said.
That was news, and no mistake. I sat on a couch. ‘When?’
‘I have no idea, but the city is arming and preparing. You
know we are at war with Aegina?’ he asked.
know we are at war with Aegina?’ he asked.
I shrugged. Athens and Aegina and Corinth ruled the waves –
so of course they were not friends.
‘It’s not much of a war, but we’re using it as an excuse to
arm. The Great King is coming. He’s appointed a satrap of
Thrace – of Thrace, by the gods, on our very doorstep! Datis is
his name, or so we’re told. We’re to be the target as soon as
Miletus fals.’
I started. ‘Miletus fals?’ I asked.
‘Every man in Athens – every political man,’ Aristides
corrected himself, ignoring my interest in Miletus, ‘is gathering a
retinue. Many – I name no names – have pledged themselves to
the Great King.’ He shrugged. ‘Both factions are gathering
warriors – citizens and noncitizens.’
I put my wine cup down and laughed aloud. ‘You – are alied
with Miltiades.’
‘Wel might you laugh,’ Aristides grumbled. ‘He would be
tyrant here, if he could. Only men like me stand between him and
power. But he can’t abide the Persians and he’s in the field
fighting, while we sit here.’
‘Piracy for his own profit, you mean,’ I said. ‘I served with
him for four years, my lord. And I might serve him again. But it is
not the greater good of Athens that drives Miltiades to battle.
More likely, it is his attacks on the Great King’s shipping that
have brought the Medes down on Athens.’
‘Politics,’ Aristides said, ignoring me again. He held up his
cup to a slave for a refil, and I was annoyed that his slave got a
glance and a smile, whereas I was merely a sounding board.
glance and a smile, whereas I was merely a sounding board.
‘Doubtless some busy plotter among the Alcmaeonids thought to
hire your men for their side and leave you powerless – thinking
that otherwise your men would serve me or Miltiades.’
I snorted with disgust. ‘I was at home in Boeotia, tiling my
fields,’ I said. ‘Please do not take it il, my lord, but I care very
little who is lording it in mighty Athens, so long as my bils are
paid and my barns are ful.’
‘You disappoint me,’ Aristides said.
I shrugged. ‘You have seen a couple of handsome boys
wrestling by a public fountain?’
Aristides nodded.
‘Because there are young girls around the fountain?’ I went
on.
He laughed. ‘Yes. Every day.’
‘Ever notice that the girls don’t even glance at the boys?
Because such posturing bores them sily. Eh?’ Now we were
laughing together.
‘Of course. You have the right of it, my wel-spoken friend.’
Aristides glanced away, at Jocasta, and they shared such a smile.
It was a pleasure to see them together.
‘Wel then. We Plataeans are the girls by the fountain. Come
back and talk to us when you have learned to listen and to play
tricks that please us. Until then, you and Miltiades and al these
Pisistratids and Alcmaeonids are just boys wrestling by the
fountain.’ I chuckled.
‘Who made you so wise?’ he asked.
I laughed. ‘A generation of girls at fountains in Ephesus,’ I
I laughed. ‘A generation of girls at fountains in Ephesus,’ I
said. ‘Now, how do I get my horse and my slave girl back?’
Aristides shook his head. ‘Ask after the trial,’ he said.
I coughed. ‘Trial? My trial? When is that? I thought you’d
fixed that for me?’
He shook his head. ‘The law is the only glue that binds
Athens,’ he said. ‘You wil have a trial. I’l be your speaker.’
‘When?’ I asked again.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said.
The idea of a trial drove news about Miltiades and the siege
of Miletus out of my head.
In Athens, a foreigner cannot speak or defend himself at a trial of
any kind. Without a ‘friend’, a proxenos, to represent him, a
trade and serves in the phalanx, cannot utter a word in his own
defence.
Actualy, I approve of this law. Why let foreigners speak in
your assembly? A pox on them. Al they’l do is stir up trouble.
Aristides walked with me as far as the first public fountain.
‘You are not permitted to speak,’ he said. ‘But that changes
very little. You can stil smile, and frown, and raise your
eyebrows – you can control your emotions or give them free
rein. Men know who you are – and if they didn’t yesterday, they
wil by this morning. The jurors wil watch you. Comport yourself
like a man. Ask yourself – what would Achiles do?’
I laughed. ‘Sulk in his camp until provoked, and then kil
anyone who offended him.’
anyone who offended him.’
Aristides frowned. ‘The law is not a matter for levity. I must
leave you – I have stops to make, and men to see. Be on the hil
of the Areopagus by the middle of the day.’ He handed me a
three-leaf wooden tablet with wax pages. ‘Keep this by you,’ he
said. ‘I’ve written out the charges and your counter-charges, just
in case another man has to speak for you. And I want you to
understand. We’re suing young Cleitus for the civil loss of your
chattels – that is, the girl and the horse. Of the two, the horse is
by far the most valuable – and wil, I think, trip young Cleitus up
handily at the trial. Understand?’
I read the tablet quickly. The writing was tiny and precise, but
I am a literate man – I was taught my letters early.
‘Wil the trials go on at the same time?’ I asked.
‘Zeus! You know nothing of our laws. No. Your trial is for
the murder of a citizen. That wil be tried by the Areopagitica –
the elders of the city. Friends of the Alcmaeonids, every man. In
fact, more than half of them are Alcmaeonids.’ He nodded
gravely. ‘The civil trials wil be held when the roster alows –
probably early in the spring. We’l need a jury of at least four
hundred.’
I swalowed some rage. ‘Spring? I promised that girl her
freedom.’
Aristides shrugged. ‘I doubt you’l ever see her again, frankly.
I’l see to it that you receive chattel of equal value.’
I shook my head. ‘Aristides, I trust you. But I wil have that
girl back, and I wil free her. I swore it. It may seem a little thing
girl back, and I wil free her. I swore it. It may seem a little thing
to you—’
He shook his head in turn. ‘No – oaths to the gods are
weighty matters, and you are a pious man. I apologize. I wil do
my best. But if they cannot kil you, these men wil seek to hurt
you – even your woman and your horse.’
I spat. ‘This is your democracy? Aristocrats hitting out at
better men through their chattels?’
He went down into the Agora with the rest of his folowe
rs,
leaving me two young men with staves: Sophanes, who already
had a name as a warrior, and Glaucon, his friend. They were
both aristocrats, both folowers of Aristides and both very
serious. They wanted me to tel them about Miltiades.
‘I want a good krater to take home,’ I said, ignoring them
and shrugging off my rage. I put the tablet into the back-fold of
my chiton – a beautiful garment of natural wool. ‘Something with
a hero on it. Wil you take me to the potters’ quarter?’
I had an errand on the way, and so I walked them down past
the cemetery and took them to visit Cleon, my hoplite-class
friend from my first campaign.
He met me in his doorway, and he barked like a dog, howled
and threw his arms around me. Sophanes and Glaucon watched
wideeyed as we drank a shared cup of wine – terrible wine –
and traded tales.
‘You, Sophanes,’ he said, ‘you have the name of an athlete.
Do you know that this big lummox charged the Persians single-
handed at the Pass of Sardis?’ Cleon was proud to know me,
proud to show me off to passers-by.
proud to show me off to passers-by.
I shrugged. ‘Eualcidas of Euboea led the way, and there were
ten of us.’
Cleon laughed. ‘It froze my fucking blood just to watch, by
Aphrodite’s burning cunt.’ His face was red, and I thought that
he’d had too much wine already. ‘You look rich and pampered,’
he went on.
I thought he looked like a broken man. ‘How are things with
you?’ I asked. He had told me that his house was smaler than
the stern- galery on a trireme, and I could see it was true.
‘My wife died,’ he said. He shrugged. ‘And both of my
children. Apolo sent some affliction, and they were gone in a
week.’ He looked at the floor. Then he straightened his spine.
‘Anyway, how are you? Famous, I note.’
Talk of my fame made me nervous.
‘I’m here because Idomeneus kiled one of the Alcmaeonids,’
I said, to cover the pain in his eyes with facts. Men do these
things. Men are cowards when it comes to sorrow.
‘Good for bum-boy. For a kohl-eyed catamite, he’s a fine
man. Kiled an aristocrat? That’s something,’ he said.
I laughed nervously. Cleon was drunk, and difficult.
Sophanes and Glaucon were both aristocrats, and they were not
pleased.
I shrugged. ‘I have an appointment,’ I said.
‘Damn, you remind me of better times. I’m not even a hoplite
any more, eh? Failed the property qualification.’ He looked at
the floor, and then hugged me. ‘Damn, listen to me. Al whines
and self-pity. Come and see me again.’
and self-pity. Come and see me again.’
I hugged him hard, took my two guards and left for the
potters.
My two aristocrats clucked and muttered, and finaly Glaucon
spat that I had a friend of no worth.
I stopped and put a hand on his shoulder – older man to
younger. ‘Cleon looked a little drunk. His wife and children have
died.’ I held his eyes and the boy flinched. ‘He stood his ground
and kept men off me – many times in the rage of Ares. When
you have done as much, then you may speak of him in that way
in my hearing.’
Glaucon looked at the ground. ‘I apologize.’
I liked him for that. The young are superb at disavowing
responsibility – Hades, I was myself, so I know what I speak of.
But this one was a better man.
We walked east into the morning sun and I lightened the
atmosphere between us with tales of Miltiades. I was beginning
the tale of the fighting in the Chersonese, and the Tearless Battle,
where we took al the enemy boats with the loss of a dozen men
and smashed the Phoenicians, when we crossed the festival road
and found ourselves in the midst of a forest of brothels and
taverns and free men’s houses. Only Athens could so hopelessly
over-commercialize something as simple as sex. I remember
losing the thread of my story as I contemplated – wel, I’l gloss
over what I was contemplating, as you virgins would probably
expire on the spot.
‘So we took fishing boats,’ I remember saying. ‘There was a
‘So we took fishing boats,’ I remember saying. ‘There was a
fair fishing fleet at Kalipolis—’
The dagger punched into my back just above the kidney. The
blow was perfectly delivered and had a great deal of force
behind it. I staggered, fel to my knees and felt the blood leak out
over my arse.
I should have been dead.
But I wasn’t. So I roled through the fal and rose, my
chlamys already off my throat and around my arm. As I came
up, I had my knife in my right hand. Glaucon was down, but
Sophanes was holding his own, his stick against two bulies with
clubs. Even then, at seventeen, he was a foe to reckon with.
My man was big – titanic, in fact. I hate fighting big men –
they don’t feel pain, they have a natural confidence that is hard to
break and they are strong.
My man was stil trying to figure out why I wasn’t dead. I
shared his confusion, but I wasn’t going to dwel on it.
It crossed my mind that I probably didn’t want to kil him.
Legal troubles, and al that.
I sidestepped, got down in my stance and flicked my chlamys
at his eyes.
Behind him, Sophanes landed a blow with a crack that must
have been heard at the peak of Cithaeron, and his man went
down. The other backed away.
My opponent had a club and a knife. He cut at me with the
gross ineptitude of the professional bruiser.
I kiled him. It was no big deal – he was big, not skiled, and
as the club rose I put my knife in between the shoulder muscles
as the club rose I put my knife in between the shoulder muscles
and the throat. Interesting point – I can remember that I had
been planning a much more complicated feint when he left
himself wide open from sheer foly and I took him. That’s single
combat.
I threw my chlamys over Sophanes’ second opponent. It had
corner weights and the gossamer wool settled like a net.
Sophanes stepped in with his stave in two hands and broke the
man’s head as if we’d planned the move for weeks in the
palaestra. That was the fight.
I felt much better. When you are enraged at injustice and
humiliated by your helplessness in the face of towering
bureaucracy, kiling a couple of thugs is deeply satisfying. At
least, it is to me. Sophanes must have felt the same, as he flashed
me a grin and we embraced. Then he went to his friend, who
was starting to stir. I stripped the bodies of cash. Each had a
little purse with a dozen silver owls – quite a sum.
The daimon of combat was wearing off, and suddenly I
thought: Why am I alive?
The first blow should have been the last. I never saw it
coming. And I was bleeding – just a little – from a deep puncture
above my hip. A prostitute fetched w
ater and cleaned my wound
and said a prayer for me. Meanwhile, I cast around the ground,
trying to find the dagger. Al I could think was that the blade
must have snapped.
The dagger was under the dead titan – lost things are always
in the last place you look, I find. Glaucon was getting colour
back in his face, and a pair of local girls were stroking him while
back in his face, and a pair of local girls were stroking him while
a doctor felt his skul. Sophanes helped me rol the dead man
over, and there was the dagger – a single finger of bright steel
sticking out of Aristides’ wax tablet.
Sophanes whistled and made a sign of aversion. ‘The gods
love you, Plataean.’
I’d fought with pleasure, but the sight of the tablet with the
dagger right through it made me shake for a moment – just a
moment.
That close.
I gave the girls five owls – a fortune – to make the body
vanish. Sophanes was, I think, both appaled and thriled.
The morning was young, and I found a brothelkeeper and
had him take the other two thugs and lock them in his celar,
which was cut straight into the rock of the hilside. I paid him,
too. The free-spending habits of a life of piracy instantly
conquered a few months’ attempt to be a farmer. Kil people,
take their money, spend it recklessly.
Yet I had changed – because another part of me registered
that I’d just spent the value of thirty-five medimnoi of grain at
current prices – merely to get rid of a body.
We left Glaucon to recover – ostensibly to watch the
prisoners. I went and bought a wine krater. It’s that one, right
there – Achiles and Ajax playing polis. It tickles my fancy, that it
wasn’t al war. Men had time to gamble at Troy.
The sun was high, but not yet noon, when we got back to the
brothel. Glaucon looked like a dog with too many bones – he’d
had his flute played, I could tel – but the two men were both in
the celar. One was dead. Blows to the head can have that
effect. Sophanes didn’t like that – that he’d kiled a man.
I shrugged. ‘If you fight, you wil kil,’ I said.
The other was terrified. He wasn’t a citizen and the
punishment for his crime would be the silver mines until he died.
Nor was he brave. But al he knew was that some men and
women, al veiled, had paid the titan to find me and kil me.
They’d been paid at sunrise, in the grove of Pan.