Travels with Herodotus (30 page)

Not far from my boardinghouse, between large waterfront boulders and thick vegetation, one can see remnants of calcified walls ruined by time and salt. These walls—and all of Goree, in fact—are infamous. For two hundred years, perhaps even longer, the island was a prison, a concentration camp, and the port of embarkation for African slaves being sent to the other hemisphere—to North and South America and the Caribbean. According
to various estimates, several million, twelve million, perhaps as many as twenty million young men and women were deported from Goree. Those were staggering numbers in those days. The mass abductions and deportations depopulated the continent.

Africa emptied out, became overgrown with bush and weeds.

For years on end, uninterruptedly, columns of people were driven from the African interior to where Dakar lies today, and from there were conveyed by boats to this island. Some died of hunger, thirst, and disease while awaiting the ships meant to transport them across the Atlantic. The dead were tossed at once into the sea, where sharks got them. The environs of Goree were their great feeding ground. The predators circled the island in packs. Attempting escape was useless—the fish lay in wait for such daredevils, no less vigilant than the white, human guards. According to historians’ calculations, half of those who made it onto the sailing ships died en route. It is more than six thousand kilometers by sea from Goree to New York. Only the strongest would endure that distance and the journey’s horrific conditions.

How often do we consider the fact that the treasures and riches of the world were created from time immemorial by slaves? From the irrigation systems of Mesopotamia, the Great Wall(s) of China, the pyramids of Egypt, and acropolis of Athens, to the plantations of sugar on Cuba and of cotton in Louisiana and Arkansas, the coal mines on Kolyma and Germany’s highways? And wars? From the dawn of history they were waged in order to capture slaves. Seize them, chain them, whip them, rape them, feel satisfaction at having another human being as one’s property. The acquisition of slaves was an important, and frequently sole, cause of wars, their powerful and even undisguised prime motivation. Those who managed to survive the transatlantic journey (it was
said that the ships carried “black cargo”) brought with them their own Afro-Egyptian culture, the same one that had fascinated Herodotus and which he had described so tirelessly in his book long before that culture reached the Western Hemisphere.

And what of Herodotus himself, what sort of slaves did he have? How many? How did he treat them? I think that he was a kind-hearted man, and gave them little reason to complain overly much. They visited a huge expanse of the world with him, and later perhaps, when he settled in Thurii to write his
Histories
, they served him as living memories, as walking encyclopedias, reminding him of names, places, and details of stories which he needed help remembering as he began writing them down, and in this way they contributed to the astonishing richness of his book.

What happened to them after Herodotus’s death? Were they put up for sale in the marketplace? Or were they maybe as aged as their master and likely to have followed him shortly after into the next world?

T
he most pleasant thing I can imagine to do in Goree would be to sit in the evening on the terrace, next to a table with a lamp, and to read Herodotus while listening to the murmur of the sea. But this is extremely difficult, because the instant you light the lamp, the darkness comes to life and billowing swarms of insects begin to move closer. The most excited and inquisitive specimens, seeing a brightness before them, rush blindly in its direction, slam their heads against the burning bulb, and fall dead to the ground. Others, still only half-awake, circle more cautiously, although unceasingly, tirelessly, as if the light infused them with a kind of inexhaustible energy. The greatest nuisance is a type of tiny fly, so fearless and fierce that it cares not at all about being chased away and killed—one wave of them perishes and another is already waiting impatiently to attack. Beetles and various other intrusive and malicious insects whose names I do not know exhibit a comparable zeal. But the greatest obstacle to reading are certain moths, which, apparently alarmed and irritated by something about human eyes, try to cluster around and cover them, papering them over with their dark gray, fleshy wings.

From time to time, Abdou comes to my rescue. He brings a beat-up little kiln with glowing coals inside, on which he sprinkles a
mixture of bits of resin, roots, rinds, and berries, before blowing on the sizzling grate with all the might of his powerful lungs. A sharp, heavy, choking odor begins to waft through the air. As if on command, the majority of the buggy crew makes a panicked run for it, and the rest, all those that weren’t paying attention, become stupefied, crawling over me and the table for a while, then, suddenly growing paralyzed and motionless, drop to the ground.

Abdou walks away with a look of satisfaction and I can read in peace for a while. Herodotus is slowly approaching the end of his opus. His book closes with four scenes:

The very day that the Greeks routed the Persian forces at Plataea and what was left of them began their homeward retreat, on the other, eastern shore of the Aegean Sea, at Mycale, the Greek fleet crushed another division of the Persian army, thereby bringing to an end Greece’s (that is, Europe’s) victorious war with the Persians (that is, with Asia). The battle at Mycale was short. The two armies stood facing each other.
The Greeks completed their preparations and set out towards the Persian lines
. As they were beginning their assault, they suddenly learned that their kinsmen had just defeated the Persians at Plataea!

Herodotus does not say how exactly they received the message. It is a mystery, since the distance between Plataea and Mycale is great—at least several days’ sailing. Some today speculate that the victors could have passed the news through a chain of bonfires lit on separate islands—whoever saw a distant fire stoked his own, the next in line saw it and did likewise, and so on; each neighbor has his neighbors in turn.
But once the mysterious rumour had sped its way
to them, [the Greeks] advanced into the attack with more energy and speed
. The battle was fierce, the Persian resistance firm, but the Greeks prevailed in the end.
After the Greeks had killed most of the enemy, either while fighting in the battle or while trying to escape, they set fire to the Persian ships and to the entire stronghold—but not before they had brought the booty out on to the beach
…

At the same time that the Persian armies are bleeding and dying at Plataea and Mycale, and their survivors, pursued and murdered by the Greeks, are trying to reach the Persian city of Sardis, King Xerxes, hiding in that very city, is not thinking about the war at all, or about his ignominious flight from Athens, or about the total collapse of his empire. He immerses himself instead in perverse and risky amorous escapades. Psychology is well acquainted with the concept of denial—someone who has had unpleasant experiences and subsequent painful memories denies them, erases them, and thereby achieves inner peace and spiritual equilibrium. Clearly, such a process must have occurred in Xerxes’ psyche. One year, puffed up and imperious, he leads the world’s greatest army against the Greeks; and the next, having lost, he forgets about everything and henceforth is interested in one thing only—women.

After fleeing from Greece and taking refuge in Sardis,
Xerxes had fallen in love with [his brother] Masistes’ wife, who was also there. She proved impervious to his messages, however … Under these circumstances, with all other options closed off, Xerxes arranged for his son Darius to marry the daughter of this woman and Masistes, since he expected to have a better chance of seducing the woman in this situation
. At first, therefore, the king preys not on a young girl, but on her mother, his own sister-in-law, who struck
him, at least while they were still in Sardis, as more attractive than her own daughter.

However, when Xerxes returns from Sardis to the royal palace in Susa, the imperial capital, his tastes change.
After he had arrived and had received Darius’ wife into his house, he dropped Masistes’ wife and began to desire Darius’ wife, Masistes’ daughter, instead. Her name was Artaynte, and he was successful with her
.

After a while, however, the secret got out. What happened was that Amestris, Xerxes’ wife, wove a wonderful shawl, long and colourful, as a present for Xerxes. He liked it a lot, and wore it when he went to visit Artaynte. She gave him pleasure too—so much so that he told her he would give her anything she wanted in return for the favours she had granted him; whatever she asked for, he assured her, she would get
.

Without hesitation, his daughter-in-law said the shawl. Frightened, Xerxes tries to dissuade her, for one simple reason: if he gives her the shawl, Amestris’s suspicions about his misdeeds will be confirmed. So he offers the girl
cities, unlimited gold, and sole command of any army
. But the spoiled little mule says no. She wants the shawl, only the shawl, and nothing else.

And the sovereign of a world empire, who rules over millions of people, holding their life and death in his hands, must yield.
Eventually, then, he gave her the shawl, which she liked so much that she used to wear it and show it off
.

Amestris heard that Artaynte had the shawl, but this information did not make her angry with Artaynte. Instead she assumed that her mother was to blame and was responsible for the whole business, and so it was Masistes’ wife whose destruction she started to plot. She waited until her husband Xerxes was holding a royal banquet—that is, the banquet which is prepared once a year on the kings’ birthday…. This is the only time of the year when the king anoints his head with

oil, and he also distributes gifts among the Persians. So when the day arrived, Amestris told Xerxes what she wanted her gift to be—Masistes’ wife. Xerxes under
stood the reason for her request, and was shocked and horrified, not only at the thought of handing over his brother’s wife, but also because she was innocent in this matter
.

His wife was implacable, however, and he was constrained by the tradition that on the day of the royal banquet no request could be refused, so he agreed, with extreme reluctance. He turned the woman over to his wife and told her to do with her what she liked, and also sent for his brother. When he arrived, he said, “Masistes,… you are a good man. I want you to divorce your present wife, and I’ll give you my daughter instead. You can have her as your wife. But get rid of the present one; the marriage displeases me.”

Masistes was astonished at the king’s words. “Master,” he said, “what a cruel thing to say! Can you really be telling me to get rid of my wife and marry your daughter? I have grown-up sons and daughters by my wife … Besides, she suits me perfectly well…. Please let me stay married to my wife.”

This reply of his made Xerxes angry, and he said, “Do you want to know what you’ve done, Masistes? I’ll tell you. I withdraw the offer of marriage to my daughter, and you’re not going to live with your wife a moment longer either. That will teach you to accept what you’re offered.”

At these words all Masistes said was: “You haven’t yet killed me, master.” Then he walked out of the room
.

In the mean time, during this conversation between Xerxes and his brother, Amestris had sent for Xerxes’ personal guards and with their help had mutilated Masistes’ wife. She cut off her breasts and threw them to the dogs, cut off her nose, ears, lips, and tongue, and then sent her back home, totally disfigured
.

Did Amestris, having gotten her sister-in-law in her clutches, speak to her? Did she hurl insults at her while slowly, piece by piece (because the sharpness of steel was still unknown), hacking off her breasts? Did she shake a fist at her, the same fist in which she gripped the bloody knife? Or did she just pant and hiss with hatred? How did the guards behave, obliged to firmly hold down the victim? She must have screamed with pain, tossed about, tried
to tear herself away. Did they ogle the breasts? Were they silent from terror? Did they giggle furtively? Or maybe the sister-in-law, slashed on her face, kept fainting, requiring them constantly to douse her with cold water? And what about her eyes? Did the king’s wife gouge out her eyes? Herodotus says nothing about this. Did he forget? Or maybe Amestris forgot?

Masistes was still completely unaware of all this, but he was expecting something terrible to happen to him, so he ran back to his house. As soon as he saw how his wife had been maimed, he first sought the advice of his sons and then made his way to Bactria along with his sons and, of course, others as well, with the intention of stirring up revolt in the province of Bactria and doing the king as much harm as he could. And he would have succeeded in this, in my opinion, if he had managed to reach the Bactrians and the Sacae in time, because they were attached to him and he was the governor of Bactria. But Xerxes found out what he was up to; he dispatched an army to intercept him while he was on his way, and killed him, his sons, and all his troops. And that is the end of the story of Xerxes’ desire and Masistes’ death
.

All this takes place at the pinnacle of imperial power. At the summit, and therefore in the most dangerous place, which time and again flows with blood. The king lives with his daughter-in-law; the enraged queen chops up her innocent sister-in-law. Later, the victim, her tongue cut out, will not even be able to denounce her. Good will be punished, defeated: a good man, Masistes, will be killed on his brother’s orders, his sons will perish, his wife will be disfigured in the most horrible way possible. In the end, years later, Xerxes himself will be knifed to death. What happened to his queen? Did she perish, by revenge of the daughters of Masistes? Because the wheel of crime and punishment must have kept on turning. Did Shakespeare read Herodotus? Our Greek, after all, portrayed a world of the fiercest passions and royal murders two thousand years before the author of
Hamlet
and
Henry VIII
did.