Hello, χαίρετε, and welcome to Epic Greek History Episode 33, Based on a True Story: Legends of Marathon. I’m Scott Emmons.

The battle of Marathon was the greatest military feat that Athens had achieved up to that point. The stakes were high, the odds were long, but somehow the Athenian army had faced a Persian force twice its own size and won a decisive victory. It was a transformative event that changed the Athenians’ outlook on what they could accomplish. Herodotus remarks that before Marathon, the mere mention of the name “Medes” would strike terror into Greeks. So it’s no wonder that the Athenians looked back on the battle with immense pride and reverence. We saw in the last episode that they gave their dead at Marathon the almost unheard-of honor of being buried where they fell, with a great funeral mound built over them. Some of the religious acts of thanksgiving continued for years. Xenophon tells us that in preparation for the battle, the Athenians vowed to sacrifice one goat to Artemis for every enemy they killed. When the body count turned out to be 6400, they had to get the goddess’s permission to pay off the debt at 500 goats per year. 

It was only natural that an event of that magnitude would grow in the retelling. I’m sure tall tales were already circulating in the weeks after the battle. The earliest written account we have is the one by Herodotus, who wrote sometime around 430 BCE, sixty years after it happened. That’s long enough for the story to take on the characteristics of legend. Given that time lag, it’s kind of amazing how sober Herodotus’ narrative is. There are a few details that might be considered supernatural. One of those is the story that the god Pan appeared to the runner Pheidippides on his way to Sparta — a story that Herodotus attributes to Pheidippides himself. He also tells the story of an Athenian named Epizelos who was in the thick of the fighting when he saw a giant coming toward him with his beard covering his shield. The giant passed him by but killed the man next to him, and at that very moment, Epizelos was suddenly blinded. It’s an intriguing story, because cases of functional blindness brought on by the stress of battle have been well documented at least since World War I. Herodotus’ story has a tinge of the supernatural about it, but it’s not out of the realm of possibility. It counts as one of those wonders that Herodotus loves to include. 

We can compare Herodotus’ account with another representation from about 460 BCE, only 30 years after the battle. This wasn’t a written narrative, but a painting that appeared in a building called the Stoa Poikile, or the “painted stoa,” in a corner of the agora. A stoa was just a long, shaded colonnade, a public space where people could meet and get out of the sun for a while. This particular stoa later gave its name to the stoic philosophers, who made it their regular meeting place. It was called the painted stoa because it housed works by some of the most accomplished Athenian painters. And one of those paintings depicted the battle of Marathon.  

Now, there’s practically nothing left of the Stoa Poikile but the foundations. And the painting has long since disappeared. But we do have a description of it by Pausanias, the Greek travel writer from the second century CE. From that description we know that all the major players were depicted — Miltiades, the war archon Callimachus, and so on — but Pausanias also tells us that Theseus, Athens’ patron hero, was represented as rising from the underworld to take part in the fighting. Not only Theseus, but the goddess Athena was present as protector of her city. Heracles also appears in the painting — which makes sense when you remember that the Athenians at Marathon had made their camp in a sanctuary of Heracles.

Now, in a painting, depictions of gods and heroes may be just visual representations of the idea that their divine presence aided the Athenians at Marathon. I think of that popular print today that shows a kid at bat in a Little League game, and Jesus stands behind him, helping with his swing. Not many people would claim to have actually seen Jesus at the plate, but it reflects a believer’s faith that he’s always there to give support and guidance. I would guess that something like that was going on with the painting in the Stoa Poikile. But if we fast-forward 500 or so years, the story of Marathon includes the visible presence of Theseus on the battlefield. Plutarch tells us in his Life of Theseus, as translated by Ian Scott-Kilvert, quote:

…there were various reasons which led the Athenians to honor Theseus as a demi-god; the most remarkable of these was the fact that many of the men who fought the Medes at Marathon believed that they saw the apparition of Theseus, clad in full armor and charging ahead of them against the barbarians. Unquote 

By the time people like Plutarch and Pausanias were writing, the battle was the stuff of legend. When Pausanias describes the plain of Marathon, it comes across as a tourist attraction. In addition to the funeral mounds of the Athenians and the Plateians with inscriptions recording the names of the fallen, he points out the marshes where many of the Persians met their fate. Nearby, he says you can see stone troughs that the Persian general Artaphernes used for his horses. And he adds the detail that if you’re there at night, you can hear the sounds of whinnying horses and men fighting. He implies that if you go there just to hear those ghostly sounds, you’ll be in for some bad luck, but if you just happen to be there and hear them by accident, the spirits will leave you alone. So that would put the kibosh on any Marathon ghost tours. 

And then there’s the story of the runner. I covered this at the end of the last episode, but it’s worth looking at again as an example of how the legend grew over time. Herodotus, of course, tells the story that Pheidippides — or Philippides in some manuscripts — ran 140 miles to Sparta with an urgent plea for help against the Persians, and on his way, he had a vision of the god Pan. Herodotus doesn’t say anything about how he returned to Athens. Plutarch, writing in the first century CE, knows that story. But he tells another one about a certain Thersippus who ran from Marathon to announce the victory in Athens and immediately died. Lucian, a century later, says it was Philippides who made that run. So in this late version, Pheidippides-slash-Philippides ran 140 miles to Sparta, ran back in time to fight in the battle, then ran from Marathon to Athens, shouted, “Rejoice! We’re victorious!” and fell down dead. I’m pretty sure I’d have collapsed long before that. 

Not all the embellishments are so grandiose. There are some minor additions that have a quirky, more intimate feel. Pausanias tells the story that while the fighting was going on, a man appeared on the battlefield in a farmer’s work clothes — so presumably without hoplite armor or a shield — and that he killed many Persian combatants using a plow as his weapon. No one could find him after the battle, so the Athenians asked the Delphic oracle about him. And the answer was that they should worship Echetlaus as a hero. Echetlē is an ancient Greek word for a plough-handle. So basically, the oracle told them their new hero was “Mr. Plow.” The 3d-century Roman author Aelian says one of the Athenians took his dog with him into battle, and that the dog appears in the painting in the Stoa Poikile, right along with Miltiades and the other heroes of Marathon.

And now we come to my favorite example of all —  Kynegeiros, the brother of the playwright Aeschylus, who lost his hand — and his life — while trying to capture a Persian ship. Over the years, he evidently became a standard trope, a name you’d drop in a public speech if you needed an example of supreme courage. By Lucian’s time it was such a cliché that he made fun of contemporary orators by ironically advising them that they should never miss a chance to mention Kynegeiros. His name had become a buzzword. 

Kynegeiros also illustrates perfectly how an incident from a historical battle could morph into a heroic legend. Herodotus only mentions it briefly as one notable incident in the fighting. As translated by Andrea Purvis, quote:

In addition, Kynegeiros son of Euphorion fell, for while seizing the sternpost of a ship, his hand was chopped off by an axe. Unquote 

And now, here’s the same episode as told centuries later by the Roman historian Justin. As translated by J.S. Watson, quote: 

The merit of Cynaegirus, too, an Athenian soldier, has met with great commendation from historians; for, after having slain a great number in the battle, and having chased the fleeing enemy to their ships, he seized a crowded vessel with his right hand, and would not let it go till he had lost his hand; and even then, when his right hand was cut off, he took hold of the ship with his left, and having lost this hand also, he at last seized the ship with his teeth. So undaunted was his spirit, that neither being weary with killing so many, nor disheartened with the loss of his hands, he fought to the last maimed as he was, with his teeth, like a wild beast. Unquote

So at this point, Kynegeiros has become the Black Knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Just a flesh wound! 

But that use of Marathon’s heroes in oratory reflects a political dimension of the legend. It didn’t take long for the Marathonomachoi, the fighters at Marathon, to become paradigms of courage, especially for a certain class of Athenians. Namely, the hoplite class. As Herodotus describes it, Marathon was overwhelmingly a hoplite battle. And to serve as a hoplite, you had to be able to afford the armor, the shield, and the offensive weapons. So you had to be from the so-called middle class and up. But over the next couple of decades, Athenian military power shifted away from hoplite infantry toward sea power. That’s not to say the hoplites went away. They were still the backbone of the land army. But Athens’ next great military victory was the battle of Salamis, at sea. And throughout Athens’ time as a superpower in Greece, its navy was the basis of its power.  

That meant that the men who rowed the ships became much more important in the military. And they came largely from the lower class, people who didn’t have the money and the same set of values as the landowning hoplites. With the poorer people becoming more important, it’s no surprise that Athens became more and more democratic. We’ll see that dynamic playing out in future episodes. So the legend of Marathon was not only a legend of Athenian greatness. It was also a conservative legend that looked back to an idealized past when Athenians showed their courage and devotion to their state by fighting in the hoplite phalanx. 

And that’s a wrap for episode 33. I hope you’ve enjoyed tracing the battle of Marathon from history to legend. If you have anything to add — comments, questions, corrections, or anything else — I’ll be happy to hear from you. My email is scott@epicgreekhistory.com, or you can always leave a comment on my Facebook or Instagram. I’m Scott Emmons. Music for this episode was composed and produced by Matt Hobbs and Parry Gripp. My logo and other artwork are by Chris Harding. Until next time, ευτυχεĩτε! Be well.