steal and covet other men’s possessions, and they argue about
everything.
I’ve always liked them.
I’d never been to Aristides’ house, but he was a famous man,
even then, so it was easy enough to ask directions. But I had to
turn down a dozen offers on my slave girl – the truth is, she
shone with some power, and no man who saw her cared an obol
about her limp – and for some reason men fancied me, too, and
even offered for my horse and my saddle blanket and my sword
and anything else visible.
We should have passed around the shoulder of the
Areopagus and walked on, down the hils to the cool countryside
on the east side of the city. Instead, I paused for a cup of cheap
wine. What I realy wanted was to walk down the street of the
bronze-smiths, so I left my horse with Slave Girl and headed to
the Agora. Now, there’s a fancy new temple for Hephaestus.
Back then, it was a much smaler affair, with tiny cramped streets
al over the low hil and a smal shrine to Athena and Hephaestus
at the top – just one priest and no priestess. But I went, made a
smal sacrifice and left the meat for the poor, as befitted a
foreigner, and then I walked down into the smiths’ quarter. I’d
have done better to take the Boeotian dog-cap off my head –
but I didn’t.
I gave the sign to the priest, of course, and he passed me the
sign for Attica, so that other smiths would treat me as a guest.
Then I worked my way down the hil, looking at their shops,
admiring their belows or their tools – or their hordes of
apprentices. I finaly stopped where an iron-smith was roughing
out spear-points – beautiful things, long as my forearm with light
sockets and heavy ribs for punching straight through armour.
‘You look like a lad who can use one of these,’ the smith
said. ‘For a dirt-eating Theban, I mean,’ he added.
I spat. ‘I’m a dirt-eating Plataean,’ I said. ‘Fuck Thebes.’
‘Fuck your mother!’ he said with pleasure. ‘No offence
‘Fuck your mother!’ he said with pleasure. ‘No offence
meant, stranger. Any Plataean is welcome here. Were you in the
three battles?’
‘Every one,’ I answered.
‘Pais!’ the master caled, and when one of his boys came, he
said, ‘Get this hero a cup of Chian.’
‘You?’ I asked politely.
‘Oh, I stood my ground once or twice that week,’ he said.
He extended his hand and we shook, and I passed the sign.
‘You’re a smith!’ he said. ‘Need a place to stay?’
That’s how it was, back then. Sad, to see those old ways go.
Hospitality was like a god to us – to al Greeks.
I had started to explain that I was on my way to see Aristides
when a wel-dressed man leading a horse leaned into the stal.
‘Did I just hear you say you were a Plataean?’ he asked.
I didn’t know him from Oedipus, but I was courteous. ‘I
have that honour. I am Arimnestos of the Corvaxae of Plataea.’
The man bowed. ‘You’ve just saved me quite a journey,
then,’ he said. ‘I’m Cleitus of the Alcmaeonids of Attica. And
you are under arrest, for murder.’
2
The law of Athens is a complex, dangerous monster, and no
foreigner like myself could possibly master it. I stood there with
my mouth agape, like a fool, and the smith came to my rescue.
‘Says who?’ he asked. ‘I haven’t missed an assembly since
the feast of Dionysus, and no one has voted a capital charge.’
The Alcmaeonid shrugged. ‘You don’t look like the kind of
felow to vote on the hil,’ he said casualy. What he meant was
that iron-smiths didn’t get invited to join the Areopagitica, the
council of elders, mostly old aristocrats, who ran the murder
trials. I think my smith might have let it go, except that this Cleitus
was such an arrogant sod that he gave offence by breathing.
‘I don’t have to be a sodding aristo to know the law,’ the
smith said. ‘Where’d the charge come from?’
‘None of your business,’ Cleitus said. He reached for my
chlamys. ‘Best come along, boy.’
chlamys. ‘Best come along, boy.’
Some men claim that the gods play no role in human affairs.
Such statements always make me laugh. Cleitus and I have
crossed wits – and swords – often enough. He’s as wily as
Odysseus and as strong as Heracles, but on that day he couldn’t
spare the time to calm the ruffled plumage of an iron-smith. What
might have happened if he had?
The smith stepped around the counter of his shop with a
speed that belied his bulk. ‘Where’s your wand, then?’ he
asked.
Cleitus shrugged. ‘With my men, in the Agora.’
‘Better go and get it, rich boy,’ the smith said. ‘Hey, sons of
Hephaestus!’ he caled. ‘Down your tools and come!’
Cleitus ralied his wits instantly. ‘Now – master smith, no
need for that. I’l get my wand. But this man is a kiler!’
‘A kiler of Athens’s enemies,’ I said. A good shot – and it
went right into the bulseye. ‘Not an unlawful kiler.’
By then, there were fifty apprentices looking for a fight, and a
dozen smiths, and every hand held a hammer. Cleitus looked
around. ‘I’l be back with my men,’ he said.
‘Bring your staff of warrant, or don’t bother,’ my new friend
the smith caled. Then he turned to me. ‘Tel me your tale, and
make it swift. Men are missing work.’
So I told him. I left nothing out – not even the dimple I’d left
in my helmet.
He sent an apprentice for Aristides.
I sat on a folding stool that was provided for me – fine
I sat on a folding stool that was provided for me – fine
ironwork, and very elegant – and began to breathe more easily.
And then I heard the screams. There were a fair number of
screams in Athens – high-pitched, often in fun, sometimes in
earnest. But by the third scream, I realized that this was my slave
girl. I rose to my feet.
My smith looked at me. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked.
‘That’s my slave,’ I said.
He shook his head. ‘I’ve pledged my people to this,’ he said.
‘You aren’t going anywhere.’
‘I’ve made her an oath to free her,’ I said. ‘Send a boy –
send a pair of men with hammers. Please. I ask you.’
He spat orders at a couple of shop boys – big ones – and
they hurried out of the door.
‘Arimnestos, eh?’ he asked. ‘I’ve heard of you. Kiler of
men, right enough. Thought you’d be bigger.’
I tried to sit stil. The screams had stopped. Time passed.
More time passed.
Finaly, the boys came back.
‘Cleitus has left the market,’ the bigger of the two said. ‘He’s
got your horse and your girl. He talked a lot of crap about what
you took from his brother. Did you kil his brother, mister?’
I shook my head. ‘No,’ I said, and I felt tired. Did I say I
loved Athens? Athens makes me tired. They
have a great many
rules. ‘Can he realy take these things from me?’ I asked the
smith.
He shrugged. ‘Alcmaeonids do what they like,’ he said.
‘Most commoners won’t even try to stand against them.’ He
‘Most commoners won’t even try to stand against them.’ He
grinned. ‘Lucky you’re a smith.’
‘He’s no smith,’ said a voice behind my chair, and there was
Athens’s leading pilar of justice, the greatest prig ever to lead
warriors in the field. A man so driven by fairness that he had no
space left for ambition.
I embraced him anyway, because I loved him, despite the
fact we had nothing in common. It was Aristides. He was stil
tal, lanky, graceful like a man who’s had the best training the
drachma can buy al his life.
‘I gather you’ve turned to crime,’ he said. I like to think it
was a rare show of humour, and not a statement of fact.
‘Not true, my lord. This scion of the Alcmaeonids was kiled
by a man in my service – at a shrine, for impiety. I’ve given
orders for his body and his armour to be brought here, and al his
possessions that weren’t looted by his own servants. They wil
be here in a matter of days.’ I shrugged. ‘I am a man of
property, not a freebooter, my lord.’
Aristides nodded solemnly. ‘I’m pleased to hear it.’
‘He’s a smith, right enough,’ the iron-smith said. ‘He knows
the signs.’
Aristides looked at me under his bushy eyebrows. ‘Always
more to you than meets the eye, young man. So you are a
smith?’ Young man, he caled me. He was less than ten years my
senior. But he had the dignity of an old man.
‘A bronze-smith,’ I said. ‘And a farmer now. My property
brought me three hundred medimnoi this autumn.’
Aristides laughed. ‘I never expected you to rise to the hippeis
Aristides laughed. ‘I never expected you to rise to the hippeis
class,’ he said.
‘I’m not sure that I stil qualify,’ I returned. ‘The Alcmaeonids
just stole my best horse and my slave girl.’
Aristides’ smile was wiped off his face. ‘Realy?’
Smiths and apprentices pressed around him, each teling his
own version of the story.
‘Come to my house,’ Aristides said. ‘I’l send to the council
and announce that I have you in my custody and that I’l
represent you at the trial. Then everything wil be legal.’
‘What about my horse?’ I asked. ‘And my girl?’
He didn’t answer.
I shook hands with every smith who had aided me, thanked
them al and walked off into the evening with Aristides and a
dozen young men he had about him – al armed with heavy
staves, I noticed. When we were clear of the industrial quarter,
Aristides wrinkled his nose.
‘I’ve seen you in the storm of bronze, Plataean. You are a
man of worth. How do you stand the stink of al that
commerce?’ He didn’t slacken his step, and he was a tal man.
I shrugged. ‘Money smels the same, whether earned at the
point of the spear or in the sweat of a shop,’ I said.
Aristides shook his head. ‘But without virtue. Without glory.’
‘You’re arguing with the wrong man,’ I answered. ‘My
master taught me that “War is the king and master of al, some
men it makes lords, and others it makes slaves.”’ I laughed, and
then my laughter stopped. ‘What’s happening here? Your lads
are al armed, and those Alcmaeonids were out for my blood.’
‘Later,’ he said.
We walked around the steep hil, its rock worn smooth from
hundreds of men climbing to the top, where criminal trials were
held, and then past the slums on the east side and back up a big
road, the road to the Temple of Poseidon at Sounion. The moon
was up by the time we came to a big gate.
‘My farm,’ Aristides said with pride. ‘I don’t sleep in the city
any more. I expect I’l be exiled soon, if not kiled.’ He said it
with the flat certainty you hear from a veteran on the night before
he takes his death blow.
‘You? Exiled?’ I shook my head. ‘Five years ago you were
the golden boy of Athens.’
‘I stil am,’ he said. ‘Men think I seek to be tyrant, when in
fact I seek only to provide justice – even to your friends the
smiths.’
‘There are noble men – men of worth – even in the forges
and the potters’ shops,’ I insisted.
‘Of course! Democracy wouldn’t function if there were not.
But they keep trying to insist on increased political rights, when
any thinking man knows that only a man of property can control
a city. We’re the only ones with the training. That smith could no
more vote on the Areopagitica than I could dish a helmet.’
Aristides shed his chlamys and chiton, and I noted he was stil
in top fighting trim. As we talked, slaves attended us. I was
stripped, oiled and dressed in a better garment than I’d worn
since my last bout of piracy – al while listening to Aristides.
since my last bout of piracy – al while listening to Aristides.
‘Helmets are raised, not dished,’ I said.
‘Just my point,’ he said.
I shook my head. ‘Alow me to disagree with my host,’ I
said.
He smiled politely.
‘Perhaps it is that the perfection of any trade – war,
sculpture, poetry, iron-smithing, even tanning or shoe-making –
provides a man with the tools of mind to alow a mature man to
take an active part in politics,’ I said.
He rubbed his chin. ‘Wel put. And not an argument I’d
heard put in exactly that way before. But you are not proposing
that al men are equal?’
I sneered. ‘I’ve stood in the haze of Ares too often to think
that, my lord.’
He nodded. ‘Just so. But an equality of excelence? I must
say that I admire the notion. But that equates politics and war,
which are noble pursuits, with ironwork and trade, which are
not.’
I took wine from a woman who had to be his wife. I bowed
deeply, and she smiled.
‘Arguing with my husband?’ she said. ‘A waste of breath,
unless it’s about the running of this house, and then he loses al
interest. You are Arimnestos of Plataea?’ She had gold pins in
her chiton and her hair was piled on her head like a mountain.
She was not beautiful, but her face radiated inteligence. Athena
might have looked so, if she were to dress as a matron.
‘I am he, despoina.’ I bowed again.
‘I am he, despoina.’ I bowed again.
‘Somehow, from my husband’s stories, I thought you might
be bigger. On the other hand, you’re as beautiful as a god, which
he somehow forgot to mention. Every slave girl in the house wil
be at your door. I’l just go and lock them away, lest we have a
plague of the nine-months sickness in my house, eh?’ She smiled.
‘Women are not alowed in the assembly,’ Aristides said,
‘because if they were, we’d be left with nothing to do
but move
heavy objects. This is my dear wife Jocasta.’
She twirled her keys on her girdle and stepped out of the
room.
‘Tel me your notion then,’ Aristides said. ‘You speak wel,
and men seldom face me in debate.’
I shrugged. ‘I am as outmatched as a boy with a stave would
be against me in the phalanx, lord. But, as you are so polite as to
hear me out . . . You assume that war and politics are noble.
You assume that they are ends to themselves. But you cannot
make war without spears, and we have no spears without iron-
smiths.’
‘My point exactly – the iron-smith is less noble than the
warrior because his craft is subordinate.’ Aristides smiled as he
made his point – his kil-shot, he thought.
‘But my lord, if you wil accept my expertise,’ I said carefuly,
because I did not want to anger him, ‘war is a terrible end unto
itself. I have made more war than you, although I am younger.
War is a terrible thing.’
‘But without it, we could not be free,’ Aristides said.
‘Ah, so freedom is the higher goal.’ I smiled. Aristides
‘Ah, so freedom is the higher goal.’ I smiled. Aristides
frowned, and then he grinned.
‘By the gods,’ he said, ‘if al smiths were like you, I’d replace
the council of elders with smiths tonight!’
I shrugged, and then met his grin. ‘Remember, lord, I was the
pupil of Heraclitus.’
He nodded. ‘Yes, in truth, you are an aristocrat – as you
were educated as one!’
‘While being a slave,’ I added. And drank my wine.
But Aristides did not laugh. ‘This is no matter for light talk,’
he said. ‘Athens is an experiment – an experiment that may mean
life or death to her. We’re attempting to push responsibility for
the city down – as far down as we feel that free men have the
power to think and vote. The further down we push these rights,
the more fools we must tolerate—’
‘And the more shields you have in the phalanx,’ I said.
‘And the harder it is for the Pisistratids or the Alcmaeonids to
restore the tyranny,’ he countered.
‘Is that what this is about?’ I asked. ‘The tyranny of Athens?
Again?’ I’d had four summers of listening to Miltiades plot to
take the city. Frankly, I couldn’t imagine why any of them
wanted it.
Aristides nodded. He sat down. ‘The Medes are coming,’ he
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