Creation (89 page)

One enters Aspasia’s house through a long, narrow, low-ceilinged corridor that leads to a small courtyard. At the right of the courtyard there is a porticoed reception hall, a room not much larger than the one we are sitting in now, trying to escape the sun’s heat.

I knew immediately that I was in
the house of a Milesian lady. Expensive perfumes adorned the air, and the musicians played so softly that one was not obliged to listen-to the music. This is a rarity at Athens, where the citizens are so little musical that when they do attend a concert, they strain to hear every note in an effort to figure out why they should be charmed. The Ionian Greeks of Asia Minor are different. They regard music as a complement to conversation, food, even love-making. Music is a part of the air that they breathe, not a mathematical equation to be solved by Pythagoras.

There were a dozen people in the room when we arrived. Democritus tells me that, actually, there were ten guests, as well as a number of slaves from Sardis who played music, served food. I was greeted by Evangelos, Pericles’ steward. Although this celebrated figure is usually in the country looking after the general’s farms—and two legitimate sons—for the last week he has been in the city celebrating with the rest of Athens the trophy of victory that the assembly had just voted Pericles. Ostensibly, the trophy is being given for the re-conquest of Euboea. Actually, the trophy is for the astute way that Pericles handled the Spartan king last winter when the Spartan army occupied Attica, and the Athenians were huddled behind their long walls.

When the message to surrender arrived from the Spartan headquarters at Eleusis, the assembly was tempted to do just that. After all, the Spartan army is the best in the Greek world. Why resist them? Athens is a sea power, not a land power. But Pericles had no intention of surrendering anything. He arranged a secret meeting with the Spartan king, a wide-eyed adolescent who had never before been out of the Peloponnesus. Aware of the king’s youth and inexperience, the suspicious Spartan elders had assigned a special adviser to keep close watch over their boy-king. But, as Pericles later remarked, this sort of Spartan precaution simply doubles the price. The boy-king got three gold talents, to be held for him at Delphi, while the adviser—a shrewd statesman—got seven gold talents on the spot. Once king and adviser had been paid off, the Spartan army went home. The boy-king was fined an enormous sum by the elders, while the special adviser fled to Sicily, where, presumably, he now enjoys his wealth. “My only problem,” said Pericles at the party, “is how to explain this payment to the assembly.”

Aspasia’s advice was direct. “When you submit your accounts, simply say, ‘For necessary expenditures—ten talents.’ ”

I have a hunch that that is exactly what Pericles will do. Certainly, everyone knows that the Spartans were bribed. When I complimented Pericles on how little the peace had cost Athens, his response was somber. “I did not buy peace,” he said. “I bought time.”

But my narrative is out of order. Although General Pericles was not in the house when we arrived, Aspasia more than made up for his absence. She has a lovely speaking voice, sings Milesian songs with much delicacy, recites poetry better than anyone else I have ever heard. Of course, I think no language on earth is more beautiful than well-spoken Ionian Greek. Yes, Democritus, it is even more beautiful than Persian.

“I’ve wanted to meet you from the first day you arrived in Athens.” She held my hand in both of hers. She gives the impression that she means every word she says to you.

When I praised her courage in having me to her house, she laughed. “I’ve always been called a medizer. Personally, I don’t care. But there are times when ...” The voice trailed off. I cursed my blindness yet again. What I would have given to be able to study that face! Democritus says that Aspasia is small, and somewhat thinner than last winter. The hair is light-brown, and not dyed—or so he thinks. You are not yet as expert in these matters as I am, or was.

Aspasia presented a number of men to me. One was Phormio, Pericles’ right hand in the assembly. Another was a general named Sophocles. Years ago, when he was in his twenties, he wrote a tragedy that won first prize at the festival of Dionysos. Old Aeschylus was so furious at being second to this young upstart that he moved to Sicily, where that sharp-eyed eagle put an end to their rivalry with a well-aimed turtle. I always enjoy thinking about the death of Aeschylus.

Sophocles is something of a scandal here because he lusts, openly, after young men of his own class. For some reason this is taboo at Athens. Although Athenian citizens are encouraged to have affairs with adolescent boys of their own class, once the boy has grown a proper beard, he must give up having sexual relations with other citizens. He is expected to get married and begin a family. Then, his duty done, he is encouraged to find a boy to love in order to continue the—what?—training, I suppose, of a new citizen and soldier. Such customs are not unknown elsewhere, particularly amongst our Aryan cousins, the northern tribes. Even so, I don’t entirely understand the powerful taboo against sexual relations between grown men who are also citizens of Athens. Although slaves and foreigners are fair game for those men who like that sort of sexuality, two grown citizens who wish to have an affair must forfeit all rights to public office.

So far, Sophocles has been able to hold office
and
seduce youthful citizens. But Pericles is deeply annoyed with him. Recently he reprimanded his friend and fellow general. “You must set an example,” said the commander in chief. “Never touch one of your own soldiers. Avert your eyes when they are bathing.” But Sophocles continues to scandalize the Athenians. It is said that whenever he pays a call on a friend, the young men of the house are told to hide. Incidentally, since General Pericles has never shown the slightest interest in boys, he is considered to be heartless. This is a very unusual society.

Aspasia led me to a low couch. I sat on the edge while she sat at my feet, like a granddaughter. Wine was brought us. I heard the laughter of girls in the background. If Aspasia does not procure women for Pericles, as his enemies maintain, she certainly manages to attract to her house the most talented of the professional ladies in the city. I have not enjoyed myself so much in years as I did last night. Although such pleasures at my age are not only unseemly but dangerous, I was pleased to be reminded—for the first time since I left India—how delightful it is to mix in company intelligent women with men of the first rank. This is something undreamed of in Persia. So, I suppose, one must give the Athenians credit for having invented a new and delightful kind of society.

Democritus thinks that the credit must go, specifically, to Aspasia. He tells me that not only are the other Athenian companions not in her class but their evenings tend to be drunken and dull. Democritus would know. Thanks to a princely allowance from his father, he is able to spend as much time as he likes in the houses of professional ladies. He has also been able to avoid falling into the clutches of a grown man. All in all, you must be grateful to a destiny that has been so benign—thus far. No wonder you laugh so much.

I asked Aspasia about Anaxagoras. “He is in Corinth.”

“Will he come back?”

“I don’t know. I hope so.”

“I’m sure he will. I heard Pericles’ defense.” Heavily veiled, I had gone to the assembly. Thucydides attacked Anaxagoras—and his theories. Pericles defended his friend—and ignored the theories. I cannot say that I was much impressed by either orator. Pericles is a fluent and graceful speaker who is able, when he chooses, to strike a positively Phrygian note of passion. I use a musical term because the general uses his voice like a musical instrument. But at the trial of Anaxagoras, the Periclean lyre was muted. Both speakers were distracted by such recent events as the Spartan invasion, the loss of Boetia, the revolt of Euboea. In a sense, Pericles was on trial at a time when he was more than ever needed. Finally, when the assembly decided that Anaxagoras was neither a medizer nor an atheist, they were simply showing their confidence in Pericles. Thucydides took hard his defeat in the assembly. He promises to return to the attack another day. I am sure he will. Tactfully, Anaxagoras left Athens after the trial. I must say I miss him almost as much as Pericles does.

I complimented Aspasia on the wine, the music, the perfumed air.

Aspasia laughed, a pleasant sound. “My house must seem very poor, indeed, compared to the harem of the Great King.”

“How do you know that I would know anything about the harem?”

“You were the confidante of the old queen, and you are a favorite of the queen mother. Oh, I know all about you!” Indeed she did. Apparently the Greek women of the Persian harem have managed, somehow, to keep in communication with their equivalents in the Greek cities, I was surprised at how much Aspasia knows about court life. “But then, my father served the Great King—as the conservatives remind us every day.”

“Miletus was a city much loved by the Great King,” I intoned. Actually, Miletus has given Persia more trouble than all the other Greek cities of Asia Minor combined, Xerxes wanted to raze it to the ground.

Pericles joined us so silently that I was not aware of his presence until I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard the famous voice murmur, “Welcome, Cyrus Spitama.”

“General.” As I tried to rise, the hand on my shoulder kept me seated.

“Don’t move, Ambassador. I’ll sit beside you.”

Aspasia went to fetch wine for the general. I noticed that the party continued just as if the ruler were not in the room. The body seated next to me on the couch was indeed,
even in darkness, a formidable presence. I had not realized that Pericles is so much taller than I. “We have neglected you,” he said. “But not from choice.”

“I understand, General.”

“You know that it was I who sent Callias up to Susa to make peace.”

“Yes, we knew that then.”

“I hope that you also know how opposed I was to the Egyptian expedition. For one thing, it was a flagrant violation of our treaty. But since I’ve never been able to present the treaty to the assembly in a proper way, I wasn’t able to invoke it. Anyway, presented or not, the treaty remains in force, as far as the present government is concerned.”

“The Great King would say the same.”

“We have lived this long!” Pericles clapped his hands—with joy? I could not tell simply from the voice. “You knew Themistocles.” This was a statement, not a question.

“Yes. I acted as interpreter when he first came to Susa.”

Pericles stood up. He offered me his arm, a thickly muscled soldier’s arm. I struggled to my feet. “I would like to talk to you,” he said. “In private.”

Pericles led me through the room. Although he paused to speak to this man or that, he never addressed any woman except Aspasia. He showed me into a small stuffy room that smelled of old olive oil. “This is where I work.” He arranged me on a stool. We were so close to each other that I could smell his sweat—like heated brass.

“I was twenty-eight,” he said, “when Themistocles was ostracized. I thought he was the greatest man this city had ever produced.”

“But now—” I began a courtier’s response, but the general interrupted me; he is not much of one for flattery—in the Persian style, that is. As a Greek, he hungers for the Attican variety. “I’ve changed my mind since then. He was a greedy man. He took money from everyone, including the tyrant of Rhodes—which was inexcusable. Worse, after he got his hands on the tyrant’s money, he did nothing to help him.”

“Perhaps this was Themistocles’ way of proving that he was a true democrat.” I could not resist a small joke at the expense of Pericles’ party.

The joke was ignored. “Themistocles proved that his word meant nothing. But in his day he was our greatest military leader. More to the point—or, perhaps,
to
the point—he understood the world better than any man I have ever known.”

“Including Anaxagoras?”

“Anaxagoras understands many of the secrets of creation. Those things are important, of course, and very deep. But I was speaking of politics. Themistocles understood what the people would do long before they themselves knew. He could see into the future. He could tell us what was going to happen next, and I don’t think this gift of his came from Apollo. No. I think he could predict the future because he entirely understood the present. That’s why I want to know—” Pericles stopped. I had the sense that he was staring at me.

“What would you like to know, General?”

“I want to know what Themistocles said to you about Athens, about Sparta, about Persia. Naturally, if you don’t want to tell me, I will understand.”

“I’ll tell you what I can.” I was honest. “That is to say, what I can remember, and my memory of the recent past is not good. I can tell you every word that Darius the Great King said to me thirty years ago, but I’ve already forgotten most of what Thucydides said to me at the Odeon last winter.”

“You’re in luck. I wish I could forget him. But he won’t let me. He’s a wrestler, you know. And a bad one. The sort that clings and clings and then, secretly, bites. Athens is much too small for both of us. Sooner or later, one of us must go. Because—” Again, Pericles stopped himself. He has a tendency to self-pity, which takes the form of affecting never to understand opposition. At the last meeting of the assembly, his behavior was positively childish. Pericles was criticized for spending too much of the empire’s money on new buildings. Instead of saying that if he didn’t spend the money, half the population would be out of work, Pericles said, “Very well. I’ll use my own money to finish the buildings. Then all the buildings will be dedicated not to the city but to me.” Since a chorus of “No’s” had been carefully rehearsed in advance, he got his appropriation—and saved his own fortune.

Pericles takes these political matters entirely too personally. But then, this is a small city, and since the leading men know each other far too well, their attacks upon one another are always personal and calculated not only to wound but to fester.