Achilles His Armour

by Peter Green

  He developed a habit of tearing up all his correspondence unopened, both official and private: anything to keep the outside world at bay. But after a while Antiochus, noticing this, made private arrangements with the messengers, and himself read the letters as they came in. As time went on they began to tell a disturbing story. Theramenes wrote from the Bosphorus that Pharnabazus and the Spartan commander had occupied both Chalcedon and Byzantium at the southern mouth of the channel; reports kept coming in from Phrygia that a great new Spartan fleet was being constructed with Persian assistance in the shipyards of Antandros.

  • • • • •

  Things could not go on like this for ever; but it was by pure chance that Antiochus found the answer. One sunny May afternoon he came into Alcibiades’ room, a letter in his hand. Alcibiades looked at him with lack-lustre eyes and turned his head away.

  ‘Listen to me,’ said Antiochus; and there was an urgency in his voice that drew Alcibiades’ attention despite himself. ‘I have news of Thrasyllus. He was defeated outside Ephesus a week ago—’

  ‘I could have told you that would happen.’ The words came thickly, with enormous effort. ‘Is that all? I’m glad. Was he killed?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A pity. A great pity. What then?’

  ‘He’s coming here.’

  Alcibiades suddenly sat up in bed. He focused his eyes with difficulty, and said in a quite different voice: ‘He’s come to arrest me. I must get away . . .’

  ‘Don’t be a fool,’ said Antiochus roughly. Can’t you get it into your head that he’s been beaten? He needs your help—’

  ‘I’ll see him damned first.’ But for the first time in months there was a faint note of interest in his voice, and Antiochus grasped at it desperately.

  ‘Can’t you see you’ve got to act, now? If you go on as you’ve been doing all. this year, you’ll undo any good you did Athens. Perhaps you don’t care about that. But I never thought I’d live to call you a coward.’

  He waited, tensed, for the attack that should have been inevitable after these words. But it did not come. Alcibiades stared at the ceiling, his hands twitching, and remained silent. At last he said, almost in his normal voice: ‘I owe you an apology. But that can wait.’ He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. For a moment he swayed, and Antiochus thought he would fall. But he knew better than to make the least move to help him.

  Alcibiades ran a hand through his hair, and stared at himself ruefully. ‘Get me a barber,’ he said. He coughed, and put a hand to his mouth. Antiochus stared at him incredulously. ‘And tell the cook to prepare a good dinner for tonight . . .’ As Antiochus hesitated at the door, Alcibiades produced a shadow of his old disarming smile and observed, as if it were something he had discovered for the first time in his life: ‘I must say, I’m damnably hungry . . .’ He began to dress himself, slowly, with shaking hands: but there was an unmistakable purposefulness in his movements.

  • • • • •

  Alcibiades sighted Thrasyllus’ squadron from the coast road to the north of Sestos, and dug his heels into his horse’s flanks. A week in the saddle, riding alone from town to town along the peninsula, had taken much of the unhealthy pallor from his face and restored his resilient energy. His eyes were clear once more, and the hands that held the reins did not tremble. To those who did not know him, only the deep lines from nostril to mouth, the thick grey hair still flecked here and there with gold, bore witness to the life he had so recently been leading. Now as he galloped along the white dusty road, between the sea and the purple hills, the smell of thyme heavy in the summer air, he felt once more an uncontrollable exhilaration, a sheer joy at being alive.

  It had been a discreet but successful expedition. He had found three sites suitable to his purpose, at Ornus, Bisanthe, and Pactye: high on a ridge, easily defended, with a commanding view out over the Hellespont and the surrounding countryside. He had talked to local chieftains, builders, masons, carpenters; he had laid down his precise requirements in each case. A small but comfortable fortress, faced with stone, impregnable against immediate attack. Once again his charm, backed by the heavy bag of gold he carried with him, had overcome all obstacles. The work, he was assured, would be completed in three months; guards would be installed in each place to look after his property and see that it was ready for him in case of need. Wells would be dug, and supplies of fuel and provisions always available. With much goodwill on both sides he finally took his leave. His Thracian hosts were a little offended when he refused to join them in their drinking bouts; but he pleaded illness (which, indeed, was, only too apparent) and they acquiesced. It was with an easy mind that he rode into Sestos on that spring afternoon to welcome Thrasyllus.

  • • • • •

  They met in Alcibiades’ house, which was also his headquarters. It now presented a very different appearance. The broken flagons, had been swept away; the dust and dirt that had accumulated during the solitary months when he had never left the one room had gone with them. When Alcibiades had come in he had taken a bath after his ride, and put on his full general’s regalia.

  But even so Thrasyllus paused in the doorway, horror-struck despite himself at the change he saw in this man he had hated for so long. Gone were the supercilious arrogance, the careless and seemingly indestructible beauty. Could this quiet, lean, greyhaired man be Alcibiades? It was as if everything superficial had been burnt away, leaving only a hard core of ruthlessness: without pity and without fear.

  ‘I am glad you contrived to get here at last,’ said Alcibiades. There was neither friendliness nor dislike in the words: they were cold, impersonal. Thrasyllus felt that he was being meticulously fitted into some future plan of campaign—so many more men, one additional commander. ‘Antiochus, see that the General has wine.’

  Thrasyllus swallowed and said: ‘I have some unwelcome news for you.’

  ‘Oh? Then you must tell it to me. But please have some wine first.’ Alcibiades stared at the ring-finger of his left hand, bare now of its circlet of twisted snakes. He felt an inexplicable disquiet at its absence. It was as if some power had gone out of him.

  Thrasyllus told him what had been done. Alcibiades listened in silence. When Thrasyllus, unnerved by the impassivity of his drawn face, came to a stammering halt, Alcibiades’ only comment was: ‘I see. Well, four ships are better than none. I am glad you have something to show for your season’s campaigning. Tell me: how many men did you lose at Ephesus? No, it doesn’t matter. You can let me have the lists in the morning.’

  ‘I would remind you,’ said Thrasyllus, regaining his composure with an effort, ‘that I am not your subordinate. I am not responsible to you in any way. I am prepared to collaborate with you to the best of my ability—’

  Alcibiades had become increasingly conscious for the past few minutes of a confused shouting outside. He rose and went to the open window. Through the broad paved street below, Thrasyllus’ men were marching to their billets; and they were running the gauntlet of jeers and abuse from Alcibiades’ veterans, most of them drunk, who were packed close along the sidewalks or leaning out of casements to greet their new comrades. An occasional rotten egg would fly into the ranks, and one jester emptied a slop-pail on to their heads. The remarks being passed were pointed, if not subtle. ‘Where’s your Ephesian trophy? . . . Go back home . . . Get yourself a decent General . . . Shouldn’t stay here—the Spartans are only just across the straits . . . Call yourselves’ soldiers? You broken-down camp-followers . . .’ It had started as a joke, but it was becoming serious: down the road could be heard a torrent of oaths and yells, and the clash of steel on steel.

  ‘I perceive,’ said Alcibiades, ‘that our collaboration is likely to be difficult. I may not be in a position to dictate to you, but your present record hardly allows you the superiority which you seem to claim as a right.’

  ‘You arranged this deliberately.’ Thrasyllus was beside himself with rage and mortification.

  ‘Please don
’t saddle me with your own vindictive tastes. I should have thought that you would be the first to admit that some of the remarks you have just heard, if somewhat coarse, at least have a certain justification in fact.’

  ‘What sort of discipline do you call this? Like commander, like men—’

  He broke off at the glacial expression of contempt in Alcibiades’ eye. ‘At least my men have sufficient discipline to win victories,’ said Alcibiades, ‘and in the face of constant slander and denigration from the City. As for this riot . . .’ He buckled his sword-belt round his waist and said grimly: ‘Come with me.’ Then he was gone, running down the stairs three at a time, Thrasyllus panting after him. As he emerged into the street he drew his sword; and the crowd parted before him. He went striding through the struggling mob, no man lifting a hand against him, till he reached a point where some half-dozen men were swaying backwards and forwards, daggers and short javelins in their hands. He cut the nearest down with a two-handed stroke that nearly severed his head from his body: and a tremendous yell went up from the crowd. ‘The General! The General!’

  ‘They’ll kill him,” said Thrasyllus, still standing in the porch of the house.

  Antiochus shook his head. ‘Not they. Watch.’ And in fact the surging mass was already beginning to quieten down.

  Alcibiades stood over the corpse of the man he had dispatched, blood spurting about his ankles, and said: ‘The next man found fighting in the streets will hang from the nearest tree. There’ll be enough for you to do soon without killing each other.’ He slapped his sword back into its scabbards still bloody, and called to his officers to clear the road. By the time he had walked back to his house there was hardly a soldier in sight.

  As he approached Thrasyllus, a grim smile on his face, his second-in-command came panting up and said: ‘There’s going to be trouble, General—’

  ‘I think not,’ said Alcibiades. ‘Not now.’

  ‘The men won’t share the same camp with Thrasyllus’ troops. They say they won’t train or fight with them—’

  ‘They’ll obey orders,’ said Alcibiades. ‘When we have to fight, we’ll fight together. As for training, and camp quarters . . .’ He paused. ‘I’m not sure I don’t share their fastidiousness,’ he concluded. ‘For the time being you will arrange for separate camps. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Alcibiades turned away and went back into the house. As he passed Thrasyllus he gave him a single brief glance; and for a moment a gleam of sardonic amusement showed in his eyes.

  • • • • •

  Alcibiades to Adeimantus: written in camp, outside the walls of Byzantium.

  ‘You will have heard of our further successes from my official reports; but there are other more personal details which you may find of interest. In a few days we shall either have captured Byzantium or sustained our first notable defeat. I myself have no doubt of what the issue will be: and with Byzantium in our hands there is little left for us to do here. You say the tide of opinion in Athens is at last on the turn. I make no confident predictions as I did once before; I only pray that it may be so. For months now all my energies have been devoted to one end, and one only. If I fail now, it will be too late.

  ‘It was clear some time ago that Chalcedon would soon fall; and I left Thrasyllus to finish off the operation. Byzantium was my real goal, and I knew that I needed plenty of time to collect money and supplies for its assault. A voyage round the Chersonese to Thrace provided me with both; and I made some very useful friendships with several of the Thracian chieftains.

  ‘While all this was going on Theramenes was having his moment, and making the most of it. He’d come down from Chrysopolis to be in at the fall of Chalcedon, and for some reason it was him to whom Pharnabazus offered armistice terms. If he’d had any sense he’d have seen that Pharnabazus was deadly scared of our getting into Chalcedon; it’d make a superb base for further raids into Persian territory. But I suppose he was glad of the chance to show Athens that he deserved the whole credit for signing what was a fairly profitable treaty; at any rate he accepted all the Satrap’s suggestions without argument.

  ‘Pharnabazus offered him twenty talents on the spot, and the immediate return of Chalcedon to Athens. More than this: the city was to pay its former tribute to Athens, including everything due in retrospect from the time it seceded seven years ago. Pharnabazus also promised to arrange for an Athenian embassy to get a hearing from Darius himself. All he asked in return was that we should stop making these troublesome raids into his territory. Not unnaturally, Theramenes signed without question. He didn’t stop to ask himself whether Pharnabazus had broken off relations with Sparta. In fact he hasn’t; and he’s now committed to the same kind of game that Tissaphernes played so skilfully in Ionia.

  ‘But all this was incidental to the fact that my signature was absent from this document; you can imagine what I felt when I heard it had all been arranged behind my back. Luckily Pharnabazus, obviously realising that I was the most dangerous person he had to deal with—after all, I’d defeated him three times within a month—was as anxious as I was to remedy the situation. So we both signed our respective copies, in front of two witnesses from the other side, with a great deal of ceremony. We also gave each other personal pledges of friendship, though how much they’ll be worth in the future I wouldn’t care to say. So now the Assembly in Athens will have proof positive that I have once more achieved some ascendancy over the Persian throne; and I trust that this may have the desired effect.

  ‘In any case, Pharnabazus’ activities will be severely limited. We have taken care that this treaty should receive wide publicity; and the next time the Spartan commander goes to Dascylium to collect pay for his men there should be an interesting scene. I suspect that the Satrap will finish by being severely neutral, in the hope of picking up any spoils that may be left afterwards. But how he proposes to explain his conduct to the Spartans in the meantime I don’t know.

  ‘Now Byzantium lies before us—the greatest prize of all, and the hardest to win. By the time you receive this the issue may well have been decided.

  ‘I have just, time to finish this letter and send it off with the official dispatches before I give my men their final instructions. They are very excited—and I don’t blame them—and show a touching devotion to me. We have seen a good deal of action together now—I have never held a command for so long—and understand each other very well. It is only in the moments when I dare to relax that I realise how tired I am. With any luck this operation should see the end of the campaign.’

  • • • • •

  Adeimantus sat with a wineglass in his hand, talking casually over the dessert. The lamplight cast flickering shadows upon the bird-like yet coarse features of Cleophon, and gleamed across Anytus’ bald and shining pate as he fussily peeled a peach. It was curious, Adeimantus thought, how indirectly and casually Alcibiades had crossed the path of both of them: yet now it was their favour he had to win. He smiled to himself as he remembered the day, long ago, when he and Alcibiades had hired a band of Thracian slaves to remove half of Anytus’ treasured gold plate; they had thought little of the consequences of their act at the, time. Yet there were two men whose attitude to Alcibiades had been irrevocably altered as a result of that night’s work.

  Anytus had taken the joke with a good enough grace at the time, of course. He would have become the laughing-stock of the town if he hadn’t. But Alcibiades had coquetted with him, refused him, and openly insulted hint; and he had never forgotten it. He was an old man now, and no longer thought it worth while to train straggling wisps of hair across that receding forehead; but the pursy mouth was still set in childish resentment, the faded blue eyes were still wary for fresh humiliation. Only the good has died in our past, Adeimantus thought.

  With Cleophon it was a subtler problem. Adeimantus watched his coarse, powerful fingers plucking at a bunch of grapes, the concentrated and noisy way he ate, his mouth open, a frown puc
kering his forehead and twisting up his thick dark eyebrows. He had never met Alcibiades; but behind him, inflaming his hatred and resentment, were the ghosts of Cleon, of Androcles, of Hyperbolus. Cleophon’s opposition was that of an entire party: intangible political enmity. Yet there was fear in it as well. What the unscrupulous aristocrat had done for Cleophon’s predecessors, he might well do for Cleophon himself. It’s no use, thought Adeimantus: the only thing that will persuade them is an appeal to their own interests. And there can be no doubt that that will succeed. The case is unanswerable now. But they’ll only yield grudgingly: their hearts won’t be convinced.

  He gave a discreet sign to his slaves, who set fresh wine on the table, trimmed and refilled the lamps, and silently withdrew. He felt his heart beating fast as he put his elbows on the table, leant forward, and said to his guests: ‘I suppose you know, gentlemen, why I asked you to come here tonight.’

  ‘It’s pretty obvious,’ said Cleophon, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand: ‘I never imagined it was for our social accomplishments. Mine, at any rate,’ he added, a little too late, with an apologetic glance at Anytus. His voice had the peasant brogue of Phrynichus, but lacked the latter’s assurance. There was always a note of petulant complaint lurking in

  Adeimantus smiled patiently. ‘I want to present a case to you,’ he said; ‘a case that has occupied all our minds this winter; the case for the recall of Alcibiades.’ Now that the words were out he felt more sure of himself. ‘I am not making an appeal to your clemency or generosity; I am simply concerned with your common sense. If we can come to an agreement between ourselves in private, it should not be hard to persuade our partisans in public. This meeting should be a feeling out of the ground. You, Anytus, will speak for Theramenes’ friends; you, Cleophon, for the popular party—’