Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  ‘I suggest,’ said Peisander, ‘that we don’t let our feelings run away with us. What we have to consider is what will profit us most—’

  Strombichides broke in bluntly: ‘Why isn’t Phrynichus here tonight? As commander-in-chief of the fleet—’

  Peisander raised his eyebrows at this piece of tactlessness. Military men were really very tiresome to deal with.

  ‘I was coming to that,’ he said. ‘Charminus has raised an important point.’ He looked round the room. ‘Can any of you deny,’ he asked, that this war has been ruinously expensive for you personally? We are all men of property. Do you imagine that the “democratic rabble” Alcibiades complains of is going to reimburse you for your losses, or take any immediate steps to bring the war to an end? If you ask me, gentlemen, there is a good deal more to recommend Alcibiades’ proposals than you seem to think. And now perhaps you understand’—he smiled at Strombichides—‘why I have not invited our honoured commander- in-chief to attend this meeting.’

  The other two remained silent. There was much force in Peisander’s arguments; but certainly Phrynichus, the shepherd boy turned advocate and now, by the fortune of war and sheer native ability, a senior general, would not have appreciated them. A more rabid democrat it would have been hard to imagine.

  After a long pause Strombichides said: ‘What action do you propose?’ It was a tacit admission of complicity, and Peisander smiled in, satisfaction.

  ‘I shall go and see Alcibiades myself,’ he said. ‘I suggest that you both accompany me. If his offer appears a genuine one we can make discreet approaches to the officers and men of the fleet.’

  ‘You’ll have some trouble there.’ Strombichides spoke with the assurance of military experience; here he was on his own ground. ‘And not only from Phrynichus. My sailors are for the democracy to a man.’

  ‘I fancy the promise of an increase in pay might make them change their minds. And we can emphasise the fact that this . . . change of government would be a purely temporary measure.’

  From outside the shouting and singing in the streets rose louder as the evening wore on. Strombichides’ sailors were clearly enjoying themselves. The frown deepened on his worn face.

  ‘I appreciate your arguments: he said at length; but I feel that Charminus is right. The risk—’

  ‘What can ever be achieved without risk? And what alternative have you to propose?’

  Strombichides and Charminus looked at each other questioningly; and Charminus nodded. ‘Very well,’ said Strombichides; ‘I agree.’ Now that his decision was taken his whole bearing changed; he became crisp and alert, eager for action.

  ‘When will we go?

  ‘As soon as possible,’ said Peisander.

  ‘Tomorrow?’

  Peisander stared thoughtfully at the lamp, and poured himself a glass of wine.

  ‘Tomorrow would be admirable,’ he said.

  • • • • •

  Alcibiades came down from Sardis and met them at Magnesia, midway between Miletus and Ephesus, where he entertained them (at the Satrap’s expense) with truly regal magnificence. Tissaphernes was still smarting from the rebuff he had received at the hands of the Spartan commissioners; and he was too astute not to see that an oligarchic revolution in Athens might have more far-reaching effects than Alcibiades anticipated the crippling of the fleet at Samos by mutiny, for a start. Accordingly, he authorised Alcibiades to do as he thought best; and Alcibiades was not slow to take him at his word. He sent the deputation back to Samos fully convinced and almost alarmingly optimistic.

  Events turned out as Peisander had foreseen. The sailors of the fleet, after a dubious initial reception of his plan, found the promise of pay from the Persian King quite enough to quieten their consciences. Meanwhile Peisander had personally approached every known oligarch and landowner among the troops. Phrynichus, when he found out what was going on, stormed and swore and talked of treason and mutiny. But he could do nothing against an overwhelming majority of both officers and men; and in any case, things had gone too far now for there to be any turning back. It was formally voted that Peisander and ten chosen colleagues should go to Athens and treat with the Council for the abolition of the democracy and the recall of Alcibiades. Peisander accepted this task with his usual bland assurance; but Phrynichus’ words had worried him, and before he left he paid another visit, alone and in secret, to Alcibiades himself.

  • • • • •

  Peisander found Athens in a desperate position. Agis and his army were still roaming the countryside round Decelea; the Treasury was nearly empty, and there were no more than twenty galleys available in the event of a direct attack on the Piraeus. The bulk of the fleet—and, more important, the citizens who manned it—were at Samos. Peisander was not slow to notice the pinched resentful faces of those who remained in the capital. But when he proposed the recall of Alcibiades to the Assembly the furious opposition he aroused was beyond anything he had expected.

  He listened patiently while man after man rose and passionately denounced his proposals; heard without heat the oaths and shouts of the half-hysterical Assembly. When their fury had worn itself out he rose from his place in a leisurely fashion, looked around with great good humour, and inquired if any of those who were so anxious for the well-being of their country had a better suggestion to make. An awkward silence fell, and men looked at each other, somewhat at a loss.

  Having thus secured his audience, Peisander proceeded to soothe them. This arrangement would be a purely temporary one, he assured them, and would be revoked immediately the danger was past. But that very real danger to Athens existed, there could be no doubt; and Alcibiades, who alone could produce a Persian affiance, was the only man who could avert it. They wavered, hesitated, and finally gave way. They did not commit themselves to recalling the exile, and this Peisander had hardly hoped for. But they did appoint a fresh commission, himself at its head, to put Alcibiades’ offer to the test. When the all-important treaty was signed and sealed it would be soon enough to talk of bringing him home.

  Peisander sailed back Ito Samos in the highest of spirits.

  • • • • •

  But all Peisander’s hopes, in the final event; rested on Alcibiades; and Alcibiades, knowing that the Athenian commission would soon arrive at Sardis, was desperately trying to persuade Tissaphernes to abandon the careful neutrality which he himself had been the first to advocate. Flattery and persuasion were useless; and it would be suicidal to resort to threats that he had no power to carry out. So he argued and cajoled, becoming increasingly blatant as time drew on; and the Satrap listened to him with malicious enjoyment.

  But at the same time, had Alcibiades only realised it, Tissaphernes’ own position was far from secure: he was, in fact, playing the same kind of bluff as his enemies, though he played it with considerably greater skill. The gold he made such lavish promise of distracted the eyes of Spartans and Athenians, alike from the fact that his huge and unwieldy province was practically undefended. He had a few mercenary troops and a handful of cavalry; apart from this he was dependent on his own wits and the rivalry of the Greeks.

  Accordingly, when the Satrap finally allowed himself to be drawn, he came to the point quickly and brutally, leaving his desperate guest no time to reflect on his proposals.

  ‘I am prepared to grant an alliance to your Athenian friends on three conditions,’ he said. ‘I would point out that these conditions have been approved by the King, and there is no alternative to them. Firstly, he requires the ceding to him of the entire Ionian coastal strip. Secondly, the return to Persia of all the islands. Thirdly, the right for Persian ships to navigate freely in all Greek waters at present under Athenian. jurisdiction. If your commission accepts these terms, the King’s alliance, and in consequence mine, is theirs for the asking.’

  Alcibiades stared in bewilderment and horror. ‘But these are impossible conditions,’ he exclaimed. ‘No Athenian government would accept them for a moment.
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br />   ‘That,’ said Tissaphernes blandly, ‘is entirely their affair . . . and yours. For a man who is reputed to control Persian policy towards Greece, you appear to me to be unduly perturbed.’ He smiled placidly, complete master of the situation. If by any remote chance the commission went to these extreme lengths, Ionia would be safe. If they did not, it would be Alcibiades who was discredited; Persia would be no worse off than before.

  Alcibiades stared at the Satrap with baffled rage. But there was nothing he could do. The only chance was that the Assembly in Athens would blame Peisander rather than himself for breaking off negotiations.

  ‘Very well,’ he said at length, ‘I shall do as you suggest.’ He rose to go, anxious to preserve what little dignity he had left.

  ‘Excellent,’ said Tissaphernes. ‘You’re a reasonable person. I knew you’d see my point of view.’

  • • • • •

  Incredibly, Peisander and his colleagues came very near to accepting Tissaphernes’ offer, and Alcibiades realised to what a pass affairs must have come in Athens. But at the proposal that Persia should have free access to Athenian territorial waters, even Peisander struck. The next day the commission left, not for Athens but Samos. It would have been a brave man who returned to Athens empty-handed; and it occurred to Peisander that much might yet be done even without Alcibiades’ help.

  Alcibiades himself was reduced to complete impotence; he sat alone in the palace at Sardis, once again neither guest nor prisoner, while Tissaphernes, his mind made up by the turn of events, rode down to the coast and patched up his quarrel with the commanders of the Spartan navy. This time he did not hesitate; he gave them an unequivocal treaty to replace the two previous ones. In it he promised them a fixed rate of pay, and the service of his famous Phoenician fleet. His gold had worked wonders among the Spartan captains,; and in any case this was not a chance to he missed.

  The Satrap returned to Sardis with the treaty signal and sealed. The balance of forces in his territory was once more roughly equal: he congratulated himself on his own astuteness. It would have been highly foolish to have had two enemies on his hands at once. He spent an enjoyable evening lecturing. Alcibiades on the arts of diplomacy.

  • • • • •

  The steps on the stair were hardly audible; it was only the slight creaking of the joists that gave Adeimantus his warning. He got up and looked out of the window. Below in the street all seemed quiet. He loosened his dagger in its sheath and moved quickly across to the door. Through the boards he could hear the sound of heavy breathing. Then there came a soft double knock.

  If it had been the agents of the revolutionary government, they would have broken the place down. . . . He quickly shot back the bolt and half-opened the door. A man slipped past him into the room and collapsed across the bed, where he lay motionless without uttering a word.

  Adeimantus shut and barred the door, and picked up a lamp. The flickering light revealed the face of Axiochus. He was covered with dust and sweat, and blood trickled down one cheek from a long cut in his scalp. Even in this moment Adeimantus noticed with surprise that his long tow-like hair was now iron-grey.

  He put down the lamp and fetched a water-jug. Then he tore strips from an old tunic, bathed Axiochus’ face, and bound up his wound as best he could. At the touch of the cold water Axiochus’ eyes fluttered and opened. He sat up with an effort, and groaned. Adeimantus, without a word, poured him a cup of wine and held it for him while he drank. The two men sat looking at each other. Adeimantus refilled the cup, and poured one for himself. At last he said: ‘How did you find me?’

  Axiochus stared round the tiny roof-top garret, with its sparse furnishing and wooden bed. He wiped his forehead wearily. ‘I only reached Athens today,’ he said. He seemed not to have heard the question. ‘I’ve been in Euboea—but you knew that . . .’ He spoke as if in a dream. ‘They’re murdering people in the streets . . . Has everyone gone completely mad? That was how I got this—’ he pointed to his head. ‘I waited till dark before I came to find you. I ran into a bunch of men struggling at a street-corner . . . I suppose I ought to have gone on my way. But I heard shouts for help . . . I went over to see what was happening. The crowd scattered as I approached. I saw a man lying there. Dead, all right. They’d stabbed him in about a dozen places. His blood was running down the gutter. I suppose I must have cried out. Anyway, as I got up, one of the assassins was waiting for me. He cut me across the head with a sword before I could do a thing. When I came to my senses I found myself lying across the body of the murdered man . . .’

  ‘Did you recognise any of the murderers?’

  ‘No. They were all masked . . . Adeimantus, what in the Gods’ name is happening?’

  ‘Do you mean to say you haven’t heard? . . . An oligarchic revolution . . .’

  Axiochus stared in horror: then his mouth twitched, and he began to laugh: a high-pitched hysterical laugh that echoed round the little room. With an enormous effort he pulled himself together. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. He took a long pull at his wine, and some colour came back into his cheeks.

  ‘He was behind it all,’ said Adeimantus. There was no need to say who he meant. ‘I’ve been out of touch with him for months . . . ever since he went to Persia . . . It looks as if the fleet at Samos have broken with him and decided to go ahead on their own . . .’

  ‘Never mind that. What’s happened here?’

  ‘Peisander came with two of his officers—’

  ‘I know him. An extremely dangerous man.’

  ‘He certainly didn’t waste his time here. He organised all the secret oligarchic clubs for a reign of terror. They weren’t to know that the negotiations would break down—they’d been working on the assumption that Alcibiades was coming back to Athens. The first man they murdered was Androcles—’

  ‘I see . . .’

  ‘. . . but after that things got completely out of control. There’ve been armed bands roaming the street. The killings began as a political measure—but now they’re paying off all their private grudges. The whole City’s helpless. No one knows who’s in the plot and who isn’t, and if anyone says a word against them that’s the last that’s seen of him.’

  ‘But the government . . .’

  ‘They are the government now! Peisander came back from Samos when his gangs had got control of the City. He forced a motion through the Assembly that ten commissioners should be appointed with full powers to frame a new constitution. They limited the franchise to about five thousand men—those who had money to serve the State, as they said—’

  ‘In other words, every oligarch in Athens . . . Go on . . .’

  ‘. . . and then they appointed a Council of Four Hundred. These are the men with the real power . . . They tried to make it look as legal as they could, but we might as well be in Sparta for all the justice we’ll see from them. It’s the age of the tyrants all over again. When the Four Hundred had been elected they went down to the Council Chamber—the Councillors were actually still sitting—and told them to take their pay and be off. What could a collection of old men do against them? They brought an armed guard with them . . .’

  ‘And now, I suppose,’ said Axiochus cynically, ‘they’re trying to make peace with Sparta.’

  ‘How did you know that?’

  ‘I didn’t. But it’s pretty clear. The oligarchs are in a minority for all their success. The watchword of the democracy’s been “war to the end”. And why do you think they staged this revolution at all? For the good of the people? They want to save what’s left of their estates. Of course they want to end the war. I suppose they think that now Athens has an oligarchy Agis and the Ephors’ll be prepared to treat. I haven’t seen any signs of it.’

  ‘That’s true so far,’ said Adeimantus. He sat slumped back in his chair, his heavy dark face set and angry. ‘They sent an embassy to Agis at Decelea. Agis would have nothing to do with them, and I don’t blame him. He thought he saw a good chance to take Athens, and to do him
justice he very nearly succeeded. He tried to rush the Long Walls . . .’

  ‘Well?’ asked Axiochus. Adeimantus’ voice had trailed away; he stared out into the darkness, an odd expression on his face.

  ‘There were still some men in Athens,’ he said at length. ‘We drove them off. How we did it I don’t know. But Agis went back to Decelea. And now there’s been another peace embassy sent to him . . .’ His mouth curled in contempt.

  Axiochus put up a hand to his splitting head. ‘Was Peisander responsible for all this?’ he asked.

  ‘He wasn’t the only one. There was Phrynichus. He was afraid, like the rest of them. Peisander got him stripped of his command. He changed sides to save his life. But the biggest shock of the lot was Theramenes.’

  ‘Theramenes?’

  ‘I knew that’d surprise you. It did me. I’d hardly seen him since we were boys together. That thin, nervous creature . . . Who would ever have thought . . .?’ He stood up and took a deep breath, as if he found the air stifling. Then he voiced what was in both their minds. ‘What will Alcibiades do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Axiochus slowly. ‘He’ll be lucky if he escapes with his life . . . He’s not altogether to blame for what’s happened. It would have happened anyway. What did Alcibiades want? What has he ever wanted? To get back to Athens. He wanted it so badly that he was prepared to risk a revolution to do it. Now he won’t get back, if what you say’s true. But the revolution has come.’ He wiped the sweat from his forehead. ‘When I worked for a return to the oligarchy I had something to believe in, right or wrong. But twenty years of war and plague and political corruption have killed the Athens I knew. Oh, we may not be finished yet. There may still be honest men on Samos, though I doubt it from what you’ve told me. But the foundations are rotten. There’s nothing left to build on.’ He subsided into a fit of coughing; and the cloth with which he wiped his lips was stained with bright blood. He looked at it in a puzzled way; then put a hand to his side, below his heart. ‘It hurts . . . here . . .’ he said. ‘They must have kicked me when I was unconscious . . .’