Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  She sat down beside her bed, hot and fretful, and carefully studied her reflection in a hand-mirror. She saw a small heart-shaped face, with wide eyes and a sensitive mouth; a high forehead from which the hair was drawn back and pinned with golden pins into a thick coif at the back of her head. Her complexion, normally pale, glowed a deep brown in the polished bronze. In an obscure way the sight pleased her. She put the mirror aside, and began to sew up the rent in her dress. Then she called her maid to pour hot water into the hip-bath which stood in the corner. When it was full she dismissed the girl and began to undress; she would not let even the oldest of her attendants bath her. For a minute she stood in her shift, shivering slightly; then slipped it off and stepped into the bath, averting her eyes unconsciously from her slim, almost childish body, her small breasts and thin legs. But lying in the warm water her mind relaxed for a while.

  From the farther side of the court came the sounds of her father’s arrival. She suddenly realised that the water was getting cold; and stepping out on to the heavy fleece that was stretched beside the bath, hurriedly dressed herself and went to greet him.

  She saw at once that something was amiss. Hipponicus came stamping through the court, his cloak swinging furiously, his gold armlets glinting in the evening sunlight. He cuffed a slave-boy carrying a water-jar who did not get out of his way fast enough; the boy dropped the jar with a howl of pain, and water and broken sherds lay scattered over the flagstones. The steward came out at the noise, and Hipponicus, with an oath, sent him running for hot water.

  Hipparete kissed him on the cheek, took his cloak, and led him gently into the house, beckoning to a slave as she went. She sat him down in his big carved chair at the head of the table, had the slave pull off his boots and bring him his slippers, and herself saw to the fetching of water and towels. Not till supper was on the table, and her father, slightly mollified, had drunk a cup of strong wine, did she venture to ask what the matter was.

  Hipponicus snorted. ‘Matter!’ he said. ‘The man must be mad—or drunk.’

  Hipparete knew her father too well to ask what man. Instead she waited in silence while he swallowed a large mouthful of fish, and then merely said: ‘Why?’

  ‘I was on my way home. Just outside the Market I saw young Alcibiades with a bunch of his disreputable friends. They all began to point at me and whisper. Then I heard one of them say, “You dare not.” Alcibiades replied, “What do you wager me?” The fellow muttered something, and then Alcibiades came over to me, bowed, said, “By your leave, sir”—and boxed my ears!’

  Hipparete paused, a piece of bread in her hand, and tried hard not to laugh. She swallowed her bread slowly, and then said: ‘Who is this young man Alcibiades?’

  ‘Oh, I have nothing against him. A wild youth, but of good family. His father and mine were old friends. The lad was orphaned at an early age. I suppose that’s why he behaves as he does. He was Pericles’ ward, but the Olympian was too busy to take care of him.’ Hipponicus seemed to have recovered his good humour somewhat. He went on: ‘He fought well at Potidaea: in fact he was decorated for valour. There was some scandal or other, though—he was barred from the Knights and turned out of Pericles’ house. . .’

  The old man munched his food thoughtfully. Hipparete said nothing. ‘The odd thing is that today everyone seems to want his favour. I can’t understand it: He’s still only twenty-five or so. He’s been appointed to the Financial Board, and no sooner has he got this post, than Nicias restores him to the roll of Knights. It was the talk of the Market today. It’s as if Nicias and Cleon were bidding for him. . .’

  He broke off abruptly and began to tell his daughter of a great military scheme that was afoot—the conquest of Boeotia, the marshy district that lay to the north and west of Attica. There were to be three simultaneous attacks, said Hipponicus, warming to his theme and scattering breadcrumbs ominously on the tablecloth. ‘And,’ he said, with some pride, ‘I myself am going as one of the commanders.’

  Hipparete stared in amazement. She had always thought of her father, ever since she could remember, as an old man; and now she heard him talking of the coming battle as if he were a junior officer about to take up his first command. He was tired of an idle life, he said. It occurred to Hipparete, in an unreal way, that Hipponicus might be killed. But she knew better than to protest at his decision.

  In bed that night she found herself wondering what sort of a man Alcibiades was.

  • • • • •

  Early next morning Alcibiades rose and, dressed only in a tunic and sandals, made his way to Hipponicus’ house. He already regretted the moment of drunken bravado which had led him to—however gracefully, as he flattered himself—assault the old man. But it was just possible that the incident might be turned to good use. Hipponicus was a man of mutable temper and quick impulses; a gesture might more than right the damage a gesture had done. Alcibiades whistled cheerfully as he walked, and some slaves carrying bundles of wood into their master’s house grinned at him. He would not have admitted to himself that one of the reasons for his visit was to catch a glimpse of Hipponicus’ daughter.

  An old slave answered his knock, and Alcibiades gave him a suitably humble message to the master of the house. He heard Hipponicus’ voice upraised in irascible tones, but could not catch the words. After a moment the slave came back, eyeing Alcibiades doubtfully. ‘The master will see you now,’ he said; and led Alcibiades through a passage to a large room opening on the courtyard. As they went Alcibiades thought he saw the swirl of a vanishing skirt in the women’s quarters beyond; but it might have been his fancy.

  Hipponicus sat at the heavy table in the middle of the room, a flagon of wine and a bowl of nuts in front of him. As Alcibiades came in, he said in angry tones: ‘Well? Well? What d’you want? If it’s about that disgraceful business last night—’ but as soon as he spoke Alcibiades knew all would be well. He stripped off his tunic with an almost theatrical gesture, and knelt at the old man’s feet naked. Then with bowed head he said: ‘I have come to offer my most humble apologies. My conduct was inexcusable. I have insulted you unforgivably. I do not ask your pardon; I offer you just recompense. A beating is less than I deserve; but if it may wipe away some of my youthful presumption, I am ready.’ When he had uttered this speech, he remained where he knelt, head bent. The morning sun, striking in through the window, lit up his blond hair and beard.

  Hipparete, coming across the courtyard to speak to her father, looked through the open window as she passed; and what she saw sent the blood to her face. Instinctively she looked quickly away, covering her eyes with her hand. Then, as if compelled by some force greater than herself, she raised her head and looked again. In an instant all Pyrrha’s whisperings were wiped away as if they had never been. Her heart pounding, she stole quietly back to her own quarters.

  Hipponicus took Alcibiades by the hand and raised him up. He was smiling broadly. ‘I like your spirit, young man,’ he said. ‘It is one that is all too rare today.’ For a moment they looked at each other. Then they both laughed. ‘Come, Alcibiades,’ said the old aristocrat, ‘you have discharged your debt. Join me in a glass of wine. Our families have old ties which should never have been forgotten.’ Alcibiades slipped into his tunic, and they sat down together at the table. Hipponicus poured out the wine with a steady hand. ‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘we shall be companions in the field soon. When there are battles to be fought, there should be no private quarrels.’

  In a few minutes they had their heads together over the table and were busy discussing details of the campaign in Boeotia. When Alcibiades took his leave half an hour later Hipponicus had invited him to dinner the following week.

  Some time afterwards Hipparete came back into the courtyard. When she saw her father alone she tapped on the door and went in. She began to ask him about various household matters, deliberately holding back the one question she could not put to him. But he cut her short, full of the news. She listened in silence, her eyes cast
down, her hands folded in front of her, trying to conceal the confusion of her face. Hipponicus went on for a while, praising the young man’s ready wit, his fine bearing and military knowledge. Then he said: ‘He needs to marry and settle down. He must learn responsibility.’ His eye suddenly lit on his daughter’s crimson cheeks, and his voice trailed away. Then he began to talk of other matters; but the idea had entered his mind, and he was not to forget it.

  • • • • •

  Brasidas stood on the walls of Amphipolis and stared out over the flat wintry plains of Thrace. Below him flowed the sluggish brown stream of the Strymon, swollen already with the snows of Paeonia, spreading away to the north-west in a great marshy lake. Against the dark eastern sky Mount Pangaeus rose, thickly covered with trees, which gradually thinned away towards the coast. From where he stood he could see the island of Thasos humped above the slate-grey wastes of the Thracian sea.

  His gaze went back to the mountain, and the land which lay behind it. To him it meant gold, and timber for ships, and possibly, eventually, the control of the. Black, Sea. And that Athens should be deprived of these things. But he knew how skilful and lonely a hand he would have to play. He had intrigued for months for this command; but the expedition would never have taken place at all if the Ephors, nervous of revolution with three Athenian outposts now established in the Peloponnese, had not offered him seven hundred fully-trained Helots to take out of the country on what they regarded as a risky and unprofitable venture. He had asked for more; and he had not forgotten the way Sthenelaidas had refused him. Did the fool think that he would turn traitor? Certainly Spartan commanders abroad developed odd habits. He could have had two thousand more troops from the Helots that had been armed during the recent campaign but the government was so scared of them that after they had served their purpose they had been murdered by the Secret Police. No, reinforcements were unlikely. He had captured Amphipolis, well and good; but he could count on little support for future operations. It struck him, not for the first time, that to be a successful Spartan commander one needed either great stupidity or great genius; and in the latter case considerable powers of dissimulation as well.

  His thoughts were interrupted, by one of his captains, a zealous young man of ferocious aspect and slight intelligence, who saluted with great precision and said:

  ‘Sir, there has been some rioting in the Athenian quarter of the town. I have had the ringleaders arrested. I ask your permission to administer a public flogging to them in the interests of discipline.’ He stood rigidly at attention, awaiting Brasidas’ reply. Brasidas knew that as soon as it was given there would be another salute of the same sort. It amused him to annoy this man. Now he smiled at him with a glint in his protuberant hazel eyes and said: ‘Stand easy, captain. I think you are letting your enthusiasm and devotion to duty run away with you.’

  ‘But, sir, I respectfully suggest—-’

  ‘Don’t respectfully suggest anything. Use your brains. While you’re waiting, listen to a little common sense. You will have these men released immediately.’

  The captain spluttered. Brasidas went on: ‘What we need are allies at the moment, not slaves. What use is a slave? He’ll stab you in the back. Can you pretend that all is well at home? Do the Helots justify the way you would have me behave?’ He stared at the captain fiercely. ‘I have done more in a week here by a little conciliation than I ever would have by threats. Revolt against Athens will spread like a forest fire if it becomes known that my terms are reasonable. Athens is hard pressed for money, and she’s been squeezing it out of these poor devils till they hate her very name. All they fear is exchanging a bad master for a worse. And you want to have public floggings!’

  The captain muttered aggrievedly that he was a soldier and he knew his duty. Brasidas broke in abruptly. ‘Your duty is to obey orders, if you’re incapable of thinking. And for the moment my orders are that you collect every shipwright in the city and set your men to work under them. I must have ships, and soon. That’s not all. Here’s something more to your taste. Send a detachment to take control of the gold-mines on Pangaeus’—he pointed with his arm as he spoke—‘and see that the slaves keep working there. All deposits mined are to be delivered to me personally under guard.’ He smiled again. ‘I am told by one of the chief citizens,’ he observed, ‘that the largest shares in the mine are held by the Athenian commander who came chasing up the river from Eion a little too late for us. Thucydides, I believe his name is. The irony of the situation should appeal to him.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The captain’s face was a fierce mask of disapproval. Brasidas sighed. ‘Very well, captain,’ he said. ‘I leave it to you to see that my commands are carried out at once.’ The captain came to attention, saluted, and clattered down the tower-stairs to the guardroom below. Brasidas remained for a long time staring at the river; then he called an orderly and scribbled a note. Late that evening half a dozen Athenian merchants, having first expected a flogging, now found themselves dining with the Spartan commander. The story travelled far beyond the walls of Amphipolis; and Brasidas began to worry less about the need for reinforcements.

  • • • • •

  ‘It’s quite impossible,’ said Callias angrily. He strode nervously up and down the room, twisting his hands together. He had drunk deep arid late the previous night, and his temper was none of the best. Hipponicus sat watching him impassively. Callias was not a pleasant sight. His face was pale and, blotched, with the course skin and harsh lines of the habitual toper. His hair was already receding; his reddish beard grew in uneven patches, like the bristles of a diseased boar. There was something piggish, too, about his eyes: small, deep-set, with, heavy red rims. Now they looked suspiciously at Hipponicus, never holding his gaze for long, flickering away round the room, eyelids snapping. Hipponicus found it hard to realise that this was his son, or that, he was only twenty-four years old.

  ‘I didn’t believe it at first,’ Callias went on. ‘They told me at the . . . dinner-party I attended yesterday. I thought it was a joke. Then I saw Alcibiades himself. He—he confirmed the story. He said he had seen you—that it was all arranged. He was. . . damnably insolent.’

  ‘If you were as drunk as you usually are by the evening,’ observed his father icily, ‘I have no doubt you gave him excellent cause. I will tell you here and now, finally, that what you have heard is true. Yes, I have given my word to Alcibiades that he shall marry your sister. Further, I am providing her with a dowry consistent with my wealth and standing. She shall bring ten talents to her wedding-day; and I will gladly give ten more when she bears her husband an heir.’

  Callias turned and faced his father, a look of repulsive cunning, on his face. ‘Is the arrangement legal yet?’ he inquired.

  ‘I have told a notary to attend us tonight,’ said Hipponicus. ‘If you had not come to me, I should have sent for you. The document will be signed and witnessed at the betrothal feast tonight.’

  Callias muttered: ‘You should have told me. All this has been arranged behind my back—’ but his father cut him short.

  ‘If you had behaved as my son and heir should,’ he said, with angry dignity, ‘there would have been no need to send for you.’

  Callias flushed, and unwisely said the first thing that came into his head. ‘It’s unthinkable that such a man as Alcibiades should marry into our family. He’s politically unreliable, for a start. It’s well known that he has dealings with Cleon and the rabble. And there was the scandal about Aspasia . . .’ He broke off at the look on his father’s face, but stumbled on desperately: ‘We have a reputation to keep up. Is such a man as this to mix his tainted blood with ours?’ Hipponicus let him run on till he had finished; then he said:

  ‘This concern of yours with the family honour is most touching; and, I may say, most unexpected. I would be glad to know how you consider you uphold it yourself?’

  The young man muttered something about his devotion to philosophy; he had, indeed, a reputation of sorts as a
n amateur of metaphysical speculation. Hipponicus’ lip curled as he listened to the halting words. ‘A notable contribution,’ he said. He rose from his chair and faced his son. ‘At least you have the grace not to accuse Alcibiades of your own worst faults. I know his wild ways: marriage will bring him stability. I know he drinks; but he is no congenital drunkard—as you are. His line is no less famous than our own. Would you have me ashamed of a man who is an Alcmaeonid, and Pericles’ own cousin? I have fought with him, and I know his valour and skill. When have you ever showed your face in the line of battle?’

  He turned away impatiently. Then he said: ‘I could bear all else; but you must think me a fool if you believe I do not know why you are here at this moment. There is only one thing in me that commands your respect, Callias: my money.’ His back to the young, man, he said in a low voice: ‘You need have no fear. The family honour you so zealously defend will be preserved. You are my son and heir, and so you will remain. When I am dead you may do as you will. I shall not be here to see your shame. But this dowry I shall give as I have promised, and it does not lie in your power to gainsay me. And if I die before my daughter bears a son, I lay it on your shoulders to see that the rest of the debt to which I shall put my name is paid in full. Will you swear to this?’

  There was a short silence. Callias said, his head lowered: ‘I swear it.’

  ‘On your head be it if you show yourself forsworn. Now go. I command you, as a father, to be present at the betrothal feast tonight. And to bear yourself with dignity according to your station.’

  Without a glance at his son he went out of the room. Then Callias, desperate with rage and greed, made his final attempt. Running after his father he stammered: ‘You can think what you like of me. I don’t care. Perhaps it’s true that I want your money. I won’t argue that. But so does Alcibiades. Why else would he marry?’