Marathon

by Christian Cameron

  said.

  That was news, and no mistake. I sat on a couch. ‘When?’

  ‘I have no idea, but the city is arming and preparing. You

  know we are at war with Aegina?’ he asked.

  know we are at war with Aegina?’ he asked.

  I shrugged. Athens and Aegina and Corinth ruled the waves –

  so of course they were not friends.

  ‘It’s not much of a war, but we’re using it as an excuse to

  arm. The Great King is coming. He’s appointed a satrap of

  Thrace – of Thrace, by the gods, on our very doorstep! Datis is

  his name, or so we’re told. We’re to be the target as soon as

  Miletus fals.’

  I started. ‘Miletus fals?’ I asked.

  ‘Every man in Athens – every political man,’ Aristides

  corrected himself, ignoring my interest in Miletus, ‘is gathering a

  retinue. Many – I name no names – have pledged themselves to

  the Great King.’ He shrugged. ‘Both factions are gathering

  warriors – citizens and noncitizens.’

  I put my wine cup down and laughed aloud. ‘You – are alied

  with Miltiades.’

  ‘Wel might you laugh,’ Aristides grumbled. ‘He would be

  tyrant here, if he could. Only men like me stand between him and

  power. But he can’t abide the Persians and he’s in the field

  fighting, while we sit here.’

  ‘Piracy for his own profit, you mean,’ I said. ‘I served with

  him for four years, my lord. And I might serve him again. But it is

  not the greater good of Athens that drives Miltiades to battle.

  More likely, it is his attacks on the Great King’s shipping that

  have brought the Medes down on Athens.’

  ‘Politics,’ Aristides said, ignoring me again. He held up his

  cup to a slave for a refil, and I was annoyed that his slave got a

  glance and a smile, whereas I was merely a sounding board.

  glance and a smile, whereas I was merely a sounding board.

  ‘Doubtless some busy plotter among the Alcmaeonids thought to

  hire your men for their side and leave you powerless – thinking

  that otherwise your men would serve me or Miltiades.’

  I snorted with disgust. ‘I was at home in Boeotia, tiling my

  fields,’ I said. ‘Please do not take it il, my lord, but I care very

  little who is lording it in mighty Athens, so long as my bils are

  paid and my barns are ful.’

  ‘You disappoint me,’ Aristides said.

  I shrugged. ‘You have seen a couple of handsome boys

  wrestling by a public fountain?’

  Aristides nodded.

  ‘Because there are young girls around the fountain?’ I went

  on.

  He laughed. ‘Yes. Every day.’

  ‘Ever notice that the girls don’t even glance at the boys?

  Because such posturing bores them sily. Eh?’ Now we were

  laughing together.

  ‘Of course. You have the right of it, my wel-spoken friend.’

  Aristides glanced away, at Jocasta, and they shared such a smile.

  It was a pleasure to see them together.

  ‘Wel then. We Plataeans are the girls by the fountain. Come

  back and talk to us when you have learned to listen and to play

  tricks that please us. Until then, you and Miltiades and al these

  Pisistratids and Alcmaeonids are just boys wrestling by the

  fountain.’ I chuckled.

  ‘Who made you so wise?’ he asked.

  I laughed. ‘A generation of girls at fountains in Ephesus,’ I

  I laughed. ‘A generation of girls at fountains in Ephesus,’ I

  said. ‘Now, how do I get my horse and my slave girl back?’

  Aristides shook his head. ‘Ask after the trial,’ he said.

  I coughed. ‘Trial? My trial? When is that? I thought you’d

  fixed that for me?’

  He shook his head. ‘The law is the only glue that binds

  Athens,’ he said. ‘You wil have a trial. I’l be your speaker.’

  ‘When?’ I asked again.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said.

  The idea of a trial drove news about Miltiades and the siege

  of Miletus out of my head.

  In Athens, a foreigner cannot speak or defend himself at a trial of

  any kind. Without a ‘friend’, a proxenos, to represent him, a

  foreigner, even if he’s a metic who lives in the city and has a

  trade and serves in the phalanx, cannot utter a word in his own

  defence.

  Actualy, I approve of this law. Why let foreigners speak in

  your assembly? A pox on them. Al they’l do is stir up trouble.

  Aristides walked with me as far as the first public fountain.

  ‘You are not permitted to speak,’ he said. ‘But that changes

  very little. You can stil smile, and frown, and raise your

  eyebrows – you can control your emotions or give them free

  rein. Men know who you are – and if they didn’t yesterday, they

  wil by this morning. The jurors wil watch you. Comport yourself

  like a man. Ask yourself – what would Achiles do?’

  I laughed. ‘Sulk in his camp until provoked, and then kil

  anyone who offended him.’

  anyone who offended him.’

  Aristides frowned. ‘The law is not a matter for levity. I must

  leave you – I have stops to make, and men to see. Be on the hil

  of the Areopagus by the middle of the day.’ He handed me a

  three-leaf wooden tablet with wax pages. ‘Keep this by you,’ he

  said. ‘I’ve written out the charges and your counter-charges, just

  in case another man has to speak for you. And I want you to

  understand. We’re suing young Cleitus for the civil loss of your

  chattels – that is, the girl and the horse. Of the two, the horse is

  by far the most valuable – and wil, I think, trip young Cleitus up

  handily at the trial. Understand?’

  I read the tablet quickly. The writing was tiny and precise, but

  I am a literate man – I was taught my letters early.

  ‘Wil the trials go on at the same time?’ I asked.

  ‘Zeus! You know nothing of our laws. No. Your trial is for

  the murder of a citizen. That wil be tried by the Areopagitica –

  the elders of the city. Friends of the Alcmaeonids, every man. In

  fact, more than half of them are Alcmaeonids.’ He nodded

  gravely. ‘The civil trials wil be held when the roster alows –

  probably early in the spring. We’l need a jury of at least four

  hundred.’

  I swalowed some rage. ‘Spring? I promised that girl her

  freedom.’

  Aristides shrugged. ‘I doubt you’l ever see her again, frankly.

  I’l see to it that you receive chattel of equal value.’

  I shook my head. ‘Aristides, I trust you. But I wil have that

  girl back, and I wil free her. I swore it. It may seem a little thing

  girl back, and I wil free her. I swore it. It may seem a little thing

  to you—’

  He shook his head in turn. ‘No – oaths to the gods are

  weighty matters, and you are a pious man. I apologize. I wil do

  my best. But if they cannot kil you, these men wil seek to hurt

  you – even your woman and your horse.’

  I spat. ‘This is your democracy? Aristocrats hitting out at

  better men through their chattels?’

  He went down into the Agora with the rest of his folowe
rs,

  leaving me two young men with staves: Sophanes, who already

  had a name as a warrior, and Glaucon, his friend. They were

  both aristocrats, both folowers of Aristides and both very

  serious. They wanted me to tel them about Miltiades.

  ‘I want a good krater to take home,’ I said, ignoring them

  and shrugging off my rage. I put the tablet into the back-fold of

  my chiton – a beautiful garment of natural wool. ‘Something with

  a hero on it. Wil you take me to the potters’ quarter?’

  I had an errand on the way, and so I walked them down past

  the cemetery and took them to visit Cleon, my hoplite-class

  friend from my first campaign.

  He met me in his doorway, and he barked like a dog, howled

  and threw his arms around me. Sophanes and Glaucon watched

  wideeyed as we drank a shared cup of wine – terrible wine –

  and traded tales.

  ‘You, Sophanes,’ he said, ‘you have the name of an athlete.

  Do you know that this big lummox charged the Persians single-

  handed at the Pass of Sardis?’ Cleon was proud to know me,

  proud to show me off to passers-by.

  proud to show me off to passers-by.

  I shrugged. ‘Eualcidas of Euboea led the way, and there were

  ten of us.’

  Cleon laughed. ‘It froze my fucking blood just to watch, by

  Aphrodite’s burning cunt.’ His face was red, and I thought that

  he’d had too much wine already. ‘You look rich and pampered,’

  he went on.

  I thought he looked like a broken man. ‘How are things with

  you?’ I asked. He had told me that his house was smaler than

  the stern- galery on a trireme, and I could see it was true.

  ‘My wife died,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘And both of my

  children. Apolo sent some affliction, and they were gone in a

  week.’ He looked at the floor. Then he straightened his spine.

  ‘Anyway, how are you? Famous, I note.’

  Talk of my fame made me nervous.

  ‘I’m here because Idomeneus kiled one of the Alcmaeonids,’

  I said, to cover the pain in his eyes with facts. Men do these

  things. Men are cowards when it comes to sorrow.

  ‘Good for bum-boy. For a kohl-eyed catamite, he’s a fine

  man. Kiled an aristocrat? That’s something,’ he said.

  I laughed nervously. Cleon was drunk, and difficult.

  Sophanes and Glaucon were both aristocrats, and they were not

  pleased.

  I shrugged. ‘I have an appointment,’ I said.

  ‘Damn, you remind me of better times. I’m not even a hoplite

  any more, eh? Failed the property qualification.’ He looked at

  the floor, and then hugged me. ‘Damn, listen to me. Al whines

  and self-pity. Come and see me again.’

  and self-pity. Come and see me again.’

  I hugged him hard, took my two guards and left for the

  potters.

  My two aristocrats clucked and muttered, and finaly Glaucon

  spat that I had a friend of no worth.

  I stopped and put a hand on his shoulder – older man to

  younger. ‘Cleon looked a little drunk. His wife and children have

  died.’ I held his eyes and the boy flinched. ‘He stood his ground

  and kept men off me – many times in the rage of Ares. When

  you have done as much, then you may speak of him in that way

  in my hearing.’

  Glaucon looked at the ground. ‘I apologize.’

  I liked him for that. The young are superb at disavowing

  responsibility – Hades, I was myself, so I know what I speak of.

  But this one was a better man.

  We walked east into the morning sun and I lightened the

  atmosphere between us with tales of Miltiades. I was beginning

  the tale of the fighting in the Chersonese, and the Tearless Battle,

  where we took al the enemy boats with the loss of a dozen men

  and smashed the Phoenicians, when we crossed the festival road

  and found ourselves in the midst of a forest of brothels and

  taverns and free men’s houses. Only Athens could so hopelessly

  over-commercialize something as simple as sex. I remember

  losing the thread of my story as I contemplated – wel, I’l gloss

  over what I was contemplating, as you virgins would probably

  expire on the spot.

  ‘So we took fishing boats,’ I remember saying. ‘There was a

  ‘So we took fishing boats,’ I remember saying. ‘There was a

  fair fishing fleet at Kalipolis—’

  The dagger punched into my back just above the kidney. The

  blow was perfectly delivered and had a great deal of force

  behind it. I staggered, fel to my knees and felt the blood leak out

  over my arse.

  I should have been dead.

  But I wasn’t. So I roled through the fal and rose, my

  chlamys already off my throat and around my arm. As I came

  up, I had my knife in my right hand. Glaucon was down, but

  Sophanes was holding his own, his stick against two bulies with

  clubs. Even then, at seventeen, he was a foe to reckon with.

  My man was big – titanic, in fact. I hate fighting big men –

  they don’t feel pain, they have a natural confidence that is hard to

  break and they are strong.

  My man was stil trying to figure out why I wasn’t dead. I

  shared his confusion, but I wasn’t going to dwel on it.

  It crossed my mind that I probably didn’t want to kil him.

  Legal troubles, and al that.

  I sidestepped, got down in my stance and flicked my chlamys

  at his eyes.

  Behind him, Sophanes landed a blow with a crack that must

  have been heard at the peak of Cithaeron, and his man went

  down. The other backed away.

  My opponent had a club and a knife. He cut at me with the

  gross ineptitude of the professional bruiser.

  I kiled him. It was no big deal – he was big, not skiled, and

  as the club rose I put my knife in between the shoulder muscles

  as the club rose I put my knife in between the shoulder muscles

  and the throat. Interesting point – I can remember that I had

  been planning a much more complicated feint when he left

  himself wide open from sheer foly and I took him. That’s single

  combat.

  I threw my chlamys over Sophanes’ second opponent. It had

  corner weights and the gossamer wool settled like a net.

  Sophanes stepped in with his stave in two hands and broke the

  man’s head as if we’d planned the move for weeks in the

  palaestra. That was the fight.

  I felt much better. When you are enraged at injustice and

  humiliated by your helplessness in the face of towering

  bureaucracy, kiling a couple of thugs is deeply satisfying. At

  least, it is to me. Sophanes must have felt the same, as he flashed

  me a grin and we embraced. Then he went to his friend, who

  was starting to stir. I stripped the bodies of cash. Each had a

  little purse with a dozen silver owls – quite a sum.

  The daimon of combat was wearing off, and suddenly I

  thought: Why am I alive?

  The first blow should have been the last. I never saw it

  coming. And I was bleeding – just a little – from a deep puncture

  above my hip. A prostitute fetched w
ater and cleaned my wound

  and said a prayer for me. Meanwhile, I cast around the ground,

  trying to find the dagger. Al I could think was that the blade

  must have snapped.

  The dagger was under the dead titan – lost things are always

  in the last place you look, I find. Glaucon was getting colour

  back in his face, and a pair of local girls were stroking him while

  back in his face, and a pair of local girls were stroking him while

  a doctor felt his skul. Sophanes helped me rol the dead man

  over, and there was the dagger – a single finger of bright steel

  sticking out of Aristides’ wax tablet.

  Sophanes whistled and made a sign of aversion. ‘The gods

  love you, Plataean.’

  I’d fought with pleasure, but the sight of the tablet with the

  dagger right through it made me shake for a moment – just a

  moment.

  That close.

  I gave the girls five owls – a fortune – to make the body

  vanish. Sophanes was, I think, both appaled and thriled.

  The morning was young, and I found a brothelkeeper and

  had him take the other two thugs and lock them in his celar,

  which was cut straight into the rock of the hilside. I paid him,

  too. The free-spending habits of a life of piracy instantly

  conquered a few months’ attempt to be a farmer. Kil people,

  take their money, spend it recklessly.

  Yet I had changed – because another part of me registered

  that I’d just spent the value of thirty-five medimnoi of grain at

  current prices – merely to get rid of a body.

  We left Glaucon to recover – ostensibly to watch the

  prisoners. I went and bought a wine krater. It’s that one, right

  there – Achiles and Ajax playing polis. It tickles my fancy, that it

  wasn’t al war. Men had time to gamble at Troy.

  The sun was high, but not yet noon, when we got back to the

  brothel. Glaucon looked like a dog with too many bones – he’d

  had his flute played, I could tel – but the two men were both in

  the celar. One was dead. Blows to the head can have that

  effect. Sophanes didn’t like that – that he’d kiled a man.

  I shrugged. ‘If you fight, you wil kil,’ I said.

  The other was terrified. He wasn’t a citizen and the

  punishment for his crime would be the silver mines until he died.

  Nor was he brave. But al he knew was that some men and

  women, al veiled, had paid the titan to find me and kil me.

  They’d been paid at sunrise, in the grove of Pan.