The Wooden Walls of Thermopylae (11 page)

I watched Aristides while this was going on; it was clear he had little idea what was coming next and less about how to counter it.

“They were able to devastate our shores because we neglected to defend them. We neglected to replace our old ships and build new ones. We neglected to construct a fortified harbour to keep our triremes safe. Oh Gods, even saying this make me want to weep and scream.

“Think, friends. Think, Athenians, reflect on what would have happened if it had been the Persians instead of Aegina. Every man of you dead, every young woman raped and enslaved, boys gelded, the old cast out to die, the city burnt. Aiee, aiee the grief of what might happen, no, what will happen when the Persians do come.”

I saw that Aeschylus was making a mental note of this for future use. I’m sure that you, reader, have noted the similarity to a certain section of his great play, The Persians. Forgive me, I digress.

“For they will come, believe me, and we are unready. Xanthippus has seen them on Aegina, he knows their intentions. For years you have heard my demands to fortify the Piraeus and strengthen our fleet. Why has it not happened,
who is to blame? I demand to know: who is to blame? Who – Is – To – Blame?”

Several names were thrown back at him: Megacles, Hipparchus, Aristides, and Kallixenos and from the front, round the Alkmaionid faction, were shouts of Themistocles.

He raised his arms for silence.

“We must be more forensic in our search for the real evil doer, friends. Think back. Which man has opposed my proposals to make the city safe most vociferously, most consistently? Yes, yes, now you have it, I hear some of you calling his name and you are right.”

He was screaming now, the crowd were worked to a pitch of fury; he brought them to the orgasm.

“I name him. I denounce him. I denounce Hipparchus. I call upon the Areopagus for the test of Ostracism. I demand it, I demand it.”

While the crowd screamed assent, Hipparchus fought his way to the dais bellowing in fury like a goaded bull.

“You worthless lying bastard, I’ll pull the beard off your fucking low born face. Not even Athenian Xenos; fucking Xenos.”

Themistocles re-composed himself into the righteous upholder of public order.

“See friends, see how he scorns your wisdom, scorns your love of the city of the Goddess. Do I hear you insist that we petition the Areopagus to apply the test of Ostracism to Hipparchus son of Charmos?”

The roar of yes was deafening, Hipparchus was hauled away out of the crowd to safety by his friends so he probably missed Themistocles’s concluding remarks.

“I suggest, friends, that when the worthy fathers of the Areopagus convene above the cave on Lykabetos, you gather outside to help them make the correct decision for the safe future of the city.”

The night following the Areopagus, Aeschylus told me about a party where Lyra would be performing. He suggested that if I waited outside she might allow me to escort her home. As I walked her home through the dark streets we noticed that giant pithoi for the collection of the ostraka had been positioned in their places in the Agora.

We were away before the first streaks of rosy fingered dawn caressed the surface of the waters. My feelings were mixed; I’d come close to restoring amicability with Lyra but every time I found myself on the brink of something different we always parted. However my body, if not my mind, had healed and the companionship of the Athene Nike was equally seductive. We’d passed the promontory of Eleusis before Themistocles saw fit to confide our destination to us.

The ship had been prepared in secret at very short notice and as a consequence we were six crew members light. This was partly compensated for by Cimon who, to his delight, Themistocles insisted sail with us. If you believe in omens, and sailors do, then Cimon’s boarding of the Athene Nike as a member of its crew rather than a young boy passenger was auspicious. He leapt lightly down onto the deck, scarcely causing the temperamental vessel to vibrate. There was a spontaneous outbreak of cheering from the crew like that which greets a hero. From that first step he was in his element.

Cimon was to serve alongside of me as one of the ephibatai marines and, somehow, Themistocles had managed to procure for him Miltiades’s hoplite panoply. It wouldn’t
serve for long; he was already taller than his father had been. But for him to be able to stand with the other armoured men as Themistocles poured the pre-voyage libation was a coming of age. Lysias was absent.

As Eleusis faded behind us Themistocles beamed at Cimon and announced,

“We’re headed for Sparta.”

“I’ve always wondered if Sparta is as bad as everyone says it is.”

I gave Cimon a laconic answer that a Spartan would have been proud of and one with the merit of being accurate.

“It is.”

That’s all I managed to say: of all the places I never wanted to see again Sparta was top of the list. Therefore the shock of hearing our destination tossed out in such an offhand manner robbed me of my equanimity. Not Cimon though, to him it was a jolt of excitement. Themistocles was impervious to either reaction.

“Yes, of course I’d forgotten you were part of Miltiades’s foolish and doomed mission to Sparta before Marathon, Mandrocles.”

Cimon and I were kneeling on the deck either side of the trierarch’s chair occupied by Themistocles, in the stern. The only other man within hearing was Ariston the steersman and he was totally reliable, having presumably already worked out where we were headed. His only comment that morning was aimed at the new trierarch.

“It’s too late in the year to be making a voyage like this in a trireme, beggin your pardon, sir. Too close to the storm season.”

Themistocles without a shred of concern replied cheerfully,

“Beautiful calm autumn weather: the sun shines and the sea is flat as a fishpond. What could be better?”

“Maybe now, but the sea can change and change quickly.”

After that, apart from rapping out the occasional observation concerning rate of stroke or need for sails to Theodorus, he sat slumped and taciturn in his seat. Themistocles seemed quite at home on a trireme; he could turn his hand to most things but from this quiet beginning he transformed our city’s relationship with the sea.

Today, though, his mind was on other matters and he was expansive. In this way he resembled Miltiades: men who live a life of subterfuge and sublimation sometimes feel the need to unburden themselves. I think also that he was trying to pass on some of his thinking to Cimon, preparing him. Having brooded on it I asked him,

“Why are we going to Sparta?”

“Why not? No better time and we don’t want to repeat the mistakes of the last campaign.”

“Because they wouldn’t help, because they gave a better hearing to Metiochus than to us, because they never came to Marathon.”

“But they did.”

“Only after the battle was long over.”

“And how did what they saw affect them?”

“I don’t know, I wasn’t there, we were back in Athens, remember?”

“Well, think about it then. The great Spartan heroes arrive late at a battlefield. They arrive late because they had no intention of taking part in a battle that they believed it was impossible to win. When they arrive they discover that a rag tag citizen army of democrats has beaten the most powerful army the world has ever seen. How do you think that made them feel, Mandrocles?”

I didn’t know what to say and anyway Cimon answered for me.

“I think they would have felt ashamed and envious.”

“Well done, boy, but Spartans never do anything without full consideration. I think they understood then that the balance was shifting, not only in Greece but in the world. That their farmyard hegemony was open to a little more scrutiny than they’d previously expected. But I think they experienced another most un-Spartan emotion: admiration. They saw what we did and wondered how it could have happened and in that moment they wished it had been them. I think because of those reactions, our reception will be very different from the one they afforded your father.”

“But why go there now? After …”

I left the words hanging, not wanting to seem like I was questioning the judgement of such a great man. I needn’t have bothered; he was beyond embarrassment in circumstances like these. He picked up my words and ran with them like an athlete at the great Olympia.

“What better time to go, our Alkmaionid friends have plenty to keep them busy now with Hipparchus out of the city. Even I hadn’t anticipated the size of the pile of sherds cast against him. But there can often be a backlash, so where better for the leader of the patriots to be than defending the City of the Goddess on hostile territory? When I return with a pledge of friendship and a treaty to defend the Greek mainland against the Persians, then which true born Athenian will hesitate to cheer?”

Explained like that, it was all so simple, and he hadn’t even finished.

“Also, and you mark this well, Cimon, it’s sensible for people to get a break from you. It’s better to be missed than taken for granted which leads to resentment. That’s how they’ll be feeling about the Alkmaionids going on and on about the old days and poor old Hipparchus. Better still, by the time we return I’m sure I’ll have come up with substantive
grounds to begin proceedings for Ostracism against Megacles. Only fair: give poor old Hipparchus a bit of company.”

He must have seen the astonishment on our faces, seemed to make him enjoy himself even more.

“You have to be systematic like the Pythagoreans say, so I have all the things that I need to do on a list that I keep in my head. Right now the power has shifted towards the generals elected by tribe, but even so there are too many powerful men who don’t want any more change, want to turn back to the old ways. So I have them on a list.”

I didn’t know what to say and Cimon showed signs of anger; this wasn’t his world. Themistocles ploughed on.

“You’ll understand this, Mandrocles, it’s rather like the way you’d work your way through a list of the flute girls you wanted to fuck or boy acrobats if that’s what you prefer. Have one then scratch it off the list. Except my list goes: Hipparchus, Megacles, Xanthippus …”

This was too much. I interrupted him.

“But you have an agreement, he stood back and withdrew his support from Hipparchus, he helped you win, helped you ostracise his friend.”

“Nothing lasts forever, boy.”

Cimon asked him coldly,

“Is that why you have kept close links with the Great King?”

“Don’t forget about the next Great King, I’ve links with him too and closer ones.”

“Why?”

“Have you ever seen a burrowing animal dig out its new home, son of Miltiades?”

Cimon, nonplussed, nodded his head.

“Well then, you’ll have noticed that the first thing it does is excavate a series of alternative exits it can escape through
when a predator comes down the main tunnel. Just common sense.”

Cimon stared at him; I couldn’t tell if he was repelled or fascinated.

“Now let me get back to my list: Xanthippus, Aristides …”

This was Cimon’s breaking point.

“But you stood with Aristides in the centre at Marathon. Rallied the ranks, took blows for each other. It’s one of our city’s heroic stories, men still sing of it. How could …”

“This is the Polis, boy, these are the new ways and you need to understand them if you’re going to survive. I hope you listened carefully because believe me, this is the best lesson in politics you’ll ever get.”

The sun was waning; behind us Ariston barked an order and the Athene Nike headed towards the shore. There was no hiding and skulking in caves this trip; we ran the Athene Nike up onto a gently sloping beach of fine shingle. The crew sang as the keel scraped its way up to its sleeping place. This was so different from my last voyage to Sparta. That had been shrouded in secrecy and dread.

Fires were built and fish grilled to supplement our rations and while we waited to eat, wineskins were passed round. Themistocles was the most relaxed I’d ever seen sitting in the centre of a knot of gnarled and weather battered Thranitai. In this way he and Cimon were alike; they both felt most at home amongst the hard men who fought for them.

We finished the wine, licked the salty juices of the fish from our fingers and settled to sleep under the type of starfilled sky that seems almost within touching distance. I lay awake watching the chariots of the Gods streak white and fiery across the heavens, pleased to be free from the company of philosophers who would spout some nonsense about them really being broken off bits of stars.

Looking back over what I have just written, reader, it
came to me that it was on that beach that I began my recovery to a state of equilibrium. From where I sit now the same stars burn high above, unchanging. I wish I could say the same of myself.

The last outriders of the stars still shone faint in the heavens as we pushed off into light surf next morning. The going was fast and easy, the world relaxed and the Gods mellow. I was sitting with Cimon, looking over the stern at a pod of dolphins frisking and tumbling, when he initiated a strange conversation that showed me how our relationship had changed.

“Mandrocles, I know of your love for my sister but you must put that aside; it was doomed anyway, and listen, don’t judge, listen.”

He didn’t know everything about my love for his sister or whatever kind of love she felt for me, but that was for us only, so I said nothing, just listened.

“I’ve performed my first public act and I’m being judged harshly for it. I know the gossip that for Callias to desire her means that he must have had knowledge of her, to the shame of our family; my shame, in reality.”

I began to speak to attempt to reassure him but he waved me to silence.

“I know men say that I’ve played the bawd and pimped my sister to restore my fortunes. I know about the songs they sing. The stories that she seduced me before I was ten and that she’s been fucking me ever since.”

He paused, his eyes were red, and he was silently weeping, although out of anger or frustration I couldn’t tell, probably both. But I knew now to keep silent. He’d carried this inside for too long; now it had to be leeched.

“The slurs about our poor house being nothing more than a brothel for unnatural acts. Then the final lie that I tired of her because I wanted fresh meat and saw Callias as
a means of offloading my sister, to her eternal disgrace, and my profit.”

He had to stop and for a time we both pretended a keener interest in dolphins than was the case. Then he was ready to continue.

“For me this is bad enough, it’s why I’ve become the way I have. But for Elpinice …”

He left the words hanging; there was no need to say more. For her, it was ruin: she was no fit wife for other matrons to entertain. In Athens then there was no way back for a woman like that, if it hadn’t been for the marriage and wealth of Callias, there were those who’d have made a case for having her stoned.

I knew what Cimon wanted to say but couldn’t. So he moved on to the point he needed to make, the thing that apart from me and perhaps Elpinice – who knows what they said to each other? – he couldn’t tell anyone. Couldn’t tell anyone because great men don’t talk of such things; don’t show weakness. Hard, isn’t it, when you’re still only a boy?

“But I had to let her marry him. What else could I do? It was the only way to restore the family fortune, to restore my father’s name and reputation. But now I feel unclean, tainted. I let my sister sacrifice everything for my sake. Those rowers cheered me when I came on board but that was only because my father was their hero. Now they want it to be me. But the real hero in this fucking filthy business is …”

I knew the answer but I also knew he needed coaxing if he were to purge himself fully.

“Is?”

“Is Elpinice, my sister, your love, the one whose willing sacrifice has restored the fortunes of the Philiads.”

We went back to the dolphins and watched in silence until they were just a faint glint on the horizon.

The weather stayed fine as we cruised across the bay of
Argos then followed the rocky spur of the Peloponnese south towards its tip at Hell’s Mouth. Sailing these waters you need a sound boat and a skilled crew. Get carried too close to the shore and you splinter on the rocks. The half-humans living along this shore are descended from long forgotten forest dwellers whose ancestors mated with Lapiths and centaurs. A different blood flows sluggish in their veins.

There’s no mercy shown to any poor sailor who survives a wreck and struggles to shore in these semi deserted badlands. So we chose our nightfalls carefully. Even so, on the night after we rounded Hell’s Mouth and pulled into the bay of Laconia we knew we were watched. We could hear them in the scrub woodland above us. Hear distant chanting and whistles. That night we banked up the fires and doubled the watch.

That same night, after Cimon had settled into his bed roll, Themistocles sought me out and sat with me by the fire, staring into the embers.

“So he got it all out at last, did he?”

I stared at him, surprised.

“Cimon, he unburdened himself?”