Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  The President, as puzzled as the rest of them, rose to his feet and said: ‘You have heard the words of Alcibiades. Will any citizen take it on himself to propose a commander—or commanders—for this expedition?’

  Demostratus, grave and urbane, rose from his place and made his way slowly to the rostrum. Whispers ran backwards and forwards. Alcibiades’ estrangement from his lover was common knowledge: their reconciliation was not. Farmer and dockyard worker, landowner and shopkeeper, settled down to listen to a battle of wits.

  ‘It is clear,’ said Demostratus, ‘that as Alcibiades has given his support to the motion before you, he himself should be elected to a command.’ There was considerable applause at this, chiefly from the younger men present. The rest looked at each other in some doubt. This was hardly what they had hoped for.

  Demostratus held up his hand for silence. ‘There can be no doubt as to Alcibiades’ gallantry as a soldier,’ he said. ‘Nevertheless, it is my considered opinion that his youth and boldness should be balanced by age and experience. He himself has, with due modesty, suggested that the command might be shared. I take him up on that. I therefore propose that there be three commanders for this expedition: and I name for your approval, in addition to Alcibiades, firstly, Lamachus.’

  This was well received. Lamachus was an old professional soldier with a distinguished record; at the same time he was a staunch conservative.

  ‘And for the third general,’ Demostratus went on slowly, relishing the intense attention that his words were evoking, ‘I name—Nicias.’

  For a moment there was dead silence. Nicias sat grasping the arms of his chair, staring incredulously at the speaker, his face a picture of surprise and dismay. He seemed about to speak; but even as he half rose to his feet, a great roar of approval broke out from every corner of the massed gathering. As Alcibiades had anticipated, the enemies of the expedition were glad of the chance to vote one of themselves into command of it; and the young men were tickled at the thought of the pious and respectable. Nicias forcibly dragged into a voyage of conquest. It was an excellent joke; and there were two strong colleagues to prevent him from crippling the great plan.

  When all three men were formally voted into their commands, the President of the Assembly said: ‘I declare this meeting adjourned. It is the duty of the elected generals to, confer together, with a view to making all necessary preparation for the task laid upon them by the people.’ This remark was, perhaps, not the least amusing contribution to a highly unusual occasion.

  • • • • •

  It was Alcibiades who, the same evening, invited his two colleagues to his house for an unofficial conference, as if in mocking obedience to the President’s words. Lamachus arrived first, alone; and for a moment Alcibiades wondered whether Nicias would refuse to come. But his lateness was, in any case, all to the good. To deal with Lamachus was an easy business. Forgetting his politics for the time being, Alcibiades at once told the old soldier quite bluntly that the real purpose of the expedition was the capture of the entire island; and thereupon launched into a technical discussion of strategy and tactics. He flattered his guest’s superior military knowledge, gave an impressive display of his own grasp of the situation, and dispensed wine with a ready hand. When Nicias was announced, he found the two of them with their heads close together over a plan of Syracuse harbour, talking animatedly, and obviously the best of friends. It was hardly a promising start to the evening. Nicias did not improve matters by greeting Lamachus with official dignity, barely nodding at Alcibiades.

  Alcibiades was in an excellent humour. He poured Nicias out a large goblet of wine, despite the latter’s protests.

  ‘I’m sorry to hear of your ill-health,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘I hope your physicians are giving you good advice. You are far too valuable to us for any indisposition you may have to be neglected.’ The double edge to his words eluded Lamachus, who smiled and blinked, wrinkling up his gnarled old face in agreement. This merely served to annoy Nicias still further. ‘You really have my most profound sympathy,’ Alcibiades went on. ‘A disease of the kidneys can be most painful, I’m told. Perhaps you would care for a cushion for your back . . . ? He produced a gaudily-striped one from a couch and offered it to Nicias, who brushed it angrily aside. Alcibiades looked hurt, and Lamachus clucked in disapproval. ‘At any rate, I strongly recommend the wine. Too much piety thins the blood. Look at Lamachus: he appreciates it.’ And indeed Lamachus was very clearly two parts drunk.

  ‘Well, well,’ sighed Alcibiades, ‘I can’t force you to be sociable, I suppose. Though I do believe in being on friendly terms with my colleagues . . .’

  ‘I find myself in that position under the strongest protest,’ said Nicias in his thinnest, most disagreeable voice. His yellow eyes blinked venomously; he did, indeed, look remarkably ill. ‘I must ask you to be as brief as possible over this business. I am here only because I conceive it my duty. It is an exceedingly unpleasant necessity for me, and I wish to conclude it as quickly as possible.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Alcibiades, completely unruffled. ‘I’ll be brief. My plan is to capture Syracuse and subdue the whole of Sicily. I’ve just been discussing it with Lamachus. He thinks it an excellent idea.’

  ‘Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘Not at all. I find it hard to credit that you didn’t realise the purpose of the expedition in the first place. I gather it perturbs you.’

  ‘I will not permit it.’

  ‘Aren’t you being a little hasty? You’re disappointing Lamachus. He has a most ingenious scheme for capturing the harbour—’

  ‘I’m not interested.’

  ‘How very uncooperative. Might I ask what you propose to do about it? You’ve been voted into a command. You were at the Assembly this morning. You saw what sort of mood the people were in. Do you really imagine they’ll revoke their decree?’

  Nicias blinked and said: ‘I have my own methods. I shall call another meeting of the Assembly. This time, young man, I fancy you’ll find you’ve overreached yourself.’

  Alcibiades shrugged. ‘By all means call another meeting if it’ll give you any satisfaction.’ He appeared completely unmoved.

  Nicias rose. ‘I don’t think there is any more to be said,’ he remarked. ‘Lamachus!’

  ‘Eh? What?’ His face fuddled with wine, the old general struggled to his feet.

  ‘Are you coming with me?’ There was a note of command in Nicias’ voice. Lamachus glanced wistfully at the wine-bowl.

  ‘Yes . . . yes. Of course,’ he muttered. ‘Good-night to you, young Alcibiades. My thanks for a most pleasant evening.’

  ‘I have been honoured by your company. Good-night, sir. Good-night, Nicias.’

  But Nicias was already gone.

  • • • • •

  Four days later, in obedience to Nicias’ summons, the men of Athens gathered once more- in the sunlight on the Assembly. Hill. Most of them were irritated at what appeared to be merely another example of Nicias’ finicking procrastination: but others, sensing more in this unexpected call on their time than appeared from the facts, went willingly and even eagerly. Clearly the quarrel between the two first men of the City would now come to a head: and it would be a rare spectacle if nothing else. And indeed, when Nicias mounted the rostrum, his thin angular body in its plain white robe silhouetted uncompromisingly against the blue of the spring sky, it was apparent to the least intelligent of his listeners that he was using every weapon he possessed.

  ‘I am aware,’ he began, ‘that this Assembly was ostensibly convened to consider the preparations for the expedition to Sicily. I stand here to ask whether it were still not better, even now, not to send our ships on this venture at all.’ At this there was considerable commotion: a voice could be heard shouting: ‘The vote’s been taken!’ Nicias stood unmoved, grim and ugly, till silence was restored. Then he went on as if nothing had happened. ‘I would remind you,’ he said—and this time no one interrupted him—�
��that we are only now beginning to enjoy the profits of peace, the respite we have gained from war and pestilence. Only you can know how great that profit is. Are you willing to spend your hard-won gains, not on yourselves, but on a pack of foreigners? Consider: all they have done is to lie as plausibly as they can. They do nothing but talk: they leave the danger to you. If you succeed on their behalf, you will get scant gratitude from them. If you fail, they will drag you down in their own defeat.’ He paused, and looked straight at Alcibiades: ‘There may be those present here,’ he said—and never had his voice sounded harsher—‘who have good reasons of their own for persuading you to make this expedition and entrust it to their command. Let us imagine there to be such a man—too young, perhaps, for such a responsible command—who courts admiration for his extravagant and irresponsible way of life.’

  Several heads turned in Alcibiades’ direction; but he appeared to be enjoying the speech considerably. At points during it he would whisper to Adeimantus, and the two of them would indulge in barely-repressed laughter. The ponderous attack went on.

  ‘Perhaps,’ said Nicias, ‘this man keeps a fine stable of horses.’ A laugh rippled through the crowd. This was the kind of thing they loved. ‘He can win great popularity, not undeserved perhaps, for a public victory with them. But a stable costs money. A great deal of money, It is not enough to bully other countries into financing your efforts, and borrowing public plate to celebrate your triumph. Somewhere more money must be found. And where better than on such a campaign? You must guard yourselves, gentlemen, against entrusting public authority to any irresponsible young fellow merely so that he can line his purse.’

  There was a mixed outcry at this, partly indignant, partly sympathetic. The crowd was in a holiday mood; whatever speaker came before them, however unwelcome, would at least be assured of a hearing.

  But Nicias appeared to be made somewhat nervous by the effect he was creating. He turned to the President and said, in a voice that trembled with earnestness: ‘If you believe it your duty to care for the State—if you wish to show yourself a good citizen, I beg you to put the question of this expedition to the vote again.’

  He said more; but his voice was completely drowned in a howl of execration from the entire Assembly. It seemed that the more objections to the scheme that were put before them, the more determined they became to go through with it. The President was a prudent man, if not a patriotic one: he refused to budge.

  Once again Alcibiades found himself on the platform. If the Assembly had been expecting a vitriolic attack on Nicias they were disappointed.

  ‘Have no fear for my youth,’ he said, in a curiously gentle voice. ‘I am in my prime, and Nicias is wise. Use us both while you have the chance.’ He looked round and went on: ‘We have an empire of which we are justly proud. But can any one of you point to the exact limit which shall be set on its boundaries? If we cease to rule others, we are in danger of being ruled ourselves. This is no idle fancy of my own. Cleon saw it long ago; he told you the same thing in the same words, standing where I do now.’ There was a stir at the mention of the demagogue’s name. ‘In any case, we have no excuse not to honour our obligations; and on this occasion we may well do so to our own profit.’

  Against, this there could be no argument. The Assembly cheered Alcibiades vigorously; as much for the restraint he had displayed in the face of extreme provocation as for the policy, he had incidentally put forward. It was now that Nicias in desperation made his last attempt, exactly as Alcibiades had foreseen he would. His voice heavy with foreboding, he began to make as much as he could of the difficulties and dangers of the expedition. Finally he said flatly that the forces they were proposing were absurdly inadequate and that if they persisted in their wrongheadedness, they should at least send out an army large enough to have a chance of success.

  If he thought that this would discourage them, he was very much mistaken. For a while complete disorder reigned while everybody argued with his neighbour. The President was on his feet, waving his hands and trying to control the tumult; but he went unheeded. Only Alcibiades and his friends sat quietly, undisturbed by anything that was going on.

  ‘I congratulate you,’ said Demostratus. He had to shout against the uproar. ‘How could you foresee it all?’

  ‘I know Nicias,’ said Alcibiades. He tilted back his head and shot a long jet of wine into the back of his throat from a goatskin bag. ‘He’s done my work for me. Look at, them.’ He jerked his thumb at the crowd. ‘Here’s the most cowardly general in Athens asking for more troops. If anything can convince them this expedition is a certainty, that will. If I’d had to get up and do the same thing, it’d have been a very different matter. Now we have them all—old and young alike. The old men’ll think it’s safe, and the young ones’ll see an unequalled chance of adventure and money.’ The shouting rose louder than ever. ‘And if anyone doesn’t think with them,’ said Alcibiades, ‘I very much doubt whether they’ll get up and say so now . . . Hullo! Something’s happening.’

  The shouting gradually died away. In the middle of the crowd a huge bull-necked fellow was on his feet, shouting in a voice which sounded as if it had been trained on the quarter-deck of a galley.

  ‘To hell with your shufflings and excuses, General,’ he roared. ‘Here’s the Assembly ready to vote you anything you want. Will you tell us straight what’s needed? Men, ships, anything. We’ve had enough talking. Let’s get down to facts.’ Loud cheers greeted his words, and they were taken up and repeated from several different quarters.

  Nicias stood alone, his face quivering, twisting his hands together. Several times he tried to speak without success. Then the man who had addressed him roared out in the same great voice: ‘Fair’s fair. Let the General answer.’

  Nicias said, apparently with extreme reluctance: ‘I—I’m not sure. If you would give me time to consult with my colleagues I could give you an answer in due course—’

  The man bellowed with laughter. ‘Here’s a fine politician for you,’ he yelled. ‘He’s not sure. He wants to consult with his colleagues. Do you call yourself a general? Is our time to be wasted while you learn your, business? Before the Gods, man, give us a straight answer, here and now.’

  Nicias said desperately, pitching every figure as high as he could. ‘As far as I can see at the moment’—renewed laughter greeted these words—‘we shall need at the very least a hundred wargalleys, quite apart from transports. As for the transports themselves, you will have to assess how many Athens can provide and how many must be levied from the allies. Of heavy infantry we shall need five thousand—more if possible. And at least a thousand archers, from here and from Crete. As for equipment—’

  ‘That’s enough. Are we to be held up by such trifles? It’s an insult to our commanders to dock their authority in this way. We can’t hold an Assembly every time they want a few more men. I propose that they be given full and absolute powers to levy whatever troops they decide are necessary, to make all the decisions relating to this expedition that they think fit without consulting the Assembly at all—’

  The President did not even demand the speaker’s name. It was clear that, the, situation had passed beyond his control. ‘Those in favour of the motion—’ he began; but the forest of raised arms in front of him told him all he needed to know. ‘The motion is carried,’ he declared; but no one heard him. With laughter and cheers, Athens once again prepared to go to war.

  • • • • •

  Laughter, indeed, was the keynote of affairs in the City for the next week or so. The discomfiture of Nicias had tickled the public imagination.

  In this carefree atmosphere of amused expectation Alcibiades set to work with Lamachus’ assistance, fourteen hours a day, on the crowding problems of preparation and administration demanded by the dispatch of this vast convoy. There were estimates to be drawn up, quota-lists sent off to the allies, galleys and transports to be refitted, arms and stores and equipment to be checked. The War Department of
fice where they set up their headquarters was crowded all day with visitors, each with their own special difficulties: junior commanders, harbour masters, dockyard workers, contractors, and every kind of hanger-on: The one person who never appeared was Nicias. He was reported to be closeted in his house; and Alcibiades, scenting mischief, detailed an agent to keep a watch outside, and bring regular reports of who visited him. Three days later the agent announced, in a voice both puzzled and amused, that Nicias had been receiving no one except a succession of priests.

  ‘I think,’ said Alcibiades, when he had digested this information, ‘I think we had better resign ourselves to being officially cursed.’

  His guess was not far out. The next day began what the delighted populace christened the War of the Oracles. Nicias, in characteristic fashion, had shifted his line of defence from the political to the religious. A regular crop of soothsayers sprang up in every quarter loudly prophesying disaster for the ill-omened expedition, and incidentally doing an excellent trade in protective amulets to mothers, wives and sweethearts. Alcibiades, nothing daunted, laid out his gold to good effect on a rival band of prophets. This caused some confusion to the superstitious, and a good many broken noses among the soothsayers themselves.

  Other signs were reported which could hardly have been contrived. A stranger in Athens—some said a mad Phrygian—jumped on to the altar of the Twelve Gods in broad daylight, sat astride it, and in full view of hundreds of bystanders proceeded to castrate himself. Travellers from Delphi announced that ravens had gathered on one of the Athenian dedications there and pecked off all the gold. The event which had the most disastrous effect on public opinion came about by pure chance. It happened that the Assembly met to decide the date of the expedition’s departure at the time of the Festival of Adonis. From where they sat they could hear, from the house-tops, the wailings of thousands of women as they beat their breasts, mourning for the death of the young god; the streets too were full of them, carrying little Adonis figurines, walking together in ritual funeral procession, chanting dirges and burial laments. Death was everywhere in the air. Not even the return of the envoys whom Alcibiades had sent to the oracle of Ammon in the Libyan Desert, bearing the god’s word that the Athenians should capture the full tally of the Syracusans, entirely dispelled the gloom caused by this accident. And it was rumoured besides that the envoys had heard other and less favourable tidings, which they had been forbidden, under pain of death, to reveal to anyone.