Elephants and Castles

by Alfred Duggan

  ‘He’s got guts, though, the ruffian,’ said one of the guests. ‘I suppose he’s an atheist, like most of his kidney. But any ordinary man would have been frightened by the omen at the Panathenaic procession, yet he took it without turning a hair. That was only a few days ago, Saviour God, while you were negotiating the surrender of Munychia.’ Abruptly the young man fell silent; he was blushing, as were most of the others.

  This omen reflected on himself, Demetrius guessed. All the more reason that he should know the end of the story.

  ‘We are not in Athens, the city of which I am Saviour,’ he said easily. ‘In any case, I believe my altars have not yet been consecrated. At supper you should call me Demetrius, not by my divine title. As punishment for your breach of etiquette, you must finish the story of this omen.’

  ‘Well, Demetrius, I expect you know our Panathenaic procession,’ the young man floundered on, still blushing. ‘We all go up to the temple of Athene on the Acropolis; the gentlemen ride while the other citizens march, and the boys and girls too. Athene is our patron and founder, who has been worshipped in this fashion since long before we had a Saviour, in fact two Saviours.’ The little sneer came out without deliberate thought, and seemed to give him back his self-possession. ‘The object of the festivity is to adorn the image of Athene with a new garment, most preciously woven and embroidered. We renew this garments each year.’

  ‘And this year it had my picture on it, by special decree of your Assembly. Athene didn’t like that, of course. It’s her day, and she doesn’t want another god butting in on it. That’s no reflection on my divinity, you know. Gods like to keep their special festivals to themselves. If I had thought of it I would have apologised to your Athene.’ Demetrius smiled. ‘Go on, what happened to my picture?’

  ‘It was a very fine picture, Demetrius, a flattering likeness and embroidered in gold thread. But, as you have guessed, Athene wouldn’t wear it. As we climbed up the hill she sent a gust of wind. That was unusual. It’s high summer, and normally we have fine weather for the procession. The gale tore the garment in half, and the tear happened to come right across your picture.’

  ‘But the citizens in general took the omen to be directed against Stratocles, who had ordered the picture to be embroidered; not against the god depicted,’ said one of the hetairae quickly. These women were trained to smooth over an awkward situation. ‘From time immemorial a picture of Zeus has appeared on the garment, and Athene has never objected.’

  ‘But Zeus is her father, whereas I am no relation. It was pushing of me to intrude,’ answered Demetrius, ‘though indeed the mistake was made by the people of Athens, not by me. I hope Athene is cross with her city, not with her new colleague. When next we meet I shall endeavour to talk her into a better temper.’

  His guests stared at him anxiously, fearing that he might be suffering from a genuine delusion of divinity. One of the girls boldly explored the situation.

  ‘Perhaps Athene will be content with the warning she has given. Of course the gods exist. To doubt it would be atheism, which is forbidden by the laws of our city. But have you heard, Demetrius, of a theory recently advanced by certain philosophers: that the gods are so happy on Olympus, being themselves perfect and in a setting of perfect happiness, that they do not bother to interfere in the affairs of mankind, either to punish or to reward? Do you think it a reasonable theory?’

  ‘At first glance most reasonable, my dear, though I have never sat down to think it out properly. Of course it applies only to the gods now taking their ease on Olympus. I haven’t got there yet, and therefore I may still reward my friends and punish my enemies. But that does not matter. Tonight I have no enemies.’

  ‘We none of us have any enemies, that’s the best of it,’ said a young nobleman. ‘Our governors are not the men I would have chosen, if I were only pleasing myself. Stratocles steals from the treasury, and he doesn’t wash often enough. But no one can accuse him of blood-guilt. Under his rule the beautiful and good are as safe as the greasiest pedlar of sausages. We have made a revolution without killing, a rare experience. Perhaps we owe our luck to our new Saviour God.’

  ‘Perhaps you do, young gentleman. No one minds loose talk at the supper table, but don’t push your luck too far.’ Demetrius smiled grimly at their evident consternation.

  ‘A very good government.’ someone said hastily. ‘Not only do they leave our heads on our shoulders, but so far they have not taken our money. No liturgies.’

  ‘Are liturgies a grievance?’ asked Demetrius. ‘We don’t have them in Asia, naturally, since our cities don’t manage their own affairs. But when I was a child my tutor was always saying what a splendid thing was a liturgy. The rich man offering his superfluity for the service of his fellow-citizens, his only recompense public esteem - the fraternity of it, the eagerness to lift burdens from the shoulders of the poor - the proof that even when all have a share in the government the wealthy will do more than the rest. I am sure you can complete the speech for yourselves. Among schoolmasters I can assure you that a liturgy is considered a Good Thing.’

  ‘As a class, schoolmasters are poor,’ someone replied. ‘All the same, there may have been something in it once. During the great war with Sparta, more than a century ago, my great-grandfather paid for the fitting out of a warship. In return he was allowed to command her in action. It must have been fun to produce a new play as you wanted to see it, even though you had to pay the chorus and the actors. I suppose all these expensive burdens began as voluntary offerings.’

  ‘They didn’t stay like that,’ his girl added. ‘My father was a citizen. He wasn’t married to my mother, of course, but we need not go into that now. He used to complain that he had been brought up to live in idleness; but the assembly laid liturgy after liturgy on him, until in the end he had to work for his living. That’s what I have done all my life, but he thought it a very terrible affliction.’

  ‘And so it was,’ her protector continued. ‘I don’t mean work. That I can take in moderation. But the old liturgies were unfair, and the unfairness was the worst part of it. You could buy yourself off, by bribing some politician. But then he would want another bribe, and steer the next liturgy your way, so that giving bribes came out more expensive than paying up the first time. Often private spite had more to do with it than justice. No, I can put up with democracy. I’m not compelled to vote in the Assembly, rubbing shoulders with ruffians I would never dream of inviting to my house. But if the Assembly decrees that I must sell my ancestral estate I might be tempted to defend my land by force. I hope the Saviour God will protect us from liturgies.’

  ‘I see that democracy is not as obviously just as my old tutor used to make out,’ answered Demetrius. ‘I shall use my influence against liturgies. I have a horror of civil war,’

  It was a burning August day. The hot wind seemed to come from all quarters at once, lifting fine clouds of marble-dust which clogged the mouth and irritated the skin. Two hours after dawn, when the procession set out, the horizon had already vanished behind dust and haze. From the Piraeus end of the Long Walls the road to the city disappeared into a grey nothingness; even the Acropolis was hidden, save that a single light flashed - the sun reflected from the shield of the great statue of Athene on the highest point of the citadel.

  Standing in his chariot Demetrius endured the heat. He wore civilian dress, purple tunic under a purple cloak; his head was bare, save for a wreath of conqueror’s laurel. But below his bare legs came a pair of high boots of military cut, though the supple leather had been gilded. That was inappropriate; with a civilian tunic a gentleman should wear light slippers or even bare feet. He knew he was improperly dressed, as improperly as if he had come to a banquet in a traveller’s broad-brimmed hat; the knowledge irked him. But this was the set-up recommended by his advisers; as Aristodemus remarked with a fleeting smile, no rules had been laid down for the costume of a god visiting his own shrine in the guise of a mere man, and he must make his own preced
ents.

  ‘Besides,’ he added, ‘your feet look terrible - all bunions and corns, like the feet of every soldier who marches in heavy boots. Smart Athenians care for their feet as they care for their hands. You must cover up those honourable scars, unworthy of an Olympian god.’

  He had also vetoed the gold-hilted sword Demetrius wished to carry. ‘Only barbarians go armed in civilian dress. Besides, you are a Saviour, not a conqueror. A sword won’t make you any safer, you know. In a procession any onlooker can kill you, provided he is willing to sacrifice his own life. Bear that in mind as you enter your faithful city. It will occupy your thoughts during a long and tedious ceremony.’

  Aristodemus sometimes talked too much.

  The gorgeous chariot was drawn by four white horses. It had no driver, since each horse was led by an Athenian gentleman. Before it marched the sacred embassy; behind came most of the army which had conquered, or perhaps liberated, Megara and Munychia. On this part of the road there were few spectators. The active politicians were waiting to greet him in the Assembly; women and children, foreigners and slaves, old men and idle onlookers, were grouped round the gate where they could get a good view without the long walk up from Piraeus.

  As he neared the city he examined its wall with a professional eye; good work in its way, but he could design engines to batter it. However, Athens had never been strongly fortified; her strength lay in the impregnable Acropolis which towered above the mean little houses of the citizens.

  At the Potteries, the first open space within the walls, a group of civic dignitaries waited to escort him. The procession was smaller now, since most of the troops remained within the Long Walls; they would bivouac in the open air, after a good dinner with plenty of wine. That was better for both soldiers and citizens than if armed men had come into the streets to get drunk among the houses.

  The street leading to the theatre was jammed with spectators. He looked keenly at the crowd, with an eye trained to judge the temper of soldiers before battle. They were on his side, certainly, and glad to see such an imposing pomp; but they seemed to be enjoying themselves, not participating in a unique religious and patriotic function.

  In the theatre the citizens were marshalled in their tribes, including the new tribes instituted in honour of the Saviour Gods. Here Stratocles took over, introducing the liberator in a graceful speech. The rogue could speak well. But that was his trade and it would be strange if he were bad at it. At first Demetrius listened carelessly, still trying to gauge the feelings of the Athenians. But there seemed to be genuine emotion in it, and he began to see that he had given these people something they really valued. The proposal, carried unanimously, that an altar be erected to the Descending Demetrius at the spot where he alighted from his chariot, must have been inspired by an upsurge of gratitude. He had really done something to better the lot of the Athenians, the most famous, the most intelligent, the most noble of the peoples of Hellas. They were on fire with love for him.

  When he mounted the tribunal to reply, two priests marked with white chalk the paving-stones where his feet had first touched the ground. For all times this would be a holy spot. He was under an obligation to be faithful to them.

  He began simply: ‘Men of Athens, I restore to you your liberty,’ Then he had to pause, for he could not be heard above the sound of cheering. In short broken sentences he continued, while the cheering rose to the skies. He promised that Demetrius and Antigonus, the Saviours, would fight for the liberty of Athens while they had a soldier to fight for them. But the Athenians must do their part. They must build a navy, and man it; they must revive the well-drilled civic levies which long ago had defeated the Persians. It was a good speech, and everything he said came from the heart.

  This ought, he felt, to be the end of the ceremony. He was drained of emotion, anxious to rest. But on this historic occasion the Assembly wanted more. Another demagogue came to the tribunal, to propose a vote of thanks. His speech, as well-turned as might have been expected, was empty of anything save compliments, except in one particular. Repeatedly he referred to the Saviour Gods as Kings.

  The first time Demetrius heard himself called King he gave a little start of annoyance. Aristodemus, standing close to him, motioned him to be silent. Then the royal title came again and again, until he understood that this was more than a casual slip of the tongue. His father was also King Antigonus every time he was mentioned.

  Then he was conducted to the town hall, where he would lodge during this state visit. As he walked there he spoke crossly to Stratocles.

  ‘The people of Athens have given me high honours. They worship me as a god, and I am proud to receive their worship. But as far as I am aware they have no kingdom to bestow. Why do they call me King, and without consulting me beforehand?’

  ‘Why not, my lord god?’ said the demagogue with a shrug. ‘You have accepted the greater rank, and no one expected that you would boggle at the lesser. If the Athenians have no realm to bestow, King Antigonus already rules a mighty realm in Asia. You are his heir. You are both in every way the peers of Ptolemy, who in Egypt has taken the royal and divine title of Pharaoh.’

  ‘You are missing the point. We are not the peers of Ptolemy. He has dismembered the Empire of Alexander, while we wish to restore its unity.’

  ‘Dear me.’ Stratocles clicked his tongue in vexation. ‘Indeed I have missed a point there. I knew they were going to give you this title, but I forgot that you wanted the undivided Empire.

  It was easy to forget, since for eight years you have made war on the present Regent. If you will forgive me, you don’t look like loyal Macedonians.’

  ‘But that’s what we are, all the same. Cassander is our enemy, not Macedonia. And another thing. I am not the only heir of my father. I have a brother, though no one seems to remember him.’

  ‘The mortal brother of a god is sometimes overlooked. But it won’t happen again, I assure you.’

  Demetrius knew it would be wrong to mar such a great occasion with a display of bad temper. The banquet in the town hall lasted until nightfall, and none of the guests were quite sober when they went home.

  The sentiments of the Athenians were not easy to assess. Every time the Assembly met they multiplied honorific decrees. They were spending the taxpayers’ money, too, to enhance the glory of the new cult. Antigonis and Demetrias, the sacred ships, were building, and the new temples rising. Every democrat paused to pray before the altar of the Descending Demetrius, whenever he passed it on the way to the Assembly. Yet Demetrius guessed that they did not really believe that two Macedonian noblemen were in fact immortal gods.

  Perhaps they did not believe that Zeus and Athene were immortal gods? Divinity is an honour lightly bestowed by atheists. The religious processions and ceremonies of Athens were said to be very magnificent; but that might be to honour the city, not the Olympians.

  Demetrius tried to think as little as possible about his absurd godhead, to put it right at the back of his mind. In the meantime he was the military leader of the Athenian democracy, commissioned by his father to overthrow the regent Cassander. There was a war to be fought, which should occupy all his attention.

  He might not immediately march out to battle, because his allies were reorganising their forces and no enemy was within reach. He learned that on the very day he entered Athens Cassander had withdrawn his garrison from Chalcis. All Boeotia and Euboea immediately joined the alliance of free cities. Already a great part of Hellas had been freed by the Saviour Gods.

  The free cities were genuinely free, in so far as he could liberate them. In each the democrats held power, for otherwise they would still have been subject to Cassander. But these democrats, elected by manhood suffrage after they had exiled their opponents, were not controlled by garrisons. Demetrius made it clear to them that they were not compelled to join in the war. They must not help Cassander, naturally; but they might stand neutral if they wished. He did not need their small contingents of untrained and badly ar
med citizens. They might make their own laws, pillaging their fellow-citizens if they could think of no better way to balance their budgets. A Macedonian would not teach Hellenes how to govern themselves.

  But the Hellenes could not understand what he was after. In Boeotia and Euboea, as in Athens, they fell over themselves to pay him absurd compliments and begged him to take command of their inefficient forces. He could not bestow freedom on men who were determined to be slaves. It was easier to give them orders than to persuade them to think for themselves; he was a very busy man, and persuasion took time.

  Even the Peloponnese was about to fall away from Cassander. The army gathered in Corinth had never managed to leave its base; apparently the Hellenes of those parts were quite content with the government of their native oligarchs, but they would not cross the Isthmus to overthrow democracy where it was popular.

  The only unpleasantness was the arrival of a letter from his father, expressing his furious anger at the crown which had been pressed on his unwilling brow. But the Athenians were pleased with their initiative, and it was too late to do anything about it.

  Meanwhile Athens was a good city for a god to stay in. The people lived well, in a civilised gracious way. There were banquets and smaller drinking parties, and a general atmosphere of slightly penurious culture. The hetairae were always glad to receive him, though he did not choose any permanent partner.

  5. A WINTER OF CIVILISATION

  Though all Athens lay at his feet Demetrius was scrupulous not to infringe the liberty of his worshippers. His troops did not enter the citadel of any free ally. The islands, and the lesser cities of the mainland, were as free as they had been a century ago. Of their own free will, without any pressure from their liberator, they began to train citizen-levies and build ships. Demetrius could boast truthfully that he had not compelled them to join his forces.