Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

At the conclusion of the feast the nobles departed, prostrating themselves yet again before the King, and bowing their way out backwards from the royal presence. Alcibiades himself half rose as a gesture; but Tissaphernes motioned to him to sit down once more. When the three of them were alone, great bowls of fruit on the floor between them, Tissaphernes at once said, without any of the tortuousness of speech which Alcibiades had hitherto noticed in him: ‘My lord King, our Athenian guest has proposals to make to us which concern the safety and well-being of the realm. Is it your royal wish that he should speak?’

  Darius inclined his head. ‘He has our permission,’ he said. Out of courtesy to the stranger both men spoke in Attic Greek, the international language of diplomacy; and the fact somehow gave Alcibiades encouragement. He noted, however, that while Tissaphernes spoke fluently, with hardly a trace of accent, the King’s words came slow and thickly. Accordingly he spoke slowly himself, enunciating his words with care, and was pleased to note the quick gleam of approval in the Satrap’s eyes.

  He began with an ambiguous generalisation that would have done credit to Tissaphernes himself. ‘There can be no doubt, I think,’ he said, that if one is confronted with two enemies, one a sea-power, the other a land-power, it is unwise to allow either of them to usurp the other’s element.’ Darius and Tissaphernes settled themselves more comfortably. This was the kind of approach to which they were used. ‘If, further, these enemies are warring against each other,’ Alcibiades went on smoothly, ‘it is waste of labour and expense to do what they will readily do for you if given the chance.’

  The two statements floated gently in the air; the King and the Satrap absorbed them impassively, and nodded.

  ‘In this particular instance . . . ?’ asked Tissaphernes; but there was no impatience in his voice.

  ‘The lands that are the King’s by rights should return to the King. Of that there can be no question. The occasion is favourable; but this should not lead to precipitate action. In your realm you hire many mercenaries to fight for you. It is a costly business. Why should, you deny yourselves the services of those who may give you all you want for little or no money?’

  ‘It is agreed,’ said the Satrap; and now he bent forward a little, his eyes gleaming. Only the King remained impassive.

  ‘The means in this case are easy.’ Alcibiades felt his throat going dry, and sipped delicately at his wine. ‘There is no need to provoke Spartan or Athenian against each other; that they have done and will continue to do of themselves. But both are weary; and both look for money where they can find it. Their treasuries are nearly exhausted. To whom should they turn but you? If you are wise, you will hold the scales of war. Do not be in any hurry to achieve your ends; they will come all the more surely for delay. Let Athens and Sparta wear each other out. Then you may take your own without loss.’

  ‘How is this to be done?’ asked Tissaphernes.

  ‘You have alliance with the Spartans—of a sort.’ The Satrap smiled. ‘They depend on you for their pay. If you were to reduce it—I do not suggest its complete withdrawal—they would be driven to fight for their very livelihood; and if their courage failed them, they would have no alternative but to return home. But as long as they receive anything, I think they will stay. It would be a grave error if Athens were left supreme in Ionia; your position would be no more secure than it was before the war; But an Athens exhausted by a long conflict’—he felt his pulses quicken as he introduced his most dangerous point—‘would treat more freely with you than Sparta. Athens’ domain is the sea; we have no interest in the conquest of fresh lands. These Spartans have come here with the avowed purpose of liberating the Islands, not only from Athens’ rule but from yours. The Athenian, if you use him skilfully, will conquer the Islands for you. To my mind your course is plain. Hold out hope to Sparta—but not too much. You speak of a great Phoenician fleet you are building. Promise them its assistance. It need never sail. And what will corrupt the Spartan navy—or any navy—so quickly as, the withholding of their pay?’

  The main facts in this deliberately long-winded speech stood out clearly, and Tissaphernes was quick to grasp them.

  ‘If I am to cut down the pay I have promised the Spartans,’ he observed, ‘—and I will not pretend it is not an irksome expense—what excuse shall I give them?’

  Alcibiades smiled. ‘Tell them that the Athenians, whose seafaring experience is much older than their own, only pay their sailors what you are now offering. Not through poverty, but to prevent them being corrupted through over-affluence.’

  The Satrap smiled in his turn.

  ‘It would also be advisable—and this is another Athenian device—to leave such pay considerably in arrears.’

  ‘Naturally,’ said Tissaphernes. ‘I presume there is an excellent reason for this also?’

  ‘Of course. Men whose pay is in arrears are less liable to desert.’

  ‘The Athenians would seem to be a thrifty people,’ said Tissaphernes thoughtfully. ‘If you stay in Persia’—once again his voice had that subtle inflection of ambiguity—‘I shall without doubt have to appoint you my treasurer.’

  Alcibiades laughed politely. ‘In that respect,’ he said, ‘there is another thing that could be done, where the expenditure of a little gold will save you much afterwards. Neither the commanders of the Greek armies, nor, I imagine, the chief magistrates of the cities and the islands, will be immune to . . . financial persuasion. If you secure their personal friendship, there will be less fear of your other plans going awry. And you will provide yourself with many valuable sources of information at the same time.’

  When Alcibiades finally took his leave, Tissaphernes, with the King’s approval, had accepted all his suggestions. Or all except one. At the end of a long and fulsome expression of his thanks, the Satrap said: ‘Touching this matter of treating with Athens, we will speak of it again at another time.’ And with that Alcibiades had to be content.

  ‘He is a clever man,’ said the King when they were alone. He spoke now in Persian.

  The Satrap smiled: a thin smile that held no laughter.

  ‘I do not think so, my lord,’ he said. He meditated for a little. ‘My lord,’ he went on, ‘I have always held that the greatest fool is the man who cannot profit by his own errors. Such a one is this Greek. I know more of him than he thinks; much more than he knows of me. What are his talents? He has an eye for strategy. He has charm enough to beguile a Greek: but not a Persian. He knows the minds of his own countrymen. This man I can use. But I do not trust him, and I do not respect his intelligence. Tonight he has told me all he can ever tell me; he has held nothing back, he has no bargaining power left to him. If he were twenty years younger he might learn. But now it is too late. When he fled from his own country he went to King Agis in Sparta. He told Agis all that was in his mind, as he has told it to me and to my lord the King. He has suffered for that fault: his very presence here is the proof. Now once again he has put himself at the mercy of a stranger: but he does not know it.’

  Tissaphernes stared at the panelling on the ceiling, and stroked his beard with a soft white hand. His face was lit up by the flickering fire from the brazier: it looked suddenly warmer and more human. But the power and contempt were still there.

  ‘If he were not still a boy,’ said the Satrap surprisingly, ‘I should take his coming as an insult to my intelligence. But for all his years and scars, his mind is still . . . innocent. For him each new encounter is a fresh experience, and everything before it is forgotten. He will slip into the trappings of a part: not as an actor but as a child. You saw him tonight. And on each occasion he will forget that though he may put off his past as the snake puts off his skin, it still lies in the minds of those with whom he deals; that his true credentials are nothing but past deeds.’

  ‘There was once a naked madman,’ said the King, ‘who believed that he alone was clothed.’

  Tissaphernes nodded. ‘When this Greek came to me, he was not in his own eyes a double trai
tor that no sane man would trust except for what could be got from him. He was Alcibiades: the witty, brilliant, incomparable Alcibiades, existing only in his own presence, in his words with which he thought he could mould men and nations. He would not wonder if the walls of a city fell by his words alone.’

  ‘But his advice was good?.’ said the King.

  ‘His advice was excellent, if one discounts his attempts to talk us into sending him home to Athens in triumph. I strongly recommend that it be adopted.’

  ‘It shall be so,’ said Darius.

  Tissaphernes bowed. ‘Your will shall be done, my lord.’

  Darius rose to his feet and. clapped his hands. His slaves came running. The interview was at an end.

  ‘And the man himself?’ he said over his shoulder.

  Tissaphernes said pensively: ‘I shall keep him with me as an . . . honoured guest. It would be a pity if he left us as unceremoniously as he did his previous hosts. He can be very useful to us—and I shall enjoy his company.’

  He bowed low as the King withdrew; but he sat on alone in the darkening hall for a long while, his chin on his hand, his eyes staring out beyond the crouching pillars into the night.

  • • • • •

  The scribe waited submissively at his desk, a freshly cut pen poised in his hand. He was a little, bald, round-shouldered man with a tortoise-like face and bored eyes that had seen everything, that nothing could startle. Alcibiades strode up and down the room, coughing a little with the fumes of charcoal, a bunch of letters in his hand. His beard was once more fully-grown; as Tissaphernes had predicted, it consorted oddly with his Persian dress.

  He picked out one letter and studied it, frowning. Then the frown changed to a smile. He cleared his throat. ‘Write,’ he said. The scribe bowed his head and prepared himself. ‘To the chief magistrates and citizens of the island of Chios, from Alcibiades the minister of the Satrap Tissaphernes—give him all his titles—greetings. Know that my lord Tissaphernes thinks it great impudence and ingratitude on your part that you should write to him sueing for money to maintain your siege. You are the richest nation in Greece. Not content with your defence being conducted by a foreign force, you now expect your allies to risk their money as well as their lives on behalf of your freedom. Know too that my lord Tissaphernes is at this present supporting the financial burden of the war at his own cost, by reason of his good faith and munificence; and therefore has good cause to husband his resources.’

  He paused, then added: ‘But when my lord Tissaphernes receives monies from Darius the King—full titles again—he will remit you your pay in full, and do all else that may befit the affiance and treaties existing between us . . . Is it written?’

  ‘It is written, my lord.’ Alcibiades read the lines over quickly; then signed and sealed the letter. ‘You will write in similar terms to the other cities who have sent such demands to us,’ he said. ‘And to them you may say also that they had to pay much tribute to Athens before their rebellion, and it is not fitting that they should now refuse to pay as much—or even more—in their own defence. Go now, and write. When you have done all this, bring me the letters and I will sign them. See that they are dispatched by Imperial courier without delay.’

  ‘It shall be done, my lord.’ The scribe bowed once more and withdrew.

  Left to himself, Alcibiades reflected with some satisfaction on the course events had taken. The pay had been cut as he had suggested; and so well had Tissaphernes laid out his bribes among the Spartan commanders that there had been only one complaint, from a Syracusan general who was impervious to any kind of corruption. Him Tissaphernes had soothed with soft words, declaring that as Satrap he had no real authority but was merely carrying out the King’s orders. The matter would soon be put right; and meanwhile he would provide a small increase of pay from his own purse. Tissaphernes had furthermore drafted a new treaty with Sparta. On the surface it appeared more favourable than its predecessor; yet it not only implied that all territories in Asia were the King’s, but forbade the Spartans to levy tribute from the cities—an adroit move which left Tissaphernes still in complete financial control of the situation. In all these transactions it had been Alcibiades who had acted as Tissaphernes’ agent and spoke in his name. There could be little doubt, he thought, what kind of picture this would present to the Athenians of the fleet at Samos. If Alcibiades was the man in control of Persia’s policy towards Greece . . .

  Yet one could never be sure how their minds worked. Perhaps a secret letter, then, telling them of his plans to aid his countrymen once more? No. Not yet. There must be some really convincing event; something to prove beyond any doubt that Tissaphernes was breaking with Sparta. And here he had to admit that he had met with little success. The Satrap was kindness itself. He entertained Alcibiades, laughed at his jokes, took him with him wherever he went. But every time the question of Athens was raised, Tissaphernes became discreetly vague. He refused to discuss politics when he was hunting, he said; and on every other occasion there was some good reason why he was otherwise occupied. When Alcibiades began to get impatient, the Satrap loaded him with flowery compliments and named his own pleasure park after his Athenian guest; and Alcibiades had to accept the honour with a good grace, and wait.

  • • • • •

  The chance came sooner than he expected; and it was due to an event so rare that it almost seemed as if Fate had taken a hand in it. Tissaphernes, the smooth, imperturbable, calculating Tissaphernes, lost his temper.

  It came about in this way. Rumours of the unsatisfactory state of affairs in Ionia had inevitably found their way back to the Spartan capital. Alcibiades’ defection was to be expected; but its results were a more serious matter. Alarmed by Tissaphernes’ high-handed behaviour over the payment of Spartan troops, and the ugly suggestions of bribery that went with it, the Spartan Council sent out eleven commissioners to examine the contents of the treaties (which had never reached them) and set agents to watch the movements of Astyochus and several other commanders who were reported to be secretly working for the Satrap.

  The commission joined Astyochus and his fleet at the port of Caunus in Caria; and here Tissaphernes came down with his retinue to meet them. If he expected to hoodwink them as easily as he had done the Spartan generals, he was sadly mistaken. A single glance at the two treaties was enough to show the commissioners how they had been deceived: and their leader declared, with true Spartan bluntness, that both agreements were worthless. This kind of frontal attack for once took Tissaphernes off his guard.

  ‘Here’s a monstrous piece of impertinence!’ said the Chief Commissioner. ‘All the lands ruled over by the King or his ancestors—what does that mean? I’ll tell you. It means all the islands. It means Thessaly, and Locris, and the whole of the Greek mainland as far as Boeotia. We Spartans came to Ionia to give the Islands liberty from Athens, not to covenant half Greece away to a Persian despot. You can take your choice, Satrap: either make a new treaty, or go hang yourself. We’d rather forgo your gold than get it at such a price.’

  Without making any reply Tissaphernes and his train flung off in a rage; and the Spartans, as if to show him that they were quite capable of managing their affairs without his assistance, promptly sailed across to Rhodes. The Rhodians had only been waiting for a chance to revolt from Athens; they welcomed their deliverers with flowers and flute-girls, and paid them thirty-two talents into the bargain.

  • • • • •

  In a house overlooking the great naval base of Samos three men were examining a letter. Two of them sat at a small table, a lamp between them and a flagon of wine close at hand. They presented a striking contrast to each other. The elder was a tall, gaunt naval commander, long-nosed and thin-lipped. His name was Strombichides, and he had been in command of the Athenian eastern fleet since the fall of Sicily. It had not been an easy command; and now he showed visible signs of strain.

  His companion Peisander was considerably younger, though the fact was not at on
ce recognisable from his face. He was a huge, gross person, jowled like a eunuch, with a mountainous belly and short, bowed legs; but from his fleshy and dissipated face a pair of shrewd eyes looked out, and his apparent indolence concealed remarkable energy. He was as unmistakably a politician as Strombichides, was a sailor.

  The third man, who now stood at the window staring down over the darkening harbour, was Strombichides’ colleague Charminus; a thin, nervous aristocrat whose wealth had given him the authority he had never demanded, and whose one ambition in life was to avoid trouble. What he had just heard worried him considerably.

  ‘How do we know we can trust the man?’ he said. ‘Alcibiades is a traitor twice over.’

  ‘Don’t be too hasty,’ said Peisander. ‘A little of Tissaphernes’ gold would take us a long way. And if we had his Phoenician fleet—’

  Strombichides shook his head. ‘We’ve been hearing about that fleet for the last six months, but it’s never appeared. I wouldn’t put it past the Satrap to have invented it.’

  ‘You may be right.’ Peisander was unruffled; his words had the fat man’s comfortable persuasiveness. ‘But consider Alcibiades’ suggestions a little more closely.’ He tapped the letter. ‘He offers us alliance with Tissaphernes and the King. A month ago I wouldn’t have believed it; but since then Tissaphernes has quarrelled with the Spartan commission. And there’s no doubt that it’s been Alcibiades who’s dictated his moves.’

  ‘He drives a pretty hard bargain,’ said Strombichides. ‘A revolution’s not something to be lightly undertaken.’

  ‘Can you blame him? He hasn’t got much reason to be grateful to the democracy. To be exiled on a false charge—’

  ‘Was it false?’ Charminus swung round from the window. ‘I admit the mutilation charge was a mistake. But the profanation of the Mysteries? There was a lot of damaging evidence. And the decree against him still stands. He’s asking too much. Even if an oligarchic revolution was desirable, there’s far too much bad feeling against him to make his return possible.’