The Life of Polycrates and Other Stories for Antiquated Children (6 page)

. . . 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, whether 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:

Fragments of an Epistle:

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:

. . . . . . 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 Cyrus
¹⁴
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 Ariston
¹⁵
. 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 sack 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.

XXIX.

The Lacedaemonians, led by Ariston, arrived before Samos—with their fire-bearing priest who carried the lamp lighted at the shrine of wolfish Zeus;—with seventy-eight warships, each full of men in sparkling helmets and cuirasses, wielding immense spears and many armed with bows. They pulled their ships sternward up on the beach below the Poseidium and, after sacrificing the customary she-goat, proceeded to lay siege to the city. Under the direction of a certain Membliaros, ladders were built; and while Polycrates was behind the walls saying words befitting the occasion to his own people, the Spartans, one to the next, spoke their minds:

“
We have a reputation of winning battles . . .”

“
. . . not losing them.”

“
It would be absurd to fail in this land attack . . .”

“
. . . against a people who are only expert in sea warfare and banqueting.”

The soldiers banged their spears against their shields; the flutists struck up a tune of war and the men sang in deep bass voices that marching song of Tyrtaios that begins with the lines:

A crack corps of brave individuals, pioneers, now rushed upon the walls, carrying the ladders amongst them. They scrambled over the dangerous palisades; some were shot with arrows and killed; others bravely bridged the moat, only to find that, when the ladders they had hauled forward at such great risk were leaned against that tall and vertical solid structure of stone, each and every one of them was too short; and so the men retreated, cheeks hot with shame, darts flying at their heels. This threw the main body of soldiers into confusion and they broke rank. Polycrates, seeing this, sent out a band of his Thracian peltasts to harass them, and a number of the enemy were slain.

The next day Ariston had Membliaros executed and, under his own supervision, had battering rams and fresh ladders built.

Then, the following day, at dawn, Ariston spoke to his men. “The Samians,” he said, “spend not only their nights but even their days relaxing on cushions of down, while if we rest at all, it is on shields and breastplates. They dine on turtles fattened on millet seed and suffocated in sauce, drink unmixed wine from gold and silver cups, their foreheads wreathed in mint, while we eat daggers and drink dripping torches, our brows crowned with catapults. Can we Spartans not overcome such men, can we return home in utter disgrace?”