the bodies had already been picked up by our allies.  We looked for any that they missed.  

I noticed that wolves had gotten to some, probably in the middle of the night when we were all sleeping.  They were torn apart.  There were bits and pieces of flesh scattered all over. I helped load a body on a cart and someone came behind me and threw a severed arm on top of it as if it were just a piece of meat.   

At that moment I realized how difficult it was for me to separate the dead from the life they had. It felt strange to me that just the day before they were all here screaming and fighting. What was left of them were empty shells.   

The strategoi then broke us up into two groups.  Half of us were ordered to go into the forest to collect wood, while the other half would bury our dead enemies.   I was in the group that would go into the forest.  We were told to use the mules and donkeys to help draw the wood out.   

As soon as I walked into the forest, I saw that it was dark, and I felt lonely.  I could hear the birds chirping.  It reminded me of the forests back home.  The trees were tall, and the light from the sun was barely coming through.  

The floor was littered with dead branches and fallen trees.  I helped tie large pieces of wood to the mules and donkeys so I wouldn’t have to drag them out myself. I loaded heavier pieces on the carts.  I carried smaller pieces under my arms and over my shoulders.  

We all hauled, pulled, and carried for hours, almost forgetting that the day before we had fought.  We dropped the pieces of wood at the base of the battlefield. We continued to go back in and out of the forest, into the darkness and back into the light.  I lost count of how many times we went in and out.  

After several hours, we were told to stop. The forest floor looked like it had been swept and cleaned.  We all sat back to take a break and get something to eat. I saw piles and piles of wood stacked up high and then I noticed that all the bodies were gone.  The battlefield was dotted with small black mounds.  Below the mounds were our dead enemies.

After a few hours, everybody was ordered to take all the wood and cover the entire battlefield.  We all got up and began to drag pieces of wood with the animals.  We placed extra pieces on the mounds. 

It started to get dark while we worked. We were to camp again for the night and head back the next morning.  After we were finished a flute player came out and began to play his instrument.  A group of northern tribesmen began to sing along to the music.  It was an ancient song, a sad song. 

While you live always shine

Life is short, so enjoy it

How I wish I listened to them

To those who counseled me as a child

Who said to me,

That life exists only for a short time

and that time will eventually demand its due

After they were done singing, someone said a prayer.  He ended the prayer with, “May their memory be eternal, and may they never be forgotten.” Many continued to pray to themselves.  Afterwards, everybody went back to the camp to rest. I stayed there. I wanted to look at the fallen even though I couldn’t see them.  I felt sorry for them.  Sorry that they would never see their families again.  I didn’t want them to be alone.  I wouldn’t want to be alone. I wanted to be there with them. 

Then I saw Demetrius, one of the strategoi, look up at the clouds to see if it was going to rain.  He ordered half a dozen men to light their torches and stand around the battlefield.  I stood back and watched in silence.  In a perverse way, I waited eagerly for the fire to start.  I wanted to see the flames.  I knew they would relax me.  I knew they would be the drug that would ease my pain. 

I heard a loud whistle blow, and the torchbearers lowered their torches.  The battlefield lit up.  I stood and watched as the flames began to grow and come towards me.  I wanted them to get close to me so I could feel the heat run through my body. 

The northern tribesmen sang their song again.  I listened to them sing and felt the fire get stronger and hotter. I began to feel my body getting hot and smell the smoke from the burning wood. We were ordered to get something to eat and then go to sleep.  While I was sleeping, I felt a strong wind come in.  It fueled the flames and warmed the earth around me. It kept me warm through the night.

The next day, I got up to the smell of burnt wood and ash.  Pieces of wood were still burning.  Demetrius with a few northern tribesmen surveyed the battlefield and got the few unburnt pieces of wood to burn down. 

After they got back, we were ordered to pack up our things and start our trek back.  We were to stay in the North for a few days before we went back home. We loaded our dead on the carts that we had used the day before to hull and pull the wood from the forest.  At this point, I couldn’t wait to get back, to begin to forget—but never forgetting those that were lost. 

As soon as we got over the border, we began to split off. Some headed south, others went west. When we arrived, the road was lined up with people.  They already knew who made it and who didn’t.  They crowded the road and stared at first.  I saw someone staring at me.  He had this look on his face as if he wanted to say, “Why are you still alive and not my loved one?” Some began to pray, others began to weep.  After we passed them, they all said, “Immortals! They Still Live! Immortals! They Still Live!” 

The families of those that perished were waiting outside the village square. Wooden tables had been prepared in the square and we were to place the bodies on top of them. There would be a wake for everybody to say goodbye before they were buried.  

When I got to the village square it was beginning to get dark.  The candles were lit, and several statues of the Gods stood at the entrance of the square. I could see the large wooden tables and the stools that were placed around the tables for people to sit.  

As soon as we were done loading the bodies on the tables a throng of old women rushed past me to tidy them up before their families came. They wiped the blood and dirt from their faces, they combed their hair and placed all sorts of objects next to them, miniature statues of Gods, coins and amulets. They wrapped them in wool blankets as if they were newborns and covered them in fragrant white wildflowers.  

After they were ready, the family of the deceased began to enter the square. That’s when I thought my heart was going to stop, or that my knees wouldn’t be able to hold the weight of my body. I knew that once they came in and saw their dead loved ones it would all begin to set in. They would realize that they were gone. 

Before they entered, they each kissed the statues of the Gods outside and moved quietly and sat at a wooden stool by their loved ones.  I saw an old lady dressed in black, standing in front of one of the statues, she was about to kiss it but then backed away. Then I saw her wave her finger at it as if she was scolding the Gods for taking her loved one. She turned and walked over to one of the tables where an empty seat was waiting for her. 

I saw more families entering the square. I saw the shock on their faces as soon as they saw the bodies.  It’s the moment when reality sets in, the moment one realizes that their loved one is dead, that they’re no longer here.  It’s something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. To see someone you love, gone forever. 

Then I heard cries coming from around the bodies. The shock was over, and the pain was beginning to settle in. Some began chanting melancholy songs about the lives of the deceased to help ease their agony. Others were begging them to wake up so they could see them again.

Oh, rise, my dear from the darkness

From your deep sleep. Awake!

Let me help lift you up again

With my arms, my body and my broken heart

Oh, rise, my dear and open your eyes

Turn your fingernails into spades

Your palms into shovels

So, you can see me again

Oh, rise, my dear and stand up

Toss the soil onto one side

And the stone slab onto the other, 

So, we can be together again

That’s when I saw a woman storm into the square.  She stood in front of a table where a body lay and called for the deceased to kiss her father as soon as he saw him in the afterlife. After she said that I realized that she believed that her loved one was not gone, that she would be able to see them again one day.

The emotions were too much, they filled the air, and no one who was there could escape it.  Even me.  Suddenly, someone got up from his stool and called out loudly the words “THANATOS!” “THANATOS!” “THANATOS!”

Everybody in the square paused, there was a moment of silence, it felt like the world had stopped. They began to cry, they began to sing, mourning those that they had lost, bidding them farewell, hoping to see them again.