The Life of Polycrates and Other Stories for Antiquated Children

by Connell, Brendan

  . . . . . . in Ephesus he built a system of central heating into the Temple of Diana; and on Samos, together with his father, he rebuilt the Heraion, constructed the greatest temple in the world, with one-hundred and twenty-three large columns in the circular court and ten in the great open entrance hall.

  . . . . . . The sacred road leading to the Heraion Polycrates had paved with stones and lined with monuments, temples and statues; four broad-shouldered youths by the sculptor Geneleos13, each fifteen feet high; in front of the temple was seated Aeaces in marble and two statues in wood of Amasis, which that king had sent by boat all the way from Egypt. Also on the road was the tomb of Radine and Leontichos, where all those jilted in their sentiments would go to pray, and this he had embellished . . . . . . Then there were the . . . Panaimon, Proastion . . . Apollon Pythaeus, built by Mnesarchos, the father of Pythagoras, designed by Theodorus who also, together with his brother, carved the statue of the god, Telecles signing the right foot, Theodorus the left. . . . . . . Demeter Enelcyses . . . and the temple of Hermes Charetodotus, during whose name-day it was allowed for all Samians to steal . . . . . . . the city decorated to profusion with flowers, those diverse blooms Samos was famous for, lateritious crocus all the way to yellow; orchids, cliff rose, hyacinth, white water lily, dark red tulip and three-coloured chamomile; amaryllis and soft narcissus fed on dew; haymeadows and sea daffodil; tiny pink-flowered and long-stalked cyclamen called Chelonion with its tubers shaped like turtles; lily and rose-chalice and moist anemone, and dark-glowing violet; liontooth and ox-eye . . . . . . . . . Tauropoleion . . . . . . . . .

  . . . the Bouleuterion, an assembly hall . . . . . . . . . theatre . . . . . . the people of Samos dedicated a gymnasium to Eros and called the festival held in his honour the Eleutheria. . . . . . . And, in order to counteract the tendencies of the youth, distract their minds away from their male companions, he had constructed an area in the middle of the city which he called the Laura, a place meant to compete in splendid dissipation with the Ancon of Sardis, and in it he let be established many houses of prostitution, restaurants and food stands which sold victuals calculated to gratify intemperance and promote enjoyment, and other shops where every apparatus of luxury was sold; pavonine garments . . . golden ornaments and silver footed stools . . . female flutists and harpers played in the street from daybreak . . . and in numerous companies the young men and old would pace lazily along, their hair dripping with sweet smelling oil, bodies richly clad in long and soft purple garments, those garments usually reserved only for kings and which were worth eight times their weight in silver . . . and spent their time at dice, filling their bellies with meat, drinking Chian wine in Spartan cups, and singing loose songs to the music of the noisy enneachord . . .

  XIX.

  Contents of Eriphyle’s dressing case:

  Item: Excrementa of Egyptian crocodiles, for the complexion

  Item: Oesipum, for embellishing and cleaning the complexion

  Item: A comb made of Libyan ivory

  Item: Ointment of orris

  Item: A depilatory ointment, made from the boiled and crushed bones of a spoonbill, mixed with fly dung, oil of ben, sycamore juice, storax gum, and cucumber

  Item: A perfume of crocus-oil

  Item: Bdellium

  XX.

  Epistle:

  Amasis, King of Egypt to Polycrates, Lord of the Sea, Prosperity

  I feel it likely that this letter will reach you in both good health and spirits, as you are the most fortunate of men, one who suffers not from some regrettable malady of the joints but from great opulence. Every activity you undertake terminates in success and it seems to many that your destiny is not to be simply Lord of the Sea, but to be lord of all of Ionia and Greece.

  The normal reaction of a man, when he hears of the success of a friend and ally, is to feel great joy, as all like to know that those who are close to their hearts are doing well. Yet, dear Polycrates, your excessive prosperity does not cause me joy, but the contrary emotion, because I am quite certain that it must fill even deities such as Horus and Isis with discontent and jealousy, if I may make so bold a statement.

  For long now have I, fulfilling my duty as a king, studied the principles of signs and portents, livanomancy, extispicy and halomancy, have steered my own course in life by the entrails of fish, the mode in which cocks peck at grains of millet and the particulars of wine when poured on the naked flesh of a virgin’s back, and thus flatter myself that I know a little something on the subject. So now I tell you this in plain words: if this great success of yours is not sometimes given intermission, you will be pitched into disaster; for never in the history of the world has there been a man who, after having all his enterprises terminate as he desired, did not ultimately experience catastrophe and whose story did not end in tragedy.

  Now, according to me there is only one way to avoid this change of fortune: reflect and decide which of all your treasures you consider to be the finest, which you hold most dear, which would give you the most pain to have taken from you. Then, no matter what that article might be, take it and dispose of it so that it will never again be seen by human eyes or touched by human hands. This is my advice.

  Polycrates ran his fingers through his beard, touched his lips to the signet-ring made by Theodorus, and knew. The next day he went out to sea in one of his ships and, when he was well into deep water, took the ring from his finger and cast it far from him. That night, back at his palace, he wept and pulled a handful of hairs from his beard; for throwing the ring away had been like fratricide, only he felt greater sorrow now than he had when he had murdered his brother, because at that time he had gained a kingdom, while now the only thing he had to show for his action was a naked finger.

  “But you should feel happy,” suggested Ibycus, “since, as you believe, by this action you have staved off the jealousy of the gods.”

  “Have I; or have I simply been prey to the jealousy of Amasis? I have always propitiated the gods, and they have always favoured me. And, after all, it was not them who suggested I do myself harm.”

  XXI.

  Cold-eyed, lank-haired Maeandrius, son of Maeandrius, brother of Lycaretus and sneak-thief Charilaus, was intelligent, of a thin, unmuscular form, well versed in the basics of flattery, clear-headed and of the supple morals suitable to one who wishes to please his master. The oily accents of his voice were glossed with silver. He was subservient to his betters, bold with his equals and contemptuous of those of lower position.

  “A man wishes to see you,” Maeandrius said. “He is at the gate and insists.”

  “Does he appear to be in a violent state of mind?”

  “On the contrary, he seems to be quite well disposed.”

  With Polycrates’ consent, a fisherman was shown into the chamber, followed by four stout lads bearing an enormous epinephelus on a stretcher.

  “My lord,” said the fisherman with an awkward bow, “this morning I offered my usual crust of bread and drop of wine to Artemis of the Fishing-Nets, and today she has been good to me, letting me win this trophy of the sea. Though I know I could sell it for an attractive sum to some rich man or to one of the better eateries in the Laura, I have refrained from such a temptation, and have carried it here instead, as a gift to you Polycrates,—for it is a fish worthy of your magnitude.”

  Polycrates, lover of cold-blooded aquatic vertebrates, thanked the fisherman, promised him a gift of a Sardian net, and dismissed him . . . an invitation to return that evening for supper . . . . . . good fortune could not be thrown off and . . .

  . . . Under the supervision of Maeandrius the fish was ported back to the kitchen, where it fell into the hands of Echoiax, that most sublime culinary master who, standing behind piles of coriander and cinnamon, blushed when he saw it, wondering at once how he should cook it, what sort of sauce he should prepare, wheth
er gold or green, or with turnsole sauce azure, to make it as if still swimming in the deep sea—or then again, maybe simply tucked into a great bed of well-turbaned mushrooms.

  “Whatever you do,” said Maeandrius in a haughty voice, “make sure that you do not over-cook it or over-power its own natural flavour with some foreign additive.”

  “These critics are like eunuchs,” Echoiax murmured. “They know what to do but they can’t do it.”

  So thinking, the cook slit open the belly of the fish and, while removing its guts, found a precious piece of jewellery, a ring of marvellous workmanship and unsurpassed beauty; and this was soon restored to Polycrates, Echoiax chattering away about the marvel of the fish.

  Fragments of an Epistle:

  Pol[ycrates to A]masis,

  . . . . . . so that is how it happened . . .

  . . . more than a touch providential . . . . . .

  Fragments of an Epistle:

  [Amasis] to Polycrates,

  . . . . . . beyond our control . . . . . . that which inescapably befalls one . . . agency . . . the order of things . . . . . . .

  So be it. I hereby dissolve our friendship. Disaster will surely come to you, and when it does, I do not want to grieve.

  Polycrates was enraged when he read this letter. “The man says that, in order not to grieve for my misfortune, one that he proclaims himself the augur of, he would rather not be my friend. Well—he who repulses the friendship of Polycrates contracts a hard enemy.”

  XXII.

  Maeandrius caught sight of Eriphyle strolling amongst the feathery-branched tamarisks, wearing nothing but a cimbericon, a short and transparent frock.

  “Enjoying the weather?” he asked, approaching.

  “Enjoying being alone,” she said in glacial tones.

  “But companionship can often be very entertaining.”

  “So you are offering to entertain?”

  “It is lonely here; I am at your service.”

  “I believe that you have a filthy mind.”

  “Do you think I am over-ambitious?”

  “I have no idea about the state of your ambition.”

  “I am a man.”

  “You are disgusting. Let go of my hand, or I will tell my father and he will have you thrown into the sea.”

  She turned and walked away. Maeandrius felt the anger of inadequacy; his attraction was left to rot and turn to hate; on Samos that day a pig was born that looked just like an elephant, except for its feet, which were conventional.

  XXIII.

  Polydor, in charge of a patrol of nine pentecosters, waylaid in the Sea of Crete a ship bound from Egypt to Lacedaemon, a ship sent by King Amasis to the Spartans with gifts. The Samian marshal attacked and robbed it of its cargo; five dozen psicters of pickled gourd, as many amphorae of Teniotic barley-wine, a portrait of the king, a good deal of silver plate, two bridles of gold, headtires of linen and a corselet of finely-textured linen and gold with numerous figures of asps, rams and women with the spotted bodies of leopards and lotuses for tails woven into its fabric. Polycrates, when he saw the splendour of this latter prize, laughed and ridiculed the name of Amasis, that king who had forfeited his friendship.

  XXIV.

  The bronze statue Telecles made of Bathyllus, which was placed in the Heraion, was roundly abused by Geneleos, not only to private individuals, but in public places and in a voice loud and calculated to draw attention . . . . . .

  “And look at your own work,” said Telecles, “stiff and lifeless, stacked alongside the road like so many upright corpses.”

  . . . Words, phonological shapes, changed to rough and injurious physical force . . . . . .

  . . . . . . Telecles . . . struck by Geneleos with a hammer . . .

  . . . . . . Theodorus buried his brother and carved a small monument for him with an inscription authored by Ibycus which read:

  Here lies Telecles, who carved in stone and cast in bronze,

  And left behind a name more enduring than either.

  . . . . . . Theodorus watched Geneleos, the man’s thick thighs rubbing against each other as he walked through a field sprinkled white with crocus, and then into a cypress grove . . . . . . called his name and, when he turned, struck out with a dagger, but Geneleos pulled back, the blade merely grazed his arm, and he then turned and ran, up the hill and through the stately firs, to the bare summit. . . . . . . Geneleos picked up a large stone and turned upon his assailant, ready to defend himself as best he could. But then his look of aggressive fear turned to one of astonishment and he stood frozen in his tracks so that when Theodorus stabbed him in the head, he made hardly a move, his gaze fixed out to sea. And so Theodorus now turned, and looked. The sea, a delicious harebell blue under the post meridian sun, was incrusted with Spartan ships of war; and Geneleos rested dead at his feet.

  XXV.

  Cambyses, that son of Cyrus14 and King of Persia, fratricide and incestuous sororicide . . . gathering an armament, preparing for war with Egypt, against Amasis . . . . . . Cambyses, knowing that Amasis was in bad odour with Polycrates, sent an envoy to the latter to ask for naval assistance. Polycrates rounded up those Samians whom he had least faith in, possible political opponents, those who he thought had the potential to stir revolt, sent them in forty ships to Egypt as food for sharp-fanged javelins and arrows . . . but off Carpathus the crews, led by Sarapammon, revolted. They chopped their Persian captains into fine bits, fed them to the sea fowls, and sailed back to Samos, hoping to cause an insurrection. Polycrates set out what portions he could of his own fleet and suffered substantial losses, but with volleys of arrows fired into the sea was able to keep the rebels from landing, and so these latter fled to Lacedaemon.

  XXVI.

  The Spartans lived in a way far different from the Samians; their babies, if born weak or deformed, were taken to the Apothetae, a chasm, where they were left to die; the strong were bathed, tempered in wine. The Lacedaemonians ate in phiditiae, common halls, and lived in barracks, the women separated from the men, and in the winter they went without shoes and slept without blankets. The houses they lived in were rough and made from logs. . . . . . . Their women, on the wedding night, would be dressed as men and have their hair clipped off, so opposed were those people to all forms of effeminacy. Perfume and dyed clothing were both illegal . . . . . . spent their time in military training . . . . . .

  . . . . . those laconic sayings of the Lacedaemonians . . . . . .

  . . . . . .“Know yourself,” said Chilon . . .

  . . . “Do tomorrow’s work today.”

  . . . A Spartan, being asked by a loquacious man, “Who is the greatest Spartan?” replied, “He who is least like you.”

  . . . . . . “Everything in moderation,” said Chilon . . .

  XXVII.

  When the renegade Samians reached Sparta, they were given an audience with the euphors and the diarchic kings, Anaxandridas and Ariston15. Sarapammon talked at great length, doused the kings with flowery compliments, set off the fireworks of his elocution before the assembly; with an excellent choice of language, with a calculatedly-trembling voice complained of Polycrates, pointed out that the man was not only a problem for him and his associates, but had also disrespected Sparta, had stolen the magnificent bronze vase which they had years earlier intended for King Croesus and more recently stolen a boat-load of goodies that the Egyptian King Amasis had intended for them, “and,” he concluded, “the Samians themselves are a repressed people and will rebel, gladly overthrow their tyrant and afterwards be immensely grateful to you Lacedaemonians.”

  Sarapammon stood now silent in the middle of the room, arms akimbo, triumphant. The Spartans looked at each other in amazement. No one could by effort of memory recall the first half of the speech and, as to the second, not a man there had been able to follow its circumlocutionary logic.

  The next day the Samians returned. Sarapammon lifted up an empty sack which he had brought with him, turned it upside down and shook it. “The sa
ck needs flour,” he said.

  “Needs flour,” said Anaxandridas.

  “The sack!” cried Sarapammon.

  Ariston: “Two words . . .”

  Anaxandridas: “. . . too many.”

  Sarapammon: “Help?”

  The kings: “Yes.”

  Then Sarapammon declared that time should not be wasted, but they should set out straight away and take Samos by surprise, for, he said, “A fish’s strength lies in its tail; Polycrates’ strength lies in his navy.”

  XXVIII.

  Knots of youths were seen on the street corners, some whose cheeks were livid with fear, whispering. . . . The Spartans were notorious warriors, and few men like to be drained of their blood. . . . Polycrates met with his aides, with Polydor, Periphoretus Artemon and Maeandrius, and discussed strategy.

  “We have no time to properly man our ships,” Polydor said. “It will be as much as we can do to put half a dozen into action.”

  Polycrates: “They would easily be overcome, then the Spartans would take the harbour, setting fire to the rest or capturing them.”

  Artemon: “Take those half dozen ships and this minute have them laden with stones and put in a line to block the harbour.”

  An action done; and then, to inspire his soldiers and mercenaries with enthusiasm, Polycrates offered a reward of three staters for every Spartan or renegade killed in the ensuing battle; to deter betrayal amongst his own subjects, he shut up their wives and children in the sheds built to shelter his ships, and was ready to burn them in case of need.