‘Even in the dark, he was wise,’ Idomeneus said, which was
high praise from the Cretan, as he was not much for wisdom, as
a rule.
‘Fuck her,’ I muttered.
‘Heraclitus told us to run,’ Philocrates said. ‘We didn’t linger,
as you were covered in blood and he told us about the six
hundred ships.’
I had been out-generaled by the Lady Briseis, knocked
unconscious and sent back. And in my pack was the ivory scrol
tube, in which she had meticulously detailed the ships that would
serve Datis, the names of the men who she thought had already
been bribed. So that I would use the knowledge to crush Datis
and help her husband.
I had to laugh. This scene was never going to make my
version of the Iliad, I thought. But I’m teling it to you, and I
hope your busy lad from Halicarnassus puts it in his book. She
played me like a kithara, between love and lust and hate and
anger and duty, and I sailed to Miletus with the information she
provided, because to withhold it to spite her would have been
foolish.
How wel she knew me.
I lay in the bottom of the fishing smack and tried not to look
I lay in the bottom of the fishing smack and tried not to look
at the sun, and the pitching of the waves made me sick for the
first and only time of my life, and we sailed along with perfect
weather, al the way back to Samos and the rebel fleet.
We were four days sailing back, and my head was better by
the time we landed on Samos. I put on clean clothes, then
Idomeneus and I went directly to Miltiades. He was sitting under
an awning with Aristides, playing at knucklebones.
‘Datis has six hundred ships,’ I said. ‘They are forming at
Tyre and they intend to crush us here, at Samos, in two weeks’
time.’ I looked around, ignoring the consternation on their faces.
‘Datis has men in our camp, offering huge sums of gold to the
commanders to desert, or even to serve the Persians,’ I said.
Aristides nodded. ‘I was offered ten talents of gold to take
the Athenians and go home,’ he said.
I was deflated. ‘You already know?’ I asked.
Miltiades laughed grimly. ‘To think that Datis offered such a
treasure to Aristides and not to me!’ He shook his head. ‘I think
I’m offended.’ He made his throw and rubbed his beard.
‘Where has he got six hundred ships, eh?’
So I told them everything I’d heard from the old Jew and
from Briseis.
They listened to me in silence, and then went back to their
game.
‘Should I tel Dionysius?’ I asked.
Aristides nodded. ‘You should,’ he said. ‘But I doubt he’l
pay you much attention.’
‘I suffered through his classes,’ I said. ‘He’l listen to me.’
‘I suffered through his classes,’ I said. ‘He’l listen to me.’
So I walked across the beach, my fighting sandals filing with
sand at every step. Dionysius had a tent made of a spare
mainsail, an enormous thing raised on a boatsail mast with a great
kantaros cup in Tyrian red decorating the middle.
There were armed guards at the door of the tent. Idomeneus
spat with contempt, and we almost had a fight right there, but
Leagus, Dionysius’s helmsman, was coming out, and he
separated the men and then faced me.
‘Can I help you, Plataean?’ he asked.
‘I have news of the Great King’s fleet,’ I said. And
immediately he ushered me into the tent. Idomeneus folowed me
after a parting shot at the guards.
‘Act your age,’ I spat at him. ‘We’re al Greeks here.’
Dionysius was sitting on a folding stool of iron, looking like
any great lord. He was surrounded by lesser men – no Aristides
or Miltiades here.
‘So, Plataean. How went the mission on which I sent you?’
he asked.
I saluted him – he liked that, and it cost me nothing. ‘Lord, I
went to Ephesus and contacted a spy paid by Miltiades. And
another, a woman.’ I didn’t love him, and saw no reason to
Dionysius smiled. ‘Spies and women are both liars.’
That stung me. ‘This spy does not lie.’ But Briseis lied very
easily, I thought.
‘Spare me your romances,’ the navarch said. ‘Women are
for making children, and have no other purpose except to ape
for making children, and have no other purpose except to ape
the manners of men and manipulate the weak. Are you weak?’
I summoned up the image of Heraclitus in my head, and
refused this sort of petty combat. ‘My lord, I have inteligence on
the fleet of Datis. Wil you hear it?’
He waved his hand.
‘Datis has six hundred ships at Tyre,’ I said. ‘He has the
whole fleet of Cyprus – over a hundred huls, as wel as two
hundred or more Phoenicians and as many Aegyptians. He has
mercenaries from the Sicels and the Italiotes, and Cilicians in
huge numbers.’
Dionysius nodded. ‘That’s worse than I expected. They
cannot, surely, al be triremes.’
I shrugged. ‘Lord, I did not see them. I merely report what
the spies report.’
He rubbed his beard, al business now. ‘The Cilicians, at
least, haven’t a trireme among them. They’l be in light huls. And
the Aegyptians – light huls and biremes. But stil a mighty fleet.’
‘Both spies also report that Datis is sending men – the former
tyrants and lickspittles – to buy some of the Ionians’ contingents.
Aristides of Athens received such an offer. I suspect other men
—’
The navarch’s face darkened with blood. ‘Useless children,
to fritter their freedom away on a few pieces of gold. Tel
Aristides he’s welcome to go and fight for his new master—’
‘Lord, Aristides of Athens would sooner die than take a
bribe on a law case, much less a matter as weighty as the
bribe on a law case, much less a matter as weighty as the
freedom of the Greeks,’ I said. I owed Aristides that much.
‘Are you another of them? The schemers?’ Dionysius came
off his chair. ‘How do I know these reports aren’t planted by the
enemy? Eh?’
In fact, even blinded by a mixture of love and hate, I had
wondered if Briseis had sent me as a poisoned pil, to scare the
Greeks with numbers and threats of Persian gold – except that
Abrahim had said the same. I stood my ground. ‘My lord – you
sent me. Miltiades has been fighting the Persians since the war
began – and you, pardon me, have not. For you to doubt me –
to doubt him – is sheer foly.’
‘Leave my tent and never return,’ Dionysius said.
‘You are in the grip of some il daimon,’ I said. ‘We are al
one fleet. Don’t create divisions where none exist.’
‘Take your ship and leave!’ he ordered, screaming at me.
‘Traitor!’
Leagus escorted me out of the door and down the beach.
Then he took my arm. ‘He’s the best seaman I know,’ Leagus
said. ‘But the power has unhinged him. I have no idea why. The
mere sight of so many ships – it did something to him. I thought
your words might sober him.’
I didn’t know what to say. Men come to power in different
ways and they react to it in different ways, as they do with wine
and poppy juice and other drugs. But when I walked back to
Miltiades, I was sombre and my head hurt. I threw myself down
on one of the rugs he had laid over the sand.
‘I thought you ought to see that for yourself,’ Miltiades said.
‘I thought you ought to see that for yourself,’ Miltiades said.
‘I tried to tel him about the bribes,’ Aristides said. ‘He
ordered me kiled – then exiled – on and on. He’s lost his mind.’
Miltiades gave me a tired smile. ‘It is odd – I should have had
the command. But now a madman has it, and yet the fleet seems
unable to take the command from him, and I can’t seem to rise
to the occasion.’ Miltiades looked at me.
I sat up. ‘Are you suggesting I should do something?’ I
asked.
Miltiades shrugged.
I looked at Aristides, and he would not meet my eye. Oh,
everyone in Athens is so pious, until the moment when the need
of the city outweighs al that petty morality. ‘You two want me to
kil Dionysius?’ I asked.
Aristides looked resolutely away.
Miltiades shrugged again. ‘I certainly can’t do it.’
‘Neither can I,’ I said. ‘It would be an offence against
hospitality. And I have sworn an oath to Apolo.’
Aristides turned and met my eye. ‘Good,’ he said, and
suddenly I knew that I’d misjudged him. I had passed some sort
of test.
‘Wel,’ Miltiades said, ‘I guess we’re with the gods.’
That was al right with me. I trusted Apolo to save the
Greeks.
The next week saw more training. I had Storm Cutter in the
water constantly, working on various manoeuvres. Most of the
Lesbians did the same, and a few of the Samians, and al the
Lesbians did the same, and a few of the Samians, and al the
Cretans. We may not have been the paragons that Dionysius
wanted, but we were a hardened fleet, and the rowers were in
condition.
Miltiades insisted that we learn some squadron manoeuvres,
so we practised every day as a squadron, and Nearchos chose
to throw in his lot with us. Nearchos was the boy I had trained to
manhood, son of Achiles, Lord of Crete. He was no longer an
arrogant, whiny puppy of seventeen, either. He was a man now,
a hero of the sea-fight near Amathus in Cyprus, and he led five
ships.
He was popular with the Athenians, and it was through him
that I became friends with Phrynichus the poet. Phrynichus went
about colecting stories every afternoon when men lay down for
a nap, and after he had met Nearchos and heard his version of
the deck-to-deck fighting at Amathus, the two of them sought
me out.
I was lying on a carpet in Miltiades’ tent, my head on a roled
chlamys, unable to sleep. To be honest, those days were as
black for me as the days after Hipponax sent me from his house
and tried to kil me. My head hurt, and pain is often part of low
spirits. But I could not get the thought of her out of my head – as
if her image and the pain were one thing.
‘Arimnestos?’ Nearchos asked.
I sprang to my feet, went out into the sun and we embraced.
For two men encamped on the same beach, we hardly ever saw
each other. He introduced the playwright, who asked me about
the fight at Amathus, and I sat by the fire and told my story.
the fight at Amathus, and I sat by the fire and told my story.
When I was done, Phrynichus asked me how many men I
thought I had put down that day.
I shrugged. ‘Ten?’ I said. ‘Twenty?’ I must have frowned,
because he smiled.
‘I mean no offence,’ he said. ‘You have the reputation as a
great kiler of men. Perhaps the greatest in this fleet.’
What do you say to that? I thought that I probably was, but it
would have been hubris to say as much. ‘Sophanes of Athens is
a fine warrior,’ I said. ‘And Epaphroditos of Lesbos is a kiler,
too.’
Phrynichus raised an eyebrow.
I leaned forward. He was a great poet, a man of honour.
Moreover, his words could make a man immortal – if you
believe that word-fame lasts for ever, and I do. ‘You have
fought in a close battle?’ I asked.
He roled his hand. ‘I’ve been in a few ship fights,’ he said. ‘I
faced a man on a deck once. Never a big fight, in phalanx.’
I smiled. ‘But you know how it is, then. When you ask me
how many men I put down – how can I answer? If I cut a man’s
hand, does he fal? Is he finished? If I put my spear in his foot,
he’l stay down for the whole fight, but I suspect he’l til his fields
next season. Yes?’
He nodded.
‘When I fight my best, I don’t even know what’s happening
around me. In my last fight – off Miletus – I put a man down with
a blow from my shield, and he was behind me.’ I shook my
a blow from my shield, and he was behind me.’ I shook my
head, because I wasn’t putting this wel. ‘Listen, I’m not
bragging. I just don’t know. I fight by area, not by numbers. In a
ship fight, I work to clear an area, and then I move.’
He smiled. ‘You are a craftsman of war,’ he said.
I met his grin. ‘Perhaps.’
He leaned forward. ‘May I serve with you in the battle? I’d
like to see you in action.’
Look, short of Pindar or Simonides or Homer risen from the
grave, he was the most famous poet of our day, and he was
asking to watch me in the great battle where we were going to
break Persia. What was I to say?
By an irony that I have long savoured, young Aeschylus and
his brother were both in Cleisthenes’ ship as marines – so that
we had in one squadron the greatest living poet and the next.
They had not yet competed head to head – but young Aeschylus
could be seen haunting the same fires as Phrynichus, so that no
sooner did I befriend the playwright than I met his young rival.
This is the thing that makes the Greeks strong, it seems to me.
Aeschylus admired Phrynichus – so he sought to best him.
Admiration begets emulation and competition. And in the same
way, I was already a famous fighter, and men already sought to
emulate me – and best me.
Never mind. I speak of Phrynichus.
Truth to tel, Simonides was a better poet. And Aeschylus
wrote better plays. But Phrynichus made me immortal, and
besides, he was a quicker man with a pun or a rhyme than either
of the others – he could compose a drinking song on the spot. It
of the others – he could compose a drinking song on the spot. It
must have been that same week that we were on the beaches of
Samos, and we were al lying around a campfire – a huge fire –
having a beachside symposium. The
re must have been a hundred
men there – oarsmen and aristocrats mingled, as it used to be in
those days. We had Samian girls waiting on us, paid for by
Miltiades, and they were fine girls – not prostitutes, but farm
girls, brisk and flirtatious, despite their mothers hovering nearby.
But one girl stood out. She was not a beauty, but she stood
square and straight like a young ash. She had a beautiful body,
muscled like an athlete, firm breasts, broad hips and a narrow
waist. And she talked like a man, straight at you, if you asked for
wine or some such. When she played at jumping the fire –
showing her muscled legs and leaping high enough to fly away
into the smoke-filed dark – al the men wanted her, even those
who usualy preferred men. She had that spark – that in Briseis is
a raging fire. I felt it too, though I was only a week from my love,
and in that week I hated al women with equal fervour.
The girl moved among us, and we al admired her, and then
Phrynichus leaped to his feet and seized a kithara that one of the
boys had been playing, and he sang us a song.
How I wish I could remember it!
He caled her Artemis’s daughter, of course, and he sang that
her portion and her dowry was time, honour, the word-fame of
man, and that her sons would conquer the world and be kings,
and her daughters would sacrifice to the Muses. He sang of her
in a parody of the elegies that men receive when they win games
at Olympus or Nemea, and he praised her skil at jumping fires.
at Olympus or Nemea, and he praised her skil at jumping fires.
And he did al this while rhyming inside every line, so that his
pentameters roled like a marching army. We were spelbound.
The girl wept when it was done. ‘What have I to live for that
wil compare to this?’ she asked, and we al applauded her.
There were some good times.
I asked Phrynichus later if he had bedded her, and he looked
at me as if I was a child and told me that grown men do not kiss
and tel, which shows you that I stil had a great deal to learn.
Another night, Phrynichus debated with Philocrates about the
gods. Philocrates dared us to consider a world where there were
no gods, and he suggested – through good argument and some
sly inversion – that such a world would bear a remarkable
resemblance to our own. Then Phrynichus rose and proposed
that we consider a world where the gods did not believe in