Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  ‘You should ask Nicias that. He appointed the generals. If it had been my responsibility, there would have been ten thousand men there, not two.’

  ‘I don’t underestimate you, Alcibiades,’ said the King. ‘Why else do you think I delayed till you were safely out of office?’

  Alcibiades in his turn looked at the Ephors. Endius met his eye, then looked quickly away again. ‘It might have been your natural caution,’ said the Athenian demurely. ‘Your Assembly is less precipitate than ours. It likes to see its way clear ahead. That’s true, isn’t it, Endius?’

  ‘Within limits,’ said Endius awkwardly. He was finding his position as host to this disturbing man rather difficult; and was only too conscious of shrewdly appraising eyes watching every move he made.

  The King grasped the opening. He leaned forward, his heavy, intelligent face missing nothing. ‘That is relevant, I think, to our present situation,’ he said. ‘We know you have proposals to make to us—proposals which should be peculiarly interesting. Perhaps if you could give us all some idea of what you have in mind, we could have time for the reflection and deliberation which are so necessary to us.’

  The whole table hung on Alcibiades’ reply. But he was in no hurry. He studied them all for a moment with cool deliberation and then said: ‘Athenians too can be cautious when there is good reason. Even in Sparta it is hard to prevent rumours spreading. In a day or two, I understand, ambassadors from Syracuse and Corinth will seek audience of you. This; I feel, is the time when any suggestions I have should be made public. If they are known before then, I have no doubt that our common enemies could turn them to good account.’ There was no real meaning in this remark; but he calculated that the mention of vague danger would be enough to blind these stolid old men to his real purpose. Agis he had no intention of deceiving; but the King would hardly be averse to stealing a march on the Ephors.

  And so it turned out. Agis remarked solemnly: ‘I think your remarks have some weight, Alcibiades. I applaud your caution. In the circumstances perhaps it would be best if the Council granted you special permission to address the Assembly in the presence of these ambassadors. Of course, it would be desirable for you to tell them your intentions shortly before the actual meeting takes place. This could be done in secret, I take it?’ He had turned to the Ephors. Endius nodded with some relief. Alcibiades, his point made, engaged the King in a long and technical discussion about the Spartan system of education. ‘I had a Spartan nurse myself,’ Endius heard him saying, ‘and I was all the better for it. At the same time, your habit of exposing weakly children has its disadvantages . . .’

  At the bottom of the table an elderly and malodorous Spartan was saying to Antiochus: ‘I saw two slaves carrying buckets of water for your friend Alcibiades’ bath before dinner. You Athenians must be filthy creatures to need so much water . . .’

  Antiochus wisely remained silent.

  • • • • •

  From the bedchamber at the back of the house Timaea heard the talk and laughter which told her that the meal was over and the drinking had begun. She sat on the edge of the broad wooden bed, dressed in a plain linen robe, combing out her short curly black hair.

  She was tall—nearly as tall as Agis himself—with an athlete’s figure that told of years of exercise: the running and jumping and dancing to which every Spartan girl was bred from an early age. Her skin was burnt a golden brown. Her legs were long and finely moulded; the strong muscles lay under the surface, leaving them shapely and feminine still. Her breasts were small and high; yet her wide hips showed a woman whose destiny was to breed fine sons. Timaea thought of this, as she did often; and a shadow crossed her face.

  An hour later Agis came in, a little drunk, and found her still sitting in the same position. Without looking at her he stripped off his tunic and sluiced his body with cold water from the great jar which stood in the corner of the room. Timaea watched him with a mixture of exasperation and hungry intentness.

  At last she said: ‘Well? How did our guest behave?’ Her voice was pleasant: low and husky, marred now only by the edge of irritability that was seldom altogether absent from it.

  ‘Excellently, as I expected,’ said Agis, towelling himself vigorously. He did not bother to turn round. Timaea, her toilet finished, stretched out on her back like a cat, on top of the coverlets. It was a warm night. She clasped her hands behind her head, and observe: ‘It would hardly have paid him not to. His life depended on it.’

  ‘One wouldn’t have thought that to listen to him. He’s charmed them all completely.’

  ‘And you?’ inquired Timaea sardonically.

  The King flushed. Timaea watched him with something like disdain. ‘Please don’t misunderstand me. However handsome he may be, I’m well aware that he’s not . . . a boy. He’s a dangerous man, Agis: all the more dangerous for his charm. In one night he can so work on the men he fought against that they’re willing to give him anything.’

  ‘I shouldn’t be so certain,’ said Agis. ‘I’m not altogether a fool, you know, whatever you think of me. Nor are the Ephors. They’ll use him, but they won’t trust him with authority. Nor shall I.’

  ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘You seemed to have an extraordinary effect on him.’ Agis’ tone was one of mere mild curiosity.

  Timaea closed her eyes. Her dark face with its high shadowed cheek-bones betrayed nothing. ‘Perhaps he is more appreciative of Spartan beauty than the Spartans themselves,’ she said lightly. But she too remembered the look of incredulous astonishment that had passed quickly across Alcibiades’ face when he met her. It had been replaced instantaneously by an amiable mask of aristocratic courtesy; but it had been there. When he had bent to kiss her hand, she had realised that he was trembling; and at the touch of his lips a shock had run through the whole of her body, the more devastatingly because so utterly unexpected. It had required a huge effort of will to steady her voice to greet him. But of this she said nothing; and now she tried desperately to put it out of her mind. This man had made her overpoweringly aware of herself. It was an unknown and frightening sensation, and she fought against it with the whole force of her strong and simple mind.

  She looked steadily at Agis, in the light of the guttering lamp, and said, almost imploringly: ‘Will you come to bed, my lord?’

  The King did not answer immediately. He put on a clean tunic, and flung his great scarlet cloak across his shoulders. Then he said: ‘Not now. I must go out.’ He moved towards the door.

  ‘Agis—’ Her breath was coming in short gasps; it was a cry from the heart. He turned and looked at her: there was contempt in his face.

  ‘How can you look at me like that? Have you no pity?’

  ‘Have you no pride?’

  She controlled herself with difficulty. ‘I have my pride. The Gods know you have done enough to destroy it. I could forgive you almost anything else. But . . . To the people I am your wife: Queen of Sparta, the consort of a great king. To you I am . . . nothing. It would be better if you hated me.’ She said, her lips trembling, ‘If you wish for nothing else, you have your responsibility to the State. You must give Sparta a son to take your place.’

  Agis’ face was in shadow. ‘Is that my fault?’ he asked; and was gone. Timaea clenched her fists, fighting down the storm of tears that threatened to overwhelm her. Then she rose and went to the window. Dimly in the darkness she saw the figure of her husband striding away; and his path led him to the barracks of the young boys. He is the King, she thought bitterly; he can do no wrong.

  She found her way back to the bed and sat down. Mechanically, as if there were no meaning in the act, she opened a box that stood on the shelf; and took out a handful of dried sweet grass. She spent a long time, as she did every night, twisting threads of it into her hair. The clean, fragrant scent soothed her frayed nerves. Then she lay down under the coverlet and tried to sleep. But she was still awake, hours later, when Agis returned, and flung himself wearily on to the bed without a wo
rd to her; and when she at last lost consciousness it was to wake again, sweating, the grip of a fearful dream still strong upon her, to see the pale light of an autumn dawn peering through the shutters, and to hear the shouts of the slaves at work in the courtyard outside.

  • • • • •

  Alcibiades turned over on to his side and swam upstream, powerfully and gracefully, against the current. His body gleamed in the dark water. Antiochus, who like most, sailors was a poor swimmer, stood waist-deep, shivering, and watched him with admiration; and so did a knot of Spartans on the bank. To them this morning bathe was a hardening process, a test of endurance; Alcibiades turned it into a demonstration of skill.

  Though the dawn was up, mist still hung about the houses. Alcibiades doubled like a fish, and with a few swift strokes came back to the waiting group. He stood up, laughing, pushing his wet hair back from his face, the water surging and bubbling round his body. He really enjoys it, thought Antiochus. Then he saw Alcibiades’ expression change; and looked up to the bank. Timaea was standing there. She was watching the swimmer with extraordinary intentness, and made no attempt to conceal the fact. Her face was flushed, and her lips slightly parted.

  The fool, said Antiochus to himself. There’s going to be trouble there. If an Athenian woman—let alone one in her position behaved like that, they’d be selling lampoons about it on the street corners the same evening. But the Spartans did not even appear to notice. To them such interest was merely a tribute to a good athlete; and as Alcibiades leapt up on to the bank, shaking himself like a dog, they crowded round him, laughing and talking. Then Alcibiades threw out a challenge; and in an instant they were all running along the river bank, their wet brown bodies flashing in the sun. Timaea followed them with her eyes for a moment; then, without a word to Antiochus, she walked away towards the town. Antiochus watched her go, a worried expression on his face. There was no denying she was an incredibly attractive woman. He began to dry himself, still shivering.

  When Alcibiades came back, panting and laughing, Antiochus nodded quietly to him, and the two of them walked across the meadows alone, at a little distance from the young Spartans.

  ‘I didn’t know you numbered swimming among your accomplishments,’ he said at length.

  Alcibiades shook his head and laughed. ‘Is that all you wanted to tell me?’ he asked. He felt in an exceedingly good humour. His body was glowing; the cold water had refreshed and invigorated him. And besides that—‘Out with it,’ he said. ‘I’ve never seen you look so gloomy.’

  Antiochus said, in a tentative way: ‘The Queen appears to find you . . . interesting.’

  Alcibiades frowned; then said lightly: ‘It’d be surprising if she didn’t. After all, I am something of a novelty here. And I don’t think her . . . interest’—he grinned as he mimicked Antiochus’ hesitation—‘is limited to me. I’m told that her husband’s attentions are directed elsewhere.’

  ‘Another woman?’

  ‘My dear Antiochus: this is Sparta. No, not another woman.’ He smiled charmingly and said: ‘I appreciate your concern for me. But we have more serious things to think about today.’

  ‘Have the ambassadors arrived?’

  ‘They reached Sparta last night. The meeting is in an hour’s time.’ He fingered his shaven chin and said confidently: ‘I know what I have to say to them.’

  • • • • •

  The word had gone around that Alcibiades was to address the Spartan Assembly that morning. A large crowd of citizens had assembled in the meadow to the north of the city, close to the bridge over the river, where all such sessions were held. The Ephors stood a little apart, King Agis with them; so did the ambassadors from Syracuse and Corinth, fingering their notes and looking with some apprehension at the mass of fierce warriors gathering round the natural grassy mound from which the speakers addressed them. On the fringe of the crowd, chatting with the captains who had escorted him from Argos, was Alcibiades.

  Two of the Ephors were watching him. ‘To allow him to speak is a grave error, in my opinion,’ said one of them. He was a grey-haired man in his late seventies; yet he was vigorous still, and stood as straight as a youth. ‘To send envoys to Syracuse, to prevent them coming to any agreement with Athens, that is well enough. But if we do not take care, this young hot-head will talk us into war again—’ He broke off as Endius climbed the mound and introduced the ambassadors briefly. The crowd settled down to listen. They were far more serious and disciplined than the Athenian Assembly.

  Something of their mood seemed to catch the Corinthians and Syracusans. They employed no flowery rhetoric; but drew a picture of the gravity of the situation as well as its opportunities. They ended by quite baldly asking, firstly, for help in Sicily; secondly, for a resumption of the war in Greece. The first proposal was greeted with some enthusiasm; the second doubtfully. When they had finished Endius nodded to Alcibiades; and with slow, leisurely steps the Athenian moved forward, as he had done so many times in his own city, but now to address the representatives of an alien and suspicious people.

  When he had reached the top of the mound he paused a moment, surveying the faces before him. It was a fine October day; a gentle breeze blew off the river, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Somewhere a bird was calling monotonously; a long, drawn-out, intolerably repeated cry.

  ‘I must first speak to you,’ said Alcibiades, ‘of the prejudice which exists against me here in certain quarters. If I cannot dispel your suspicions, I can hardly hope that you will listen to the advice I have to give you. I had a long-standing connection with you through family ties. I should have been the rightful consul with whom you negotiated after Pylos.’

  Endius looked up at him quickly. Not a sound, not a single expression showed him what kind of effect he was having on his audience. They sat as still and impassive as statues, their shadows slowly shortening as the sun climbed the sky.

  ‘We at Athens have always had a dislike for arbitrary power. All those who oppose such a government get the name of democrats. I led the people for a time. Hence my reputation.’

  For the first time a faint ripple of laughter broke out.

  ‘I don’t propose to waste your time in discussing what we all agree is a ridiculous form of government. I will only say that while we were at war with you, it seemed to us highly dangerous to attempt to change it.’

  Some heads nodded at this. Agis looked mildly amused. Endius leant forward, intent on every word.

  ‘Now, I feel, I can deal with the real and pressing problems which confront you, and concerning which I have some special knowledge.’ A complete hush fell over the audience. ‘You thought our goal was the conquest of Sicily. That was only to be a beginning. Sicily would lead us both to Carthage and Italy. With all three in our hands we should get everything we wanted—men, ships, money. And then, at last, we were to return to Greece. Against such a fleet and army our enemies in the Peloponnese would be helpless.’ He smiled grimly. ‘The final aim, then,’ he said, staring at the startled Syracusans with some amusement, ‘was for Athens to gain complete control of the entire Greek world.’

  If he had intended to create an effect, he had certainly succeeded. The impassivity of the gathering vanished, and was replaced by an angry murmuring.

  ‘You now know the whole purpose of the expedition,’ he said. ‘I was the man who conceived it; I have told you everything I know. My late colleagues will, if they can, still carry it out.’ He passed quickly over this piece of lying effrontery; but no one seemed to have noticed it.

  ‘You must send an army to Sicily at once. More than that, you must send a competent Spartan general to direct the defence of Syracuse. If you take this open step, the cities in Sicily that are still wavering will come over to you at once. At the same time you must renew the war here on the mainland.’

  There was some dissentient murmuring at this; but he took no notice. ‘I am not proposing the annual raids you employed during the late war. There is an easier and a more
effective way. Twelve miles outside Athens stands the fortress of Decelea. Take it and hold it. A single strong point in their territory will do them more harm than any raids could. You will gain control of all the surrounding territory; you will become a rallying point for malcontents and deserters—of whom there are many—and, best of all, you will cut off Athens from her silver mines at Laurium. She has not so much revenue that she can afford this loss. And further—if her allies see you taking this kind of action, they will be less inclined than ever to pay the tribute that is being wrung out of them. Their obedience is based on fear; and once they lose their fear, there will be no holding them.’

  There could be no doubt about it; he had won over the majority. A hum of approval greeted his words. Skilfully and quietly he broke into it.

  ‘If you send even a small force to Sicily, you will not only preserve yourselves a valuable ally, but destroy Athens’ ambitions once and for all. And then,’ he concluded shrewdly, ‘you will have gained more than your own safety. You will have the leadership of Greece; and you will hold it, not by force, but by the willing consent of those whom you have preserved.’

  He stepped down from the mound; and the roar of applause that rang in his ears left him in no doubt that his words had gone home. Within half an hour, to his amazement, all his proposals had been put before the Assembly and formally approved.

  The very decisiveness of his, action appalled him. There could be no turning back. A cold voice of doubt nagged at his brain. Yet what else could I have done? he asked himself. Go back to Athens, to a parody of a trial, to offer myself as a sacrifice to Androcles and his sweaty rabble? No one in their senses could demand that. Fight on in Sicily? Nicias threw away that campaign almost before it was begun, and I can’t see the Assembly being very tolerant of the man who destroyed their dreams of conquest. Rot away in exile? Where is safe for me now? He ground heel savagely into the ground. No. This is the only way. Sooner or later Athens will be on her knees to me to come back: when the madmen are silenced, and, the petty intriguers destroyed. He trembled with rage as he thought of the men who had pulled him down. By the Gods, he said, to himself, by the Gods, I shall show them I am still alive. The Gods willing, I shall still save Athens. But the Gods willing, I shall destroy my enemies first. He stretched his arms and drew a deep breath. The decision once made, he dismissed the problem from his mind.