Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  ‘I thought you had no sympathy with Sparta?’

  ‘My dear Alcibiades, in a situation like this one has to take what help one can for what one believes in.’

  ‘I quite agree with you. But I don’t happen to believe that every oligarch is of your . . . remarkable qualities. I don’t think an oligarchic government would make the least difference to the country.’

  ‘If you want neither an oligarchy nor a democracy, what do you want?’

  ‘A government of the men best qualified to rule. I’m not interested in political distinctions.’

  Axiochus sighed. ‘Are you still nursing that old delusion? Who do you think’ll agree with you?’

  ‘Anyone who has any sanity left in him. Pericles was going in the right direction, but he failed as a practical commander.’

  ‘I see. You too are deluded by the myth of empire, are you? Do you forget the blood that runs in your veins? Have you no sense of loyalty?’

  ‘Loyalty to what?’

  Axiochus shook his head. ‘You take after your ancestors,’ he observed. ‘And what happened to them? They had a genius for getting themselves ostracised. Don’t be a fool. Not everyone has your . . . dispassionateness. You’ve got to make concessions to get what you want. You have to fight under some kind of flag.’

  ‘Not I.’

  ‘Then there’s no more to be said. I’m sorry.’

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ said Alcibiades. ‘I’m very fond of you. I’d like to be able to support you whole-heartedly. But I can’t.’

  ‘You may change your mind. I shan’t hold this conversation against you.’

  For the first time Alcibiades smiled. ‘Yes,’ he said, in an amiable voice, ‘I may change my mind. And don’t worry about my respecting your confidences. I shan’t go to the Council and denounce you.’

  ‘I didn’t think you would,’ said Axiochus, ‘but it wouldn’t profit you much if you did. There’s no evidence for any such charge, and even today Athens isn’t too kindly disposed towards informers. Especially those with your . . . peculiar record.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean Aspasia,’ said Axiochus brutally.

  There was a short silence. Then Alcibiades smiled again. ‘I think I’ll go to bed,’ he said.

  • • • • •

  Cleon sat in a small dark tavern near the docks with a bottle of Thracian wine in front of him. On the other side of the table was a tall, heavily-built man, with the big hands and clear eyes of a countryman. Apart from them the tavern was empty. They were conversing in low tones.

  ‘I don’t know how he managed it, Lysicles,’ said Cleon, and spat on the floor in disgust. His voice away from the platform was not unpleasant: hard and quick, but with a humorous edge to it. ‘We had it all arranged.’

  Lysicles said: ‘If he hadn’t got the case transferred to a civil jury he’d be dead by now, instead of merely out of office.’

  ‘And a fine matters nothing to him.’

  Lysicles shook his head. ‘No. In the circumstances I don’t see why we shouldn’t strike now. He’s out of power. There’s no one fit to take his place. What could be better?’

  ‘I’ve made one error of judgment. I have no intention of making another. If we try to seize power and, fail, it may be years before we get another chance. Public memory is notoriously short here. I’ve no doubt that in a month or so the people will be crying to have Pericles back. I don’t put a scrap of trust in their change of heart. I’ve seen them change too often. Besides, if we’re patient, our work will be done for us.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘By Pericles’ death.’

  ‘Pericles could live another twenty years.’

  Cleon looked round to, make sure they could not be overheard, and said: ‘He has the plague. One of our men found out from a slave of his who was in the room when his doctor was attending him.’

  ‘What? He’s as well as you or I.’

  ‘You’re wrong. It’s not the ordinary kind of attack. It’s latent—lingering. It’ll kill him off slowly.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Perhaps another year. No more. Now do you understand me? Why should we risk everything now on a doubtful chance when in twelve months’ time the power will fall into our hands?’

  ‘You’re very confident of your information,’ said Lysicles. ‘You were sure enough that we should get him condemned to

  death. Are you any more certain of this?’

  ‘I have complete trust in my informant.’

  ‘I hope you’re justified. By the way, how did Pericles get the jury changed?’

  ‘It wasn’t Pericles: it was Hagnon. Surprising. I suppose it was the moderate in him that won them.’

  ‘He certainly had some odd fish to deal with,’ said Lysicles, grinning: ‘Nicias, for example.’

  ‘That old maid . . . But I agree. One mustn’t underestimate people. Nicias is potentially dangerous. Not for what he can do himself, which is negligible, but the public support he can raise. In fact, now I come to think of it, Nicias is very dangerous indeed.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Don’t you see? Everyone knows he’s marked out as Pericles’ successor. But no one in the City, I should imagine, is under the delusion that he’s another Pericles himself. Tell me, Lysicles, how would you describe him?’

  Lysicles considered. ‘Nervous, superstitious, conservative to the point of lunacy, a coward, and underneath it all very much scared of the war.’

  ‘Exactly. He’d make no sort of a general at all, and he’s afraid of his deficiencies becoming public, apart from anything else. But that doesn’t prevent him from remaining inordinately ambitious. Once that wretched little secretary of his put the idea into his head there was no stopping him. Now doesn’t all that suggest anything to you?’

  ‘Gods,’ said Lysicles. ‘Axiochus and his oligarchs.’

  ‘What else? Axiochus is a damned aristocrat, but he has a shrewd brain. Nicias’ll be a gift from heaven for him. A blind man couldn’t miss it. As soon as Pericles is dead Axiochus will approach Nicias for a coalition. Nicias will hardly refuse. He’s an aristocrat himself; and besides, it’ll solve all his problems at a stroke. The people will hail him as their deliverer from war. He won’t be called upon to—er—exert himself in the field. And Axiochus will be only too glad to leave him the official plums: he’s oddly devoid of that kind of ambition himself.’

  ‘It’s an ugly situation. I don’t know if we’re right to neglect the opportunity we’ve got. Supposing we are, what immediate action do you propose?’

  Cleon took a long pull at his wine before replying. ‘We have to work very much in the dark,’ he said at length. ‘What I’ve suggested may not happen. You may be right: Pericles may never get back into power. But I still believe that we’ve got to act on the assumption that he will. I’m rather more sure about Axiochus and Nicias. That seems inevitable. In which case the aristocratic party will be to all intents and purposes the same as the peace party. I don’t count the farmers. All they can do is influence the voting.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be too sure of that.’

  ‘It’s a chance that has to be taken. The only thing we can do is to try and split them.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Lysicles. ‘But how? Are there any of them who’ll listen to you?’

  ‘There may be one,’ remarked Cleon, smiling.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The young Alcibiades. He came back from Potidaea with Hagnon.’

  ‘But that’s absurd. He’s only a boy.’

  ‘He’s twenty-two. He’s good-looking, popular, and remarkably ambitious. He’s got no particular cause to love the Olympian, but he shares his dreams of military conquest.’ Cleon paused, and then said: ‘Don’t make any mistake about it: if Nicias does step into Pericles’ shoes, it’ll be all we can do to prevent him signing a peace treaty as soon as he decently can. And if he does that,’ he added in a lower voice, ‘we can say goodbye to any ideas we might ha
ve had about expansion to the west.’

  ‘Sicily, in fact? I agree. But what can one young man do? He hasn’t even got any real influence.’

  ‘He doesn’t need to have,’ said Cleon. ‘Mark you, I wouldn’t trust him an inch. I’ve seen too many Alcmaeonids for that. We shall ask him to do nothing he doesn’t really want done himself. Within those limits he can be very useful indeed.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘He is intimate with Axiochus,’ said Cleon, leaning forward over the table. ‘I don’t know how far his uncle confides in him—probably not too much, if he’s got any sense. Everyone knows Alcibiades is a firebrand. But he might be able to get some useful information by keeping his ears open. What’s far more important, he was Pericles’ ward.’

  ‘I don’t see how that helps. Pericles has refused to see him for the last four years.’

  ‘He may change his mind now he’s deposed.’

  ‘Perhaps. And what will Alcibiades do for us when he’s got Pericles’ confidence again—always supposing Pericles regains his power?’

  ‘Merely what he’d have done in any case. Urge for more action. Perhaps a campaign in the north-west. Certainly more raids into the Peloponnese. Start the war moving. Make people forget the plague. After all, it can’t last for ever. Then when Pericles dies, I fancy Nicias won’t prove so acceptable.’

  There was a short silence.

  Lysicles said: ‘I wonder what Aspasia will do when she loses her protector?’

  ‘Awkward position. Look around for another one quickly, I should think.’

  ‘And if the popular party is in the ascendancy . . . ?’

  Cleon stared. ‘I see,’ he said. He grinned coarsely. ‘I don’t see why not. I’ve no objection. I never cared for women myself anyway.’

  ‘Spoils of war, in fact?’

  Cleon nodded. They both burst out laughing.

  Chapter 13

  Deprived of her one real leader, governed indecisively by a nervous and mutually resentful board of generals, Athens struggled through the third winter of the war. Pericles, lying sick and dispirited in his house, felt the growing irresponsibility and lack of foresight around him, the private interests and fears that threatened to wreck his own carefully balanced policies. The ravages of the plague lessened somewhat with the onset of the cold weather, and the number of deaths decreased. The enemy had kept away from fear of contagion, and now the farmers, freed from Pericles’ inexorable control, began to stream out into the surrounding countryside to do what they could for their ruined homes, their levelled vines, their black and sodden corn-fields. The sealanes were still open and the fleet unimpaired; every day the heavy merchantmen with their vital cargoes sailed into the port and put out again laden with the olives and wine that had so far escaped Spartan vigilance. There was no shortage of food. Men began to forget the nightmare summer they had been through; the memory of the stench of rotting bodies faded from their minds.

  The market inspectors had the streets cleared of the filth which had accumulated during the months of disorganisation. Piles of eggs and vegetables, barrels of glistening black olives stood reassuringly in the shops. Only the ravaged countryside, the frenzied hammering that echoed night and day from the Piraeus, and the many empty houses showed what Athens had suffered. The crowds everywhere seemed thinned; and well they might, for in a year a third of the entire population had been wiped out, and the majority of the young men were still entrenched before the obstinate walls of Potidaea. Yet quietly and indomitably, despite military folly and political intrigue, life went on. Children were born in the midst of death; and outside the city the first green shoots of spring corn forced their way up through the blackened ruins of the harvest. Slowly and imperceptibly the deep scars began to heal over.

  • • • • •

  On a rainy day in March a single racing galley docked in the Piraeus with the news that Potidaea had fallen, starved into surrender. The defenders had reached such extremities that after eating every dog and cat in the town they had reverted to cannibalism and devoured their own dead. The Athenian generals had granted them surprisingly lenient terms: a free passage from the town with their wives, children and allies, with personal effects and money for their journey to whatever part of Chalcidice they wished to settle in. This news provoked much censure of the generals in the City, the belief being that they could have imposed unconditional surrender. But the overall reaction was one of relief. This campaign had dragged on for so long, and cost so much; now the troops were coming home, and Pericles’ patient policy seemed justified at last.

  The news could not have come, at a better time. The farmers and country-folk who had returned to their fields were now pouring back into Athens to elect generals for the coming year. Already, it was clear, they regretted their summary dismissal of the statesman who had led them so long: the name of Pericles was on everyone’s lips. A packed crowd voted in the Assembly; and the Olympian was triumphantly restored to his old position. The excited crowd marched through the streets singing, volatile, irresponsible, convinced that by this single action they had redeemed themselves and as good as won the war. The wine-shops did a roaring trade far into the night. Only Pericles himself was lacking to make their festivities complete: and he lay on a couch behind closed doors, feverish and vomiting, his strength almost gone. When he was told the cause of the shouting that reached him where he lay, he was observed to smile grimly.

  As soon as the election was confirmed Cleon sent for Alcibiades. Alcibiades had known this summons would come: he both welcomed and dreaded it. Cleon was not in the best of tempers; the enthusiasm of the crowd had exceeded even his own expectations, and he greeted the young man briefly.

  ‘You took a long time getting here,’ he said.

  ‘If you’d been out in the streets tonight you’d know why. I had to fight every inch of the way.’ Alcibiades sat down. ‘Give me a drink,’ he said.

  Cleon poured him out some wine. ‘There’s no need to tell you why you’re here, I presume?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I won’t pretend I’m looking forward to seeing him again.’

  ‘I can understand that. Take your time. It’s not even certain that he’ll accept the appointment. He’s become very ill, you know.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alcibiades, staring at the floor, ‘I’d heard that.’

  There was a silence.

  ‘That’s not all. His last surviving son died today.’

  ‘Paralus?’

  ‘Yes. Do you realise what that means? He has no legitimate heir. There’ll never be a blood-successor to his position now. That was always the greatest danger.’

  Alcibiades was moved in spite of himself. He fought down his emotions and said roughly: ‘I couldn’t imagine either of those two boobies capturing the public imagination.’ He thought for a moment and then said: ‘But what about the young Pericles?’

  ‘His son by Aspasia? Illegitimate. Ironically enough, by a law the old despot passed himself; years ago. You remember?’

  Alcibiades nodded. ‘Where is this son now?’

  ‘Still at Potidaea. I was able to arrange that. I have no intention of his coming back and attempting to play on public sympathy.’

  ‘You’re very thorough.’ Alcibiades finished his wine and stood up. ‘When do you want me to go?’

  ‘Whenever you like. Choose your own time. Perhaps now while things are still unsettled. I doubt if anyone—not even you, my young friend—knows what’s going on in the Olympian’s mind.’

  Alcibiades went out without replying, and rode slowly through the jostling, singing crowds that thronged the port. It was a relief to be in the saddle again. He urged his horse forward through the revellers, and spurred it into a steady gallop on the moonlit road that ran between the Long Walls. Behind him were the lights of the port; ahead, the sentinels’ torches on the walls of the City. The sound of cheering came faintly to him on the night air, and his horse’s hooves, reassuringly crisp and clear, rang on the flags ben
eath him. In the solitude of the night he began to think about the man he was going to see—no longer the Olympian, but an old, dying, broken statesman, his ideals destroyed, his children dead, betrayed by those he had trusted most. For a moment he felt a surge of pity; but almost immediately it gave way to the excitement of action, the thrill of the chase. This mission could prove the turning-point in his career. He thundered up the last stretch of road to the Piraeus gate, his cloak flying in the wind. This time the guards recognised him; the gates were flung open, and he rode through with a lift of the hand, never slackening his pace.

  • • • • •

  He stood in the doorway for a moment without saying anything, staring at the sunken figure on the couch. Pericles beckoned with his hand, and Alcibiades stepped forward into the light. The old man looked at the handsome scarred face. ‘Sit down,’ he said. Alcibiades obeyed. Then Pericles said, speaking slowly and with effort: ‘I can only guess why you have come. Let me speak first. I do not retract anything I have said to you in the past. My sentiments towards you are the same as they were four years ago. If I admit you to my presence now, it is not for your sake or for mine, but for Athens’. I could have wished that there had been anyone but you to hear what I have to say. But there is not. I am dying, and my sons are dead.’

  Alcibiades burst out involuntarily, ‘But Pericles is alive—’

  ‘Please do not interrupt me. Pericles is dead as far as the law is concerned.’ He coughed violently, and held a napkin to his mouth for a moment. Then he went on: ‘It has been my fault that I have taken no thought for my successor. For twenty years I ruled undisputed, and at the end of my time I have to leave the City I have lived for in the hands of well-meaning fools.’ He sat up, and something, of the old fire returned to his eyes. ‘If you had not come to me, I should have sent for you. You are the only one of the old breed left. You are drunken, and dissolute, a spendthrift, without morals. But you have courage, and shrewdness. You are a natural leader. You have intelligence. And at this moment I would like to believe that you could devote yourself to the service of our City as I have done. The time has not come yet, but it will come, when Athens will turn to you as her guide. See to it that you do not abuse the trust men will place in you. And if you are willing to take the responsibility it will bring, prepare for this day in advance. You will need all, and more than all, your strength. Above all, learn prudence. If you lack that, you will be Athens’ destroyer rather than her saviour.’