Early Greece

by Oswyn Murray

  On the Athenian side the chief strategist was Miltiades, who had fled the Persian advance in the north about 493, and on arrival at Athens had been tried and acquitted on the charge of tyranny; now, as the only man with good experience of Persian arms, he was elected one of the ten generals. The Spartans had promised help; but on being summoned by the runner Pheidip-pides, covering 140 miles in 36 hours in the first ‘marathon’ run, they typically claimed that religious scruples prevented them from setting out until the moon was full. Athens was left to face the enemy with her only ally Plataea, who sent all her hoplites – a loyalty never forgotten.

  Many details of the campaign are obscure but it seems that the Persians wanted to tempt the Athenians to a pitched battle in the plain; they allowed them to seize control of the hill path to Athens and of the coastal road along which any army must advance. The Athenians took up a position on the hillside covering the road and waited, probably intending to attack the Persians on the march. The subsequent delay on both sides is explicable in tactical terms; but Herodotus also reports division among the Athenian generals on the right plan, and there was clearly a strong suspicion that the Persians were waiting for Athenian traitors to make a move. The reason why the Athenians finally decided to attack is uncertain; but the most probable hypothesis is that the Persians were withdrawing their cavalry and other troops in an effort to break the deadlock by sailing round to Athens: a late source explains a proverb by saying that Ionians with the Persians signalled to the Athenians that ‘the cavalry is away’. To combat the Persian superiority in numbers, the Athenians weakened their centre, so lengthening their line; and to avoid the Persian archers they advanced at a run. A fierce battle took place as the Persians repulsed the centre but were pushed back by the wings, until they broke and fled to the ships. 6400 Persians were killed and 192 Athenians, including the supreme commander, the poletmarchos. Some part of the Persian forces sailed round to Athens; but the Athenians anticipated them by a forced march, and frightened them off. The Spartans arrived in time to view the battlefield.

  Marathon created a new race of heroes. The dead were honoured by burial in the mound which still stands in the plain, originally over 12 metres high; traces of hero cult have been found, and a modern hypothesis points out that the number of the dead is the same as the number of the mounted figures on the Parthenon frieze, carved by Pheidias more than a generation later. Certainly ‘the men who fought at Marathon’, the Marathonomachai, were still the archetypal warriors eighty years later, even after the main Persian War and the establishment of the Athenian empire. The poet Aeschylus, who had fought also at Salamis, in his epitaph claimed only the distinction of belonging to this group.

  In Athens itself the victory gave the democracy a new self-confidence, and paradoxically a mistrust of its aristocratic leaders. Miltiades, the hero of the day, proposed a secret expedition, which he took to Paros where he failed to surprise the town. On his return he was prosecuted for ‘deceiving the people’, fined heavily, and died soon after from a minor wound received on the expedition: the age of buccaneers was over. More importantly the Athenians had a strong suspicion that certain elements had tried to betray the city at Marathon – a shield had been flashed as a signal to the Persians, it was claimed. The Peisistratidai left in the city were suspect of course, but also the Alkmeonidai, whose elaborate defence is given and endorsed by Herodotus; the very suspicion, true or false, shows that they must already have been in disfavour by 490.

  This dissatisfaction with the aristocracy found expression through the institution of ostracism. Every year, in the main assembly of the sixth conciliar division of the year, the people were asked whether they wanted an ostracism. There seems to have been no debate; but if the vote was affirmative, the ostracism was held later in the year. Each citizen was entitled to write the name of the citizen he most wished removed from the city on a piece of pottery (hence the name of the institution from the word ostrakon, potsherd). The ballot was secret, and the candidate with most votes against him was exiled for ten years without loss of citizenship rights or property; at one or more stages a quorum of 6000 voters was required. The first use of the law came in 487, but there was already controversy among ancient authors as to whether the law was passed then, or had been passed by Kleisthenes and left unused for twenty years. The second view is clearly preferable, not only because the first is an obvious rationalization attempting to explain an awkward gap. The complexity of the provisions of the law is typical of Kleisthenes’ legislation, and relates directly to the problems he had personally faced: the new time-table provided safeguards against the manipulation of the vote or sudden decisions by minorities, which recall his problems over the archonship of 508. But most obviously a law such as this, designed to remove political opponents (or potential tyrants) could only have been passed by a leader sure of his support – a situation which Kleisthenes might believe existed in 508, but which was notably absent in the period after Marathon. For such reasons it is hardly probable that the political leadership in 487 was anxious to activate this previously untried mechanism: the impetus may well have come from the people, newly confident after victory and anxious for revenge against potential traitors.

  The evidence for the institution of ostracism is continually increasing, as yet more discarded ostraka are found in the Athenian agora, on the Acropolis, and most recently in the potters’ quarter (Kerameikos). Up to 1967, 1658 ostraka were known; in that year a further 4463 were found in the Kerameikos excavations: these have not yet been properly published, but preliminary information shows that they alter significantly the earlier known distribution of votes; generalization is therefore difficult. In addition the evidence comes from various contexts; a large proportion of the ostraka can be shown to date from before the sack of Athens by the Persians in 480; some of them are isolated finds or lack a firm context; other groups are stratified or sealed in particular deposits which obviously represent the clearing up of a portion (but is it a representative portion?) of a particular ostracism; sometimes two ostraka can be shown to have belonged to the same pot, and two names are therefore contemporary candidates. All the famous political figures are represented; but it should be remembered that a man who passed through many ostracisms unscathed has a better chance of a higher surviving total of votes than one who was ostracized early: this must explain in part why the second largest number of ostraka known belongs to Themistokles (1490), who was a candidate (and clearly a preferred one among aristocratic groups) throughout the eighties, but was not finally ostracized until the late 470s. On the other hand many of those recorded on the ostraka are unknown from other evidence, including some who were obviously prominent candidates and even probably ostracized. It is also clear from one deposit that not all ostraka found were actually used: a deposit dumped in a well on the Acropolis contained 190 ostraka all with the name of Themistokles, written in only fourteen different hands; the pottery fragments were remarkably homogeneous. This was certainly the work of a small group of men intending either to rig the vote by inserting false ostraka, or to hand out ready-made ones to voters too lazy or too illiterate to write their own: the deposit at least suggests the political organization of support, if not more corrupt practices; but whether this is an isolated and unsuccessful attempt or merely the surplus from a normal operation is unknown.

  Literary and ostrakon evidence can be combined to produce the following list of those ostracized:

  487

  Hipparchos son of Charmos, archon in 496/5 and a relative of the Peisistratidai, probably by marriage; he is recorded as ‘Hipparchos kalos’ on various vases, and was probably the leading member of the Peisistratid genos left in Athens. In his exile he fled to Persia, and was condemned to death. 11 surviving votes.

  486

  Megakles son of Hippokrates from Alopekē, nephew of the the reformer Kleisthenes and the leading Alkmeonid, also recorded as ‘Megakles kalos’ on vases; he was the recipient of Pindar’s 7th Pythian for his victory i
n the chariot race in this year. The Constitution of the Athenians 22 states that the first three ostracisms were of ‘friends of the tyrants’. 15 votes known until 1967, when an additional 2216 votes were found: these probably come from a deposit of this year.

  485

  No literary evidence, but probably Kallias son of Kratias from Alopekē; only three ostraka were previously known, none from deposits of 483 or 482; the 1967 finds produced 789, in a different deposit from those of Megakles. He is otherwise unknown, but four ostraka call him a Mede and one draws him in Median clothing; he clearly belongs in the same group as the first two victims.

  484

  Xanthippos son of Arrhiphron, brother-in-law of Megakles (and father of Perikles); the prosecutor of Miltiades in 489, but perhaps suffering from his marriage connection with the Alkmeonidai. 17 surviving votes.

  483

  Aristeides son of Lysimachos from Alopekē, archon in 489/8, known as Aristeides the Just and one of the main architects of the Athenian confederacy after the Persian Wars; his ostracism seems to have been due to disagreement with Themistokles about the uses of the new silver find at the mines of Laurion. 93 surviving votes.

  After this, in face of the imminent Persian invasion, ostracism stopped, and during the war the ostracized were recalled; Xanthippos and Aristeides even gave prominent service as generals.

  The most obvious factors behind these ostracisms are mistrust of the Peisistratid and Alkmeonid families and allegations of connections with Persia. That these are connected is shown by the example of Kallixenos son of Aristonymos of Xypetē, otherwise unknown, but standing at present sixth in unpopularity with 263 ostraka: one ostrakon describes him as ‘of the Alkmeonidai’, and another almost certainly as ‘Kallixenos the [trai]tor’. There may have been other policy disagreements among the leaders. But the facts that the ostracized were recalled for the Persian Wars and that an ostracism was held every year in this period suggests a more random element – the sheer pleasure of the people in exercising their power to harm the aristocracy they had once feared – as one ostrakon puts it in verse:

  This ostrakon says that Xanthippos son of Arrhiphron

  does most wrong of the cursed leaders.

  A similar attitude is seen in the reform of 487, when for the first time since the tyranny the lot was restored as a part of the procedure for the choice of archons (p. 195); from that date no prominent politician is ever known to have held an archonship; and since the aristocratic council of the Areopagus was composed of those who had held these posts, it inevitably if gradually lost much of its prestige. The reform must also have entailed handing over military command from the polemarchos to the democratic generals.

  One man benefited from the development of these years, so much so that many have seen his influence behind them. Themistokles son of Neokles had been archon in 493/2, when he had demonstrated his interest in the naval future of Athens by building dockyards in the Piraeus. In 483 there was a major new find of silver at the mines of Laurion. Themistokles against opposition proposed using the money to build an entirely new fleet of triremes, ostensibly for the war against Aegina; in the next three years 200 triremes were built, giving Athens the largest fleet in Greece – twice the size of the Chian contingent at the battle of Lade, five times the size of the Corinthian fleet at Salamis and seven times that of her alleged rival Aegina. The programme was carried out under the supervision of 100 rich men, and was a remarkable feat at a time when the main timber supplies from north Greece were in Persian hands. The real purpose of this navy was not of course the war with Aegina, but defence against Persia – and beyond that, if defence should fail, emigration to the west. It was about this time that Themistokles named two of his daughters Italia and Sybaris, over which city Athens claimed ancestral rights (Herodotus 8.62). Themistokles’ navy should have required 40,000 rowers, far more than Athens could provide even when all available men including hoplites were drafted: there was room for a mass emigration if necessary.

  In thirty years Athens had transformed herself from a backward state still dominated by aristocratic families into the most advanced democracy in Greece, with the principles of selection by lot for office and the sovereignty of the assembly over the leadership well established. This development was reinforced by the creation of the new navy, which shifted the military epicentre away from the hoplite class to the people as a whole.

  XVI

  The Great Persian War

  MARATHON may have halted the Persian advance temporarily; more important were the revolt of Egypt in 486, and the death of Darius in the same year. His son Xerxes needed time to establish himself; a trilingual inscription from Persepolis lists the countries he ruled, including ‘Ionians, those who dwell by the sea and those who dwell across the sea’. It continues:

  Saith Xerxes the King: when that I became king, there is among these countries which are inscribed above (one which) was in commotion. Afterwards Ahuramazda bore me aid; by the favour of Ahuramazda I smote that country and put it down in its place. And among those countries there was (a place) where previously false gods were worshipped. Afterwards by the favour of Ahuramazda, I destroyed that sanctuary of the daevas, and I made proclamation, ‘The daevas shall not be worshipped’. Where previously the daevas were worshipped, there I worshipped Ahuramazda and Arta reverently.

  (Xerxes Persepolis H 28–41, Kent p. 151)

  In 482 Babylon revolted, perhaps in protest against Xerxes’ less tolerant religious policy.

  Meanwhile the preparations for the invasion of Greece had begun in 484; they took four years. On the route to Greece a canal was dug through the promontory of Mt Athos (taking three years of labour); the river Strymon was bridged, and huge quantities of stores were amassed in depots along the coast. The most spectacular feat was the double floating bridge across the Bosphorus, resting on 360 and 314 ships respectively, moored and fastened by continuous rope cables about a mile long, and each weighing allegedly almost 100 tons. Ships could be removed to allow the passage of small vessels; brushwood was laid and sidescreens fitted to prevent panic by the animals crossing. The first pair of bridges was broken by storm (the occasion of Xerxes’ famous act of arrogance in ordering the sea to be lashed); the second pair was the work of a Greek engineer. In 481 Xerxes wintered at Sardis, and set out on his great expedition in spring 480.

  Herodotus’ account of the Persian invasion in the last three books of his history is one of the greatest narratives in world literature. The subject in Greek eyes was the most important event of their past, the vindication of the freedom of the city-state against oriental despotism. Oral tradition preserved an account typical for a successful war: it rightly glorified the protagonists, and emphasized the great odds against which they had fought; it presented a unified picture of an event which symbolized Greek unity: although Athenian, Spartan and Corinthian stories have their different slants, they do not seem to have contradicted each other, and there is no sign that Herodotus was forced to distort their versions in order to create a coherent account. Indeed there was every reason to remember the great event, for the participation of individual states in it became the basis of inter-Greek diplomacy for the next two centuries; constant reiteration might improve a city’s record, but in the competitive world of Greek politics it could not seriously distort it: the factual record is in its essentials accurate.

  From this material Herodotus sought to create a story fit for heroes; he borrowed much from the narrative techniques of epic, for this was the new Trojan War; he also employed all the traditional devices of the logos-makers of Ionia. These techniques are especially used to give a vividness and immediacy to the Persian side, about which the Greeks were necessarily less well informed. Thus at the start of book 7 the young King Xerxes decides on conquest: two advisers appear, Mardonios who urges him on, and Artabanos who opposes the campaign: ‘you see how the god strikes with his thunderbolt the tall, and will not allow them to display themselves, while small beings do not vex him;
you see how the lightning throws down always the greatest buildings and the finest trees’ (7.10). But the god sends a dream to Xerxes to lure him to his fate, and threatens Artabanos when he sleeps in Xerxes’ bed; Artabanos is convinced. In the actual campaign his role is taken up by the exiled Spartan king Demaratos, who represents Greek standards of independence and frugality against Persian sycophancy and luxury.

  The same fascination with the Persian viewpoint can be seen in Aeschylus’ play The Persians, the earliest surviving Greek tragedy, performed in 472 with Perikles as financial backer. The central action of the play is the battle of Salamis, in which Aeschylus and most of his audience had fought; but it is the reception of this news in Persia which is portrayed on stage, and its effect on the Persian court: the Greek victory is seen as a Persian tragedy, and the play is an attempt to understand the Persian situation by translating it into Greek terms. It is obvious that such an approach falsifies the Persian side of the war: motives and actions are understood in Greek terms and in accordance with the hoplite morality of excess and divine envy.

  The analysis of Persian logistics is equally suspect. Herodotus seems to have had some access to Persian documents, for instance the list of provinces and their taxation (3.89ff); either such a source or Greek military intelligence provided him with a description of Persian army contingents (7.61ff) and an estimate of Persian naval strength (7.89ff). He also had access to Persian oral tradition in for instance the account of the birth and upbringing of Cyrus the Great (p. 253; 1.108ff) and the detailed narrative (well supported by Persian inscriptions) of the accession of Darius (3.7off); it has plausibly been conjectured that much of this information comes from Zopyros, grandson of one of Darius’ generals, who deserted to the Athenians in the mid fifth century. But there is no obvious sign of Persian oral tradition in the account of the Persian invasion, and such documentary evidence as Herodotus uses seems to have consisted of general accounts of Persian strengths, whose relevance to this particular campaign can be disputed. Herodotus himself could find no detailed enumeration of Xerxes’ army, and offers only a total figure (derived from a somewhat dubious story: 7.60) of 1,700,000; at least this is considerably below contemporary Greek estimates, for the epigram set up on the battlefield of Thermopylae boasted: ‘Four thousand Peloponnesians once fought three million here (7.228).’