The Queen of Sparta (15 page)

“My grandfather agreed. And, ever since, he has provided the Persians with our best troops, our Royal Guardsmen always led by a royal Prince, as long as they were not used for the Persia’s wars in the East.”

“So in other words, you came all the way across Asia to help the Persians attack us so that the Persians would not attack you!”

Sherzada could not refute her logic.

“A Spartan would never do such a thing. You are no better than mercenaries!”

“My Queen, have Spartans not waged wars in alliance with other states? Have not Spartan mercenaries fought for Cumae in Italy, for Syracuse in Sicily, for Cyrene in Libya and elsewhere? Have not Spartan warriors made private fortunes fighting in foreign lands?”

Gorgo allowed herself to smile a little at his sparring. Then she added with a little seriousness in her voice, “Have you always been this vexatious? I wonder how the Persians put up with you all this time.”

“I did not make many friends among them, it is true.”

“So if I have you killed, they will not miss you?” she asked.

“No, and perhaps you might even be doing me a favour, my Queen.”

“How so?”

“I was the eldest son of the heir apparent to my grandfather’s throne. I came out here to replace my father when he died at Marathon. A year ago my grandfather also died, and according to our tradition I should have gone back to claim my throne. But at that time Xerxes’ invasion plans were well advanced and he would not allow me to return to my native land. If I go now, I return in shame, without my men. To come back alone and without glory is to come back as a dead man.”

“As in Sparta!” she whispered.

“Moreover,” he continued, “I know of men here in Sparta, who have over the years taken the Great King’s gold. If they knew what I know, they would never allow me to leave here alive.”

“Is that so?” she asked, with a sly smile.

Her smile worried Sherzada, for he was not sure what this woman of
Metis
was planning.

CHAPTER 17

THE TRAIL OF THE FOX

Sparta

The following evening

Gorgo had spent the whole day considering the prisoner’s revelation. Was it true that there were traitors in Sparta? Or was he just making that up? Certainly, he knew much. But how much?

So preoccupied was she with this that even Pleistarchus had to ask her at dinner if she was feeling alright. “Of course I am, little Majesty,” she said, patting her head as she took off to see the prisoner, leaving her meal unfinished.

The strategy she opted for was the direct attack. Entering his cell, ignoring his respectful habit of standing for her, Gorgo looked Sherzada in the eye and asked him to tell her about his career as a spy.

Sherzada stood silently until she had settled down on the stool. Gorgo noticed his eye brighten as he slowly sat down on the floor and crossed his legs. For a change he looked at ease, which only made Gorgo even tense.

“Well?” she demanded.

He smiled, and, to her surprise, began to tell her everything.

Eleven years ago, I was summoned to Sardis, where I was informed about the debacle of Marathon and the death of my father. As part of our treaty I was to take up command of the Sakas who survived the battle. But seeing their wretched condition I persuaded the Persians to repatriate them, on the condition that they would be recalled to service if the Persians went to war in Greece again. In return for this, I was to remain behind as a guarantee – a hostage – to ensure our end of the bargain. The Persians treated me well – more like an honoured guest than a hostage. I was allowed to do as I pleased as long as I remained under their supervision. The man whose responsibility I became was a man called Datiya, or Datis, as he is known in Greece.

He had commanded the Persian forces at Marathon alongside Prince Artafarna, Darius’ nephew. But Datis was a Mede, not a Persian. The Persians sought men of exceptional talent among their Median cousins to serve them, and Datis was one of them.

In spite of the humiliating defeat at Marathon, King Darius had forgiven Datis. He knew that Marathon had been one beach-head too far and that the blame did not entirely lie with Datis. The Great King had already asked Datis to set up an intelligence network focusing solely on Greece. Datis had studied Greek and understood the Greeks like no other. He secretly recruited a number of ‘operatives’ and made each of them specialize in a different aspect of Greece. He made sure that all information was sent to him and him alone. No one knew for sure, but there was a widespread belief that in spite of Marathon Datis was winning the war of shadows – as the spying game was called – with an increasing number of Greek states offering earth and water to the Great King.

Datis held my father in high regard. In the closing stages of the battle of Marathon, troops from the Persian force were retreating to their ships as the pursuing Athenians bore down on them. My father, having been gravely injured, decided to sacrifice his life to ensure the safe evacuation of his Sakas. To do that, he made Datis exchange clothes and armour with him and then with a handful of volunteers he created a diversion, drawing the Athenians away from the sea. This enabled his Sakas to embark the ships unharmed. Of course, he did not survive. However, Datis flattered himself by believing my father had given his life for him and felt obliged to take me under his wing. He invited me to join his intelligence network. He needed someone to focus on Sparta at the time, and given my propensities for languages and learning, I agreed.

When I asked him what his strategy was, he replied in Greek:
Diaírei kaì basíleue
– “divide and rule”. Datis believed that the Greeks were their own worst enemies and all the Persians had to do was to exploit their mutual differences and encourage them to tear each other apart. Persia could only conquer the Greeks by dividing them. However, to do that he needed to find out more about each individual state. And it was around that time that Demaratus turned up. Datis asked me to befriend him and find out as much as I could about Sparta, especially its military strength and its politics.

I had expected to find a haughty, embittered old former king, but instead I found in Demaratus a charming and affable man, always willing to oblige. And so he did: teaching me everything I know about Sparta, including your royal dialect.

But Demaratus had a price, explaining, ‘One day I shall ask you to do something for me in return for all I am about to teach you.’

When I asked him what it was, he said he did not know it yet. But as everything must have its price, he said that one day he would hold me to this and I must not refuse. Given that Datis had given me this task to do, I thought I would pass on the price to Datis, who would surely pay it.

Thus began an unlikely friendship between a hostage and a traitor both held in a gilded cage by the Persians.

Around that time, I also learnt the fate of my father’s body. The Athenians, of course, believed they had killed Datis. Soon after the battle they sent heralds to the Persians, offering to return the bodies of their dead – all, excepting that of Datis. Refusing to hand it back, the Athenians placed it in a vault in the Acropolis until they had decided what to do with it.

I wanted to go to Athens to recover my father’s body, to give him a proper burial. But Datis refused for I was not allowed to leave territories controlled by Persia. But soon enough, everything changed.

When Xerxes, the son of Darius, ascended the throne, he made Mardonius, his cousin, his Viceroy in the West. Mardonius not only forced Datis into retirement but he also completely dismantled his spy network. When the Persians later invaded Greece, they did so without the vital intelligence that Mardonius’ team had painstakingly gathered. This was a grave mistake the Great King made under the influence of Mardonius, the son of Gobryas.

And soon enough the preparations for the invasion began. My grandfather sent his Royal Saka Guardsmen to fight under my command. My status changed to that of an allied commander.

Not long afterwards, Demaratus came to me with an offer I could not refuse. ‘Do you remember the price I asked of you when I began to divulge everything I knew about Sparta?’

When I told him I did, he told me that I had to go to Athens for him on a discreet personal matter. I could not believe my ears. I told Demaratus about my father’s body and how I wanted to recover it.

Demaratus gave me a brooch, a simple but elegant piece which did not look very expensive. ‘I would like you to deliver this to a man in Athens,’ he said. ‘It is a gift of immense personal value. Once you deliver this item, he will be more than happy to help you.’

All Demaratus told me about this Athenian was that he was nicknamed the Fox. And all I had to do was to send word once I arrived in Athens that a foreign merchant was looking to do business with the Fox; he would come and find me. In addition, Demaratus gave me two things he said would be useful in my journey. The first one was the Royal Seal of the Great King – the seal which would protect me throughout the Persian Empire. The second was a document – a certificate – approved by the Athenian Democratic Assembly, giving protection to its bearer. Affixed was the seal of the Archons of Athens.

And so I disguised myself as a Western Scythian merchant and boarded a ship at the port of Sinope on the Euxine Sea bound for Greece. The ship crossed the Hellespont and set its course to Delium, where I was supposed to change to another ship headed for Athens. But that night, while I was sleeping in the lower deck, the ship began to rock violently. Sensing something was wrong, I reached for my most precious possessions, including the two articles Demaratus had given me, which were in a waterproof pouch. I slung the pouch over my shoulder, stuck my dagger in my belt, and climbed to the upper deck. A violent storm was blowing the ship dangerously out of control. Seeing the ship was about to hit massive rocks, I jumped overboard. As I plunged into the cold water, my body went into shock, as my lungs began to gasp for breath. But I managed to swim back up to the surface and saw the ship had broken into pieces. As I grabbed a floating plank for support, I heard a man crying for help. He shouted that his legs were caught and he was being dragged underwater. Realizing he was not a good swimmer, I dove into the water and cut the ropes that bound his legs. Freeing him, I helped him to the plank I had been hanging on to earlier.

In the morning, we found ourselves washed up on a beach. I now got a good look of the man whom I had saved. He was in his fifties, lean, with a short grey unkempt beard. He got up and walked towards me and thanked me profusely for saving his life. I had never heard more beautiful, elegant and eloquent Greek. He asked me who I was and I told him I was a Scythian merchant bound for Athens. The man said that he was an Athenian. His name was Aristeides, son of Lysimachus.

I told him that the only Aristeides I had heard of was the famous Athenian, Aristeides the Just. A veteran of Marathon, he was famous all over Greece and beyond for his statesmanship, honesty and fair dealings. The man smiled and thanked me for my kind words, and told me that he was the same Aristeides. When I asked him what he what been doing on the ship, he told me that he had been exiled by his fellow citizens.

Aristeides then explained to me the novel Athenian practice of
ostracism
– under which unpopular Athenian politicians were sent into exile for several years. It was a civilized alternative, Aristeides claimed, to political assassination and in spite of being one of its earliest victims he supported this method. He then explained how it worked. It was something like a negative election. Each citizen would pick up a shard –
ostracon
– of broken pottery and write the name of the candidate he wanted to go into exile on it and cast it as his vote. At the end of the voting, the shards would be collected and the politician who got the most votes would be given ten days to go into exile.

When Aristeides discovered he was nominated for ostracism, he came to see the voting. An illiterate peasant came up to him and not knowing who he was, asked him to write down Aristeides’ name. Aristeides asked the peasant what he had against the man. The peasant told him that he had nothing against Aristeides but he was fed with hearing about Aristeides “the Just” all the time. Aristeides complied with the peasant’s request, and beat his nearest rival by one vote. The very vote he had written got him ostracized.

Guessing we were in the badlands between Macedon and Thessaly, Aristeides asked me if I did not mind traveling north-westwards with him towards Aegae, one of the two capitals of Macedon. I was surprised. Macedon was a Persian vassal and ally. Its king, Alexander, had marriage alliances with Persian royalty. Persian troops were also stationed on Macedonian soil. An Athenian leader of his stature would not be safe there, I argued, even in exile. But Aristeides said there was at least one man in Macedon he could trust, which was more than he could say for the whole of Thessaly. Once we reached Macedon, he said, he would help me get to Athens safely and help me with whatever I wanted there. He still had influence in his native city, even though it had exiled him.

It was a hard journey over mountainous terrain, and by dusk I was exhausted. We had scarcely started a fire when I dozed off, without even touching dinner. It was a blissful sleep, until I was rudely awoken. The man whose life I had saved was on top of me, pointing my very own dagger at my throat. In his other hand, he held the certificate of protection from the Athenian Democratic Assembly. Trembling, he asked what my business was in Athens. I told him that I had to meet a person called the Fox. He grew angrier, demanding to know what I wanted from the Fox. I told him that I would rather die, that the only person I could discuss this matter with was the Fox himself. Looking confused at first, Aristeides relented. He let out a deep sigh, got off me, dropped my dagger and sat down by the fire.

‘I am the Fox.’

He said that he came from the district of Alopeke outside Athens. He used to represent that district in the Athenian Democratic Assembly. The Greek word for fox –
alopex
– is similar to Alopeke. Some of his closest friends, those who knew him well, gave him that nickname. It was a private joke, he said. Very few people outside his close circle of friends knew that he was called “the Fox,” the majority knew him by his other nickname, “the Just”. Only two foreigners knew of it; both were Spartan kings. One, Cleomenes, was dead and other, Demaratus, was in exile. ‘This must be Demaratus’ certificate, I presume?’ he asked.