Tides of War (21 page)

The fever had caught. The city could talk of nothing but Sicily. In the marketplace, clay models of the island were snatched up by the hundred; men and boys scratched outlines in the dirt and extolled her wonders in the barbershop and the saddlery. It was as if we had conquered already and had no more to dispute but division of the spoils.

The aristocrat Nicias addressed the Assembly one blistering forenoon, when the sun-blasted Pnyx stood packed to the rearmost station.

“Athenians, I see your hearts are set upon this venture. Today departing for this congress, I could not locate my attendant; he was discovered at last among the grooms, blathering ecstatically of Sicily. What else? It is your nature, men of Athens, to count as yours already that which you have set your hopes upon and, your minds made up, you will suffer no one to quarrel counter to your whim. You will shout him down, as if he sought by his speech to take from you that which you already possessed instead of counseling you for your own good in regard to that which you may never get and the pursuit of which may bring you to ruin.

“I see before me, too, in the foremost row, that young man and his confederates whose ambition has inflamed your hearts to this folly. He is smiling, this proud breeder of horses and corrupter of the public morals, because he knows I speak the truth. I hate to see that smile, my friends, however comely. And do you not, gentlemen, chancing to find yourselves beside this buck’s henchmen, permit yourselves to be intimidated by their bluster, or feel shamed if they call you coward for demurring to underwrite this expedition. Yes, his friends heckle me now.
Let them. But if these hotbloods will not attend seriously to my words, I pray that you, their elders and betters, will.

“I see there also, in that shaded precinct he favors, Socrates the philosopher, to whose counsel alone our youthful champion attends. We all know where you stand, sir. You have spoken out, resisting this Sicilian adventure as unjust, to bear war to a people who harbor no intent of bringing it to us. Speak up, my friend, if I say false. Your famous
daimon,
that voice which warns you of peril or folly, has enjoined this escapade, has it not? Yet I see none heeds your gray hairs or mine.

“Let me speak, then, men of Athens, not in opposition to this enterprise, for I perceive that your course is set and nothing may deflect you from it, but only to set before you from experience’s locker, as they say, those concerns which must be addressed if we wish to pull off this spectacular stunt and not come a cropper in the bargain.”

Nicias spoke of the hazards of venturing far from home and resupply, across such distant and treacherous seas, at such a remove that in winter even a fast dispatch ship may require four months for the passage. In all previous overseas campaigns we had had the bulwark of allied harbors as forward bases and friendly territories from which to secure supplies. Not in Sicily. We would stand there at the ends of the earth, with not a crust to gnaw but that which we bore with us. He warned, too, that in taking on this new enemy we left another on our doorstep, the Spartans and their allies, who had very nearly laid us low before and who, though forbearing now under the Peace, would resume operations with vigor once we committed ourselves to this western front and, should we suffer a reversal there, would take fresh courage and, reinforced by new allies similarly emboldened, redouble their efforts to finish us off.

He spoke of the foreign merchants, mechanics, and sailors who manned the docks and shipyards and no minor portion of the benches of the fleet. With what confidence could we rely upon these who were not of our blood but without whom we could not hope to prevail? Were we not placing ourselves upon the same perilous perch occupied by our enemies, the Spartans, who must fight with one eye on the foe and the other on their own serfs? In war even one’s own countrymen may not always be relied upon. How much less those who serve only for pay?

“Today as I walked to the Assembly I observed numerous construction
sites of houses and shops going up. This is well. But do not put from your memory, Athenians, that these very properties are those abandoned and even torched by their owners during the Plague. Have you forgotten, friends? Is your recall that fleeting of those hours when our survival hung by a whisker and no resource we possessed, neither of wealth nor power nor entreaties of the gods, proved of avail to lift this siege of heaven? Peace, which I negotiated, has brought its blessings. We may open the city’s gates, ride again to our estates, repair them and replant. Children are born who have not inhaled the stink of the enemy’s incendiaries or witnessed their mothers’ corpses carted away in the night. You have stumbled ashore upon safe haven, my countrymen. Yet what is your first thought? The bones of your own fathers have barely found rest within their tombs and now you propose to plant your own beside them. Can you not enjoy the quiet life? Am I that old, that I find comfort in a fireside at close of day and take joy to watch my children at play within the court?

“But this is not your nature, men of Athens. Nothing is more unendurable to you than peace. Each moment at leisure is to you an interval squandered and a chance for gain cast away. The farmer has learned that fields must lie fallow, and fruit bears only in its season. But you have repudiated these quaint premises. You inhabit another realm, a fictive country which you call the future. You dream of what will be and disdain what is. You define yourselves not as who you are, but as who you may become, and hasten over oceans to this shore you can never reach. That which you possess today you count as nothing, valuing only what you gain tomorrow. Yet as soon as your hands seize this treasure, you disown it and press on for what is new. I do not wonder that you esteem this young man, this chariot racer, for he lives further beyond his means even than yourselves.

“What want of character, my friends, compels you to seek war when you have peace? Are not our own troubles sufficient? Must we sail off pursuing others? I beg you, friends, to enjoin this injudiciousness. And I call upon you, President of the Assembly, to put the matter again to a vote.”

A number spoke following Nicias, the majority expressing views in favor of the expedition. When Alcibiades at last arose, summoned by acclamation, he confined his brief to essentials.

“I thank our schoolmaster”—he bowed toward Nicias—“for his astute and salutary sermon. Clearly our character as Athenians is riddled with imperfections. We have fallen far short of the standard to which we all aspire. But if I may speak frankly, we must be who we are.”

Tumultuous acclamation saluted this. My own position was at the
epotis,
the “ear” of the Pnyx; I could see Nicias, among the citizens, smile darkly and shake his head.

“In fact,” Alcibiades continued, “we can be nothing else, neither as individuals nor as a nation.”

Additional clamor ascended. When Alcibiades resumed, he refuted Nicias’ contentions smartly and point by point, each counterstroke mounting to this summation.

“And as to the restlessness of our nature, Athenians, in my view this is not imperfection of character, but evidence of vigor and enterprise. Our fathers did not drive back the Persian by propping their feet at the fire, or gain their empire watching their children play in the yard. Nicias says that fruits bear in their season. I say the season is now. To our friend’s assertion that security is best derived from a posture of precaution and defense, that may be true for other nations, but not for us. For an active people to change her ways is fatal. It is in our nature to venture far and boldly. This, and not in defense, is where our security resides.

“Nicias speaks of foreign oarsmen: he reproves us that our fleet cannot sail without them, and cites this as a liability. It is proof, he says, that our native resources are insufficient. To me it demonstrates the opposite. In fact nothing could display with more telling measure the depth of our vitality and the magnetism of our
mythos
. Why do these foreigners come to us and no other nation in Hellas? Because they know that here and only here they may be free.

“And as for the derogation implicit in his assessment of these newcomers as our inferiors, I say he knows them not, and does them and us a disservice. Consider the hazard these men have undertaken, my friends, these whom Nicias devalues and demeans. They have put behind home and family, native soil and sky; the very gods of their race they have abjured, to venture across oceans to this stranger’s land where they may enjoy neither protection of law nor participation in the political process, where they are exempted and excluded, nameless, voiceless,
ballotless. Yet still they come, and no force under heaven may stop them. Why? Because they know that life at the ends of the earth in Athens is better than life at the center of the universe at home. Nicias is mistaken, my friends. These foreigners may not be the brick and stone of our nation, but they are the mortar. And they will stick.”

Deafening applause seconded this. Nor was it lost upon the orator’s allies, and his foes, that report of his words would peal at once and echo nightlong among the foreign sailors and craftsmen, by whom he would now more than ever be acclaimed patron and champion.

Alcibiades stood, calling for order. When the tumult at last subsided, he turned, absent all rancor or vaunting, and summoned his rival to the rostrum.

“Nicias, you have been appointed senior commander, which your record of service demands and which I honor without reservation. I esteem your wisdom and, not less, your proven luck. I have no wish to supplant you, sir, but to enlist you wholeheartedly in your country’s cause. Help us. Don’t tell us why we will fail but how we may succeed.

“I summon you now, sir, not as rival, but as compatriot, to come forward again. The reservations you have voiced are not without merit. Tell us, then, what we need to succeed. Give us hard numbers. Let us hear the stern truth. And I make you this pledge: if Athens will not grant what you believe the expedition needs to prevail, I myself will mount the stand beside you in opposition to it.

“But if she will grant you what you say we require, then I call upon you in like spirit to accede to your countrymen’s decree. Do not shirk the command with which she has honored you, but seize it with vigor. We need you, Nicias. Tell us what we must have to make you feel confident of success.”

Nicias accepted his antagonist’s challenge. Mounting at once to the box, he proceeded to detail a seemingly interminable list of supplies and armament, warcraft and matériel, everything from spare masts and sail to parched barley and the bakers and ovens to make it into bread. He demanded overwhelming superiority of sea forces, one hundred men-of-war at a minimum, plus heavy infantrymen in numbers greater than any force the enemy could raise against us, reinforced by an equal number of light-armed troops, archers and slingers to neutralize the enemy’s cavalry, since over these leagues of ocean we could not transport our own.

In addition the expedition would require ironworkers and masons, sappers and siege engineers, dispatch craft and troop transports. Alcibiades had asked for hard figures and Nicias gave them. A hundred talents to hire supply ships, two hundred for dumps and magazines along the way, another two hundred to purchase horses for the cavalry on-site, and if the Sicel tribesmen refused us this aid, then the same amount to fund raids to take them by force. Of course this figure did not include the infantry or their attendants, or the seamen or maintenance of the warships. That would be a thousand talents, with another thousand in reserve. This figure, it was understood, covered just the summer; for winter the sum would double, and if the expedition had not achieved success in the first year, Athens must mount another and send it to the aid of the first. On and on Nicias’ necessities mounted. Clearly he anticipated that such massive outlay, set before his hearers in this bald and brutal form, would act as cold water in the face of a dreamer.

But Alcibiades’ grasp of his countrymen’s character was shrewder than his opponent’s. Far from being daunted by Nicias’ demands, the citizens declared them excellent and embraced them with animation. The grander the expedition, the more certain they became that it could not fail. As Nicias completed his table of requisition, he perceived, as did every citizen of the Assembly, that he had been outgeneraled by Alcibiades, whose stock with the people mounted higher with each instant his rival sought to bring him low. Now all Athens felt that not only would she soon possess a fleet of insuperable capacity but in Alcibiades a general of spirit and cunning who could not fail to lead it to glory. At one stroke Alcibiades not only had got everything he wanted but, despite his station as junior commander, had seized control of the expedition and made it his own.

The farm survived, thanks less to my brother’s exertions and my own than to the abundantly donated counsel and assistance of various uncles and elders, not to say their liberal advances in equipment, skilled labor, and cash. We had not realized, Lion and I, how sorely missed we had been and how bereft our family, as so many others, in the aftercourse of plague and war. Nothing is so irreplaceable as youth, and none so dear as the prodigal. They could not do enough for us, our senior kinsmen, and wished only to see sons and more sons. My aunt made the trek from the city just to satisfy herself that we were well; stationed beneath the sunshade on her hired carriage’s bench, she looked on Lion and me, bare-backed and dirty as dogs, digging a trench for a runoff channel. “Now I can die content.”