Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  After his erratic campaigns in the north-west he had not been received with much enthusiasm in Athens; but neither was he brought to trial for losing men and equipment in his ill-fated attempt at guerrilla warfare. Being an equable if enthusiastic person, he bore his reception well enough. He was only interested in politics in so far as they affected himself or the military situation; but it was pretty clear that the sooner he went on active service again the better.

  An excellent opportunity soon presented itself. The fleet which was to have gone to Sicily the previous autumn had been delayed for several months; partly through shortage of rowers, partly from the necessity of extensive repairs to the ships themselves, which had seen long service in eastern waters and were in no condition to be used for another immediate campaign. Demosthenes laid himself out to be amiable to Nicias. As a result, he was seconded to the fleet in joint command with Sophocles and Eurymedon, with a commission to cruise up the north-west coast to Corcyra before crossing the Adriatic.

  Being a shrewd general, despite his eccentric behaviour, Demosthenes had little enthusiasm for the Sicilian campaign: besides, he had his own plans, which he wisely kept to himself He had no sympathy with Cleon and his popular party; but he was at one with the tanner in the belief that attack was the best means of defence. Casually, but with considerable finesse, he extracted from Nicias and the Council permission to use the fleet (if a suitable opportunity presented itself) on the coast of Sparta. Having gained his object, he kept out of the public eye till the fleet actually sailed. He was something of an enigma to the cautious Nicias, who was, perhaps, not sorry to see him go. In after years Nicias was wont to observe to his friends that if he had known what was in Demosthenes’ mind when he sailed, he would never have let him go.

  All this Eurymedon and Sophocles, his two fellow-generals, discussed acrimoniously and at great length during their voyage from the Piraeus to the north-west. Repeatedly Demosthenes had urged them to put in at Pylos on the way. He would not give any reason; and Eurymedon and Sophocles had refused. Then chance took a hand in the affair. When the fleet had rounded the southern-most point of the Peloponnese, and was already sailing northward towards Zacynthus, one of the violent squalls which made the Adriatic so dangerous blew up out of a clear sky, with a fierce westerly gale behind it. They had no option but to put in to shore. Eurymedon, indeed, had suggested that they should put about and sail south again; but Demosthenes had firmly overruled him. So it came about that one rainswept evening they beached their fleet at Pylos.

  It was a desolate scene. At some time in the past the sea had encroached on the low-lying ground, forming a bay behind a narrow strip of rocky land that still all but blocked the harbour. The bay itself was divided into two basins by a spit of sand that ran out westward for over a mile from the mainland. The rocky neck of land lying across the mouth of the southern basin was pierced at either end by a narrow channel leading to the sea, thus forming an island. This island, covered with scrub and low trees, uninhabited and forbidding, kept out the westerly storms and turned the bay into a perfect landlocked harbour. Its name was Sphacteria; Pylos was the peninsula that formed the northern link with the mainland.

  Here, for nearly a week, the troops remained idle. During this time Demosthenes revealed his plan to his colleagues. ‘It’s a perfect situation for a fort,’ he said to them one day. ‘Consider. Pylos is very nearly an island. The peninsula narrows to less than a hundred yards before it reaches the mainland. The landings are rocky and barely accessible from the west. It can’t be assaulted that way. On the east there’s a sheer drop of four hundred feet into the harbour. Build a wall across that narrow neck, and another to protect the one landing-place from the sea, and the position is impregnable. We could use it as a base to conduct raids anywhere in the Peloponnese. Besides, this is Messenian country. The inhabitants are sick of Spartan domination. They’d support us to a man.’

  But Eurymedon and Sophocles found countless arguments against his plan. If he wanted to build forts in Messenia, they said, there were plenty of other places he could choose. His counter-argument that nowhere else had such a perfect harbour they dismissed impatiently. Besides, news had come that a Spartan fleet was on its way to Corcyra. This was what they had sailed for, not to amuse themselves with amateur strategy in the Peloponnese. Demosthenes patiently protested that there was plenty of wood and stone to build a wall and fort, that it was a naturally strong position, and only forty-five miles from Sparta itself. Failing to move his colleagues, he appealed to the junior officers and even the common soldiers. They were no more enthusiastic; but as the storm continued to blow with undiminished fury, and there was nothing else to do, they finally began to carry out their mad general’s orders. By the time it was possible to sail, the walls and fort had been built. When he was not busy supervising their construction Demosthenes took the crew of a single trireme, and spent the best part of two days making detailed soundings of the depth of the two channels. He announced that the wider southern one was beyond the reach of his plumb-line; a fact which appeared to cause him some satisfaction. Again, he would not say why.

  Sophocles and Eurymedon were puzzled and suspicious. The whole affair looked as if it had been planned in advance. ‘He spends weeks with the Messenian leaders,’ said Sophocles. ‘He gets himself attached to this expedition armed with permission to go raiding in the Peloponnese. He knows exactly where he wants to come to. I could almost believe he conjured up the storm that drove us in here.’

  Eurymedon nodded dourly. ‘The trouble is that we don’t know how far he has the support of the War Council. That permission of his was signed by Nicias. If we stop him altogether there may be some awkward questions when we get back.’

  Sophocles’ eyes wandered over the double harbour, now smiling and innocuous in the sunlight, and the long grey humped island barring it from the sea. ‘I think we can compromise,’ he said. ‘There’s no doubt we’ve got to sail to the north-west, and, as soon as possible. If we leave him here with—let’s see—five ships and a hundred or so men, no one can complain. He says the position is impregnable; and there are several ships I’d be glad to see left behind. They patched them up as well as they could in the docks, but they’re not really seaworthy.’ The two commanders smiled at one another, and at once set about fitting out the main fleet for the voyage.

  When they told Demosthenes their decision that evening, he did not appear perturbed. He examined the ships allotted to him, but made no comment. All along the narrow beach the men were stowing their gear and carrying great jars of spring water aboard. Demosthenes climbed up the narrow rocky defile that led to the camp. He found his colleagues in conference in Eurymedon’s tent. He stooped his vast height and went in.

  ‘If you’re sailing in the morning,’ he said, ‘there are one or two things I’d like to bring to your attention. First, I think you underestimate the effect my harmless game’—he smiled sardonically as he said the words—‘is going to have at Sparta. They’ve never had a hostile fort established in their territory before, and they’re not going to like it. Especially since it happens to be in Messenia. They’ve been scared of a Messenian revolt for years now, and they know I use Messenian troops. If my judgment is right, they’ll not only recall Agis from Attica, but also that same fleet you’re sailing to deal with off Corcyra.’

  Sophocles and Eurymedon looked at each other. Demosthenes went on: ‘Still, you have your orders and you’ve got to abide by them. I don’t complain of that. But you’re going to look very foolish if you get to Corcyra and find there’s no fleet to fight. I’ll make a suggestion to you, if I may. Don’t hurry to get there. If I’m right, you may be able to intercept them as they sail back. If I’m not, there’s no harm done. But I’m thinking we’re going to need every man and ship we can muster here in a week or two.’ He chuckled and added: ‘You’ll have to take that suggestion, whether you like it or not. The wind’s veered round to the north, and my pilot tells me it’ll stay that way for a m
onth. You’ll have to row nearly the whole way.’ He went out, still laughing to himself. The next morning Sophocles and Eurymedon sailed, and he was left alone on the peninsula with his tiny garrison.

  • • • • •

  When the news of this impertinent gesture reached the Spartan capital a day or two later, it had all the effect that Demosthenes could ever have hoped. Something like a panic struck the city. A fast messenger was sent, riding day and night, to recall Agis (who had succeeded to the throne on the death of Archidamus) from Attica. The Spartan King, having to contend with bad weather and shortage of provisions, was by no means loath to obey, and returned to Sparta by forced marches. All over the Peloponnese the alarm went out and the troops came streaming in. A fast trireme was dispatched from the Gulf, as Demosthenes had predicted, to bring back the fleet blockading Corcyra. They sighted Sophocles and Eurymedon off the west coast of Leucas, and avoided them by hauling their ships over the narrow spit of sand which connected that island with the mainland of Acarnania.

  But of this Demosthenes knew nothing till later. When a Messenian came to Pylos with news of these preparations, he wrote two dispatches and put them aboard two of his five ships, which sailed immediately. One went north, to recall the Athenian fleet; the other into the Gulf, to request the supplies he had arranged for months before from his Messenian friends. Then he set all his men to strengthen the fortifications, laid in a mass of provisions from the surrounding countryside, and built a strong stockade off Pylos to protect his three remaining ships. His lieutenants protested that the harbour would be safer. Demosthenes sighed, and summoned them to a meeting outside his tent. ‘You call yourselves soldiers,’ he observed disgustedly. ‘I wouldn’t trust one of you to capture a blind man. I am now going to tell you something about the art of war as I propose to practise it in this campaign. You will oblige me by listening to what I have to say. All our lives may depend on it.’ For half an hour he told them what he had in mind, and they listened admiringly.

  Late that evening the first Spartan troops were seen by the sentinels marching to the coast from the east; and two days later the Spartan fleet from Corcyra, having eluded Demosthenes’ colleagues, sailed into the harbour. The blockade was complete.

  • • • • •

  Demosthenes lay on his belly in the thick grass at the south of the peninsula of Pylos watching the Spartan dispositions. During the night two Messenian ships had sailed in to join him, bringing forty heavy-armed troops and a welcome extra supply of weapons. Of the Athenian fleet there was as yet no sign. The Spartans were busy blockading both channels leading to the harbour. This they did by anchoring ships for the whole width of each channel, side by side, their prows facing towards the sea. By the time Demosthenes had taken up his observation post the passage immediately beneath him was already secured. Peering through the thick grass stems, he could clearly see men clambering from one vessel to the next, roping them together. Those in the further channel seemed to be having some difficulty in anchoring. Demosthenes remembered the soundings he had taken a week before, and smiled to himself. If even the lightest squall blows up, he thought, that channel will be wide open.

  But it was not till nearly midday that his enemies made the one move he had been praying for. He said, half-aloud: They must do it. They’ve fortified the channels. It can only mean that they’re going to present a complete armed front against our fleet when it returns. And then, sure enough, boatloads of troops began to go ashore on the island of Sphacteria. Demosthenes watched them, his heart pounding. They were heavy-armed Spartiates, the cream of the Spartan aristocracy, the finest fighting troops in Greece. He counted over two hundred, apart from the Helot slaves who attended them. Then he struck one fist against the other and offered up a brief prayer to the God of War for putting them at his mercy. I’ll have them, he said. I swear I’ll have them. It could mean the end of the war. Two hundred of them . . . Sparta would do anything, anything at all to get them back. But she’s going to pay our price for them.

  • • • • •

  Brasidas was not in command of the Spartan fleet at Pylos. He had gone to Corcyra as adviser to the commander there, and was now no more than the captain of a single ship. But the reputation of this shrewd, stocky, pugnacious man, his military skill and personal bravery, ensured that his counsel was taken for the whole operation. After a quick survey of the terrain, he dismissed an assault from the landward side as impossible, and proposed a frontal attack from the sea, where the Athenian wall was weakest. This was exactly what Demosthenes had intended him to do.

  He explained his motives at a meeting of the Spartan commanders on the mainland. ‘We can’t be certain of storming the wall on the peninsula,’ he said, his hazel eyes snapping nervously; ‘so there’s only one alternative: the harbour. I admit at once that it will be a hard task. The Athenians will be expecting us there; and the approach is too steep and narrow to allow our numbers to tell until it’s taken. When it is taken, there should be no difficulty. They have only two hundred men at the most inside those walls, and we can draw some of them off by a diversionary attack in their rear. The main point is speed. I will be quite blunt, gentlemen: if we don’t take that fort before the Athenian fleet gets here, we may never take it at all.’

  Thrasymelidas, the Spartan admiral, cleared his throat aggressively and said: ‘I appreciate your suggestions, Brasidas. I think there can be no doubt that we shall adopt them. But surely you over-estimate the danger of this Athenian squadron? It may never come here; and if it does, we have a solid line of defence from one end of the bay to the other. The harbour-mouths are blocked, and our best troops are garrisoning the island of Sphacteria—’

  Brasidas broke in: ‘With all due respect, sir, I take that to be a mistake. What will happen if those men are cut off there? Their loss would be irreparable.’

  Immediately he had said the words he cursed himself for a fool. Thrasymelidas stiffened and said in his most haughty voice: ‘I would remind you, Brasidas, that I am in command here. I posted those men to Sphacteria; and in my opinion the move was perfectly justified. We will discuss the matter no further.’

  Brasidas bowed stiffly. The meeting concerned itself for the next hour or two with the details of the following morning’s attack.

  • • • • •

  As soon as dawn broke Demosthenes picked sixty of his best fighting men and set them to guard the rocky defile, at the very water’s edge, with only a small detachment of archers to cover their possible retreat. As he gave them their final orders his voice was almost drowned by the waves slapping and roaring on the shore behind him.

  ‘Don’t bother to think,’ he said. ‘There’ll be no time for it. All you have to do is to prevent a single man leaving his ship alive. If any get ashore, they must be cut down before they reach the defile. Your task isn’t as hopeless as it might look. They haven’t the room to use their numbers. They can only attack you a few at a time. The one thing you must not do under any circumstances is retreat. If you do, the whole position’s lost. You know yourselves how hard it is to make a landing if you have a resolute body of men waiting for you.’ He paused and gave them one of his rare and winning smiles. ‘Good luck, lads,’ he said: ‘the Gods be with you.’ Then he went striding away up to the top of the cliffs to watch for the first signs of the attack.

  It came a little less than an hour later. Brasidas had asked to command the leading vessel, and no one grudged him the honour. Demosthenes saw the Spartan fleet rowing hard for the landingplace in line-ahead formation, and yelled a warning to his detachment below.

  Brasidas stood in the prow of his ship, the foam curling away from under the forefoot as the rowers bent to their work. When they saw the grim line of defenders drawn up to receive them, and the waves hissing and crashing in the rocks below the defile, they slackened their speed. Brasidas swung round with a furious oath. ‘Are you going to let the enemy sit unmolested on Spartan soil to save timber?’ he yelled. ‘Run her ashore!’ A doz
en seconds later, with a grinding crash, they were in among the rocks. The boatswain, watching his moment, cut the ropes of the landing-plank and it fell only a yard or so short of the Athenian troops. Brasidas sprang on to it with drawn sword, his shield high on his left arm, his troops crowding behind him. Then, with a murderous hiss, the first flight of arrows from the archers perched high on the cliff flashed down like rain. Several men fell; but Brasidas pressed forward to the shore, a shaft through his left arm and several more protruding from his shield. Before he reached the end of the landing-plank a huge Messenian rushed forward from the ranks and cut him down. He fell fainting into the arms of the men behind him; and his bloodstained shield, slipping from his wounded arm, was borne back by his vanquisher in triumph. A second discharge of arrows, and the loss of their commander, made the attackers hesitate; and in that instant Demosthenes’ men surged forward, sword in hand, and joined with them, cutting and stabbing, till those that were left retreated to their ship and the waves were scarlet with blood.

  But the Spartans came on relentlessly, ship after ship, climbing aboard Brasidas’ vessel and thence to the shore. The defenders were tired and haggard. Some of them lay among the rocks with Brasidas’ Spartans; most were wounded, and the salt spray stung them agonisingly. But when darkness fell the position was still in their hands. During that night Demosthenes rested them, gave them double rations and replaced their wounded; and early the following morning the assault began again.

  • • • • •

  Sophocles and Eurymedon reached Pylos at noon of the second day’s fighting. Demosthenes’ message had reached them at Zacynthus; and at first (since they had not seen the Spartan fleet pass them off Leucas) they made light of it. But it was so detailed, and tallied so well with his forecast, that they were bound to come to his assistance for their own sakes. If it were true, their absence would be hard to explain to a jury.