He dined towards dusk with Artabazus and found the food delicious: all sorts of roasted game flavoured with savoury herbs. He was most surprised by a huge bird that the cooks brought to the table garnished with all the long, iridescent feathers of its tail, each of which had a big green-blue eye at the tip. Noticing his guest’s amazement, the satrap had a live specimen brought in a cage so he could see the bird in its natural state. It was a gorgeous animal, so brilliant in colour that Kleidemos was speechless. The plumage on its neck and breast was intensely blue, and its tail was nearly two cubits long. But its call was the most ungracious sound one could ever imagine. He was told that the bird came from distant India, the last eastern province of the Great King, beyond which extended the endless Ocean.
He was shown yet another bird, smaller but with an even more brightly hued plumage: red, purple, black and white. They explained that it was hunted in the land of the Phasians, a northern tribe that took their name from the River Phasis that originated in the Caucasus and flowed into the Pontus. After the game, sweets and fruits were served: pomegranates, figs and a sort of rosy apple covered with fuzz, deliciously juicy and thirst-quenching. It was very sweet and had a hard pit at its centre. Kleidemos nearly broke his tooth biting into it, to the great hilarity of his fellow diners. These fruits were grown only in the palace garden, and the trees had been brought directly from far-off Persia, so they were called ‘Persian apples’.
After dinner, a eunuch accompanied Kleidemos to his room, which was decorated with enamel flowers and trees with gaily coloured birds and wild animals. But it was the bed that surprised him most: it was so big that four people could have slept in it, and was supported by gilded bronze legs in the shape of winged human figures.
On the bed lay a dark-skinned girl who was very beautiful, her body gracefully veiled by a Milesian slip. The eunuch said in his broken Greek that he hoped she would be satisfactory; she came from the northern Mosynoecian tribe, famous for disregarding any constraints. In fact, their men and women coupled in the open air, without a care as to who might see them; with a few obscene gestures, he tried to let Kleidemos know the delights that were in store for him. He added that other girls were also available if he preferred: Bithynians, Cappadocians, Lycians, even Egyptians – all experts in the rites of Aphrodite.
Kleidemos thanked him, assuring him that she would be quite all right and that he would let him know if he wanted a different one on the morrow. The eunuch left with a naughty grin, wishing him a restful night and closing the scented cedar door behind him. Kleidemos looked at the girl, who was examining him from head to toe with great curiosity. He walked over to one of the balconies to look outside. The view was enchanting: the city beneath him was still red with the last light of dusk. The immense upland plain to the south was dotted with what seemed dusty clouds, close to the ground. They quivered with golden reflections before fading off into the shadows. They were flocks of sheep, their shepherds guiding them into the Kelainai valley, in flight from the rapidly descending darkness.
Kleidemos could almost hear their bleating, or perhaps he was just imagining it, as he saw himself leaning on his crook among his sheep and lambs, followed by the big ram, the leader of the flock. As he did once, so long ago . . . how long ago he couldn’t even say. Then the valley darkened all at once and the black shadow invaded the plateau, lapping at the foot of the mountains which were still topped by a sky as blue and weightless as a byssus veil. At that moment, opposite the setting sun rose the moon, white and luminous as though it had long left the waves of the Ocean from which it was said to emerge.
Kleidemos felt a light touch on his shoulder and turned to look at the girl who stood nude before him, illuminated by the moonlight. He let her lead him by the hand to bed, he let her undress him and caress him. She would look at him, smiling and whispering little phrases that he couldn’t understand, but her voice was so sweet, her hands so soft and smooth that he could barely feel her touch. And while she kissed him with lips as moist and cool as violet petals, her firm breasts against his chest, he thought that the bodies of the gods must be like hers. Never touched by fatigue or withered by pain. He thought of Antinea, the only woman he had ever loved in all his life. Her hands would have become callused from years of hard work and her skin would be burnt by the sun, but her eyes perhaps . . . her eyes perhaps shone still, so green, like the fields of Taygetus.
17
THE HOUSE OF BRONZE
KLEIDEMOS AND LAHGAL LEFT Kelainai with Satrap Artabazus’ answer for King Pausanias and travelled without interruption for about a month. They came within view of Sardeis by the end of the summer. They had left when the wheat in the fields was still green; now the farmers had already threshed it and were winnowing: tossing it into the air with blades so that the wind could separate the chaff from the grains. Near one of the farms, Kleidemos tied his horse to a fence post and gestured for Lahgal to follow him into a poplar wood.
‘Lahgal,’ he said, ‘it’s time for us to part. Someone may recognize you in Sardeis. I will tell Pausanias that I have carried out his orders, but you must disappear forever.’
‘And so I shall, Two-Names,’ answered the young man. ‘Thank you for saving my life. I’ll never forget it.’
‘Where will you go?’ asked Kleidemos.
‘I don’t know. It’s not easy for a runaway slave to find a safe haven. Maybe south, to Patara; I should be able to find a ship sailing west. They say that Sicily is a rich and beautiful land. The money that you’ve given me will pay for my passage.’
‘That seems like a good decision. No one will look for you there, but you’ll have to find a new name.’
‘Yes, just like you. I’ve never told you that I’d already been given a Greek name by Pausanias, because he couldn’t pronounce Lahgal. Haven’t you ever heard me called by another name?’
‘Perhaps, once or twice, but I can’t remember it now . . .’
‘Argheilos. He called me Argheilos, but I don’t like it. I’ll find another.’
The two men were silent for a while.
‘This moment is very bitter for me,’ said Kleidemos. ‘Regaining a friend only to lose him forever is very sad.’
‘Don’t say that, Two-Names. Would you ever have imagined when you left Cyprus that one day you would find that little boy, again as a man, on a lonely grey morning in Thrace at the foot of a solitary oak tree? Who knows, Two-Names – A man’s destiny is on Zeus’ knee; perhaps one day we’ll meet again.’
‘Perhaps,’ murmured Kleidemos.
‘Farewell, then,’ said Lahgal, with a slight tremor in his voice.
‘Won’t you embrace an old friend before abandoning him forever?’
Lahgal held him tight. ‘May the gods protect you, Two-Names. Your life has been hard, as has mine,’ he said without letting go. ‘What’s to come can’t help but be better.’
‘May the gods grant it,’ said Kleidemos, separating from his friend. ‘Go now.’
Lahgal jumped onto his ass, dug in his heels and rode off across the green plain. He would vanish in the golden clouds of chaff the farmers were pitching into the air, then reappear as they cleared. Kleidemos watched him until the wind picked up, whirling the sparkling straw dust. He untied his horse, preparing to continue on his journey. As he hoisted himself onto the saddle, he heard a far-off sound, carried by the wind. He turned: beyond the dust, on the top of a hillside lit up by the sun, he could just make out a small black figure, waving its arms. He heard, just for an instant, distinctly, ‘Two-Names!’ Then the wind changed direction and the figure was hidden by a cloud of dust that rose to cover the sides of the hill.
*
Pausanias urged his mount up the steep climb, headed towards the ruins known as the ‘tomb of Menelaus’. Close now, he pulled on the reins, slowing the horse to a lope. He turned around to scan the road that he’d taken from Sparta: no one had followed him. The king dismounted and tied the bridle to a tree. He walked towards the ruins, invaded by bramb
les and the stumps of wild fig trees. The sun was setting in the distance behind the Taygetus range. He entered the crumbling walls, sword in hand, proceeding cautiously. A time-eroded pillar hid the structure’s main room – what must have been the funeral chamber – from sight, while the collapsed ceiling let in a wide stretch of sky. He leaned forward soundlessly, and saw ephor Episthenes sitting on a square stone. He stepped out into the open then, and returned his sword to its sheath. ‘Hail, Episthenes. Have you been waiting long?’
‘No, not too long. I left the city yesterday morning, saying that I was going to my farm, which as you know is quite nearby. If you were not followed, no one will learn of this encounter.’
The king sat on a tree stump. ‘Don’t worry; no one followed me. Well, what have you to tell me?’
‘The council of ephors found no cause to incriminate you.’
‘What about the krypteia?’ asked Pausanias uneasily.
‘The krypteia can fabricate proof where none exists, as well you know. You are fortunate that justice still has the upper hand in the city.’
‘So I’m free to resume my command at Byzantium. The season most propitious for navigation is coming to an end; I’ll have to leave as soon as possible.’
The ephor’s forehead wrinkled. ‘Beware, Pausanias: this is not over yet. Despite the fact that nothing emerged against you, keep in mind that the ephors and the elders are wary of you, and sooner or later will succeed in toppling you.’
‘But the assembly—’
‘You know better than I do that the assembly does not have decisional power. It wouldn’t be the first time that the elders acted contrary to the opinion expressed by the assembly of equals.’
‘What do you think will happen?’ asked Pausanias, with a note of apprehension.
‘Nothing for the time being, but I’m very worried nonetheless. The ephors won’t need to strike out directly at you with a trial or dismissal. They can have you destroyed without compromising themselves in the least.’
‘Who would dare—’
‘Listen to me,’ the ephor interrupted him brusquely. ‘You have been away for a long time and you are unaware of many things that have happened in your absence. Themistocles has been ostracized – the city aristocrats succeeded in stirring up the people of Athens against him, and he was driven into exile. The enormous prestige of his victory at Salamis was not enough to save him, and you can easily draw the conclusion that the glory of Plataea won’t serve you any better. The Persian invasion is long over, and people forget so quickly. The democrats in Athens are very weak; the man of the moment is Cimon.’
‘The son of Miltiades?’
‘That’s right, his father was the victor of the battle of Marathon. Cimon is intelligent, able, with old-fashioned ideas; he’s very popular here as well. As far as I can see, there’s an air of agreement, which should culminate in a pact between the aristocratic party in Athens, with Cimon at its head, and the government of Sparta. If a treaty of this kind were made, I doubt that there would be any room for you.’
‘I don’t understand,’ protested Pausanias. ‘I’ve never met Cimon, but I know that he regards me highly. His politics are anti-Persian – why would he want to take sides against the victor of Plataea?’
‘It’s very simple, although it may seem complicated to you,’ explained the ephor. Pausanias could not hide his irritation.
‘Running an army and wielding a spear are not the same thing as dealing with politics,’ continued Episthenes, calmly. ‘Listen to what I have to say; all I want to do is help you. It’s clear that Cimon doesn’t have anything against you personally, and he considers you a great commander, but if what he wants is an alliance with Sparta, and the government of Sparta is against Pausanias, then Cimon will be against Pausanias as well. When Themistocles was in power, our relations with Athens deteriorated to such an extent that war seemed imminent. Now that Themistocles is out of the way, Cimon is ready to contract an alliance with Sparta against the Persians. It’s really none of our concern if the patriotic goal of combating the barbarians coincides with the much more practical goal of silencing the democrats in Athens. The fact is that relations between the two greatest powers of Greece stand to be stabilized. Illustrious men and eminent leaders have been sacrificed for much less.’
Pausanias let his hands go in his lap, greatly discouraged. ‘Tell me, at least, what is the true reason for which the ephors and the elders want me out of the way?’ he said, raising his head.
‘There are many reasons, Pausanias, and unfortunately, all valid: since King Pleistarchus is but a child, you are actually the true king. By occupying Byzantium you control the straits, and thus the commerce of wheat from the Pontus in Greece is entirely in your hands. You have great influence over the equals who fought in your army and the majority of the assembly supports you. Moreover, many rumours have been circulating about the way you behave as an oriental king in Byzantium, dressing in Persian gowns and dealing with barbarian commanders without consulting your government. It is said that you have great sympathy for the Athenian democrats, and direct contact with Themistocles – although this has not been proven. Some have found fault in the personal interest you’ve taken in that young Talos—’
‘His name is Kleidemos, son of Aristarkhos, Kleomenid!’ burst out Pausanias vexedly.
‘As you like,’ said Episthenes with an air of condescension. ‘The fact is that that man is now a high officer of the Spartan army, although we do not know what relations he has maintained with the Helots.’
‘What relations are you talking about? He fought in Thrace for four years, spending no more than a couple of weeks in all at Byzantium. Kleidemos did battle like a hero at Plataea and he is one of my best officers.’
‘I understand. But you know that any relations between Spartiates and Helots that are not exactly . . . traditional, are seen with much suspicion.’
‘Kleidemos is not a Helot.’
‘No one can say that. He lived with them for twenty years, and he practically never knew his true parents. You have been warned; you now know the danger you are in.’
‘Thank you, Episthenes, I won’t forget this,’ said the king, getting to his feet. ‘I must go now. I don’t want my absence from the city to be noticed. Farewell.’
‘Farewell,’ replied the ephor. ‘And stay on your guard.’
Pausanias walked out, glancing around carefully. He waited until a farmer with a load of hay disappeared behind a curve in the road, then leapt into his saddle and galloped off across the countryside.
*
Kleidemos reached Byzantium shortly before Pausanias arrived aboard a warship. He was received immediately by the king, who greeted him warmly.
‘I’m very glad to see you,’ said Pausanias, embracing him.
‘As am I,’ replied Kleidemos, returning the embrace.
‘How was your journey? Did you encounter any difficulties?’
‘No, the journey went well and I was able to carry out my mission.’
‘Completely?’ asked the king, looking away.
‘Completely,’ replied Kleidemos coldly.
‘Do not judge me too harshly,’ said the king. ‘The servant I sent with you was very dear to me, but I had no choice. I had to send someone I could trust completely, and yet I could not allow him to survive. The stakes are so high that no risks can be taken.’ The king stopped for a moment, and then asked with a touch of embarrassment, ‘Did he understand he was going to die?’
‘No,’ answered Kleidemos, ‘he didn’t realize a thing.’
‘Better that way. I was fond of him.’
‘I understand,’ replied Kleidemos, his tone indicating that the matter was closed.
‘Tell me, then,’ continued Pausanias, ‘what did Artabazus say?’
‘The Great King greatly appreciated the favour you did him by liberating the persons you know of, and considers this gesture proof of your sincerity. He is also willing to satisfy your . . . request for
his daughter’s hand.’
‘Fine, fine,’ said the king, pretending indifference. ‘Is that all?’
‘No, there’s more. I spoke at length with Artabazus and I’ve come to understand the Persian point of view on this matter. They feel that the time to act has come. They realize that you are at the peak of your power right now, but don’t know for how long this situation may last. They know that Admiral Themistocles has been exiled from Athens, and I had the impression that they would be glad to welcome him among them. From now on, you will report to the satrap of Dascylium.’
‘We will report to him,’ said the king. ‘Am I right, Kleidemos?’
‘Certainly, sire,’ answered Kleidemos.
‘You don’t seem entirely convinced of what you say, but perhaps you – like the Great King – require proof of my friendship. I can give you that proof. Since my plan relies extensively on you, it is only fair that you have every certainty and assurance. In Sparta I saw someone who is very close to you.’
Kleidemos started. ‘Who? Tell me, please!’
‘A bearded giant.’
‘Karas!’
‘Yes, exactly.’
‘How did you find him?’ Kleidemos trembled, shaken by emotion.
‘It was not very difficult,’ replied the king. ‘I let a mountain Helot know that I had news of Talos and that I wanted to talk to a trusted friend. Six weeks passed, and I thought that nothing would come of it. Then one night, returning home, I heard a voice behind me, saying “Talos’ friend is here.” I resisted the temptation to turn around, and replied, “Follow me at four paces.” I knew that someone might be following me, and I didn’t want to arouse suspicion. Without turning around or slowing my pace, I managed to give him a time and a place to meet. Then I heard his footsteps moving off. I met him a few days later in a run-down hut on my property. Our conversation was long and difficult; he is an extremely diffident man. He wanted me to give him some proof that you were alive and that you trusted me. I did so, and told him that you would soon be back to put our plan into action.’
Spartan Page 24
