Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  At first the Council was unwilling to believe the news, but it was too circumstantial to be disregarded. The plan had been made months before, and was being carried out at leisure. The fortifications were being quietly strengthened. Stores of grain and large numbers of mercenary archers were being brought in from the Black Sea region, as if in anticipation of a siege. It was clear that the revolutionaries had chosen their time well; Athens was still weakened by the effects of the plague, and the war had reached an uneasy stalemate.

  In this emergency Cleon, whose unofficial word was beginning to carry some weight with the Assembly, took counsel with Alcibiades. This was a subject on which they both agreed.

  ‘I know you realise it’s urgent,’ said Cleon; ‘but I don’t think you know just how urgent. This plot has got to be stamped out. Otherwise we may find ourselves unable to control it.’

  ‘But that’s ridiculous. The fleet—’

  ‘The fleet is an excellent fleet if it has rowers,’ said Cleon. ‘How many men do you think we lost in the plague? There are hardly any replacements. I’ve been going over the State accounts with the Treasurer. We can’t afford to hire mercenary crews.’

  ‘What do you propose then?’

  ‘Send a small squadron without warning and catch them unawares.’

  ‘And supposing the rumour’s false?’

  ‘It isn’t,’ said Cleon grimly.

  There was no reply. Alcibiades was lost in thought. Suddenly he said: ‘This reminds me of Samos.’

  ‘Samos?’

  ‘Don’t you remember? We had the same trouble there. A long time ago, when I was a child. Coercing a free empire is a difficult business. Once you’ve started, you can’t stop, or you’re done for.’

  ‘You speak as Pericles did,’ said Cleon, disturbed.

  Alcibiades changed the subject. ‘Nicias isn’t going to like this at all. If it weren’t so serious, I should enjoy it. Just to see his face in the Assembly.’

  Cleon wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His arms were black with hair, and the square palm with its powerful spatulate fingers betrayed the craftsman. ‘He’s on his own now, too,’ he said. ‘His secretary—never can remember the fellow’s name—’

  ‘Hiero. What about him?’

  ‘Died of a stroke yesterday.’

  ‘God help the Board of Generals, then. It’ll be interesting to see if the mouthpiece has a voice of its own.’ Alcibiades patted the magnificent Molossian hound that lay curled up at his feet. Cleon, looking at it, saw that its tail had been recently docked. Like many men of his type, he was a good judge of a horse or hound. He looked inquiringly at Alcibiades.

  ‘Why in Hades did you have to do that?’ he asked. ‘I know how much you paid for it. More of your damned aristocratic fancies, I suppose.’

  ‘My dear Cleon, what odd things you get upset about.’ He burst out laughing. ‘If I keep Athens busy with that kind of gossip, I won’t have more serious charges laid at my door.’

  ‘Such as your women, and your drinking, and your horses? Why do you have to waste your money on that sort of thing? There’s plenty else it could be used for.’

  Alcibiades said briskly: ‘There’s a good purpose behind it. Popularity. There’s more than one way of wasting your money. Nicias does it stupidly, and everyone sponges off him and laughs at him. I do it sensibly. I have the reputation of being a devilish fellow, not too clever, and dowered with all the more attractive vices. That will turn out very useful for both of us. It’s a thing that’s apt to collect votes. I might add that women tend to talk in their cups; and that I have every intention of entering a team for the next Olympic Games. So you can add the advantage of national prestige, if you like.’

  Cleon shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s your money,’ he observed. ‘But I hear you’re running through your patrimony. I don’t fancy you’d take very kindly to poverty. You’re not used to it. And you’re more value to me with your money than without it.’

  ‘This concern is most touching. I shouldn’t worry about me if I were you. There are more important things at stake.’ He rose. ‘By the way,’ he asked, have you found anyone to take Lysicles’ place?’

  ‘I think so. A man named Hyperbolus.’

  ‘Never heard of him. What does he do for a living?’

  He makes lamps.’

  ‘Good God,’ said Alcibiades, and went out.

  • • • • •

  Envoys were sent to Mitylene, demanding that all suspicious preparations should be stopped, and met with a point-blank refusal. Immediately on their return, a small squadron was fitted out, under a junior admiral named Cleippides, to catch the Mityleneans by surprise while they were outside the town celebrating a local feast of Apollo. The attempt failed. The islanders had good warning of the fleet’s sailing, and fortified the port against attack. Cleippides made the best of a bad job. After delivering his ultimatum, he settled down to blockade the harbour with his hopelessly inadequate force. After a while the men of Mitylene proposed that an armistice should be arranged, and Cleippides gladly agreed. A trireme left the island bearing Mitylenean ambassadors to Athens. Cleippides set about collecting what local reinforcements he could.

  Alcibiades swore at the delay, but could do nothing. His fury was shared by the government when it was learnt that the Mityleneans had profited by their respite to smuggle out another galley; this time to Sparta. The pliable islanders urged a strong attack on Athens by land and sea. It was plain that the news of Athens’ financial straits was well known.

  Cleon had watched the whole affair with considerable perturbation. His appointment to the Board of Treasurers had been confirmed and he now set about raising money by every means he could. Regardless of the continued possibility of revolt, more and more tribute was squeezed out of the long-suffering allies. More daring still, a property tax was imposed indiscriminately on all citizens at home. Alcibiades questioned the wisdom of this.

  ‘All you’ll do is infuriate the rich aristocrats,’ he said. ‘They’re carrying enough of the cost of the war as it is. They’ve seen their estates ruined by invasion. I’ve lost the bulk of my own.’

  ‘I can afford to infuriate them,’ said Cleon, his shrewd face wrinkling. ‘They’re too far committed now to abandon the war. Besides, their famous sense of responsibility wouldn’t let them. Axiochus arid his peace party aren’t worth consideration. They carry no wide support. I’ve got to raise money where it can be found. It’s just fortunate that my supporters don’t happen to have it, and Nicias and his friends do.’

  ‘You’ll get yourself prosecuted for corruption.’

  ‘Of course. I don’t mind in the least if I am. I have nothing to hide. I don’t waste public funds building public memorials to my ideals; If I can bring such cases, you might at least credit me with enough common sense to be able to defend myself against one.’ He paused. ‘Mitylene has got to be dealt with, and quickly. I think we might play on the noble patriotism of our citizens to save ourselves a little expense. Nicias can’t avoid sending a relief force now. It might well be suggested to him that the troops act as their own rowers. I’ll have a word with the Treasurer. He can be relied upon to present the proposal with some conviction.’

  • • • • •

  More and more sure of his personal judgment and influence, Alcibiades continued to play the political factions in. Athens against each other with cool cynicism. He bulwarked his new personality with outrageous eccentricities, exaggerating all his more peculiar traits. He wore a long effeminate trailing robe which became the fashion among the younger generation, in whom years of war and disaster had produced a mood of complete irresponsibility. He cultivated his lisp. His manner became affected. A prematurely bald but aspiring playwright named Aristophanes, who was still too young and too modest to put on plays under his own name, satirised him with considerable wit in a production called The Banqueters. With his great personal attraction and intriguing military record, Alcibiades survived it all; his reputati
on was enhanced rather than damaged.

  Between bouts of drunkenness and fornication, however, he was very much occupied with the progress of events. His stamina was remarkable and his air of indolence deceptive. What he saw was not particularly reassuring.

  Cleon’s ruthless activities produced the necessary money; and in September a fresh fleet patriotically rowed itself to Lesbos, in charge of an untried general named Paches. Mitylene fell the following June, before the dilatory Spartan fleet reached the island. Spartan agents, in a last desperate attempt, made the cardinal mistake of arming the populace. The islanders’ patience had been strained to breaking-point; they were half-starved; and they nursed greater hatred for their own oligarchic government than for the Athenians themselves, chiefly because of scandalous hoarding of the grain which could have been used to feed them, but which the government had kept for their own ends. As soon as they got arms in their hands, they mutinied against their officers, declaring that if provisions were not produced immediately, they would surrender the city themselves. The members of the government saw clearly that if this happened (and they could do nothing to prevent it) they would be left out of the armistice negotiations. Their position was equivocal enough as it was. A hurried and nervous meeting was held; and a surprised Paches agreed with the delegates, who hastened to meet him, on a conditional surrender.

  • • • • •

  There was a large crowd at the docks when the galleys bearing Paches’ prisoners put in at the Piraeus. Alcibiades had walked down in the cool of the summer evening to watch the proceedings. The officers in charge had some difficulty in clearing the quayside to give the prisoners free passage. The crowd, mostly sailors, labourers, and drunken loafers, was in a dangerous mood. As the first men stepped ashore, chained together, an ominous growl went up. Someone threw a stone. The Mityleneans marched forward, looking straight in front of them. Alcibiades watched their faces with interest. Some were shamefaced; most of them surly and resentful. As well they might be, thought Alcibiades. Amusing that the first prisoners we take in this war should be from among our own allies. But then one has long since stopped thinking of this as an ordinary war.

  The crowd was now on the verge of rioting. Alcibiades hurried back to the City to report the news to Cleon. He found the tanner in an angry temper; and it took him some time to realise that its true cause was fear. Cleon strode up and down the room as if he were on the orators’ platform. The thick veins stood out on his forehead. He presented an unpleasant spectacle.

  ‘They must be killed,’ he said. ‘We must make an example of them. One more incident like this and we shall have the whole Ionian coast in flames. We’ve only got a hair’s breadth margin as it is. An example . . . Something that’ll stop this nonsense once and for all. Something to make all these fools sweat with fright at the name of Athens. If I could lay my hands on that idiot Paches . . .’ He snorted. Alcibiades watched this exhibition with detached fascination. Cleon was like an animal: a fierce, intelligent, ruthless wild boar, that knew every trick of the chase, but would turn and tear savagely and blindly with its tusks at the last ditch.

  Cleon wiped his face with his hand. ‘But it’s no use merely killing a handful of prisoners,’ he said. ‘Mitylene’s hundreds of miles away. You don’t think much about death when you’re not involved in it. I’ll bring death to them. The Assembly’ll be with me. You saw how, they were this evening.’ He drew himself up. ‘I shall have every adult male in Mitylene put to death,’ he shouted. ‘And sell their women and children into slavery . . . I’ll show them that Athens still has power . . . We’ve been too lenient. By the Gods, this is one lesson they’ll never forget!’

  Despite himself, Alcibiades felt a cold shiver run through him. He said: ‘I should sleep on that. You’re quite justified, of course. But what good will it do us in the long run? You’ve said yourself how vital the Ionian allies are to us. A little judicious clemency now might be a turning-point in our relations. If you execute this sentence you’ll have implacable enemies in our own camp. Is it worth it?’

  Cleon turned a face completely transfigured with fury on him. ‘You’re like all the rest,’ he said, panting with emotion. ‘If you’re too weak to accept the consequences of power, get out. Go and be killed as a soldier. Keep your humanitarian scruples to yourself. I stand for Athens, and while I live I shall uphold her authority in every way open to me. We are the greatest nation of them all. Are we going to let ourselves be pulled down by a pack of rebels, a miserable little island that ought to thank God we let it exist at all?’

  Alcibiades stood still, appalled. For in these proud and furious words, this twisted feral face, he recognised, with awful clarity, something he had known and once loved. Distorted almost beyond belief, coarsened and debased with passion and self-interest, it was the voice and face of Pericles.

  • • • • •

  The prisoners were killed at dawn the next day without trial. When Cleon faced the nearly hysterical Assembly, this was the first thing he announced to them. It was a good way of gauging their feelings; and the howl of triumph that went up almost before the words were out of his mouth gave him, the cue he needed. He only delivered a short speech, with the minimum of justification for the course he proposed. Having thus raised his listeners to boiling-point, he put his proposals for retaliation before them. The Assembly welcomed them with such vehemence that not even a show of hands was necessary. Nicias sat speechless while the uproar went on about him: his white face showed his feelings, but he could do nothing in the face of such a demonstration. He raised no objection when the decree of mass-execution was formulated and approved, and the captain of the Salaminia, one of the State galleys, deputed to bear it to Paches.

  When the Assembly broke up, Alcibiades, taking care he was not observed, followed Nicias for some way through the streets; and when they had reached a lonely spot, caught up with him and called to him by name. The old general turned round, startled. When he saw who he had to do with, he made as if to go on. Alcibiades caught him by the sleeve.

  ‘For heaven’s sake listen to me,’ he said, looking over his shoulder. ‘What I have to say I must say quickly. I know all you think of me. Forget it for the moment. You need never speak to me again if you so wish. I have one thing to ask you: do you want those wretched creatures saved?’

  Nicias’ eyes snapped nervously. ‘This is a trap,’ he said. ‘Why should you want to help them? I know the men you associate with.’

  ‘Try not to be a fool for once.’ Alcibiades spoke breathlessly and urgently. ‘Why should I take this risk? Answer me yes or no. There’s no time for explanations. There are no witnesses. You can deny everything you’ve said to me.’

  The Gods be my witness that I do not wish to see injustice done—’

  ‘That’s enough. There may be a chance. But it depends on you.’

  ‘On me? I don’t . . .’

  ‘Yes, on you. There’s only one thing you need to do. It will involve you in no risk. See the captain of the Salaminia in private. Tell him not to hurry. If he has any humanity in him, he should be only too willing to agree.’

  ‘But . . . but what good will that do?’

  His point made, Alcibiades relaxed. He smiled at the old man. ‘You’re older than I am, Nicias,’ he said; ‘but you live a secluded life. You don’t know the Athenian people as I do—their quirks and instability, their sentimental enthusiasms. This decision was taken in hot blood, by a crowd, on the spur of the moment. By tomorrow they’ll be wishing they’d never approved the decree at all. Perhaps they’ll call another Assembly. If the Salaminia sails at full speed, it’ll be too late. If not, there may be a chance of overtaking her.’

  ‘I see,’ said Nicias. He looked at the young man, bewildered, his yellowish eyes flickering in perplexity. ‘I will act as you suggest. Let me put a question to you in turn. Why are you doing this?’

  Alcibiades hesitated for the fraction of a second. Then the old impudent grin broke out on his face. �
��Because I know more about politics than either you or Cleon,’ he said rudely. ‘I don’t give a damn for a parcel of islanders. But I’m very concerned—and so should you be—with the tribute and ships they represent to us. We don’t want to have another war on our hands. If this decree goes through, at best we’ll have a crowd of resentful Helots to deal with. At worst, the islands and coast will break out in full-scale rebellion—probably with the Persian satraps backing them—and then the whole war could be finished in a month. And all to satisfy a little blood-lust and hysteria. Does that strike you as common sense?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicias, ‘it does. You argue your points very sensibly, young man. You surprise me.’ He looked at Alcibiades in some embarrassment, fumbling for words. Then a strange thing happened: he smiled. It was no more than a quick and awkward grimace, but it was unmistakable. He said, unexpectedly: ‘Perhaps I know a little more about human beings than you give me credit for. Enough, at any rate, to make me wonder whether you’ve told me your true motives for behaving like this. Good-night. I shall see the captain of the Salaminia before he sails.’ He turned on his heel and was gone. It was Alcibiades’ turn to look surprised.

  • • • • •

  It was a stifling night. Alcibiades, in a mood of restless melancholy, had dismissed his guests at an early hour, dancing-girls and all, and retired to bed alone. He had found the evening unspeakably tedious. Now he lay tossing on the great carved bed, throwing off successive coverlets till he was covered only by a thin linen sheet. From outside came the distant shouting of revellers further down the street. He got up and closed the shutters; but the heat presently became insufferable, and he flung them open again. Sleep was impossible. He began to think, for the hundredth time, about the day’s events.