The Wooden Walls of Thermopylae (7 page)

He turned to shout at the barkeep but he was already on his way. This is when my day got even worse. On his way with the new cup he stopped off at my corner to collect the empty jug. The seamen watching became aware of my presence and their spokesman said in a friendly tone,

“Let’s ask our mate over there if he agrees with us. Hey mate what’d you …”

He never got any further: I heard Eubulus say,

“Hang on mates: you know who that is, don’t you?”

The game was up, I’d cast the last die and landed the dead man’s throw. The room went silent: I saw the greasy innkeeper slink out of his filthy booth. The orator was the first to reach me; I sat cowering, which it seemed was now my only role in life’s tragedy.

“Well, well, look who we’ve got here mates; the bum boy Xanthippus took along as bait. Looks like life’s not turning out too well for you, Mandrocles the fucked up.”

He laughed so hard at this he almost choked. Now they were all crowding round hemming me into the dirty corner. I hadn’t the room to stand up even if I’d wanted to. In my state I couldn’t resist. Scared as I was, a part of me was saying, “Why not let them: get it over quickly, then at least the peace of oblivion.” Wasn’t only me thinking that; someone said,

“No need to wait for Theodorus, let’s start with him. Won’t take us long, then dump his body in the great sewer.”

I didn’t even bother to object, I was finished whatever happened so just prayed they’d be quick.

“Don’t let the wine run off with your wits, mates.”

The speaker was Eubulus. Why was I always running into him? It took him some time to divert their attention from killing me but he got there eventually, otherwise this
tale would have ended in the filthy squalor of that bar. The world wouldn’t have been changed much but you’d have been deprived of my story, reader, and without it you’d have never heard the truth about what really happened back then. The true story of how the Athens you’re so proud of came to be built.

“I don’t think we’ll get much thanks for killing him before our masters have a chance to question him. A chance to find out what went on with Themistocles before we landed.”

Even I could see the sense in this once he’d spelt it out, and so could they. It was a tight run thing though. Pulling drunken men back from the verge of killing is no easy task and I’ve seen it fail too many times. They pushed a none-too-clean hood down over my head and marched me out of the bar. I don’t know how long we walked; it felt like hours and with every step the pain in my ribs got worse. They didn’t handle me gently.

Eventually, after an eternity of stumbling, I felt a better constructed path under my feet as we struck upwards on a steep gradient. If you’ve ever had your ribs cracked badly enough you’ll know what it’s like having to walk up a steep path at an uncomfortably quick pace, even without a greasy hood pulled down over your face. Then we stopped.

I heard someone hammering at a door, and from somewhere inside a voice demanded to know who we were. I heard it swing back on creaking hinges and we moved forwards. I lost track of time then, we were left to wait, in a courtyard I think from the smell of blossom. The sailors weren’t so confident now; the walk had sweated some of the drink out of them. I think they were beginning to wonder if what had seemed a good idea in the tavern had really been such a smart move.

Then everything changed. I could tell that they were in
the presence of someone they feared. As soon as he spoke I knew where we were.

“Let the eagle see the rabbit.”

There was no response to this.

“Take his hood off, idiots.”

It was twilight but it still took some time for my eyes to focus in the light – but when they did I found myself staring into the face of Xanthippus. He offered me a sad and strangely sympathetic smile.

“I’m sorry you’ve been handled this way, Mandrocles, seems to happen every time I see you. Accept the apologies of my house.”

He turned to the sailors.

“This man fought at Marathon, he won his current hurts under my orders. Whatever Themistocles brought down on us was none of his doing. Consider yourselves fortunate you didn’t serve him worse.”

A retainer tossed a purse of coin to Eubulus and they shambled out, touching their foreheads in deference, leaving me alone with Xanthippus. He put out an arm to help me and thus linked we walked slowly into a room where I presume he received his clients. A slave helped me onto a finely carved chair with arms inlaid in ivory while another handed me a wine cup. I recognised the cup’s provenance: Wild Goat style; delicate, ancient and rare. My father had some which had been handed down by his grandfather. I turned it in my hands, examining it carefully; it was a fellow refugee. Xanthippus noticed and laughed.

“What, Mandrocles, did you not consider I might be a man of taste who could appreciate things fashioned far from Attica?”

Strange how something so trivial can transform mood; a simple exchange about a cup altered my perception of Xanthippus
and, I think his of me. No, I can’t explain it any further, reader, but you know what I mean: something similar must have happened to you.

I sipped the wine; the mix was delicate and honeyed. For a moment we sat in silence: me sipping wine and trying to regain a measure of what old Pythagoras used to call equilibrium; as for Xanthippus? Well, I think he was considering what the basis of his relationship with me was to be.

He was a crueller, harsher man than his modernising son, the onion headed Pericles, but easier to understand and predict. We spent our lives alternating between being on opposing and then the same side but in spite of that I found it easy to get close to him in a way I never could with his, admittedly greater, son. Silence is, however, only temporary.

“I’m sorry for the way you were brought here, Mandrocles, but not sorry that you are here. I have a use for you.”

He must have seen the look in my eyes.

“No, I give you my word; this time you’ll come to no harm.”

I must have looked unconvinced.

“Neither will I make you perform a task injurious to those you currently serve.”

He clapped his hands and two slaves entered the room, one carrying another less fine cup.

“But now we will have your hurts dressed before showing you your bed; drink from that cup, it will help you sleep.”

They led me off; I was in a daze but knew I needed sleep. As we left the room he added,

“Tomorrow I’ll tell you about the task: I think it’s one you will like.”

Minutes later I was still trying to make sense of that as I fell into a pleasantly drug induced sleep.

I don’t know what they’d put in the drink but it worked:
when I woke next day, the morning was half gone. It worked another way too. My body still ached, I felt bereft and lost but I realised I didn’t want to die. I got up and wandered out of the small sleeping cell to try to get some bearings: I didn’t want to blunder into the women’s quarters and be expelled with a beating. I got no further than a few paces when a slave, obviously instructed to watch for me, escorted me to the andron.

The house of Xanthippus was elegant, light and airy, very different from most. The statues were few but exquisite; the man had an unexpected discernment and love for the modern ideas of beauty. It was clear where Pericles, with his fondness for sculptors and artists, inherited his tastes. Curiously there was no sign of the faithful hound that Xanthippus presented as a legend in the later wars. Why do I make so much of this, reader?

Because in those early days of the great changes consequent upon the rise of the Demos, leaders of men had to change ahead of the times. They had to begin to consider the opinions of those whom they previously instructed or employed. They had to grow a public face acceptable to the new force. In those early days few either tried or, if they did, succeeded. Themistocles was the best: you could almost believe he was born for the role but Xanthippus in a more subtle way wasn’t too far behind. He would of course deny this, but in his manufactured tale of the faithful hound you can see the true genius of the politician.

Xanthippus was in the andron concluding business with the last on his list of clients.

“Good to see you looking better than you did last night, Mandrocles.”

He rose; this signified the meeting was at an end and his client, who looked like a wealthy peasant farmer in his best
festival robes, gushed out a few rapid sentences of thanks and praise then backed out practising a strange bobbing and bowing movement.

“You slept longer than I anticipated, the draught must have been strong. I have business to attend in the Agora but I have a task for you. Take this message to a house you will find at the end of a lane if you take the left fork at the crossroads of the hekaton just below the great ramp. Go and eat in the kitchens before you leave. Oh, and Mandrocles, I will require a full account of what you find in that house.”

Like his client, I was dismissed.

Finding a house for the first time in Athens isn’t easy. The city works on the basis that if you don’t know the householder well enough to know his house already then you have no business there. The city’s littered with hekatons, heroons and shrines and most of them look the same. It took me several false turns before I ended up in front of a house that more or less fitted the description I’d been given. They should give the streets numbers or even names; it would save a lot of time. All Athenian houses look poor from the street, everything is focussed on the inside, but it didn’t take long to figure out this one had genuinely hit hard times.

The door opened after I’d hammered on it long enough to scuff my knuckles and then only by a couple of inches. A voice – I couldn’t see a face – said,

“The master’s out.”

“Open the door and I’ll come in and wait.”

“We don’t open to any we don’t know.”

“You’ll open for me. I come on the orders of Xanthippus, son of Ariphron Strategos of the –”

The door started to close and would have done so but for a woman’s voice inside shouting: a voice I recognised.

“Mandrocles, Mandrocles, is it you?”

The door opened; fully this time, and I found myself face
to face with Elpinice. I don’t know which of us was more surprised. Her, probably; I looked different last time she set eyes on me. Then I was inside and the ancient crone doorkeeper dispatched to her quarters. I won’t record those first minutes, it was kept close then and it’s kept close now.

She escorted me to the andron, or what passed for an andron in that cramped dwelling. No other lady of noble birth in Athens would have done that. But then Lady Elpinice wasn’t like the others and we had history. I sat on a shabby chair, my ribs aching from the recent pressure.

“Cimon won’t be back before dusk, he’s hunting beyond Lykabetos. Yaya will stay in her room and sleep so we are alone.”

We had so much to say but didn’t know how to begin. I could feel myself shaking. Then she said,

“I’m to be married.”

Just that. I waited as if it was a joke that she’d soon admit and laugh. But she didn’t; she cried and I didn’t know what to say. Then it all spilled out.

“Married to Callias, a rich man. Not a bad man like they insinuate to slur us further. Not a man who’s bought me to further slake his lusts now my brother’s enjoyed his fill, as the scandal sheets say.”

It was said with such bitter sadness that despite my fury, I too wanted to weep. I’d heard the slanders about the illicit relationship. About the way that Cimon, grown feral on strong drink, and his promiscuous sister copulated not caring which of the servants saw them. Typical of the lies that spread in a free city where the Demos enjoys undue license. But a particularly cruel lie.

She was intact, I know it.

There were other lies spread as well. I’m sure you will have heard them, maybe even enjoyed them. Like the story of the painter Polygnotus: how he introduced the face of Elpinice
into the portrait of the Trojan women he painted for the Peisianacteum in return for sexual favours. Only someone who didn’t know the man or the lady could believe such lies and only a liar cursed by the Gods would tell the story.

Even her most twisted enemies admitted she was a strong woman but that afternoon she sat and wept for hours. But behind the tears was the strength. Strength and courage to equal any possessed by those who stood in the front line at Marathon.

“Because of what we feel for each other even though neither of us dare speak it and so that you will understand, Mandrocles, I will tell you why this marriage has to be.”

She dried her eyes, pushed back her long hair which had earlier come undone and fallen to her waist, and told me a tale of sacrifice and heroism. Told it like a Spartan would: few words, no emotion.

“My father’s enemies did more than just bring him down. They ruined the family, killed off any chance of greatness for Cimon while he was still a boy. A fine of fifty talents and the confiscation of the estates reduced us to this.”

She indicated the small shabby room.

“We have only one thing left to sell: me. I can bring no dowry so the marriage brings us shame. Callias is a shrewd investor but one prepared to gamble: he pays the debt and marries into an ancient and noble family. One that, freed of debt, may rise again. That’s all there is.”

She paused a moment, considering her next words carefully.

“Except perhaps that I think he might have been encouraged in this by someone playing an even deeper game.”

“But how?”

“No, no questions my love, that is what happened: there is no more to say.”

I couldn’t resist one last try.

“But married to such a man?”

“Do you suppose an Athenian woman, particularly of my pedigree, has any choice? If father was alive I would have still been married off.”

“Yes, but to someone of higher …”

“Callias works hard, his money frees the family. This is my role in the struggle. There is no more to say.”

She was right, there wasn’t. We sat in the uncomfortable room for a while in companionable silence until she said,

“The house will be empty for some hours yet; we will move to a room of greater comfort and I’ll redress your hurts while you tell how these last months have treated you. No better than they have me, I suspect.”

She stood, helped me up and walked me to a chamber deeper in the house near to where crone Yaya had gone.

“We have never had time like this before, have we? Although I know it is something you always wanted. And be sure there will never be a time like this again.” She took my hand and led me through the ill-fitting door.