Aristides nodded, his eyes on mine. ‘Yes,’ he said.
‘I will be back in a month,’ I said.
Later that night, and I was sober and alert and busy choosing crew and talking to men I wanted. I was sitting on a camp stool beside Brasidas. Euphonia was asleep in her bed and Cleitus had sent me a slave asking me to come to his tent for wine. I knew what that conversation would be about, but I put him off with a message of my own.
Ka appeared. He made a sign, which I understood.
I nodded to Brasidas and Polymarchos, who was close by, sober enough, and the three of us hung swords over our shoulders and walked across the sand, through the milling crowds, to where Cleitus was camped, well up the ridge and nearer to Xanthippus. I was welcomed into his temporary home.
I introduced Brasidas and Polymarchos. Cleitus was not just polite, but welcoming, as was his wife. She was small and quick, like a bird – very pretty, and sharp as the kopis under my arm.
She put a hand under my arm. ‘I do not think you need to wear a sword to visit my husband ever again,’ she said. ‘Although when I heard you let my daughter aboard a warship—’
She was not really joking. She was both pleasant and furious at once.
People are not simple, and had I been in her place I believe I might have been the same.
‘I did not know,’ I said. ‘In fact, I should have known – I heard them begin to plan it, and I thought it was all … childish stuff.’
She shook her head. ‘Heliodora has never been childish,’ she said. ‘And what keeps me from grabbing for your sword like Medea is that I know her well enough to know that it must have been her notion and her hand at the tiller.’
Considering that I had previously only known her as the matron pulling her daughter out of my tent – as I say, that could have been a scene in a nasty comedy – I thought that she was both wise and very well-spoken.
I bowed to both of them. ‘We are wearing swords for a purpose,’ I said. ‘Because Cleitus and I are well known to be foes, I would ask him to come with us – armed.’ I nodded to Aspasia, Cleitus’s wife. ‘I am more than willing to discuss wedding terms,’ I said. ‘But this is a question of the future of Athens and perhaps Greece.’
Cleitus didn’t quite trust me. ‘May I bring a friend?’ he asked carefully.
‘Or two,’ I said.
He disappeared out his pavilion’s back door and returned with a sword and thorax and two large men – marines.
I eyed the fine wine and cheese and round cakes carefully piled by couches, clearly prepared for a nice upper-class wedding discussion, with remorse. ‘With luck I’ll be back in a few minutes,’ I said to Aspasia.
She sighed. ‘Is this a sample of our shared family lives?’ she asked.
Then we were off across the sand, to the headland.
Cleitus didn’t even ask who Ka might be.
Instead, he asked, ‘What’s this about?’
I looked at him a moment. ‘I may be wrong in everything I’m about to say,’ I said. ‘But I have suspected Themistocles for a month. He is in contact with the Great King and right now, unless we’ve taken too long, he is preparing to send his slave Siccinius to the King across the bay.’
Cleitus walked on for several paces.
‘Shit,’ he said.
We surrounded his tent. It was past midnight. I could hear his voice and that of Siccinius. He was drilling Siccinius on what the man should say.
Even now, it’s difficult to be sure. Is it treason to hedge your bets?
I say yes. I say, when most men cannot build themselves two beds, it is treason to do so.
I had Ka knock on his tent pole and then I went in, followed by Brasidas, Polymarchos, Cleitus and his friends. We were quite a crowd.
‘Gentlemen,’ Themistocles said. His voice was even, but I heard the catch.
‘Themistocles,’ I said, ‘there is a boat prepared on the beach with two slaves to row it – and you ordered it prepared. You are telling your slave what to say to the Great King – we all heard you. I accuse you of treason.’
‘I am used to dealing with small minds incapable of understanding my mind,’ he said slowly, as if puzzled and hurt. ‘But you are a subtle fox, a man of deep thought, and I expect better of you.’ Then he saw Cleitus and he reacted as if in surprise. ‘And you, Cleitus,’ he said, as if this was even more of a disappointment.
‘Treason,’ I said.
‘There is more to life than sword cuts, spear blows and boarding actions,’ he said to me. ‘I am working to panic the Great King into a hasty decision.’
‘By telling him that you have kept us from launching an assault on the Hellespont,’ I said. I’d just heard the bastard drilling his minion on his plan.
‘Yes!’ he said. ‘We need him to run, Arimnestos. Imagine five years of war fought in Attica and Boeotia. Imagine all the olive trees cut, all the farms burned, every house ruined, every temple thrown down.’
‘I can imagine all that, and not send messages to the Great King.’
‘And yet you have spoken to him three – or is it four, times?’ he asked. ‘And I have never spoken to him once. Which of us is a traitor? You went to him of your own free will – against our instructions!’
Cleitus looked back and forth. ‘I am not this Plataean’s greatest friend,’ he said, ‘but I’ve never heard anyone sane accuse him of being an ally of the Medes.’
Brasidas nodded. ‘Have you informed Eurybiades of your plan to deceive the Great King?’ he asked.
The two men locked eyes, and it was Themistocles who flinched.
Brasidas nodded at me. ‘Before you make more accusations, Athenian, let me say this. I can speak to Demaratus any time I want. He has long been the Great King’s confidante. Shall I ask him how he views you?’
I had brought the former Spartan for muscle. I tended to forget who he was.
It was silent in the tent.
‘I play a deep game,’ Themistocles said, which made me smile. It was probably true. ‘We have been starved for news this whole campaign. Remember the Vale of Tempe! I will not let that happen again.’
And again, I was on the horns of dilemma. Was he lying? I was sure he was.
Or he wasn’t.
Gods – or he didn’t know himself.
‘What news do we gain?’ I asked. ‘Wait. Will you allow me to speak to your slave?’
Themistocles shrugged. ‘Be my guest,’ he said wearily.
I took Siccinius outside, to a campfire, and Brasidas came with me, and Ka. Polymarchos stayed with Cleitus, and one of Cleitus’s marines, Antiphon, came with us.
Siccinius was shaking. ‘I only do what he tells me,’ the man said. ‘And by Hades, it is killing me with fear. I am a slave – the Great King can have me burned alive, pulled apart by horses. What can you do to me?’
I knelt on one knee by him. He was on a camp stool, and my other friends were close around him. But by arrangement, Ka pulled out his beautiful bronze canteen – loot, I fear, from Artaphernes’ trireme – and gave him some wine, good, Chian wine.
‘I can make you a citizen of Plataea,’ I said. ‘I can see to it that you have a shop or a small farm or a school in which to teach children. All you need to do is answer my questions.’
‘Hades,’ the man said. He sounded miserable.
But he answered all our questions.
Listen, friends, a man like Themistocles can either lie without changing his face, or worse, make himself believe anything he says is true. Such men are as dangerous as mad dogs, even when they lead you to great victories, or perhaps especially then. But Siccinius was really just a bright, brave man of otherwise average merit, enslaved by war and circumstance. Spying had burned away a great deal of his courage, and you must understand: everyone comes to the end of courage. It is one thing to face the spea
rs one day – I have said this before – and another to live in fear every day until your whole life is a curse and nothing is real, nothing is good, there are no gods. Blessed father Zeus, friends, if you have not fought a long war, you cannot imagine how dark the bottom of that pit can be.
Eh, lads?
I won’t bore you with everything he said. I’ll only say that nothing he said damned his master absolutely. Some of it was pretty dark – he’d been ten times to visit Mardonius or the Great King, and he’d made a trip before Artemisium.
But … many of Themistocles’ best notions had been products of Siccinius’s spying.
In effect, there was no easy answer. Was Themistocles a traitor?
I was, in fact, no wiser, except that his lover and slave did not think his master was a traitor – thought him, in fact, the architect of the greatest and most complex deception ever planned.
I cannot love Themistocles. But I could not, in honour, find him guilty.
‘You go to the Great King tonight?’ I asked Siccinius.
‘Yes, lord,’ the younger man said.
‘You know the Lord Cyrus, a soldier?’ I asked.
‘He that spoke against you?’ Siccinius asked.
‘I still cannot discern whether you tried for our release or not,’ Brasidas said.
‘Lord, I did as I was bid, for the good of Greece,’ Siccinius said.
Brasidas nodded, rising. ‘I will vote to make him a citizen of Plataea,’ he said. ‘He’s a man, if nothing else.’ He walked off to the tent of Themistocles.
I took the slave by a shoulder. I reached into my chiton and withdrew, from the fold I’d made, the needle case and handed it to him. I, too, could plot, and make arrangements. ‘Give this to Lord Cyrus,’ I said. ‘I give you my word that it is not treason. He is an old friend.’
He took it.
‘Nor is it a poison pill. Read the message yourself, if you must, but give it to him and I will guarantee my eternal gratitude and your freedom.’
He smiled. ‘I swear this is my last trip,’ he said. Then he looked away. ‘I’ve sworn that since the first trip.’
‘May the goddess stand by you,’ I said.
I went then and bowed to Themistocles. ‘I will neither publicly accuse you nor apologise,’ I said. I looked at Cleitus, who nodded. ‘I will watch you. If your story proves out – well, you may apply to me and I will praise your subtlety as the greatest since Hermes stole cattle from Lord Apollo. If I catch you in direct treason …’ Again I shrugged. ‘I will take some action.’
‘But you will tell no one,’ Themistocles said. His smile as he said it was, to me, proof, and led me to wonder if Themistocles was enough of a player to have me killed.
‘Imagine how long you would last if I told Aristides,’ I said.
Themistocles looked away.
I had asked Cleitus because he was not really a member of any party except the eupatridae. He turned his head towards me – trying to read if I was tricking him, I think. But when we had left and were wallowing along the sand of our beach, he paused beyond the firelight.
‘What was all that about?’ he asked.
‘Everyone knows you and I do not see eye to eye,’ I said. ‘I wanted you to see and hear, so that I had an impartial witness.’
Cleitus winced. ‘I’ve never liked him. A democrat of the most vulgar style. No one will believe me—’
‘Aristides would, if it came to that,’ I said.
Cleitus paused, and then motioned to his marines to step away.
‘This is poison,’ he said. ‘If men thought that Themistocles was betraying us, our League could collapse.’
‘I know,’ I said.
‘What do you propose to do now?’ he asked.
‘Go plan my son’s wedding,’ I said.
Cleitus laughed. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘Probably the best course.’
I awoke with the dawn for the usual reasons and dragged my aching limbs out of my blankets. The morning had a chill to it but the sun rose into a cloudless sky and the wind was from the west. I walked down to the edge of the sea where many men were already about their business. In the bustle, Siccinius bumped into me and, rather cleverly, handed me back the wooden needle case. He bowed, apologised for being clumsy, and went to attend his master while I returned to my tent and read the message in the case.
Greeting, Doru.
My new master, Artaphernes son of Artaphernes, rides in the morning. He is going all the way to Ephesus. He will go very quickly. He will leave my war-brothers and me because he knows we will fight him in this.
He means to kill her and her children.
Doru, I owe my honour to my king. But I will pray that you save her. And I remain your friend.
It was plainly written in Persian, in the new script that the soldiers used. I knew it well enough, and I knew who would have written it – Cyrus. I wondered at it though. Why on earth would young Artaphernes, who’d already, I assumed, been accepted as Satrap, need to kill Briseis? Why would he ride home to do so?
I found Seckla just rising, and visited Leukas, who was still in agony. But not dead. Onisandros, however, was. Seckla had just closed his eyes.
I put a hand on his forehead, and it was already cold. Death is … death.
I went and knelt by Leukas. He looked terrible – grey instead of fleshy. He was in control of his voice though, and he locked my right hand in a grip of adamant.
‘I want to come to sea,’ he said.
I knelt by him. ‘You’re better off here – look at all these pretty girls,’ I said with, I confess it, false humour.
Leukas pulled me close. ‘I want to die at sea,’ he said. ‘Clean. Put my body in the water. Float home. Closer to my gods. You owe me, sir. Promise me!’
I gave my oath and Seckla and Brasidas had him taken aboard. We also shipped Harpagos’s corpse. I intended to return him to his sister.
We rigged a big awning forward of the helmsman’s station and made Leukas as comfortable as we could.
That is, Seckla did. I went and visited the other wounded men. A dozen had died but now the rest would probably make it. That’s what I thought at the time – the horrible maths of the butcher’s bill. If a man lives a week, he’s probably going to make it. Apollo takes a few in the third week, from infection, but if you live even three days your odds are much better.
I thought about Leukas. And about Seckla. About Briseis and Artaphernes and even about Xerxes; and war, and men who inflict war.
And then I moved on. This is one of the hardest aspects of leading men, and women. You cannot stop, not to mourn, not to admit defeat or even to rest on the laurels of a well-won victory. Because people need to be fed and clothed and motivated, and you just cannot stop. Sometimes, when my spirits are low, all I want is sleep, and yet … there are wounded men to visit, there’s the supply list to check, there’s Seckla feeling the darkness and needing a friend.
Don’t start on the road of leading men unless you plan to finish, or die trying. Because when you accept responsibility for them – by the gods, if you fail, they all fall with you, and on your head be it.
I drink now to my own dead. If you could see them, if, like Odysseus, I might pour out a libation of blood and see them come to drink it, what a crowd there would be in this room, my friends!
Anyway, I asked all the oarsmen to gather on the beach. While they were coming in, many with hard heads and some looking almost green, we heard cheering from the headland and before I had my people together, news had come that the whole of Xerxes’ fleet was putting to sea.
I wasn’t surprised – they’d been getting their masts and sails aboard the day before – and yet I was surprised. These days, when people speak of Salamis, it is as if our big fight won the war. I know better. Until we saw them running, most of us assumed we’d have to fight a
gain. When they ran, they still outnumbered us.
The problem, of course, was that the part of the fleet that had been destroyed was the part most loyal to the Great King, and the part now cutting and running for home was mostly Ionian. They had fought well – many were ships commanded by the Tyrants and their families, who would lose everything if a democratic government arose. But at the same time they had little love for the Persians. And no interest in taking further losses fighting us.
War is complicated because it is politics.
I gave up on speaking to my people. We all ran, pell-mell, to the peninsula and looked out over the sea, where hundreds of sails covered the ocean to the east, as far as the eye could make them out – not just triremes, either, but smaller ships, all the Egyptians who’d never been engaged and all the hundreds of merchantmen who had supplied the fleet.
Most of the men saw in that stampede of enemy ships the moment of victory.
Cimon was by me. He grabbed my chiton. ‘Look at that!’ he said. ‘A fortune for any pirate quick enough to snap them up.’
‘But we’re not to pursue them,’ Lykon said.
As events proved, Eurybiades and Themistocles had already decided on the next step. We had a brief conference near the ashes of the altar fire.
Eurybiades didn’t need advice. He simply reiterated the ideas put forth the day before as to why we should not race the enemy for the Hellespont.
‘But,’ he said, ‘it would be foolish for us to let them go without any pursuit. If those more eager for freedom see our ships coming behind, some may yet defect.’
That made sense, too. A half-dozen Ionians had defected before the battle.
Eurybiades looked around. ‘I ask you gentlemen to make one more throw. The weather is fair. Let us pursue them a few days at least.’
Themistocles wouldn’t meet my eye, but he waved for attention. ‘Nor can we simply give chase,’ he said. ‘We must be prepared to fight. I would like to put to sea in three columns: the Athenians under Xanthippus, the Corinthians and Peloponnesians under Adeimantus, and the Aeginians under Polycritus.’
Salamis Page 31
