The Wooden Walls of Thermopylae (24 page)

Sitting between Brasidas and our host in the place of honour was one of the Aeginian worthies I’d last seen sitting next to Metiochus on the night of our humiliation in the temple complex. As my hand felt for my dagger, Themistocles crossed the room towards the man, who scrambled to his feet. They embraced. Brasidas with typical laconic oratory merely said,

“I thought it a good idea to bring you together before the conference convenes in Sparta.”

Then he rose and said to the rest of the room,

“We’ll leave Athens and Aegina in the capable care of our host.”

He walked out of the room; the rest of us followed. I think he was enjoying himself. Later we sat in a corner of a scruffy wine shop dimly lit by the smoky light of a lamp guttering on poor quality oil. The place, poor as it was, was crowded but humming with noise so we could talk and not be overheard. I could see the wound still troubled him.

“You looked like you’d swallowed a wasp when you walked in, Mandrocles, good job Metiochus wasn’t there.”

“Metiochus? Him here?”

“So it’s rumoured, not seen him myself and he’s obviously not with the delegates from Aegina.”

“Why?”

“You’ll find out soon enough. How are you, boy?”

I don’t know what I told him, can’t remember what we drank or ate. What he told me drove everything else out of my head.

“In five days we, and the delegates from every state prepared to fight, convene in Sparta. Most states won’t attend: too scared of the Great King.”

He grinned at me then said,

“But that’s not the worst of it. Some of the states sending delegates are at war with each other, like you and your friends in Aegina. But that’s not the worst of it either.”

I wasn’t going to rise to this; I just sat waiting.

“Now your friend Metiochus, wherever he is, isn’t alone. There are plenty of Persian agents here carrying plenty of Persian gold. Gold that they’ll pay to some of the states that do attend as well as some that don’t. Would you like me to give you an example?”

The lamp finally died, Brasidas shouted for a new one and more wine.

“Take Argos for instance: used to be a great power, stamping ground of Hercules. Now a poor subservient neighbour to us. And how those bastards hate us. Hate us enough to have sold out to the Great King, or so our agents say.”

Across the far end of the bar some drunks started up a drinking song. Brasidas leaned across the table to be heard.

“But that’s still not the worst of it.”

I sat waiting for the worst of it, snatches of the song, a standard about an old man loving a flute girl flickering around my head.

“No, all that’s rumour, probably true but hard to verify. The worst of it we can verify. Our agents have been monitoring it. Interested?”

For the first time it hit me that he was unloading this onto me; he was sharing it with me because he was scared and for me that was the worst of it. If men like him were scared, how could we expect men from weaker states to fight?

“The rumours are that the Great King has built a bridge of ships so his army can walk to Greece.”

“Everyone knows that, Brasidas.”

“Well, I bet they don’t know this.”

He took a swig of wine before,

“They’ve already crossed over, our men saw them.”

“That’s not possible, it’s too soon.”

He ignored me.

“Rumour is that he wants to strengthen his Phoenician fleet, the most powerful in the world, with others. Hard to credit that he thinks he needs them, isn’t it?”

I waited.

“Ain’t no rumour: the Egyptian, Libyan fleets and others from all over the empire are already there. They’ve sailed; it’s started. It’s started, Mandrocles, the greatest invasion force ever put together is already on Greek soil preparing to march on us.”

He took a drink; he wasn’t finished. The song and the bar may as well have been in another dimension. I waited in horror for what was to come.

“And this is the worst of it.”

I saw he was struggling to control himself as he delivered what came next.

“A vast fleet and a massive army both packed with traitors. Packed with Greeks.”

I thought of Metiochus; then he finished.

“Yes you heard right, packed with Greeks: there’s more Greeks on their side than ours. And!”

Another pause for self-control, but he finished off on a typically chilling Spartan note.

“And that’s only the ones we know about, there are probably others pretending to be with us, biding their time to see which way they’re going to jump.”

He dashed the jug off the table to the ground; I was surprised it didn’t break.

“Look around us, Mandrocles. How many of these bastards
in here will end up fighting against us?”

Neither of us wanted the answer to that question; we drank up and left. Brasidas walked away uphill towards the house where Themistocles was cutting deals with the delegates from Aegina and the Gods only know who else. I picked my way downhill through the maze of tracks and alleys, inhabited by the poor, sloping towards the docks. One of the few predictable rules in life is that the docks are always downhill.

I shouldn’t have drunk so much, if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have been stupid enough to set out alone after dark in a strange city packed with enemies.

I suppose I should blame Brasidas, he’d set the example. But then for a Spartan it was typical behaviour. It wouldn’t occur to them that anyone would be stupid or disrespectful enough to waylay them as they walked through a foreign and therefore inferior city.

The Gods never blessed me with that level of confidence and failed to compensate for the oversight by endowing me with an extra ration of common sense. Finding your way home at night in a city you know can be difficult enough; the back streets of Corinth are a warren and before long I was lost. Some of the filthy tracks had hovels packed so close together that it wasn’t possible to see above the roof line to where the acropolis of Corinth was perched high up on its precipitous crag. This was disaster for me as I’d been trying to use sightings of the Acropolis to navigate.

A claustrophobic warren, it teemed with life hostile to any stranger stupid enough to wander through, particularly at night. The noise I made even though I was trying to creep silently sounded like the tread of an army. I was spooked as well as lost and in growing panic decided to follow the one source of noise I could hear growing in volume somewhere ahead of me. I reckoned whatever the noise was it must be
emanating from one of the more ordered and well lit parts of the city, and from there I could find my way.

Yes I know you’re thinking how stupid, reader, and of course you’re right. Well I found the source of the noise all right. Whatever had been happening was in its last moments when I arrived. The sound of raised voices terminated and was replaced by the softer sounds of a scuffle. Emerging into a better lit square, I caught the dying acts of a tragedy.

One man was on the ground, legs twitching in the throes of death, blood gouting from a knife slash across the throat. The other was up against the wall, being questioned. A knife was pressed to his gullet, he was crying. I think it was that insignificant detail that held me there. For as I watched his helpless fear I remembered my torment in Aegina and for a moment I became that man.

There was a third man, a few paces back, cloaked and hooded, watching. He was enjoying it, a sardonic smile curling the ends of his lips. He was in charge; the other two looked back expectantly between questions for guidance. Whatever answers they were after weren’t forthcoming. To me it was obvious the terrified victim wasn’t withholding anything; he was too scared for that. Whatever they wanted he didn’t know.

Another few seconds and he’d be dead, joining his friend on the floor. Such is life but the Gods love to surprise us: it suits their mercurial humour. The leader stepped forwards and in doing so his hood slipped back over his shoulders and I found myself looking at the very man I’d been thinking of earlier: Metiochus.

I’ve never had the reputation of a clever man, now I confirmed that judgement. Metiochus was still smiling, mocking the victim before his death. It was too much, something in my heart burst and a flood of bitter anger came flooding
out. Like in the blood lust of battle, all sense fled except the lust to kill, the lust for death, sweet death, an enemy’s death.

I heard the shouting of the battle paean before I realised it was me bellowing it. I was running at them, knife drawn, roaring.

They did what any sensible men would do in the circumstances finding themselves attacked by baying enemies in a hostile city. They ran, and quickly. I reached the spot in a few paces, slipped in the patch of blood, came crashing to the ground. The Gods got their joke. The fall brought me to my senses: any advantage of surprise I’d enjoyed was now spent. Pursuing them would have been fatal.

The whimpering man tried to help me to my feet. Apart from a couple of bruises and a speck of blood where the knife had pricked his throat, he wasn’t badly hurt. I was thinking clearly again so I didn’t need him to tell me,

“We need to get away from here; they’ll be back with others.”

I knew he was right.

“Can you get me to the docks?”

“You’re Athenian? Quickly, follow.”

He slipped between two buildings and down a passage-way and I followed swearing that the next time I saw Metiochus I’d kill him. After a couple of turns we struck a paved street that led in a gentle curve down towards the boats. There were a couple of bars open with sailors drinking in them. It felt safer.

His name was Uliades and he was from Argos, which made me wonder what he was doing here if what Brasidas had told me was true. But my main concern was Metiochus.

“Now we’re near the ships you can tell me what that man wanted with you.”

He didn’t need to ask which man I meant.

“Metiochus, he wanted what he wants from all he regards as renegades, information then my death.”

I know my limitations, I wasn’t going to waste time attempting to interrogate him myself, I’d leave that to Themistocles. I reckoned getting him onto the Athene Nike was enough from me and it didn’t prove difficult. He more or less suggested the same thing himself.

We had to wait for Themistocles; he never came back that night so I had some time to get to know the man I’d saved. He claimed he was a supporter of the democratic faction in Argos, might have been true, but there again in circumstances like these everybody lies. I didn’t know what to believe except what my first instinct had told me, which was whatever Metiochus was after he’d got the wrong man.

I did learn something about Argos, though, particularly their uneasy relationship with Sparta. From this I picked up that what, to me as an Athenian, was a clear cut issue facing all Greeks, if they didn’t combine to resist the Great King. But I discovered that this looked far less clear from the perspective of other Greek states.

In Uliades’s view, for some states the threat of Sparta was worse than Persian dominance and for others the spread of democracy from Athens was the greater evil. So we were going to fight a war in which many states, perhaps the majority, saw us as a greater threat than Persia. Notice any similarity with today, reader?

But it was only when Themistocles interrogated him next day that the real value of my intervention became apparent.

A day later we sailed down the coast of the Peloponnese, a journey I was all too familiar with, and into the Spartan port of Gytheion. On my previous two visits there’d been an element of subterfuge; now it seemed the whole world was looking to Sparta. The harbour was packed with vessels from all over Greece. Many had come to forge an alliance but there
were also those there to spy for the Great King, and even some delegates who intended openly to oppose an alliance.

You will have heard the great tale of how the issue was decided in Sparta, or according to some versions, in Corinth, reader. Well, let me tell you it wasn’t like that at all, that story of how Themistocles and the Spartans argued in public over who would command the fleet.

It was never going to happen that way, far too risky. No, everything that could be was planned then rehearsed after last minute deals had been struck. But it’s the way of the world that nothing succeeds as planned and it was something unexpected that almost drove our fragile agreement with the Spartans onto the rocks.

It should have gone more smoothly. Themistocles had somehow patched things up with Aegina: they’d fight alongside us. He was going to spring this on the delegates during the assembly like a piece of drama, at which he excelled. But on a stage of this size, with the fate of the whole of Greece in the balance, nothing could be taken for granted. What we couldn’t have predicted was the scale of the treachery, although the presence of Metiochus and men like him should have given us some clues.

The truth is the public debate was a farce. It achieved nothing and could have ruined everything. One of the sad things I’ve learned in life is that most of the good things have been brought about as a consequence of dirty dealing. There was one clear fact though: if Athens and Sparta couldn’t combine, Greece was lost. So before the great assembly we met with the Spartan leadership to cut a deal in the house of Leonidas: the man who benefitted from the painful death of a brother and who believed the Gods worked through him.

They were all there in that austere and dimly lit room, the Ephors, two kings and others including a weak chinned individual who kept nervously arranging and rearranging his
tunic. We were few, with Themistocles and Cleinias the only speaking voices. To my surprise I longed for the presence of Aristides, Xanthippus and even Megacles. In the event there wouldn’t have been time for them to participate; it was a short and brutal meeting.

The rank-smelling, goat bearded Ephors banged their staffs on the ground and Leonidas began to speak. Even by Spartan standards of dictatorial arrogance it was an unfortunate beginning to a meeting of allies.

“Welcome, Athenians, and listen to how we shall fight this war. First let me tell you that the Great King has offered us favourable terms in exchange for our neutrality. Knowing all Greece looks to us for leadership and aware of our sacred obligations, we rejected his embassy and his ambassadors have joined their predecessors at the bottom of the well.”

Pompous and offensive and typically Spartan but also oddly verbose. Where was the famous laconic application of brevity? We’d expected some attempt, at least the pretence of a friendly preamble. I looked towards Themistocles, he gave nothing away but I sensed he was troubled. But Leonidas had only just got warmed up.

“We will construct a wall across the Isthmus of Corinth and invite all loyal Greeks to fight under our leadership; we will make a fortress of the Peloponnese and find space for our allies who have had to abandon their homelands. We will force the Great King to fight on ground of our choosing and on our terms …”

Themistocles cut him off.

“And how will you deal with the Great King’s fleet once it has simply sailed past your great and doubtless impregnable wall, King Leonidas?”

There was an intake of breath from the Ephors; Leonidas, just begun on his peroration, looked daggers. Problem for
him and the Ephors was that there was no answer to this question, at least not an answer that suited them. Something which couldn’t be said for the answer Themistocles gave to his own question.

A number of years ago I gave an account of this exchange to young Herodotus to include in the stories he’s writing about our heritage. So I remember it pretty well, even if he has subsequently altered details to suit the flow of his narrative. He’s grown up into quite a clever man and got the main bits about Themistocles right, I’m pleased to say.

“Kings, Ephors, noble Spartiates, forgive my interruption, I’m a simple plain speaking man and mean no offence but let me answer my question for you.”

Unparalleled on the field of battle but totally unused to being contradicted in their brutal slave state, they were at a loss and Themistocles took his advantage.

“Think on this, noble hosts: one of the problems with fleets is that walls don’t stop them. So, after the Great King has sailed his vast fleet past your wall, as he of course will, he is free to land his troops anywhere in your Peloponnese homeland. This presents you with a problem as you will be unable to disentangle your army from your great wall, which will of course be besieged by the other Persian army which General Mardonius will have marched unopposed across Greece. A Greece which you refused to defend. And what do you think happens then?”

They didn’t need to think, it had already struck them. But Leonidas made an effort.

“Is that not where your precious fleet earns its money, Themistocles?”

“If there had been a plan to defend all of Greece and not just your patch then you’d be right, King Leonidas.”

The implications of this reverberated through the chamber.
But Themistocles, although on unfamiliar territory, was a master of this type of engagement and pressed his advantage. Helped I think by the nature of the Spartans, who respect little but do respect courage.

“So, let me return to the answer of the question I posed.”

I think Leonidas was torn between the desire to buy him a drink and the desire to kill him. I noted the chinless man adjusting his tunic now looked considerably more ill at ease.

“Think for a moment, great leaders of Sparta. Reflect upon what will happen on the other side of your great wall in the Greek states abandoned to the Persians. Remember some of these states, like Thebes, have already agreed to accept the Great King. For states like these, the fall of Sparta and Athens cannot come too soon.”

He smiled a cold and bitter smile. In the pause Leonidas said,

“But Thebes is on the other side of the Isthmus; all the loyal Greeks will stand with us.”

“You think so?”

It was clear in the ensuing silence that neither Leonidas nor the Ephors were sure. Themistocles took a sip of wine then pressed on, but in a more gentle tone, like a father explaining the harshness of life to a disappointed child.

“You see for me, I find it difficult to distinguish between loyal and disloyal Greeks. I merely see Greek states in a variety of difficult situations with hard choices to make.”

Something was coming; in that room you could feel it like the silence before a summer storm, time seemed suspended waiting for whatever deal breaker or maker came next. Then the thunder.

“Take Argos, for instance.”

I swear I saw the muscles in Leonidas’s jaw tighten as he waited to hear the doom of his plans.

“Argos, which is of course on the same side of the wall as you are.”

He paused and smiled at them before moving to the point.

“I have been speaking to an Argive friend, Uliades, a good man, a democrat, a man who wishes to fight with us. You Spartans are of course familiar with the political situation in Argos, your Peloponnesian neighbour. So you won’t need me to tell you how they still mourn the recent slaughter of the cream of their manhood by the army of Spartans led by your late king, Cleomenes. You know how they resent your dominance.”

“Get to the point, Themistocles.”

Leonidas shouted this, the storm was breaking. In the last moment of stillness Themistocles mused, as if to himself,