The Wooden Walls of Thermopylae (4 page)

“You have to stay with me, Mandrocles; you’re attached to the expedition leader.”

He nodded his head towards the harbour mouth where I saw the lights of another trireme gliding towards us. I didn’t have to ask who was commanding it: the crew had accepted and so would I. If I’d any idea what Xanthippus had in store for me I’d have argued right enough. But that’s life, isn’t it? Just like Aeschylus says, a joke to amuse the Gods.

Yet when I look back at those terrible days following the trial and death of Miltiades it all returns with a terrible blinding clarity. But for all that if I could go back to those days I’d swap years of my comfortable old age for just hours of my youth, hard as it was. Those of us who built this city were both blessed and cursed. Stick with me, reader, and you’ll see what I mean, it’s well worth your effort.

Oh, just one other thing I must set down before the lamp flickers and dies and I turn to my bed to take whatever broken sleep is granted me.

A couple of hours later I followed Xanthippus with the other trierarchs and an escort to a house in the city where we were to eat. Even though Xanthippus hadn’t offered me one word of explanation I had a pretty good idea what we were up to. We were going to take soundings from the Persian agents in Aegina.

We were briefly searched at the door then shown into a room where a group of men were waiting, gathered round tables. I’d never been to Aegina, didn’t know anyone there and was wondering why I was included. Turned out I was wrong: Leading the Persian delegation in the room there was one face I had good cause to recognise and at the same instant I saw that he recognised me: Metiochus.

He’d changed. Looked leaner, harder and there were scars from recent wounds on his arms and face. He looked less of the sybarite; Marathon hadn’t been kind to him. I knew I’d changed too, but only outwardly I think. Inside the wider shoulders and layers of muscle of my early twenties I was still the same boy I’d been on Samos: more experienced, that’s all. It wasn’t the same with him, his exterior was only a toughened up version of the man I’d known: but the eyes. The eyes were something different, the man inside was changed. When I last saw him in Sparta I tried to kill him; now from the first glimpse I feared him.

Something else too, something that Xanthippus must have realised set his plans back to nothing. I wasn’t a boy anymore and from the stare that Metiochus directed towards me it was obvious he’d no lust for a twenty year old warrior. Any sympathy I might have cultivated for his altered state was counteracted by the venom in his eyes.

The way it turned out, none of that mattered; Metiochus and his contingent got up and left as we entered. Their message couldn’t have been plainer and Xanthippus got it loud and clear.

Today Xanthippus is best known as the father of Pericles
but back then he was one of the men that determined the fate of Greece. A good commander and not one to be taken lightly as was evident by his cruelty in the campaign following Mycale. He was slow to forget and slower to forgive. But he was subtle enough to know when to forgo his principles or change direction. Hence his strange mis-alliance with Themistocles which would be renewed several times before it finally fractured. The two of them shared some of the same qualities, something best illustrated by that ridiculous story about the dog that he went to such pains to propagate and which I’ll come to later.

We didn’t stay long either and whoever set the evening up had made a piss poor job of it. There was some polite conversation with the local great men present then Xanthippus in foul humour stood up and walked out, walked all the way back to the harbour in a towering rage. All I could make out was that it had been a gathering of Persian agents and locals who favoured them and that we had been invited only to be snubbed; what game were we playing? I wished Aeschylus were there to explain the significance of the events. But there again it wasn’t long before I was to find out.

Things weren’t any better back by the ships: the crews hadn’t followed instructions to cooperate if the cuts, bruises and sour looks were anything to go by. Xanthippus dismissed me sneering,

“Lot of use you were, Mandrocles the beautiful.”

Then he stalked off to his own ship. The harmony and euphoria following Marathon hadn’t lasted long! I asked after Ariston and Theodorus and was directed to a tavern: from the look of them they hadn’t obeyed orders either. I noted that the only seamen drinking with us were from the two triremes crewed by men whose trierarchs and owners were democrats. We disobeyed another order and got drunk.
The last thing I can remember was singing the old Marathon favourite “The arse and ass of Kallixenos”.

The next day we were confined to the ships, all of us, as a punishment. So five crews of divided hungover Athenians spent the day being growled at by officers whose mood was even worse than theirs. It was clear, even on the quay, that the Athenian navy wasn’t popular. The boats were spat at and we were mocked which hardly improved matters. That night Xanthippus led out another group; I wasn’t included. The rumour was they were meeting democrats to offer Athenian help in a democratic coup.

The evening couldn’t have gone any better than the first one because although they got back late we could hear the cursing. Sitting alone by a small fire I watched as Lysias picked his way towards our ragged collection of shelters grouped round the Athene Nike. He looked unhappy, which was to be expected, but I got the impression that he wanted to talk, which wasn’t. If he needed someone to talk politics with he was out of luck on our boat. He couldn’t share anything with the crew and even had he wanted to they weren’t of the social standing to discuss matters of state.

So if he was minded to talk there was only me. Not that I was sure of my social standing; Miltiades afforded me the respect due to the son of his old shield companion and often in moments of uncertainty unburdened himself to me. He knew he could trust me, and more to the point, I was of no account and would never be a threat. But the great Miltiades had most likely succumbed to the agonies of gangrene in that filthy lock up by now. So again I was a nobody.

But maybe Lysias took his lead in this, as he had in so much else, from the dead hero: he came and joined me by the flickering flames. Even so I needed to prompt him.

“Why we are here, trierarch? Aegina is Athens’s enemy; they burnt the harbour at Phaleron during the great revolt,
they offered earth and water to the Great King and aren’t we meant to be still at war with them?”

“Don’t you think that I don’t ask myself the same questions every day, Mandrocles? Every day the answer slips further away.”

He poked the fire with a piece of driftwood. I knew better than to speak, I was no longer the raw boy who first boarded the Athene Nike on Samos. So I waited watching the flames till he was ready.

“I don’t know why we’re here; I don’t even know what we’re after. I don’t think Xanthippus knows much more. I wish General Miltiades was with us but maybe he couldn’t have made any sense of it either.”

The speech surprised me; it showed how uncertain and alone Lysias was. He’d been trierarch, but on Miltiades’s flagship, under Miltiades’s watchful eye now he depended on his own judgement. Command is lonely, that’s why I’ve never wanted it. For me it’s always been enough to watch a great man’s back and faithfully carry out orders. I think Lysias felt the same; he was a brave man and a good fighter but no leader. Hence his next faltering words.

“There’s nothing we have to offer here and with what authority do we speak?”

He didn’t expect an answer.

“It’s as if we’ve set out to fail. The democrats here don’t trust us, they’re no better than pirates who prey on our shipping. They don’t want accord with us and why should they? The rest have thrown themselves into the hands of the Great King. They backed the wrong side at Marathon so they need the Persians back. That’s why there’s so many of them here with Metiochus.”

He scratched at a knife scar across his lip that he’d picked up fighting on the right flank at Marathon.

“Are we here to sell our city? After all we went through
are we here to become Medisers and betray our city to the Persians? Is this all part of some great man’s bid for power? Perhaps Hippias wasn’t the only one who wanted to rule the city of the Goddess as tyrant in the name of the Great King.”

I didn’t say anything, just watched as he stared into the fire struggling to control some inner emotion.

Finally he said softly,

“I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Metiochus and his Persian friends. But after how we stood together at Marathon, who would, who could betray?”

He stumbled to a halt and went back to watching the flames. He made as if to speak a couple of times but must have thought better of it. Then he scrambled to his feet and walked off towards the sea, leaving one word hanging on the night air:

“Themistocles.”

The invitation from Metiochus when it finally arrived was surprising in many ways, not the least the request that I attend. According to Lysias it made no reference to the first night when Metiochus and the Persians walked out as we entered. Rather it was couched in honeyed words inviting named Athenians to a meeting, not in the house of some local man of status but in the temple complex of Aphaia, the island’s jewel and site of Godhead. The implications of this were clear: if Metiochus could play the host under the same roof as Aphaia then the sentiments of the island were with him.

Now the rumours of traitors and the ambition and treachery of politicians were the talk of the camp. Xanthippus was the only great man amongst us; Themistocles was safe back in Athens. Here Xanthippus was the leader of our clandestine and ambiguous mission and however it turned out he was unlikely to come out of it looking good. From his surly manner it was apparent this had occurred to him. He’d been
manipulated: if this went wrong he’d be the fall guy. And I was his immediate target.

“You’re coming with me tonight and this time you’d better make yourself useful, not just stand there simpering like a Theban goat fucker.”

Then something strange occurred. I was looking straight at him in the way my father had taught me. It was hard not to stare; the dome of his forehead drew your eyes. In that respect he was similar to Pericles, his son, but less touchy. Perhaps that’s why he never got called onion head like his son does; or maybe it was because the comic poets back then hadn’t yet realised what rich material there was to make fun of in politicians. As I stared I saw his expression change, soften would be too much to expect from a man like him. He said,

“Forgive me, Mandrocles, I should not have spoken to you like that, we fought together at Marathon and we’re on the same side now.”

Not all his asperity vanished for he followed up with:

“And I don’t suppose you like Themistocles’s little plan any more than I do. He’ll no doubt be laughing himself sick in his hovel by the Hangman’s Gate at what he’s sent us to do.”

With that he turned and set off on the long walk up to the temple complex of Aphaia. It was near dark when we arrived but I was glad there was enough light to study the temple. I’ve always liked these houses of the Gods, they speak to something above and beyond and yet we can touch them, feel the cool stone. The temple of Aphaia is the pride of Aegina, but like most temples it was being renovated to bring it into line with modern tastes. But you could still see the simple beauty of the pure clean lines the ancient builders had conjured into the stone.

But the temple itself wasn’t our destination: I realised that when I saw I was alone and the others had disappeared into
an adjoining warren of buildings booths and stalls. These were strangely deserted, devoid of drink, food, charms and temple prostitutes. Out of breath at running after them I found myself in the gloomy anteroom of a solid stone house. Xanthippus was entering the reception room and I followed him into one of the most dangerous nights of my life.

To be fair to Metiochus he didn’t keep us wondering; from the start he shot his dice straight. He was sitting at the far end of the room on a raised chair with arms carved in the shape of sea serpents. Arranged on benches and stools either side of him were a collection of men, most of whom looked to be local worthies. One of them looked familiar. There were none of the customary trappings of hospitality visible. No drinks, dishes of nuts and fruit, no ewers of water to wash our hands and feet, no slaves to perform the service.

There were five of us: Xanthippus, two of his trierarchs, a man who seemed to perform the duties of a secretary but looked a killer, and me. Only three men had accompanied us as an escort. We’d been asked to travel as a small party for the purposes of secrecy. These three guards had been detained outside. My four companions had begun to mutter words of surprise and alarm. I heard the assassin secretary hiss to Xanthippus.

“We’re tricked, look who’s here; all of them.”

I didn’t know what he meant but the anxiety behind the message was crystal clear. I didn’t have long to wait for clarification because after a deliberately prolonged period of silence intended to extend our discomfort, Metiochus said,

“You’ve guessed correctly, there’ll be no wine, sweetmeats or fine words wasted on you.”

Xanthippus made as if to protest but controlled himself; better to see how the land lay first. Metiochus favoured him with a chilly smile and continued.

“Neither will introductions be necessary because, of course, you’ve met before, haven’t you?”

Looking round I realised there was nowhere for us to sit. We would have to stand like men do before their masters. The light was fading in the room, lit only by some small lights placed on small tables arranged round the seats of our hosts.

“Not that you would have expected to see us all together. Not when you sought separate and secret meetings to which you brought different though equally dishonest propositions.”

Metiochus smiled again as he offered up this last sentence containing as it did every possible offence to the customs of hospitality. What the others realised as soon as they entered the room I now grasped. “All of them” had been a literal statement. They were all here: the oligarchs, democrats and Persians, all together all in on the plan. We’d been played; there had never been the possibility of a deal with one of the factions it was a set up. I was trying to think how Themistocles could have been so misled but Metiochus hadn’t finished.

“But despite contempt for your pathetic low bred attempt at duplicity, my friends and I will maintain our respect for the traditional values of the host. Values which you so thoroughly traduced. We will favour you with an explanation.”

There are times in life when you are so thoroughly mastered that there’s no response. This was now the case with Xanthippus. Metiochus, sensing it, enjoyed the moment before delivering his explanation which was little more than the leeching out of his poisonous nature.

“Athenians. How you love treachery. You betray the trust of the Great King in your support for the Ionians. Then you betray the Ionians, next you betray your rightful leaders, then you betray the man who led you at the skirmish at Marathon: my father. Even he, Athenian to the core,
betrayed his wife and King. Now you. You are here to lie and deceive your hosts on this island, both oligarchs and democrats. Even they prefer to unite than listen to you.”

Xanthippus, shaking with rage, had had enough; he turned to leave.

“Stay where you are if you wish to leave alive.”

I don’t think it was fear that made Xanthippus hesitate, I think it was common sense. Like all guests we’d left our weapons outside in the anteroom.