by Peter Green
But for the moment Argos was the key to everything which might follow. A defensive bloc, he had said; but it could mean much more. He saw in his mind’s eye this quadruple alliance taking the offensive, driving down through the open valley of the Eurotas to Sparta itself. It had always been Athens’ disadvantage to be a sea-power, all through this war. Now things might be very different.
His speech in the Assembly had been the beginning. Everything else would follow from it, had to follow from it. Agents must go to Argos as soon as possible.
It was impossible for him to act himself. Once again he cursed the improvidence which had given him his doubtful reputation. But someone who was experienced in diplomacy, who could be trusted not to betray him? Quickly he made up his mind. It must be Axiochus. Yet . . . Axiochus alone? He thought for a moment; then the answer came. He sat down and wrote notes to Axiochus and Adeimantus, inviting them to call on him that evening.
• • • • •
Alcibiades carefully peeled the skin from the peach he was holding, and said, suppressed excitement in his voice: ‘Then they are coming? There is no doubt about it?’
‘None whatsoever,’ said Axiochus. He looked younger and more vigorous than he had for many months. Recent events had sapped his hopes; Alcibiades’ invitation had come as a complete surprise, an unlooked-for reprieve. But he was too honest not to welcome it; and both uncle and nephew were secretly glad to be reconciled. Axiochus had concealed the depth of his feeling with his usual laconic wit; but the eagerness with which he had thrown himself into the new scheme betrayed him.
Alcibiades had not been able to resist saying, amusedly: ‘I see your pacifist principles haven’t survived into peacetime.’
‘A lot’s happened that I never thought to see,’ said his uncle, the deep lines on his yellowish face showing harsh in the lamplight. ‘This treaty’s a little too much even for me to swallow. Besides,’ he went on wrily, ‘you really leave me no alternative. Nicias has made a shocking mess of things, and I can’t see myself throwing in my lot with Hyperbolus and his ruffians at the eleventh hour. What else can I do?’
Their eyes met in amused understanding.
That had been over a week ago. Now, their Argive mission accomplished, Axiochus and Adeimantus were back in Athens. The return to his old life of intrigue had cheered Axiochus up enormously; he fairly crackled with excitement as he told the eager Alcibiades all that had happened.
‘You nearly left it too late,’ he said, rubbing his long nose with his forefinger. ‘When we arrived all the talk was that the Argive government had patched up their quarrels with Sparta. A treaty had actually been drafted. I made a few discreet inquiries, and found out they were furious with us. They were convinced that we’d secretly agreed to Sparta’s private treaty with Boeotia.’
Adeimantus smiled rather wanly. Axiochus’ ‘discreet inquiries’ had given him the worst hangover he ever remembered experiencing.
‘Not much doubt who put that into their heads,’ said Alcibiades.
‘Nicias, of course. It was pretty awkward, though. An embassy had actually left for Sparta. But as soon as I told them the Boeotian business had been done behind our backs, they got into a rare state. After that it didn’t need much persuasion to make them send another embassy here.’
‘It’s actually arrived?’ Alcibiades’ eyes snapped impatiently.
‘No. But it’ll be here tomorrow. We rode on ahead fast to get the news to you.’
Alcibiades said: ‘They’ll go to Nicias at once?’
‘Yes.’ Axiochus looked at his nephew thoughtfully. If Alcibiades was pleased at what he heard it showed little on his face.
He said: ‘I presume we shall have a Spartan embassy here in a day or two as well as an Argive one. You didn’t find out anything about that, I suppose?’
‘After a fashion,’ said Axiochus. ‘At least, I found out who’s serving on it. Philocharidas, Leon, and Endius.’
‘All noted for their friendly attitude towards us . . . You know, uncle, the Spartans must be really scared to send them.’
‘That was the impression I got in Argos.’ Axiochus poured himself out a glass of wine. Alcibiades wrinkled his forehead, as if trying to remember something, and then said: ‘Endius. Endius. That name sounds familiar. Wasn’t there an Endius who was a friend of my grandfather’s when he was consul in Sparta?’
‘There was, indeed. This man must be related to him. What are you going to do?’
‘I think I shall talk with these Spartans,’ said Alcibiades. He sat silent, twisting his marriage ring backwards and forwards. ‘What else did you find out?’ he asked at length.
‘Only that they have full powers to act on their own responsibility for the Spartan government. I don’t like the sound of it at all. If they get the ear of the Assembly—’
‘I don’t think they will . . . Full powers. How very interesting.’ Alcibiades laughed mischievously. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if we used their full powers against them.’ As his uncle and Adeimantus prepared to go he observed: ‘There’s one good thing come out of all this, at any rate. Whatever is decided will be done here in Athens. They won’t be able to act without our knowledge.’ Almost as an afterthought he added: ‘I owe you my most sincere thanks. This has been an excellent piece of work.’
• • • • •
Endius had no liking for the mission on which he found himself He had been received kindly enough by Nicias (whom he cordially despised), and the Council, which consisted almost wholly of Nicias’ men. The real test would come tomorrow when he had to face the Argive ambassadors before the more critical Assembly. Nicias had gone out of his way to be conciliatory; the conversation had been maintained on a reassuring level of airy generalities. Now, as he threaded his way alone through the unfamiliar streets of Athens, Alcibiades’ invitation carefully stowed away in his wallet, he found himself experiencing the most profound misgivings.
It would not have been possible, at least hardly polite, to refuse the invitation. The ties between their families were indisputable, even if they had been permitted to lapse for a generation. But Alcibiades was an enigmatical character. Rumour had it that he stood so high in popular favour that he would in all probability be elected General in the coming month. And Endius saw all too clearly that if Alcibiades were to be elected, Nicias equally certainly would not be.
So he went on his way, weighing the probabilities, preparing carefully what he would say to any awkward questions. It was by no means an easy assignment, and well merited the full diplomatic powers bestowed by a somewhat grudging Ephorate. The proposals he brought (as Endius was only too well aware) were of a somewhat one-sided variety. The Spartans, despite their alarm over treachery in Boeotia and a possible secession by Argos, were not in a generous mood; and their offers to Athens, when carefully examined, demanded the earth in return for concessions that could never be implemented. The Athenian Assembly might be hoodwinked, thought Endius; but the subtle Alcibiades, that inveterate back-stairs plotter, was another matter. It struck Endius that the friendship established by their grandfathers was hardly an adequate basis for diplomatic persuasion. But on the whole, he thought—and frowned as the notion struck him—on the whole I would rather deal with Alcibiades than my own colleagues if I return empty-handed.
The strollers in the streets stared curiously at this tall lean man in Spartan homespun, with his independent stride and his abstracted air. After so many years of war a Spartan in Athens was a strange sight; they unconsciously drew well away from him, as if he had been a wild animal.
He turned right at the King’s Colonnade and made his way towards the residential quarter. As he passed the temple of Ares the War God he smiled grimly.
If Alcibiades was anxious to extract any information from Endius, he gave no immediate sign of it. He seemed to have taken a perverse pleasure in providing as sumptuous a dinner for his Spartan guest as he could. An almost offensively well-dressed slave brought water in a golden bowl, fir
mly relieved Endius of his plain leather sandals, and thrust his feet into gorgeous scarlet slippers sewn with pearls. The table was weighed down with gold plate, goblets of crystal, and a series of the most extravagant dishes. The Spartan’s glass was refilled the moment he had emptied it.
All through the meal Alcibiades kept up a flow of amiable small-talk. He asked with every appearance of interest after the families his grandfather had known at Sparta during his term of office there; he reminisced about Pericles, and touched lightly on his marriage. ‘At least,’ he observed, after his fifth glass, ‘I don’t have to visit my wife by stealth, at night, as your young men do.’
Endius smiled the practised smile of the diplomat, and refused to be drawn.
When the table had been cleared and the wine-bowl refilled, Alcibiades dismissed the slaves and carefully shut the door. Endius waited expectantly. Alcibiades poured out a drink for his guest and another for himself, and sat watching Endius for a while in silence, sipping at his wine. Then he said: ‘You really have my profoundest sympathy, my friend.’
This was not quite what Endius had expected. He glanced interrogatively at Alcibiades, but said nothing.
‘It must be very irritating to be sent on a completely hopeless task.’
‘Aren’t you pre-judging the issue a little?’ asked Endius good-humouredly; but Alcibiades’ words had keyed him to the highest degree of alertness.
‘I think not,’ said Alcibiades with composure. ‘You have been sent here to smooth out the differences between your country and mine in relation to a certain third party. Very good. You are sent with full power to treat with us on behalf of your government. This appears to satisfy Nicias and the Council. But it doesn’t satisfy me. Nor, I think, will the Assembly take kindly to it—especially if I choose to speak tomorrow.’
The eyes of the two men met. Endius said smoothly: ‘Perhaps you would explain in what you are dissatisfied?’
‘Most certainly. I put it to you that you hope to get everything and give nothing. You come here to ask for Pylos. What have you to offer in return? Nothing. You can’t give us back Amphipolis; it isn’t in your power to give. You can’t rebuild the walls of Panactum. And, most important of all, you won’t, I fancy, be very willing to annul your very advantageous treaty with Boeotia. In short, you’re here on a completely hopeless errand.’
Endius said, playing with the stem of his glass: ‘If Sparta were ever to play such tricks, she would have learnt them from Athens. Have you forgotten Cleon’s terms when we sued for peace after Sphacteria? And supposing I were to admit that these charges are true—which I do not—what do you propose to do?’
‘I propose to block any move you may make to persuade Athens to oblige you. My family has ties of long standing with yours, but my duty to my country comes first. All the same, I sympathise with your predicament. If I can make it appear that you have been tricked by my duplicity, I shall gain credit in Athens, and you should not lose too much face when you return to Sparta. After all,’ he concluded, smiling, ‘it would appear most natural. The Spartans, I believe, treat the dishonesty and double-dealing of us smooth-tongued Athenians as a by-word.’
Endius said, in a low voice: ‘What do you suggest?’ It was a full confession of defeat.
‘Ah. I was sure you’d be reasonable. Well, it concerns this matter of your full powers to treat with us—’ Alcibiades began, and went on to tell him all he had in mind to do. As he was finishing, Leon and Philocharidas, Endius’ fellow-ambassadors, were announced; and to them, after the wine had been passed round two or three times, Alcibiades made similar overtures; but gave very different reasons for doing so. His own part in the matter he omitted altogether. He made a great show of taking them into his confidence.
‘I really would like to give you a word of warning before you face the Assembly,’ he told them. ‘You mustn’t think that they will treat you in the same way as the Council have done.’
Leon muttered something inaudible, and looked round to Endius for support. But Endius had his eyes on the table.
Alcibiades went on: ‘I know it is hard for you to realise the difference between your own Assembly and ours. Our people are outspoken and ambitious. They respect nobody. If you admit to them that you have full powers to treat, they will force you to terms that may put you into very ill favour when you return home. Terms,’ he repeated, with very slight emphasis, ‘which you may find it impossible to avoid.’
Endius looked up and nodded, almost imperceptibly.
‘Really,’ Alcibiades said, smiling in a most friendly fashion, ‘you mustn’t be so trusting when you deal with us. A little subtlety could save you a lot of trouble. Now, if you told the Assembly you only had partial and provisional powers, you could get them to discuss a just settlement with you. In such, circumstances I would be prepared to support you myself in your claim on Pylos. Endius will tell you of my connections with his family, and my earnest desire to see this business settled to the advantage of all concerned.’
Endius said, rising to his feet, ‘It will be best, I think, gentlemen, if we act in accordance with Alcibiades’ suggestions.’
Alcibiades said, in his silkiest tones, ‘Till tomorrow, then.’ He bowed them out ceremoniously.
When they had gone he sat down and poured himself another cup of wine. His eye dwelt sensuously for a moment on the rich redness of it, winking in the candlelight, the chased and embossed silver of the cup which held it. If only he doesn’t go to Nicias again tonight, thought Alcibiades. But he dismissed the possibility from his mind. Nothing could go wrong now. He raised the cup and solemnly drank a toast to his own Generalship.
• • • • •
The Assembly Hill was crowded for the hearing of the Spartan ambassadors. Alcibiades, watching Nicias’ face as the old man swept complacently to his place at the foot of the rostrum, breathed a faint sigh of relief.
It had rained during the night; and now sky and air were washed clean to a cool gleaming translucency. On the hills that rose around the city shone a pattern of spring flowers, purple and white and yellow; in the distant fields the green spring corn was standing thick, with no hostile army to destroy it. But the jostling crowd had no eyes for these things.
As Nicias rose and, in a few laudatory words, introduced the Spartan envoys to the Assembly, a great hush fell. The air was tense with expectancy. To a thin round of hand-claps Nicias resumed his seat with the other members of the Council; and Endius, somewhat pale but perfectly composed, stepped forward.
But before he could utter a word Alcibiades was on his feet. He had abandoned his usual finery, and now stood, slim and austere, in the purple-edged white tunic of an Athenian Knight. The sun glinted on his fair hair.
‘May I ask a question?’ he said. His voice was grave and courteous. Endius inclined his head. Nicias listened uneasily.
‘It is a matter concerning which the Assembly should be quite clear before you set your proposals before it.’ There was a deathly hush throughout the vast gathering. Then Alcibiades said lightly, almost casually: ‘Do you come here today with full powers to treat with us?’
It seemed an eternity before Endius replied: ‘No. We do not. Our powers are strictly limited.’
The members of the Council stared at each other in bewilderment. But before they could speak Alcibiades had leapt up on to the platform and cried out in a great voice: ‘I call the Council to witness what this man said to them yesterday. Did they not claim to have full powers? Can any of you deny it?’ Without waiting for an answer he swung round to face the whole body of the Athenian people.
‘Are these the men you are going to put your trust in?’ he cried. ‘They have already broken the peace treaty. They have made an alliance with one of our enemies behind our backs. Now they come here with more of their lies, hoping to deceive you yet further. They tell one tale to the Council. They say the opposite to you.’
A vast and angry murmuring broke out. Someone shouted: ‘Bring in the Argives! Let us
settle this business at once!’ Alcibiades held up his hand for silence. ‘Let me say one more thing. There are those among your leaders who are more easily deceived than I am. I will not accuse them of sympathy with Sparta; but the facts speak for themselves. Ask yourselves this, men of Athens: who brought you into alliance with Sparta? Who accepted the word of these forsworn men without question? Who has sought for peace with this treacherous enemy at any price, with total disregard for the demands of your honour and integrity?’ He looked round the sea of upturned faces and concluded: ‘Think well before you impose your will in this matter.’ Then, without another word, he descended from the platform.
Nicias sat still, as if bewildered, incredulity and despair twisting his face. Endius stood with bowed head, bitterly ashamed, among his colleagues. All through the crowd pandemonium broke loose. I have them now, thought Alcibiades exultantly. Nothing can stop them.
Over a mile away, alone in her room, Hipparete heard the roar of the mob, and buried her face in her hands, sick and trembling. Then, drowning it all, came another sound: deep, elemental, thunderous, like a roll of giant subterranean drums. At the same moment she felt the ground tremble beneath her feet. To her distraught mind, ignorant of what drama was being enacted out there on the hillside, fearing she knew not what, this earthquake seemed the warning voice of the Gods, a symbol of their anger at human folly. The tremors increased in violence. Hardly knowing what she did, she fell to the floor in the age-old gesture of the suppliant, praying to Poseidon whose work this was, calling impotently to her husband to save himself from the God’s majestic wrath.