The Wooden Walls of Thermopylae (10 page)

“But we do have enough ships. Well almost: enough at least to hold on long enough for a stalemate.”

He gestured towards Aeschylus.

“My scribbler, as you call him, has just returned from a trip to Corinth and brought twenty triremes with him.”

Xanthippus looked incredulous but it was Aeschylus who spoke.

“I was surprised at the extent of their gratitude towards us over Marathon. They know that after us, but before Sparta, they were on the Great King’s list. I saw their defended harbour amongst the lagoons at Lechaion too. Effective but not as strong as the Piraeus could be.”

Xanthippus snarled to Themistocles,

“So the scribbler is your agent, your intelligencer?”

“Of course, but you can share the credit for him if you like.”

“And why would you offer me that?”

“Because I need you, Xanthippus, Athens needs you if you prefer. It won’t last but for now the great families can prevent anything they don’t like in this city. It will change but maybe not before we are overwhelmed by the Persians. How will your clever little son, Pericles isn’t it, manage to establish a reputation then? When the Persians impose a tyranny over the defeated, smoking ruin of Athens.”

Xanthippus didn’t reply but it was obvious he was thinking hard over a decision that would change his life. Themistocles sensed this, and he began to push harder.

“And it won’t be you, Xanthippus. You’re too far from the centre of the clan: scarcely an Athenian in the eyes of some of them. For you and your family to rise you need the Demos and the opportunity to command in war. Let them marginalise me and there’s no chance of you having either. Imagine that: a life spent licking the arses of men like Megacles and Kallixenos.”

“So what are you proposing?”

But Themistocles was playing a subtle game. He asked Phrasicles for a second crater of wine. Phrasicles clapped his hands and as we waited for it Xanthippus fretted then asked.

“You expect to hatch a plot in company just like that?”

“Of course in the presence of honourable men: I fully trust those who follow me, Cimon trusts his cousin, Ajax. I’m sure you wouldn’t have asked Timocrates, son of Timoxenus, or Chrysis, son of Eumachus, to attend today if you didn’t fully trust them.”

Xanthippus glanced at his friends, who sensibly kept their heads down staring into their wine cups.

“You’re taking a great risk, Themistocles.”

There was no answer. As the wine arrived Themistocles asked Phrasicles,

“Mix it two to one; suits this old Chian best.”

The wine was served and drunk in silence. Themistocles, judging the opportune moment, put his cup down arranged the folds of his mantle and said,

“Yes, but any risk for the safety of our city is worth taking. But I’m not taking much of a risk with you, son of Ariphron: you’re a patriot and despite our differences you know I’m right. I’m proposing we work together to prepare our city for war. I’m proposing you command the fleet, including my twenty Corinthian triremes, against Aegina. I’m proposing that together we push the city fathers to finish the fortified harbour at rocky Piraeus. But most of all I’m proposing we build a fleet of three hundred warships.”

He gave a soft chuckle and paused before saying almost under his breath,

“But the Gods only know where the money will come from.”

Xanthippus stared at him, saying nothing. Themistocles waved his arm indicating the cups should be refilled. I was sweating under my robes; the tension was ratcheting up and the anchor rope taut to the point of snapping. I noticed however that Cimon was quite calm, staring at Themistocles with a look of admiration; learning from the master.

Themistocles looked steadily at Xanthippus across the rim of his cup as he drank then said,

“The city needs you. I can’t do this alone.”

“And you approach me, the man you called the traitor of Aegina.”

“Who better to partner the friend of the Great King?”

It was the timing rather than the chilling implications of this that broke the tension. Made us laugh: Xanthippus the hardest.

“My cousins are right about you. You’re more than a showground huckster, you are truly dangerous.”

“Yes, I am; and remember no one has greater cause to
know that than the dead Persians lying in their mass grave at Marathon.”

“Yes, no one can doubt the part you played in that.”

“Nor you.”

“No, nor me.”

“So?”

Xanthippus was like a man wobbling on the edge of a precipice; which way would he fall?

“All you propose, Themistocles, is that we work together until we achieve those ends that we both know are necessary?”

“Precisely.”

He opened his arms and the two men embraced. Not as warmly as I’d seen them embrace on the bloody ground of Marathon at the battle’s end, but then the emotion was different. But a pact had been formed. As Phrasicles called for more wine Themistocles smiled and said,

“There might be one little difficulty for you to face though.”

Xanthippus, anticipating a joke, asked, ready to laugh at the punch line,

“And what may that be?”

“It will be necessary for some of your Alkmaionid cousins to leave town for a while.”

Themistocles wasn’t joking.

The sea war with Aegina was a scratchy affair: bits and pieces of raids all along our coastline. I played no part, there’s no room for injured men on a trireme. Cimon had more of an impact: not through any action but from something he said to Themistocles following the meeting of the board of Strategos convened to confer command of the fleet. I don’t know what was said in the meeting but we were there in the Agora when the decision was announced: Xanthippus would command the fleet. So the accord struck up in the andron of Phrasicles’s house was working.

After the public meeting Themistocles, in great high spirits, mingled with his supporters, me and Cimon included. We repaired to one of the better wine shops in the Ceramicus, something Themistocles did occasionally to demonstrate his connections with the Demos and the ordinary citizen. The talk was of triremes and strategy, a topic best left to experienced seamen, but Cimon – usually content to listen and assimilate – pitched in.

“My father told me on our escape from the Great King that the only thing preventing fighting ships, like the Athene Nike, from becoming invincible is the lack of room for fighting men on deck.”

No one particularly wanted the opinion of a boy but he
commanded respect even back then. So the company heard him out politely then moved on. But it was later apparent that he’d struck a chord in Themistocles, who asked afterwards as we were making our way home,

“So, son of the mighty Miltiades, what exactly did your father have in mind to strengthen the Athene Nike?”

“He said he’d find an experienced shipwright and ask him to examine the possibility of extending the deck between the outriggers so we could double the number of ephibatai. He was sick of being outnumbered by the hoplites on the Persian ships and wanted to be able to carry more himself.”

Themistocles didn’t bother to reply but I could see he was storing the suggestion up for future consideration. At the public meeting he’d hinted that he had a few surprises in store for Aegina in the war. When we arrived at his house I, at least, understood what they were.

I recognised him as soon as he was shown in. The Aeginian democrat: the bastard who’d knocked me about and broken my ribs. He recognised me too, gave me a mocking smile as Themistocles led him off for a private consultation. I promised myself that if I ever saw him again my dagger would give him an extra rib.

Whatever plan he was hatching didn’t work though. When the democrats on Aegina rose up they were beaten, hunted down and killed, their bodies left to rot in the public places of the city. We’d failed to do our part: the Corinthian ships were too late to allow our navy to support the insurrection so my dagger never got its opportunity.

That fiasco more or less summed up the war. They burned Phaleron, burned the boat station at Sounion and raided wherever they wanted. Even with the Corinthians we were outnumbered and couldn’t be everywhere at once. When the revolt of the democrats was exterminated we lost our
only chance to hit back at them. Without friends on the inside, they were too well defended for our fleet to attack.

It was chance though that levelled things up: a squadron of our ships caught an equal number of theirs returning from raiding our coast and wiped them out. After that they hadn’t the strength to raid in force and defend their home waters so the war guttered out and died like an oil lamp before cock crow.

But it gave Themistocles the ammunition he needed to begin his own democratic revolution at home. Before that, though, my own domestic circumstances changed. Cimon and I were asked to visit the house of Agesilaus: Themistocles’s brother. You never noticed him when his more famous brother was around, he preferred the shadows, and there was something of the night about him. Ask any man in a wine shop to describe him and no two will give you the same description. I think that’s the quality that made him so essential to his brother. Who could suspect a man who wasn’t there?

Agesilaus greeted us in his usual unobtrusive manner and escorted us to a small receiving chamber where seated on a couch was a small, stocky, saturnine but richly dressed individual. A sickness clutched at my heart as I knew who he was before Cimon greeted him by name. Callias. This was the man who would enjoy the perfumed nights with Elpinice. I wanted to be sick, but as heartache was a constant companion those days I managed to control myself.

I can’t remember much else. Only that the marriage was fixed and the first instalment of the reverse bride dowry paid in the shape of a house. In fact, a house not far from the old family home below the Acropolis; nothing changes, the fates just rearrange the furniture. I’ve tried to set down the truth in this journal, reader, so I suppose I’d better be fair to
Callias. There has been a great deal of slander aimed at him in order to discredit Cimon and Elpinice. So you may as well hear the real character of the man from someone who has no reason to flatter him, a man who still hates him. Me.

Callias was rich but he was not the same Callias who robbed the bodies of murdered captives after Marathon, because he wasn’t there. That man, Callias the Golden, was a snake. Cimon’s brother in law stuck to his bargain: he supported Cimon with funds and was kind to his sister. He afforded her more freedom than any other Athenian wife, save for Aspasia, the beloved of the onion head Pericles, enjoys. I suppose that at least is something I grew to be grateful for.

So we moved into our new house where my role was a mixture of steward, mentor and friend. Although they’d not known him for long, many of the old retainers of Stesagoras household drifted back to serve Cimon. Theodorus joined us to fulfil a variety of roles including bodyguard. He towed in his wake some of the Thranitai from the Athene Nike. In this way the household became a comfortable extension of the ship. Cimon was prepared to take advice on most matters but was adamant in his refusal to re-employ his tutor Aristagorus.

Some days after we moved in I was about to set out on an expedition that had long been building in my mind. I would visit Lyra and see if she’d forgive me. I put on my best tunic and dressed my hair in the fashion that I’d seen the young ephebes who surrounded Cimon affect, and was about to set out when Ariston arrived short of breath at our door. It was obvious he had some serious purpose, but despite that couldn’t resist a crude joke.

“Got a new job as male pornoi in a brothel have you, Mandrocles? Because if you have you’ll have to postpone it, we’re needed: the fun’s about to start.”

He barged past me shouting for Theodorus and the others but was brought up short by Cimon.

“Why all the noise, Ariston?”

“Beg pardon, Master Cimon, but Strategos Themistocles needs all decent democrats in the Agora, particularly them as can fight.”

So I never got to see Lyra. I wager you think you know what happened in the Agora that day, reader: well, stick with this and then see if you’re so sure. We got there early but the crowd was already sizeable and nasty. There was a large group of men with some wailing women which was unusual. I bet you’ve not read that anywhere. They were from the coast where the raids had been. The survivors whose homes had been burnt whose kin had been killed, raped or carried off into slavery. Themistocles must have been working through the last two sundials to get them all here. They made for a great but noisy spectacle and because of their suffering and the sympathy of the crowd the Archon’s officers made no attempt to move them.

This taught me just how much the power of the Archonate had decreased since Themistocles held it before Marathon. Whatever transpired here today would still have to be passed to the court of the Areopagus but it was clear that the line of power was sharply bending. Most of the early crowd were democrats who made way for Cimon so we passed through the stinking masses to the front, where we were embraced by a great knot of rowers gathered around Agesilaus. He seemed to be enjoying himself: the rowers were. They’d been well provisioned and it was clear the wineskins had been passed round several times.

Aeschylus shouldered his way through to us and was greeted with a cheer; he was becoming known as a poet and better known as an active agent of the Demos.

“There ought to be some good material to put into the mouths of Gods and heroes from today’s performance, try and remember all you can.”

He accepted the proffered wine skin and drank deep. You didn’t need eyes to know the crowd was growing, you could hear it and feel the pressure as more and more tried to squeeze into the orchestra. Then the jeering began. It started at the periphery and moved inwards, growing in volume. Catcalls and insults so loud and numerous that any meaning was lost, smoothed out to a single wave of imprecation. Some of this stemmed from anger but most from frustration as the democrats understood where the real power still lay – and it wasn’t with us. There was no representation from the rowing benches in the Areopagus.

The jeering grew in intensity as did the jostling; it was difficult to keep one’s feet as their minders pushed a way through to the dais for Megacles and his supporters. I noticed with interest that Xanthippus didn’t make his entry with them. Then the named Archon – sorry, reader, I can’t remember his name, but at least that’s an indication of the way the office had declined – tried to open the debate. No one paid any attention and it was left to Themistocles to move forward to assist him.

“Friends, friends, we are all fellow Athenians and all must be heard. It is our way. Please hear your Archon speak.”

This was greeted with cheering followed, gradually, by silence. The Archon nervously scuttled forwards and quickly called Aristides son of Lysimachus to speak first. This was unexpected as we were here to listen to Themistocles delivering a denunciation against Megacles’s faction.

My first impression of Aristides as a public speaker was surprise: he had a thin and reedy speaking voice and was too concerned with a type of pedantic exactitude to get straight to the point and so tended to lose his audience. In every
other respect he was a clever choice: everyone remembered his courage holding the centre together side by side with Themistocles at Marathon.

“Athenians, I fail to understand the need for this meeting: let me enumerate our successes. We have prevailed at sea against Aegina. Since Marathon we are safe from Persia, where I am informed there are grave internal matters occupying the Great King. We must now restore the old principle of Eunomia and put aside foolish talk of harbours and fleets. Do we wish to draw the world’s eyes towards us? Do we wish to arouse envy amongst both the Hellenes and the Barbarians? Do we wish to stir up a wasp’s nest of discord in our city and overturn the rule of natural law handed to us by the city fathers? Do we –”

Themistocles cut him off.

“The Persians are on Aegina; soon they will be here, Aristides. It pains me to break your flow. You are a dear comrade, at Marathon we stood together, guarded each other’s backs, and took each other’s wounds. But you have been misled.”

This was better. We ceased being restless; the chorus had left the stage and the satyrs were on. Aristides looked perplexed. Whatever he’d expected to be accused of, it certainly wasn’t having been misled. The pause this prompted in his peroration was fatal to his argument; Themistocles ploughed on.

“Let me pose some different questions. What would have happened if we’d had the fleet I proposed? Why are the Persians on Aegina? Why is it so easy to ravage our coastline? The very mention of this and the grief of friends, who have lost home and family, move me to tears; forgive me, countrymen.”

He paused at this point and made a great show of tears: being able to cry at will like he could is a hard won skill; ask any player. While Aristides tried to reply the crowd
broke out in groans and weeping. I wasn’t sure the weeping of the sailors was genuine but there again there are none more superstitious or emotional than they are. The communal wailing continued at great volume until Themistocles, having recovered his equanimity as quickly as he lost it to grief, bellowed.

“Athenians, which set of questions do you want the answers to?”

There was a clamour of people shouting, “Yours, yours, Themistocles.” He listened, stretching it out, judging his time, then spoke earnestly like a father proffering the advice that will save his son.

“Very well, but you will have to forgive me if I seem to stumble. Remember, I am a simple man unaccustomed to public oratory unlike my friend Aristides or his friends Megacles and Hipparchus, who I see skulking in their seats, simpering.”

In fact they were neither skulking nor simpering, they were on their feet screaming abuse at Themistocles. I realised then they’d been played: this wasn’t the assembly they’d expected or agreed to. But it was too late and their screams of protest were drowned out until Themistocles continued.

“Perhaps they don’t relish the plain speech of a simple man or the assembly of free Athenians. But they’d better listen to this because our future freedom depends on these answers. Well, do you want to hear them, free Athenians?”

There was a roar of yes so coordinated that it seemed to emanate from one gigantic throat.

“Well spoken, citizens. First I’ll tell you this: if we’d have had the fleet I’ve been pushing for, then the poor homeless Athenians here today would still be safe in their farms with their loved ones. They’d be there because that fleet would have stormed into the harbour on Aegina when the Demos on that island rose up. Then we’d have had peace and the
Aeginian fleet lined up with ours against the Great King. Instead, the forces of repression on that island were able to suppress the Demos and butcher their leaders, our friends.”

He struck a pose, hands on hips, and pushed his pugnacious chin out far as it would go. Pure Satyr play; and then shouted,

“Who do we blame?”

The name shouted out loudest was Xanthippus.

“Wrong, friends. When he returned from Aegina I thought that too. However secret information has reached me that he was working with the democrats. Xanthippus is an Athenian patriot. Think again while I answer the next question.”