‘And “Eleni”?’ his daughter said.
Xanthippus smiled.
‘It means “light” – a torch in the darkness. Because of how my heart lifted when I heard your mother had given birth to a girl. I chose that one.’
She was delighted at that. Silence fell. Pericles said nothing, while Eleni looked from her brother to her father, then lost patience with their quiet clash of wills.
‘And what about Peri? What does his name mean?’
‘It means “famous”,’ Pericles said under his breath. He seemed annoyed by it. His father nodded.
‘It does. Your mother had a dream of a lion on the night before Pericles was born. Such a vision does not come often, or to many. She gave you the name as an ambition, that one day all men would know it.’
‘And you, father?’ Eleni said. ‘How did you get yours?’
‘My mother dreamed of a pale horse,’ Xanthippus said with a shrug. ‘I do not know what that dream meant.’
To his surprise, he found he was enjoying the conversation, that something tight had eased in him. Perhaps it had been the laughter of his daughter, he thought. Men needed women for such things, or life would have been a dark and pitiless place. Even with a dog.
That thought made him look past Conis to the house. He took a deep breath.
‘Why don’t you see to this fine horse – Soldier, was it?’
He was pleased when Pericles just rolled his eyes, without the saturnine darkness he had shown before. Xanthippus patted him on the back, realising how much he had missed embracing his children. He opened his arms and all three came naturally in without another word, crushed to him in the evening light. Conis pushed in amongst them then, making them smile.
When he came into the house, Xanthippus’ eyes were still red. Agariste was there and he saw the anger in every line of her, the stiffness and resentment. As he approached, she raised her arms to fend him off, but he smothered them and hugged her tightly. He felt her sob against his chest.
‘I have been a fool,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
34
The sun glittered on the water in a million flecks of light. The Acropolis of Athens could be seen from the port and Xanthippus bowed his head to Athena, murmuring her prayer. On impulse, he added prayers to Poseidon, whose realm he had entered, then Ares for the war to come. Apollo had been his childhood hero, so Xanthippus added lines to honour the sun and source of life, then called to mind Theseus and Heracles. There were many gods and guardians of Athens. He felt them all around him, thick as bees, while the little boat rocked. It was hardly more than an open shell, twice the length of a man. Two benches sat across the width, thick pine, sun-bleached and worn. Xanthippus eyed the pair of rowers, seeing strength and easy endurance. They were dark, with white hair on their forearms. Like the boat, they had known years of hard use. Xanthippus wondered if they would keep their favoured spot when the war came. He doubted it. The fleet would need every rower, especially men as competent as these.
He sat in the stern and they faced him, side by side, while the trireme grew to fill his vision. The massive port of Piraeus dwindled behind, built stronger and dredged deeper by Themistocles, so he had been told. Themistocles was a hero in that place, Xanthippus had discovered. So many men owed their livings to him, he was beyond any fear of exile, at least that year. Xanthippus did not know how he felt about that.
He put such thoughts aside. He was out over water deep enough to drown a man. It was not calming to imagine a darker, colder world beneath his feet, with grey sand and unseen fish flapping slowly through the gloom.
Ahead, the trireme wallowed; there was no other word to describe it. Xanthippus had known merchant vessels that almost seemed to fly, with sails taut and creaking. In comparison, the broad-beamed warships seemed horribly unstable on the deep water. Neither sails nor mast were visible. He understood they had been taken down for the sea trials, as was normal practice. With the oars drawn in, the great ship seemed almost helpless, like a piece of stick bobbing on the ocean. Even as he watched, the approach of his little craft brought the long oars out, with shouted orders carrying to his ears. Three levels of sweeps splashed down, fully ninety men to a side, all sitting so close their sweat dripped onto those below.
Like the legs of some strange insect, the oars reached the waves and the rocking motion eased. Xanthippus swallowed his nervousness, relieved he would not have to try and climb on board a ship rising and rolling as it had been before, smashing white spray into the air.
Above the oars, he could see men walking on the bare twin deck. A trench ran from one end to another, right down the centre, giving light and air to those labouring below. It was a machine, Xanthippus thought, like the wooden cranes on the docks or the children’s toys sold in the Agora. A wonderful, intricate machine made by men. Made to hunt. Made to drown.
His own pair of rowers worked tirelessly to bring him alongside the stern. They kept station then, as if they thought he knew exactly what to do. Xanthippus looked blankly at them until he saw the closest oars were being held almost flat, so that a man might step onto them. The ship still rolled back and forth as some ripple of great waters passed beneath them.
Before his fear could overwhelm him, Xanthippus swallowed and grabbed one oar while heaving himself onto another. With his heart in his mouth, he stepped onto the one above, feeling like a spider crawling from twig to twig. It was with huge relief that he reached a wooden ridge he could wrap a hand around. As he clambered onto the open deck, Themistocles leaned in and offered him a hand.
‘Did you not see the ladder?’ Themistocles said.
Xanthippus looked where he pointed and saw rope steps flapping about in the swell. While he stared, the bottom five or six plunged beneath the surface. It seemed, if anything, more perilous than the oars. It was tempting to claim he had chosen the oars out of some caprice, but he refused to lie to a man who thrived on weakness.
‘No. You have a great deal to teach me,’ he said.
He leaned over to see what had become of the two rowers. They were still there. One of them stood ready with a net bag of Xanthippus’ kit. Themistocles had warned him not to bring more than a cloak, a razor, a flask of oil and a waterskin. He had added only a cheese wrapped in cloth and a small statue of Athena in limestone, given to him by Agariste.
Xanthippus watched anxiously as one of the crew tossed down a rope, barely longer than himself. The trireme was so low on the water, it looked as if the sea would come in through the oar-holes at any moment. His two ferrymen knew their trade, however. They tied the bag on and then it was pulled on board and placed at his feet. Sailors moved quickly in all their tasks, he realised. There was life to the ship, a bustle on all sides. It was exhilarating, though he felt exposed on that wide deck, without even mast or spars.
For luck, Xanthippus tossed a single silver tetradrachm to the two men: four drachms and wages for a full day. It was only when the coin was in the air that he saw how hard a catch it was – a glint of silver, all while the boat rocked underfoot. Somehow, the closest oarsman snatched the silver piece, though he almost went over backwards to do it. He and his mate beamed then, raising a hand in salute and triumph, then rowing away at an even faster pace than before.
Themistocles patted him on the shoulder as Xanthippus picked up his sea bag.
‘I chose you for how you lead men, Xanthippus. Not your seamanship.’ Themistocles thought for a moment. ‘Though, yes, you have a great deal to learn and little time to do it. You will need to know the limits and the strengths of these ships – and their crews. We have developed tactics, but it is hard to know what will work until we meet the Persian fleet at sea. Here, let me introduce you to my esteemed colleague, Eurybiades of Sparta.’
Xanthippus watched as Themistocles leapt the open part of the deck to cross to the other side. He did it as easily as walking across, though it must have been as wide as a man was tall. In truth, it was not hard to make that long step, though Xanthippus
had an uncomfortable sense of faces below turning up to see him. Someone was hammering down there, Xanthippus thought, and swearing while he did it. The ship’s carpenter and his lads, presumably. Xanthippus followed Themistocles across, wondering if he would ever make the leap so casually.
On the other side stood a Spartan, resplendent in red cloak and white tunic, moving subtly with the motion of the ship as it rose and fell beneath their feet. The man’s legs were bare, but his cloak reached down past his knees, far enough to protect him from the chill of the sea wind. Xanthippus felt himself shiver at the prospect of weeks or months at sea. Just the thought brought a sense of loss. His reunion with Agariste had stolen almost all the night and any chance of sleep. He still smelled her perfume and could only pray the wind would whip the scent away as he grasped the hand Eurybiades offered and felt an iron grip come to bear.
On all sides, ships began to pick up the pace. Xanthippus could hear waves smacking against their hull as the trireme somehow came alive. He wanted to rush to the side and drink it all in. Instead, he did his duty, bowing to the Spartan.
‘Ah, the exile, returned!’ Eurybiades said. His voice was softly hoarse, reminding Xanthippus of a cat, purring.
‘My name has gone before me, then,’ Xanthippus said lightly.
Though the man gave him back the hand he had tried and failed to crush, he was still testing. In truth, Xanthippus did not resent it. They needed to know and trust one another, in just a short time. It could be no other way. The words followed the thought.
‘I am Xanthippus of Cholargos deme, Athens. Acamantis tribe, if you wish, though that is a new thing in our city, barely a generation past. I am Eupatridae – a landowner, you might say.’
‘A farmer,’ Eurybiades said, still prodding him.
Xanthippus smiled and clapped the man on the shoulder, watching to see how he reacted. To one who considered himself superior, it would be an insult. The Spartan seemed unmoved by the blow. Xanthippus wondered if Eurybiades was so used to physical violence that it had been beneath his notice. He had met wrestlers who hardly noticed any knock, at least until it drew blood. That was a troubling thought.
‘Other men oversee my land,’ Xanthippus said. ‘But, yes, I feed families in Athens. I am myself a strategos and soldier. I stood at Marathon. What are your memories of that battle?’
There was a long silence. Xanthippus could sense Themistocles readying himself to say something conciliatory, but the Spartan smiled and nodded, satisfied.
‘I was in the column that reached you a day late,’ he said. ‘I have regretted it for many years. We were… forbidden from leaving earlier. The ephors of Sparta…’
He stopped and shook his head. Such things were not for outsiders, though Xanthippus could have groaned in frustration. Neither he nor Themistocles moved to interrupt, and after a time, Eurybiades went on, awake to their interest.
‘Your runner came rather late, as I recall,’ he said sourly. ‘I remember I intended to take a whip to him later on, until I heard he had burst his heart.’ He folded in his lips so that they protruded in two ridges. ‘Still, it was my one chance to face the Persian Immortals! I would like to hear all you remember of that day, perhaps this evening? I would be honoured to entertain you on my flagship.’
It was a surprising offer, but Xanthippus agreed immediately. A Spartan warship was a rare thing in those waters. It might be his only chance to see one.
‘It would be my honour, trierarch.’
He used the title innocently enough, to a man who was captain of a Spartan ship. Yet it brought about a sudden stop to the growing goodwill between them.
‘Address me as “navarch” while I command the fleet,’ Eurybiades said.
Xanthippus dipped his head.
‘Yes, navarch. I apologise.’
The Spartan waved it away.
‘The first time is forgotten. Make no mistake twice and there will be nothing but honour and respect between us. Is that clear?’
Xanthippus did not need Themistocles to be staring at him with wide eyes. They would face a Persian fleet. He had put aside his vengeance for lost years because of that. Merely accepting the authority of a pompous Spartan was nothing in comparison.
‘It is, navarch,’ he said calmly.
Eurybiades nodded.
‘I should think so. Now, call my boat, if you would. I will expect you at sunset. The invitation includes you, of course, Themistocles.’
‘Duty keeps me here, navarch, though I wish it were not so.’
Xanthippus had no idea how to call the man’s personal boat, but Themistocles signalled to one of his officers and a banner was raised on a dory spear. They stood in respectful silence until it arrived and Eurybiades climbed down. He moved well enough, disdaining any help.
Xanthippus wondered who else would be listening on board. It was an odd sensation. He was used to speaking his mind and caring not at all who heard. Yet the fleet surging through the waters around him was not just Athenian, for all they had provided over half the ships and crews. It was Greek, a grand confederation. He felt his heart fill with excitement and he went to the side to watch.
Dozens of ships skimmed the sea together, like a flock of birds flying down the coast. The rows of oars swept a little like wings and white wakes sizzled and hissed behind them. Some of the ships were grey, but many more gleamed gold in new pine and oak, with rams shining wet as they rose out of the waves and then crashed down. It was simply beautiful.
‘You will not enjoy the food tonight,’ Themistocles said.
‘What food?’
‘Whatever slop they serve on the Spartan ship. I thought they were playing a joke on me when I went over, but they weren’t. They live like Aristides, all of them. You would think with all that training that they’d enjoy a little wine and spiced lamb. But it is always some dark brown muck, and bread you could use as a weapon. That’s what you get in a society without money! No one can buy anything better than the rest. What’s the point of that? Still, I would not like to be the Persian who tries to board one of his ships. That much I am sure of.’
Themistocles saw something strange come into Xanthippus’ expression and followed his gaze out across the sea. The land was not far off and the ships moved like pond-skaters past the route both men had marched to Marathon, an age before. Themistocles looked over his shoulder.
‘Give me our best speed!’ he bellowed.
The trierarch at the stern rose from his seat and grinned at the challenge. He gave the command for ‘ram speed sixty’ to the keleustes, the order-giver who stood with only his head and shoulders sticking out of the hold. That man vanished to roar at the oarsmen and the pace picked up immediately, faster and faster. Unseen in the hold, a drum began to sound to keep both wings working together and the ship heading straight.
‘Doesn’t she fly!’ Themistocles said. ‘As fast as a man can run, for sixty beats. Ramming speed, with all our weight behind the spear.’ His pride was evident, joy rising like sap to flush his face in the wind.
‘What is my post in all this?’ Xanthippus said, raising his voice to be heard over the shouts and drumbeats from below. Their ship had surged forward, running down those ahead and leaving the fleet behind for a brief period. He could feel flecks of spray touch his skin. It was hard to resist the pounding of his heart.
‘I need a second in command I can trust,’ Themistocles said. ‘You are that man, if you want it – so your role is as much as I can place on your shoulders, whatever weight you can bear. I need you to command a part of our fleet. You’ll meet your captains and work with them, learning all they know, all they can do.’
‘How many?’ Xanthippus said.
Themistocles looked sideways at him.
‘How many do you want? If you say thirty, it will be a help to me. If you say ninety ships, I’ll give them over to your command, in groups of six. Don’t look so shocked. Cimon is not yet thirty and there are few senior captains who’ll take orders from a youth –
even a son of Miltiades. There is no template for a fleet of this size, Xanthippus! If you command ninety, that would take a weight off me, in battle. Think of it as a strategos. No, I need you to! I will decide when and whether to engage, but the sea is wider than any battlefield, far too wide for signals or shouted orders. When the masts come down for battle, we are too low, too close to the water, to see far. I need officers in a tight structure, in command of smaller groups. I need men I can trust completely to take the fight to the enemy.’
With a lurch, their speed slackened almost to nothing. The motion of the sea could be felt once again and right down in the thalamos, the deep hold, Xanthippus could hear men breathing so hard it was like a cry of pain with every exhalation.
‘Speed has a cost, then,’ he said more quietly.
‘It does. The fitness of our men is our greatest resource,’ Themistocles said. He lowered his voice. ‘Though the Persian rowers will have been at sea for months by the time they reach us. They are said to be slaves. Who knows how well they are fed and watered? I expect to be faster and more nimble when the oars are out. I pray to Poseidon and Athena that we are. Those two fought over Athens once. Let them both bless us now, their favourite children!’
He smoothed his hair back with one hand, lighter streaks made gold after so many days at sea.
‘We cannot expect them to collapse before us, Xanthippus. It will be hardest of all on those who labour below. All they know is the work of the oars. We give the orders and set the speed. They have to match it, though their muscles burn and sweat pours. Believe me, the amount of water they drink shows their labour.’ He nodded to the trierarch. ‘Half speed there. Have the rudder men make ready for turns.’
Xanthippus saw how Themistocles was careful to speak directly to the ship’s trierarch, preserving his authority over the crew. It was a delicate balance, with the fellow repeating the same order to the keleustes without a delay.
‘What part, then, does our Spartan navarch play?’ Xanthippus asked.
The Gates of Athens Page 28
