The Wooden Walls of Thermopylae (25 page)

“So I wonder how they’ll react when egged on by the betrayed Greeks the other side of the wall. I wonder which port they will make available to the Persian fleet. Perhaps Nauphlio would be best situated as it is halfway between the wall on the Isthmus and the city of Sparta. A port with plenty of land to disembark and deploy an army, near to the ancient Argive fortress of Tiryns. I’d consider this possibility very carefully if I were you. From there, they would cut your army off from Sparta itself.”

“You can’t possibly know this.”

“Oh, but I do, King Leonidas. I have it on very good account that the Great King has promised Argos hegemony of the Peloponnese after the defeat of Sparta. Not that it’s only the Argives you have to worry about.”

I believe at that moment Leonidas considered drawing a blade and striking Themistocles, but he controlled himself sufficiently to snap.

“Your fleet, it’s the job of your fleet to stop that. That’s what you promised. Listen Themistocles …”

The storm had broken, now Themistocles was raising his voice.

“If you defended Greece, not if you betrayed it. Like you did back at Mara …”

He managed to choke back the words that might have ruined everything. Leonidas was still shouting.

“You promised, gave your word you fucking Athenian renegade, you promised, you fucking promised. No one breaks their word to a Spartan and lives. No one.”

“I can’t deliver the fleet on your terms. No Athenian will agree once you betray us. We will evacuate our city and sail to one of our colonies, maybe in Italy, and leave the Great King to you.”

They were screaming at each other; no one else moved. But there was something final and deadly in Themistocles’s roar of anger.

“They have two and a half million men, not even counting the traitors. Stick to your plan, the wall will be bypassed; you will fight alone, be betrayed and wiped out. Sparta will disappear.”

In retrospect I sometimes think that maybe that would have been the best conclusion, but back then we needed them. Funnily enough the same thought must have pulled both Leonidas and Themistocles back from the brink. There was another silence and Themistocles possessed the subtlety to let Leonidas speak first.

“So what do you want? What is your offer, Athenian?”

The last word was spat out with venom; Themistocles ignored this.

“I want to yoke the horses of Athens to the Spartan chariot. But; I need something from you that will enable me to do this. You must make, at least, a pretence of defending all Greece. You must send Spartan troops beyond the isthmus
to slow the Persians down. Do that and we can build an alliance with most of the states that’ve sent delegates here. We can make it difficult for Thebes, Argos and the others to play the traitor. If it doesn’t work, you still have the option of retreating to ground of your own choosing; the isthmus wall if you want. But defend our soil first. I know how it could work. Do this and Athens will sacrifice itself for Greece.”

It’s hard to tell how Spartans communicate. Sometimes they prevaricate for years. But not in that room. The kings looked at each other; the Ephors gently tapped their crooks on the ground. Only the chinless man seemed agitated, his eyes swivelling round the room. Then Leonidas stepped towards Themistocles and offered him his hand.

In that one gesture he changed the fate of all Greece and sealed his own. That’s how it was done, reader, that’s how the histories that young Herodotus writes are really decided. I know, I was there. But it was a close run thing. A great reckoning in a small room. All that stuff in the assembly the next day, that was just a show; a satyr play; but it’s the way of the world that it’s always the sleight of hand that’s believed.

So they shook hands like the heroes of Homer after a contest. I think there was genuine respect between them. Themistocles was sweating and I caught a fleeting memory of him hiding under the sheets at Brauron. Sometimes we have to be all things.

There was to be one more twist, however. I can’t swear to it but I think it was the nearest a Spartan has ever come to a subtle joke. Leonidas asked,

“So, we have your precious Athenian fleet then?”

“Yes, we fight together.”

“Together, yes. But as you agreed under Spartan command.”

Themistocles had nowhere to go.

“Yes.”

“Well in that case let me introduce you to the commander of the Greek fleet.”

He spoke one word; a name.

“Eurybiades.”

The chinless man walked across the chamber and proffered Themistocles his hand.

So to the assembly of the Greeks. The great assembly. It was managed and choreographed like a play at the Dionysia. Except for the climax of course. No one saw that coming. But I get ahead of myself.

The conference of those Greeks hoping to form an alliance, and some who didn’t, took place in a building the Spartans, with their customary self-aggrandisement, called the Hellenion. It was too small and shabby to deserve such a name and was cramped with poor acoustics. However, few of the delegates crammed in shoulder to shoulder worried much over that. The piece of theatre they witnessed once the prayers had been said and libations poured was far too dramatic to allow delegates the luxury of assessing their surroundings.

What would happen had been arranged between Themistocles and the Spartan kings. It was proposed by some minor, toadying member of the Spartan Peloponnesian league, I forget which, that the leader of the Greek army to face the Persians would be Sparta. This was approved, as was expected, by all except the Argive delegation.

Then the leadership of the fleet was raised. Themistocles took the rostra and in a short, high handed and provocative statement demanded that as most of the fleet would be Athenian it should have an Athenian leader. This drew
the expected response from our rivals; Aegina and Corinth foremost.

There followed a period of unseemly squabbling as insults were bandied back and forth. Then, as it seemed an impasse had been reached, Leonidas took to the rostra. No one was going to heckle him so he was heard in silence as he delivered the speech that I suspect Themistocles had written for him. It concluded with,

“So I appeal to the Athenian delegates to put their rightful pride in their mighty fleet to one side and for the sake of unity and the freedom of all Greece, accept a non-Athenian as admiral of the fleet.”

This was the cue for Themistocles to take the stage. With tears in his eyes he put on a display of such astonishing falsehood that I thought he’d have been shouted down. It was so obviously faked and staged that I’m surprised the gods didn’t strike him dead there and then. But no: the delegates loved it, cheered him to the rafters. Particularly the conclusion, a masterpiece of hypocrisy, where he said,

“For me, fellow Greeks, as admiral of the Athenian fleet I realise it is my duty to put Greece before Athens. We have suffered for Greece before and will do so again. But let me make one suggestion: let the leader of the fleet be a Spartan so we have a unified command. I would proudly serve under a Spartan admiral.”

Through the cheers that followed this, and before the puzzled eyes of the Aegiantians and Corinthians, Eurybiades was wheeled out to be greeted by embraces and tears of incredulous joy by Themistocles. Part of me wanted to throw up, but I suppose it solved things. And that’s the account you now know and should believe, reader. Pure theatre. It should have ended there, but in life there’s only so much that can be controlled.

There was movement at the back of the room, an area
where the least prestigious of the delegate’s entourage were promiscuously mixed. It was difficult to identify who spoke but there could be no misunderstanding the tone and nature of the question shouted at the stage. The significance was increased by the question coming from someone associated with the Thessalian delegation.

Thessaly was on the direct line of march for the Persian army. It would be the front line soon; perhaps, as we debated here, it was already a war zone. The Thessalians were likely to offer earth and water to the Great King if their land wasn’t defended. But the question was far more subtle.

“Can our noble Athenian ally tell us truthfully about the words of the oracle at Delphi that they have so recently received?”

If there was one thing that we’d tried to keep secret in Athens, it was that message from the Gods: the one that quite explicitly stated that if we resisted the Persians we’d be wiped out. Themistocles tried to buy time to allow him to understand the nature of this threat, for threat it obviously was. But there was no time.

“Let me refresh your memory, son of Neocles.”

Then the Thessalian began to quote,

“Leave, flee to the ends of the earth! Abandon your homes and the towering heights that ring your city.”

Themistocles grew pale; I saw the Spartan kings direct anxious glances at each other but they had no time to intervene.

“Has this jogged your memory, son of Neocles, or shall I give you a bit more? This section should be of interest to your allies.”

He quoted again.

“Nor is yours the only towered city he will obliterate.”

This was enough for Leonidas.

“Quiet, you have spoken out of turn. This is not the place to discuss the words of the Gods directed to a supplicant.”

The man knew a threat when he heard one and shut up. But he’d achieved what had been intended: the room was spooked like a herd of wild horses by summer lightening. We never managed to get hold of the speaker, as he managed to lose himself in the crowd and slip away.

Leonidas promised that a further approach would be made to the Delphic oracle. Then he uttered the leaving prayer, thus closing the conference with the promise that all the delegates would reconvene in spring at Corinth prior to the commencement of the fighting season.

The delegates set off back to their states, in most cases more afraid than when they arrived and, as we know, several immediately made their peace with the Great King. I missed what happened next as the two kings and Themistocles convened behind closed doors. The taint of treachery was in the air and I suspected the hand of Metiochus at work.

But the next day, a haggard and drawn Themistocles brought the small group of Athenians together. It was a very short meeting.

“It has been decided that Athens will send a second party of supplicants to the oracle. Cleinias will return with the ships to Athens and speed up the preparation of our fleet. I will lead the supplicants. We leave at dawn.”

So it was in this way I came to visit the most sacred and certainly the most frightening place in Greece: Delphi. Most sensible men stay as far from the occult as they can and for those desperate enough to approach the unworldly creatures who tend the shrines at Delphi and Dodona, the experience is neither comfortable nor reassuring. Themistocles occupied himself for the first hour of the journey cursing the stupidity of the religious city leaders having consulted the oracle in the first place.

It was clear from what he said there would be little religion in our visit: we were going to negotiate, if such a thing
is possible, with the intermediary of the Gods. But, possible or not, we had to try it because what Greek army was going to march out to fight the Persians with the curse of the Gods hanging over it?

We had plenty of time to ponder this on the march up country towards the Gulf of Corinth. From there we would slip on board a ship and cross the gulf to where the sanctuary sits high up beneath the cliffs on Mount Parnassus. We travelled in secrecy but I think were watched. Despite this we maintained an easy pace, lived well off the country, and benefited from the mountain air and fresh streams.

The story of how the Athenians moved as supplicants towards the shrine carrying olive branches to placate the anger of great Apollo is well known. What’s not so well known is that the bit about the olive branches is the only bit that’s true and that was a ruse dreamt up by Themistocles to give the impression of piety. There was little piety in our expedition.

But there is something at Delphi, the ancient centre of our world. Something difficult to explain, something otherworldly and unsettling. The God is there but not in the way we understand. I would never go back. For the same reasons that I won’t go back, I hesitate to write my full memory of the shrine. Some things are between us and the Gods. The Gods are seldom kind and never forgiving.

It’s a hard slog uphill over rough ground and by the time we’d toiled up to the outer sanctuary where supplicants are received, weighed down by our bundles of olive branches, we were exhausted and sweating. The air was heavy and in the distance there was the faint rumble of thunder. We were admitted by a creature, male I think, muffled in a hood with a painted face. This was the first of a series of stages intended to disorientate the supplicant.

I’ve heard that the process at the Acheron Necromanteion
in the north, off the coast facing Corcyra, is worse. There the supplicant is drugged then follows the path of the dead. At least we were dealing with Lord Apollo, God of light and life.

After being led through a series of ill-lit chambers and asked to wait, Themistocles had had enough; he demanded to see the Phythia. On being told this was not possible by the hooded acolyte he raised his voice.

“When you tell her who it is that you are keeping waiting she won’t thank you. I am …”

He was cut off by a sharp female voice.

“I know who you are and why you’re here. You are false dealing Themistocles, son of Neocles, and leader of the Athenians who the God has cursed.”

A tall thin-faced woman in an enveloping robe of fine cloth had entered the chamber and I knew we were in the presence of Aristonice, Phythia of Delphi, seer of Apollo. Themistocles made as if to prostrate himself saying,

“I thank you for receiving us, gracious lady, we come to hear the voice of the God.”

“You have already heard the voice of the God. I myself bestowed it on your fellow Athenians. This is not an Athenian market where you exchange goods you don’t want.”

I’m sure I saw the ghost of a smile round her lips as she said this. Themistocles replied,

“I understand, Lady Priestess. We bring fresh offerings.”

“You have already had the only answer you will get.”

Her manner and the acerbic tone in which she spoke indicated our audience was at an end. But this had little effect on Themistocles.

“All the same, Lady, I think the God would be angered were he not to receive our offering, and more offended if this holiest shrine of the Greeks were to be left undefended and thus ravaged by the barbarian horde.”

“That sounds like a threat to me, son of Neocles.”

As she said this I felt reassured: she too was in some way a politician.

“Never would a true Athenian dare threaten the most holy shrine of Apollo. We seek to enrich and protect it. But if we are not granted a second and more favourable oracle, then never will we return to Athens, but remain here till the end of our lives.”

But it wasn’t the end of the speech, with its implication of a threat, she picked up on. It was the promise.

“To enrich it?”

“Greatly, my Lady.”

She dismissed her servants then said to Themistocles,

“The ways of the God are strange indeed, son of Neocles, I feel him moving through me as we speak. Dismiss your followers; we will converse with the God in private.”

A servant outside the door escorted us out and led us to some simple lodgings where supplicants spent the night. I wandered round the shrine precincts, visited the temple the Athenians had built to give thanks for Marathon. The closeness had departed with the thunder and the air was chill and damp, moisture dripping from the leaves of the strange pale trees surrounding the shrine. Themistocles didn’t return.

After eating a meal that would have disgraced a Spartan household we spent an uneasy night. There are wolves and bears in those mountains. We could hear them growling and howling in the dark. Heard other things too; things that survive only in ancient places remote and charmed by the Deities. Or maybe we dreamt it, for all of us were visited by strange and unsettling visions that night: forests and centaurs and gods of the night which never the sun shone on.

Next morning still no sign of Themistocles, we tried to elicit his whereabouts from the strange creatures that served
the shrine but got nothing. There was a mist early morning so we sat lost in the sightless grey, waiting for release. Then, as the sun began to burn it off, he appeared. Not the tortured apparition we’d expected, more like a man who’d had a good night and plenty of wine. The latter we could smell on his breath.

He told us nothing, merely crawled into the rough booth that was our lodgings and went to sleep: a state he remained in till next day, condemning us to another night of nocturnal disturbance. But next morning, Themistocles was up early and took especial pains over his appearance and bade us do the same. Then, laden with fresh olive branches, we returned to the oracle. This time we weren’t kept waiting but shown straight through and into the presence of the oracle. Aristonice greeted us in far better humour; her pinched and mean spirited face even wore the hint of a smile. She came straight to the business in hand.

“Your piety has been rewarded with a second oracle.”

Themistocles bowed in gratitude and we stood waiting for what would follow. Her voice changed to that of the God’s and she began to chant. Let me tell you, reader: even if you are one of those who foolishly laughs at the Gods, that change in the Oracle’s voice would strike fear in you. As with all oracles, the message began with a preamble about the Gods and the past. But within a few lines we realised what Themistocles had accomplished during his twenty four hours with the priestess.

You know the prophecy as well as I do, reader, but I was there when it was first uttered by the mouthpiece of the God so imagine how we felt when we heard the lines,

“… Far seeing Zeus grants a wooden wall.

Only this will stand firm as a bastion

to you and your children.

Do not rely on your cavalry, neither rely on your hoplites,

Rather in the face of this overwhelming host you must retreat instead.

Turn your backs. Yet still shall you meet them face to face.

At divine Salamis the sons of women

will be destroyed by you

When the grain is scattered or

when the harvest is gathered in.”