Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  ‘That’s the last we shall see of him,’ Thrasyllus observed, as Alcibiades’ squadron passed below the horizon towards Miletus.

  But he soon had other things to think about. Unknown to the fleet at Samos, the Spartan government had been keeping in touch with Tissaphernes’ northern neighbour and rival, Pharnabazus, whose satrapy controlled the vital passage of the Hellespont and the shores of the Black Sea. Pharnabazus was a patient man; he was, moreover, prepared to pay, and pay well. Mindarus, the new Spartan commander, was well aware of this; and one morning the Athenians woke to the startling news that the whole Spartan fleet had left Miletus the previous night and was heading north towards the Hellespont. This created something approaching a panic among the Athenian commanders. Alcibiades’ warning about the Black Sea corn-ships was still uncomfortably fresh in their minds. With the Hellespont blocked, and Decelea still occupied, Athens’ food supplies were in danger of being cut off altogether.

  There was only one thing to be done, and they did it. Tissaphernes and his Phoenician fleet were forgotten. It took them two days of frenzied work to put the fleet in battle order; but at dawn on the third morning they sailed out of the harbour of Samos, and raced northwards in the wake of the Spartans. A mere handful of thirty ships was left behind to guard the port and await Alcibiades’ return.

  Chapter 35

  The morning air was cool and pleasant, and the water still warm from the heat of the previous day. Alcibiades swam out lazily for about a hundred yards. The sandy bottom with its gently waving fronds refracted the light beneath him. Then he turned on his back and floated. Behind him, pink and white in the slanting sunshine, lay the little port of Phaselis, with his thirteen vessels riding at anchor, and the hills of Lycia rising behind its roofs; thirty miles away to the north-east, across the Pamphylian Gulf, was Aspendus and the Phoenician fleet.

  For nearly a month now he had waited for Tissaphernes to make a move. Day after day his agents rode in at sunset with nothing to report. Yes, the ships were still being prepared for action. No, there was no sign of either them or the Satrap departing. As time wore on, Alcibiades became more and more impatient. He could hardly return to Samos and admit he had been able to do nothing, that this Phoenician fleet was still a potential menace; and yet it seemed pointless to sit idle and merely wait on events. Ominously, there had been no news from Thrasybulus.

  He turned over on his side and began to swim back to shore. As he did so he caught sight of a single sail, low down on the southern horizon, beating up the coast past Cape Hieron.

  • • • • •

  The ship docked just before midday. She was not a galley but a small merchantman; her squat, heavy bows and broad beam contrasted oddly with the trim lines of the Athenian triremes. From the loggia of the cool white house he had installed himself in above the harbour, Alcibiades watched her with disappointment. What had happened to Thrasybulus? He turned to his midday meal with a poor appetite.

  There were sounds of commotion outside in the courtyard: dogs barking, slaves expostulating, and a rough voice saying: ‘Let me be. He knows me. I’ll announce myself.’ Alcibiades sprang to his feet in excitement as the familiar figure strode in.

  ‘Antiochus!’

  The big sailor dropped into a seat. He looked round at the shady loggia with the vine-leaves trailing down its columns, at the sumptuous meal spread out on the table, and said: ‘You seem to have made yourself pretty comfortable here.’

  Alcibiades grasped him by the hand. ‘By the Gods,’ he said, ‘it’s good to see you. I’ve been dying of boredom and inactivity. But what brings you to Phaselis? How did you know I was here?’

  Antiochus grinned, and stretched his arms. His eye wandered in the direction of the straw-covered flagon on the table. Alcibiades poured him out a glass of wine, which he drained at one gulp. He pulled a wry face. ‘I can’t abide this Lycian stuff’,’ he said. ‘Thin and bitter.’ He pushed over his glass, which was promptly refilled. Then his face took on a more serious expression.

  ‘I’m here because Adeimantus wanted me to bring you a letter,’ he said, tapping his wallet. ‘I could have told you all that’s in it, I fancy, but he insisted on writing himself.’

  ‘Adeimantus?’ Alcibiades stretched out his hand.

  ‘Wait a bit. All in good time. I see there’s a lot you don’t know. Well: I was running a cargo to Ionia, and I said I’d deliver the letter to you at Samos. When I got there I found almost the whole fleet gone . . . Yes, I thought that might surprise you.’ He gave Alcibiades a brief account of what had happened. ‘If I were you,’ he said, ‘I should take your squadron up to the Hellespont and join them. I don’t think this Phoenician fleet’s ever going to appear in the Aegean. There’ve been rumours along the trade routes . . . some revolt or other in Syria. It looks as if Darius wants it for that . . . Anyway, they told me in Samos where you were, and I sailed on here as quickly as I could.’

  ‘But the letter, man!’

  ‘There’s a lot been happening in Athens, too,’ said Antiochus, fumbling in his wallet. He hesitated. ‘Your uncle . . .’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s dead.’

  There was a moment’s silence. Alcibiades stared incredulously. Axiochus had been so much a part of his life that it seemed impossible to imagine Athens without him.

  ‘How did he die?’

  Antiochus told him, clumsily. ‘Adeimantus wanted me to tell you . . . he said he couldn’t write of it himself . . .’ He coughed in embarrassment. ‘You understand?’

  Alcibiades looked out over the glittering bay. ‘Yes,’ he said; ‘I understand.’ He remembered how Axiochus had parted from him at Argos, secretly, without a word of farewell. Then he took Adeimantus’ letter, and cut the seals and spread it out on the table in front of him. All the while Antiochus watched him in silence.

  ‘You cannot imagine the joy with which I received the news of your return to Samos,’ he read; ‘your election as general came to me and many other people here in Athens as a sign of hope—the first hope we have had for many months.’ There was not a word of reproach, no hint of resentment at all that had happened since they last met. Alcibiades felt his face burning; and his hand shook slightly as he held the letter. ‘Your speech to the fleet was reported by the envoys returning from Samos. It caused a great deal of murmuring against the government—as I have no doubt you intended. The Four Hundred found themselves in a bad position. Their second attempt at negotiation with Sparta had failed, and the fleet was against them: they could neither make war nor peace. Their final fall’—Alcibiades started, and glanced at the impassive Antiochus, who appeared to be asleep—‘was brought about by their own fear and stupidity.

  ‘They fortified the great mole of the Piraeus—either, as some said, to provide themselves with a safe retreat in the event of a popular uprising, or to let in a Spartan fleet. Such half-measures proved disastrous. When the Spartans did finally appear off the coast, the Four Hundred lost their nerve and sent out a wretched little detachment of ten ships against them, which were completely defeated. It was then that the people lost all patience. I think they were afraid that now there was nothing to stop the Spartans taking Athens. The whole thing began with the murder of your old enemy Phrynichus: and for a while the city was in a tumult. No one knew what was happening, or whom they could trust. Theramenes (who’s come out of the affair better than most people) took a detachment of soldiers down to the mole, and overpowered the garrison the Four Hundred had put in it. What finally finished the oligarchs was the news that the Spartans, instead of sailing against the Piraeus, had captured the island of Euboea. Why Sparta didn’t take her chance against the city I don’t know; but we can be glad she didn’t, for more than one reason. It meant that Athens could still hold out; but the common people were so frightened by the loss of Euboea (trust them to remember where most of their food comes from) that they flocked down to the Assembly Hill in a body and deposed the Four Hundred on the spot. You never
saw such confusion. Unfortunately all the oligarchic ringleaders, including Peisander, escaped to Agis in Decelea. What the result of this will be it’s impossible to judge as yet.

  ‘Things didn’t turn out as well as we might have expected. Theramenes is a nervous man, with a passion for compromise; and though everyone thought he would, he didn’t restore the constitution. In particular, there is still no Council. All he did was to transfer power from the Four Hundred to the Five Thousand: an attempt to satisfy both oligarchs and democrats that merely succeeded in annoying them all.

  ‘Naturally, one of the first things the new government debated was the question of your return. Here again Theramenes found himself in a difficult position. He knew, as you must know, that there is still a great deal of feeling against you here, which has not been lessened by your recent dealings with Peisander and Tissaphernes. His power had only been established very precariously, and the slightest thing might serve to overset it. In the end he passed a decree authorising you to return—but that was all. No pardon, no annulment of the public curse pronounced against you. If you come back now, you will be in exactly the same position as you were when the Salaminia sailed to recall you from Sicily. It is clear that by this Theramenes is suggesting that it would be wiser for you to remain with the Samian fleet for the time being, till you have more concrete tokens to offer the Athenian Assembly of your good faith; and I must confess that I think he is right. His offer may perhaps serve to reconcile your men—who from all I have heard are very strongly attached to you—to this change of government. We cannot afford to lose the fleet; but equally, if Athens falls, the fleet falls with her.

  ‘I wish that, as an old friend, I could have sent you more cheerful tidings; but I know you would prefer the truth. Only have patience. The Gods go with you always.’

  When he had finished reading, Alcibiades remained silent for a moment.

  ‘Have you read this?’ he asked Antiochus in a clipped voice that barely concealed his excitement.

  Antiochus looked at him; it was as if he had seen something he was expecting. ‘Yes, I’ve read it,’ he said.

  ‘He’s too cautious. This is a superb opportunity. Why shouldn’t I go back to Athens now? All my enemies are out of the way—Hyperbolus, Androcles, Phrynichus, Peisander—I’d be a fool if I didn’t.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Antiochus deliberately. He poured out more wine. ‘Athens isn’t Samos, you know. They’ve just had two rather nasty revolutions, and come within a hair’s breadth of being invaded. There are plenty of people who think it’s entirely your fault, and to some extent they’re right. They look out over the walls and see Agis’ camp at Decelea. Who sent him there? And who was responsible for the Ionian rebellion? No, you’ve got to give them something tangible. Adeimantus is right. You stopped the fleet sailing for the Piraeus, I hear. Very well: a statesmanlike bit of work. But it’s not enough. Look at your present position. You can’t offer either the Persian alliance you promised, or the gold that goes with it. You’ve been waiting here in mortal terror to see if Tissaphernes’ fleet moves up against you or not. But you couldn’t stop it if it did. Supposing you did go back now; you’d have nothing but your wits to help you. And I doubt if they’d get you far. You’d find yourself up for trial again within a week—as a private citizen. You only remain a general as long as you stay with the men who elected you—and they’re exactly the men who won’t be available in Athens. Don’t do it; for the love of Heaven don’t do it.’

  Such a long speech was an effort for Antiochus; he wiped his forehead and drank his wine with visible signs of relief. It occurred to Alcibiades with some chagrin that he had probably anticipated the reaction Adeimantus’ letter would produce, and had prepared his argument in advance..

  ‘Then what do you suggest?’ he inquired tartly.

  ‘Do I need to tell you? Whatever Tissaphernes does, your presence here is useless. There’s only one place for you now.’

  ‘The Hellespont . . .’ Memories flickered through Alcibiades’ mind of that narrow, land-locked channel that led to Byzantium and the Black Sea. But at the thought of Abydos he remembered Axiochus and his face darkened. He felt a deep need to have friends about him again: familiar faces, men he could wholly trust.

  ‘It’d mean movement and action . . .’ He was thinking aloud, his eyes on the little detachment in the harbour. below. ‘It’s the first time the Spartan fleet has really gone out for a kill . . . They’re poor navigators and worse tacticians. By the Gods, Adeimantus is right.’

  He sprang to his feet and called to his slave, who was squatting in the passage outside. ‘Go and find my second-in-command. Tell him we’re sailing at dawn. No, never mind where . . . Provisions and water to be laid in tonight. And round up all the crews. They’re to be down at the harbour in two hours’ time to get the gear aboard. . . .’

  He turned back to Antiochus, radiating energy and confidence. ‘Will you sail with me again? This time I think I can promise you something better . . .’

  ‘I always said you couldn’t do without me,’ said Antiochus modestly. He grinned to himself; he had had his few belongings taken aboard Alcibiades’ flagship as soon as he came ashore. ‘Besides, you’ll need a good pilot in the Narrows. The two men shook hands; though neither admitted it, this was a reconciliation. But neither mentioned those nightmare weeks in Sparta, or the separation that they had produced. Yet even so Antiochus could not resist saying: ‘I hear you have another son. My belated congratulations . . .’ There was an unspoken question at the end of his formal remark. Alcibiades said thoughtfully: ‘I suppose my line will rule in Sparta in years to come. A flattering notion.’ And they left it at that.

  ‘Will you sail direct for the Hellespont?’ asked Antiochus after a moment.

  Alcibiades was pacing up and down the floor in thought. ‘No,’ he said crisply. ‘There are one or two things to be settled first. And the main one’s money. I’ve seen too much mutiny recently for want of pay. Further, if we leave Samos, the whole Ionian coast is exposed. The cities of Caria still hold firm. That’s the answer. We’ll leave a garrison on Cos to ensure their loyalty.’

  ‘And the money?’

  ‘If Pharnabazus can pay the Spartans, we must look after our own men. It shouldn’t be difficult. There’s a fine source of revenue on the mainland opposite Cos—’

  ‘Halicarnassus . . .’

  ‘Just so. We’ll make the rich merchants of Halicarnassus pay for the privilege of Athenian protection.’

  ‘What about the ships still at Samos?’

  ‘We’ll leave enough to protect the port. Say fifteen or twenty. The rest’ll go with us.’

  Alcibiades’ enthusiasm had communicated itself to Antiochus. He raised his glass. ‘To the Hellespont,’ he said. ‘To our return to Athens,’ replied Alcibiades. The glasses tinkled into the roadway below.

  • • • • •

  Late that night a messenger rode in with the news Alcibiades had been praying for. The Phoenician fleet had sailed; not westwards towards Ionia, but south-east past Cyprus, making for Syria and the Phoenician coast. Darius had at last made up his mind; and an obscure rebellion in Arabia had saved the day for Athens.

  But when Alcibiades gave thanks to Fate and the Gods for this change in his fortunes, he also poured out milk and wine upon the ground to the Nether Deities, and offered up a prayer for the easy passage of his uncle’s soul to the Abode of the Dead.

  Chapter 36

  They heard the sounds of battle from several miles away, echoing in the narrow straits of the Hellespont below Abydos. Alcibiades called for his armour, grinning like a dog that scents its prey, and swore at his sweating oarsmen till they were nearly dropping with fatigue. It was evening before they rounded the low-lying point, where the narrows swung away to the westward, and saw the densely-locked mass of vessels still engaged offshore. The sun was low in the sky, and the water ran scarlet as if with the blood of dying men. Then Alcibiades hoisted his ensign and went in
to the attack like a madman, all caution forgotten; and Thrasybulus’ men saw its purple and gold streaming out in the darkening sky, and cheered till the bay echoed. They drove the Spartan ships before them, wreckage and dead bodies clogging their progress as they steered for the shallows; and then Alcibiades leapt waist-deep into the warm water and shelving shingle, the walls of Abydos towering above him.

  The Spartans re-formed on the beach in groups, all order lost, and for a while nothing was audible except the hissing breath of men struggling for a foothold on the slippery ground, the clash of sword on shield. With a thunder of hooves Pharnabazus’ Persian cavalry plunged down through the wavering line, the horses churning up the water till they were belly-deep; and complete chaos set in. Alcibiades swore, and went stumbling back. Antiochus followed close at his heels. He saw Alcibiades’ sword flash; a Persian horseman rolled from his saddle and was trampled underfoot, and Alcibiades, his sword between his teeth, leapt up on to the terrified, rearing horse. He swung it round and out of the water, and went pounding into the attack, yelling at the top of his voice, his crimson plume nodding in the dusk.

  Slowly the men of Athens pressed on behind him, gathering strength as they went; and this time there was no turning back. Spartans and Persians alike broke and ran before them; and always in the front of the assault was Alcibiades, his helmet lost now, his hair flying in the breeze, his face all dabbled with blood.

  When night fell, and the Athenians withdrew from the pursuit, they counted their spoils by torchlight on the bloodstained beach, strewn now with broken armour and corpses. Round them rats and land-crabs were already beginning to squabble: tiny obscene squeaks and crepitations in the darkness. Thirty enemy triremes had been captured, besides fifteen of the Athenians’ own ships that Thrasyllus had lost in a minor engagement about a week before.

  Alcibiades found Thrasyllus and Thrasybulus together aboard the latter’s ship, sitting in the light of a storm-lantern on the quarter-deck. Thrasybulus greeted him warmly; but Thrasyllus, knowing that Alcibiades had been largely responsible for the victory, and furiously jealous as a result, kept a moody silence. Alcibiades sat down wearily. He suddenly saw that he was still clutching his bloodstained sword: he blinked and laughed, wiped it on the skirt of his tunic, and slid it back into its scabbard.