Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  Now Endius waited patiently for his colleagues. It was wise, he thought, not to go direct to the King. The Ephors were suspicious men, and Agis was a good deal too clever and independent for their peace of mind. No, it would have been very imprudent to go direct to Agis. And the result would be the same in the end.

  • • • • •

  It rapidly became clear that the position of Alcibiades and Antiochus at Argos was extremely awkward. The government of Athens, in an agony of anxiety at what their most irresponsible general might do if he were left to his own devices, sent a special envoy to the Argive magistrates with an extradition order. This was an unheard-of step, and one for which no legal sanction whatsoever existed. But the envoy was in a good position to back his requests. The magistrates sent him back to Athens with extravagant promises and expressions of good-will (having saved their faces by refusing to deliver Alcibiades to him in person); and then sent a deputation to Alcibiades, himself, requesting him, with profuse apologies, to leave Argos in a week.

  Alcibiades laughed as he watched them go. ‘Observe the effects of indecision,’ he said, somewhat ruefully, to Antiochus. ‘The workings of their minds are quite fascinating. They don’t dare to offend Athens, so they deport me. They’ve had two changes of government in five years, and may well have another one; so they don’t want to offend Sparta either. They don’t know for certain what I’m going to do, but they still think I may have power of some sort: so they’re polite to me at the same time as they show me the door.’

  Antiochus lay stretched out on his bed, a bottle of wine beside him. The afternoon light lanced blindingly through the half-closed shutters on to the floor. They had been more or less confined to their room in the inn for two days now; it would have been highly imprudent to have been seen in public. Antiochus had taken this calmly enough; as far as he was concerned, it was all in the day’s work. But Alcibiades fretted against inaction. He paced round and round like an animal in a cage, swearing at the delay, the heat, the imbecility of his countrymen, till he began to fray even Antiochus’ normally placid nerves. Now he said: ‘They must know what we’re waiting for.’

  ‘Almost certainly. They’ll be only too glad to let Sparta make the decision. It relieves them of responsibility.’

  Alcibiades grunted. Antiochus sat up, running his fingers through his hair. It had not been cut for some weeks: in his wanderings he had had neither the time nor the inclination to visit the barber’s shop. Now he said good-humouredly: ‘At least we don’t have to look like Spartans. Come out for a while with me. There’s a barber in the next street. It’ll pass the time away.’

  Alcibiades’ eyes gleamed mischievously. An idea had struck him. ‘You won’t do anything of the sort,’ he said with sudden decision. ‘Go to the barber. Have your beard shaved off. But leave your hair as it is. Let it grow.’

  Antiochus looked at him questioningly. Alcibiades went on: ‘It might help us, I think, to adopt the manners of . . . our new country. If you want something to do—’ he tossed a couple of gold pieces across the room—‘go and buy a pair of home-spun tunics and some military boots. And take our cloaks and have them dyed scarlet.’

  ‘I remember,’ said Antiochus, not without amusement, ‘that one of your enemies in Athens used to say you should have been an actor. I think he was probably right.’ He sighed. ‘I never had any ambitions in that direction myself. Have you any idea what you’re letting yourself in for? It’s not just the clothes. If you want to appear really convincing, you’ll have to eat their filthy food, and spend half your day at athletics, and swim in that damned icy river before breakfast. That’s all right if you like it. I don’t. If you do it, I shall have to as well.’

  Alcibiades laughed. ‘You’ve grown fat. A little exercise’ll do you good. Go and buy those tunics.’

  Grumbling, Antiochus departed. When he had gone, Alcibiades combed out his hair and tied it in a Laconian knot. Then he marched stiffly up and down for a while, an appropriately grim expression on his face. Already he was beginning to enjoy the idea of the part he was to play. Athenians had a reputation for being adaptable: very well, he would be a better Spartan than any of them. But after a while his sense of humour got the better of him, and he collapsed across his bed, helpless with laughter.

  • • • • •

  Two days later they rode over the old wooden bridge that spanned the Eurotas and saw before them the grim, barrack-like, unwalled town that was Sparta. On the whole it had been a pleasant journey. They had taken the coast road from Argos to the south as far as Thyrea, the sea on their left hand and the mountains towering away above them; then they had turned south-west across the fertile plain of Cynuria, cantering in single file along a little-used track between fields of brown cropped stubble. October had taken the heat out of the year, but the real chill of winter was yet to come.

  Their escort, a pair of dark-faced taciturn Spartan captains, afforded them some amusement. From the moment of their first meeting in Argos they had clearly been at a complete loss how to treat these unpredictable Athenians, who bewildered them by appearing clean-shaven and long-haired like themselves, dressed in the regulation equipment of Spartan officers. They were not prisoners, it was true; but they were hardly to be considered as honoured guests. The Spartans compromised in the end on a brusque formality which secretly delighted Alcibiades, but which he treated with grave politeness.

  The Spartans, contemptuous of the soft life and self-indulgence of the Athenians, set themselves to give their charges a rough journey. The results rather disconcerted them. Alcibiades and Antiochus ate the meagre fare they provided with a good grace. Like most of their countrymen, the Spartans were not experienced horsemen; and they found to their chagrin that this languid aristocrat could outride them, over rough country and with a poor mount. His energy seemed boundless. By the time they reached Sparta the two captains had given up any pretensions towards moral superiority or aloofness, and had fallen completely under Alcibiades’ spell. He argued for hours, as they rode, over military tactics; the captains had fought at Delium, and while they rested at midday they compared notes concerning the manoeuvres of either side, supplementing each other’s knowledge.

  Antiochus watched all this in admiring silence. For the first time he began to understand how Alcibiades, despite so many reverses, had earned his astonishing reputation. Nothing was too much trouble for him. With a price on his head he unconcernedly set about making new friends, adapting his conversation and mannerisms to suit his audience. Gone, miraculously, were his lisp and his foppish sophistication. In their place was a resolute and laconic bluntness of which Antiochus had never believed him capable.

  As they rode into the town in the early evening, the inhabitants flocked out to see this famous Athenian general. Tall Spartan mothers, their black greasy hair braided down their backs, held up their children in doorways as they passed; even the squads of youths, defying discipline for an instant, turned from their drill and gazed, open-mouthed. If they had expected an effete, almost Oriental character, they were disappointed. This brown, vigorous man might have been one of themselves.

  The captains escorted him and Antiochus directly to Endius’ house; and there took their leave of him with expressions of affection and respect. This did not escape the notice of the small crowd who had followed them, and now watched their every movement. Endius himself, a dark lean figure, taller than Alcibiades by half a head, greeted them in a formal and dignified fashion. He seemed slightly nervous. He shook Alcibiades by the hand, and glanced inquiringly at Antiochus. Alcibiades introduced him briefly.

  ‘I see. Your lieutenant and steersman,’ said Endius, with a certain aristocratic disdain. He clapped his hands, and a slave appeared from the house.

  ‘This man is my guest,’ said Endius. ‘See to it that quarters are found for him. He will feed in my own military mess. The charges will be defrayed against my personal account. I hold you responsible for his care. Show him to his room and see that he has
all he requires.’

  It was a polite enough dismissal. Antiochus glanced quickly at Alcibiades, who nodded. Antiochus followed the slave. Endius took Alcibiades’ arm and led him into the bare, sparsely furnished house.

  When wine was before them, he said: ‘You seem to have made a great impression on my officers.’

  Alcibiades smiled. Endius looked him up and down. ‘The circumstances of our meeting are rather different on this occasion,’ he said. ‘I must confess I would not have recognised you if I had not been expecting you. I think you are a wise man. Tell me, what did you talk to them about?’

  ‘Military strategy,’ said Alcibiades, and drank. The wine was coarse and strong; he controlled his face with difficulty.

  ‘That too shows good sense.’ Endius lowered his voice. ‘You will be aware that it is dangerous to speak too freely here to any but those in whom you have implicit trust. And not even then.’

  ‘I had gathered that.’ Alcibiades waited patiently for his host to come to the point.

  ‘This man Antiochus you have brought with you—you can rely on him?’

  Alcibiades laughed. ‘He has no political interests. His allegiance is only to me. I have been of some service to him in the past.’

  ‘A common practice of yours, it seems,’ said Endius. ‘It’s unlikely that you would have been here today—’

  ‘—if my friend Endius had not honoured the connection that exists between our families,’ Alcibiades interrupted smoothly. ‘Shall we leave it at that?’

  Endius smiled, and refilled Alcibiades’ glass.

  ‘I won’t pretend that it was easy to persuade the Ephorate to allow you here,’ he said. ‘But speaking for myself, I think it might be to our advantage. You wrote of help you could give us. Could you specify that help?’

  Alcibiades did not answer directly. He said: ‘Tell me something else first. What are the doubts existing in the Ephors’ minds?’

  Endius said: ‘We in Sparta are cautious by nature. Perhaps excessively so. There was, of course, a certain suspicion attaching to you, whatever you might offer. A man who has changed, sides once, if you will forgive my saying so, might easily do so again. Then, as you will have gathered, there is a disinclination to take any action which might precipitate another war.’

  ‘You surprise me. I was under the impression that your government was waiting to see how the Sicilian expedition turned out. I had no idea there were, any . . . moral objections entertained to the idea.’

  Endius flushed. ‘There is a degree of truth in what you say. The government is also not anxious to stand accused among her allies of war-mongering.’

  ‘That I had anticipated. I also believe I have the answer to it. There is nothing in the terms of the treaty, as I see it, to prevent Sparta sending an expedition against Argos?’

  ‘No. But what . . .?’

  ‘Very simple. An excuse is ready to hand.’ Alcibiades saw in his mind’s eye the rich cornland he had ridden over a day earlier. ‘There is an unsettled dispute between Sparta and Argos concerning the plain of Cynuria, is there not?’

  ‘Everyone knows that.’

  ‘There you have your excuse, A couple of raids into the Argolid will do all you want. If I’m any judge of my own countrymen, they’ll retaliate with an attack on the Peloponnese.’

  Endius looked puzzled. ‘How can you tell that? There seems no immediate reason.’

  Controlling his impatience at the Spartan’s stupidity, Alcibiades said: ‘After Mantinea, if you’ll forgive my bringing that up again, we’ve been rather sensitive about Argos. It’s equally vital to both of us. At the moment its position is undefined. But the first step you take in that direction, the Council will interpret as a preliminary move against Athens. Besides, what with two recent cases of sacrilege and my subsequent disappearance—’ he laughed deprecatingly—‘the people are in no mood to be logical.’

  ‘I see,’ said Endius. He looked straight at Alcibiades. ‘I find it hard to understand you, my friend. Please don’t think I’m not grateful. I have no doubt that in due course our Council will be as well. But—what does all this mean to you?’

  Alcibiades laughed at his host’s discomfiture. Then he said seriously: ‘Sparta is not, and never has been, my worst enemy. When I was secure in my rights as a citizen, I could love Athens and show her my loyalty. I still love her. Athens is more than the corrupt men who govern her today. It is them at whom I am striking. If that be treachery, then I am a traitor.’

  Endius remained silent for a while. At last he said: ‘Well, your motives are your own affair.’ He clearly considered such a display of emotion slightly indecent. ‘You may,’ he went on, quickly bringing the conversation back to a more practical level, ‘have a chance to put your case before us publicly fairly soon, and prove your good faith. I will make no secret of the fact that there are many of us who view the situation in Sicily with some alarm. Action of some sort seems imperative. But—’ he shrugged—‘we are in the minority. Now there is an embassy expected here soon, within the next day or two.’

  ‘From where?’

  ‘Syracuse. They seem to be afraid of a siege. I heard yesterday that they have had some diplomatic success at Corinth.’

  ‘They went to Corinth first, then? They must have written you off as a very forlorn hope. How did the Corinthians receive them?’

  ‘Extremely well,’ said Endius. ‘So well, in fact, that they not only voted them help themselves, but are sending their own ambassadors here to Sparta with them to back their claims.’

  ‘And what are those claims?’

  ‘Help for Syracuse, naturally. And the resumption of the war in Greece to relieve pressure on them. They didn’t put it quite as baldly as that, but it’s pretty clear what they mean.’

  ‘And I shall have the chance to address your Assembly when they come?’ asked Alcibiades.

  ‘If I can arrange it. It’s highly irregular, of course, and it may be difficult. It depends very largely on the impression you make tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes. You are invited to dine with King Agis. So are the Ephors, myself included. If you show the diplomacy you apparently practised on my captains, you should have little trouble.’

  ‘Tell me something about Agis,’ said Alcibiades. ‘He struck me as a quite unusually brilliant field commander.’

  ‘For a Spartan, you mean, I presume,’ said Endius wrily. ‘The qualities you admire got him into some trouble. You may have heard rumours.’

  ‘I know that after the first battle of Mantinea he was never allowed to take the field without ten advisers to keep an eye on him. The Athenian Assembly at its silliest never went as far as that.’

  ‘Perhaps. You should realise that Agis is the man whose help you are most likely to get. Don’t do anything to provoke him. Or his wife,’ added Endius, as an afterthought.

  ‘Shall I see his wife? I thought you Spartans had strong opinions on the subject of women.’

  ‘We do. But not quite in the way an Athenian might imagine.’ It was the first time Endius had spoken with any real degree of warmth. Alcibiades was surprised. ‘You shut your wives away. We give them freedom and responsibility. Perhaps a little too much of both. But they breed noble sons. In Sparta we do not need to resort to Athenian courtesans.’ His tone was curiously priggish. He went on: ‘Queen Timaea will not, of course, dine with us. But you will have the opportunity to meet her beforehand.’

  ‘I believe, however, that for all her training and freedom, Timaea has not yet born Agis a successor?’

  Endius sighed. ‘It is the will of the Gods.’ Alcibiades remembered an old Athenian joke about the sexual deficiency of athletes, but prudently kept it to himself:

  ‘It might be desirable,’ Endius said, now quite palpably nervous, ‘if you were to outline to me any proposals as regards policy which you may intend to make later. I have to attend a meeting shortly, and it is unlikely that I shall have the chance to talk to you again before we
meet at dinner.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Alcibiades briskly, and poured out more wine. What he had to say took less than a minute to tell; but there could be no doubt about the impression it made on the Spartan.

  • • • • •

  The tables were crowded with guests: mostly elderly men, members of the Spartan Council, who, in the intervals of sipping their broth, cast stealthy glances up towards the dais, where Alcibiades sat in the seat of honour at King Agis’ right hand. They appeared to be on excellent terms. Alcibiades looked every inch a Spartan; Antiochus, wedged between two stern greybeards, and finding it extremely difficult to make conversation with them without provoking a shocked rebuke for every casual remark, envied his companion his easy adaptability.

  Alcibiades and the King were discussing Mantinea. ‘So I was right,’ Alcibiades was saying; ‘your Boeotian support never arrived. No one could understand why you withdrew without fighting.’

  Agis’ eyes twinkled. ‘Not even the revered elders who now sit at meat with me,’ he said, gnawing at a mutton-bone, his eyes on the Ephors.

  Alcibiades laughed, and drank deeply. The whole conversation was a little unreal.

  ‘One thing I never understood,’ Agis went on, ‘was why your Athenian wing never attacked when our flank was open. It was the one thing I was afraid of.’