by Peter Green
‘There was a good deal of hysteria in the Assembly, of course—you can imagine how they’d take a situation like this—and all the generals were arrested except two, who (very wisely, as it turned out) fled the city. The rest defended themselves as well as they might. Everything turned on the storm, of course; and all the pilots and steersmen were agreed that the generals had been right. Unfortunately, just as things looked as if they’d be peaceably settled, the Assembly had to be broken up; it was too dark to take a show of hands on the vote.
‘The next day was the first day of the family feast of the Apaturia, and the streets were full of men and women in mourning, with shaven heads, and covered with ashes. The emotional effect was enormous. When, the Assembly met again, the crowd was in a thoroughly ugly mood. Some sailor got up and cried out that he’d floated ashore on a barrel, and his dying comrades had charged him to tell the men of Athens what the generals had done.
‘After the sailor had finished there were more objections. And then someone shouted from the crowd—I shall never forget it—“To hell with legal quibbles! The people can do what they like!” There you have it all in a phrase. The President of the Assembly very wisely kept quiet, and the motion was carried. The victims were executed the same day, Thrasyllus and Pericles’ son by Aspasia among them. But Thrasybulus escaped to Thebes.
‘The people have been a fatal quandary as to whether you should be recalled again or not, and their uncertainty made itself felt at the new elections, which have just taken place. I was reelected; but I am the only one of your supporters who was. I suspect that Cleophon was behind this, although he has been keeping very quiet lately. Among my colleagues are Conon, who has profited most remarkably by his capacity for not being in the wrong place at the right time, and two men who were in the Sicilian campaign, but managed to get away safely—Menander and Tydeus. They are both embittered men (Tydeus is Lamachus’ son) and both dislike you heartily for reasons which you may guess. A more mixed collection it would be hard to imagine. The only blessing is that Cleophon didn’t stand himself.
‘Later. I said that Cleophon was keeping quiet: the last twenty-four hours have proved me wrong. An embassy arrived from Sparta offering generous terms of peace. It was more than we could have expected. But Cleophon would have none of it. He swaggered into the Assembly drunk, and wearing a breastplate (to give a soldierly air to the proceedings, probably), and told the ambassadors to be off home. He made a disgusting speech, full of airy bombast about glory and honour. I doubt if he knows what the words mean. And all he had behind him was an empty treasury and a rotting fleet. The man must be mad. Unfortunately the people were as mad as he was, and ratified his motion. Now I have to make preparations for another spring campaign; and what I am to do it with I don’t know.
‘There are signs that Sparta is losing no time: another month or two should see me sailing east. Our power in the Hellespont is so reduced that I am afraid that Lysander will try to cut off our corn supplies. If he does, the only bright spot in the whole dismal business is that I may have a chance to see you again.’
• • • • •
Alcibiades and the Arcadian stood together on a low hill overlooking the Hellespont. It was a fine September morning; the calm waters of the straits reflected the unclouded blue of the sky. Behind them the cut stubble, brown as a lion’s hide, stretched for miles into the distance. Gulls flew screaming overhead. To their right the estuary of the Goat River wound its way through brown mud-flats to the shore, its waters fanning out into a dull smear that was finally washed away in the channel.
But the two watchers had eyes for none of this. Immediately below them, spread out along the beach, was the Athenian encampment; a sprawling wilderness of brown tents. They could see men strolling about in twos and threes; the sound of their talk and laughter, the smoke of the camp-fires were carried faintly up to them on the morning breeze. As far as the eye could see, the long black triremes were drawn up on the shore in orderly rows. There seemed to be no sentries on duty. On the far side of the river a group of sailors were visible making their way to a nearby village. They carried baskets on their arms; apparently they were off for provisions.
The straits were only a little more than a mile wide at this point. Almost opposite the Athenian position the duster of white buildings that marked the port of Lampsacus was clearly visible. Straining his eyes, Alcibiades could even make out the large harbour, and the numerous ships that rode at anchor in it. Lysander’s ships.
The Spartan commander had arrived two days before, with the Athenians close on his heels. A rapid and well-conducted assault, and Lampsacus had fallen (perhaps not unwillingly) into his hands. As soon as Alcibiades had heard the news, he had ridden down from his fortress twenty miles away to observe the, lie of the land, the Arcadian with him. What he saw now did not reassure him in the least. He had been watching from his hill-top since dawn. Shortly after breakfast the Athenians had rowed out and offered battle. Lysander, as at Ephesus, had taken no notice. His ships were manned and waiting; but he refused to be drawn. The Athenians had thereupon retired to their anchorage: apparently no more action was contemplated that day.
Alcibiades threw himself down on the short springy turf and stared at the sky. Nearby the two horses, tethered, were grazing peacefully. The Arcadian, frowning, was still watching the straits.
‘They couldn’t have chosen a worse position,’ said Alcibiades. The Arcadian remained silent, withdrawn: it was as if Alcibiades were thinking aloud. Yet every word went home. ‘If they lose this battle—and they very well may—they’ll never have another chance. Lysander’ll close the Bosphorus. They’ll be starved out.’
The Arcadian nodded slowly.
Alcibiades rose to his feet. ‘I must go down and warn them,’ he said.
The Arcadian turned round sharply from his contemplation of the lines of masts, the ant-like, seemingly aimless scurrying of the men on the beach. His face looked anxious and drawn. ‘You can do nothing for them,’ he said. His voice was harsh. ‘“Whom the Gods wish to destroy . . .”’ He left the proverb unfinished.
‘It’s not only them I’m, thinking of,’ said Alcibiades impatiently. ‘I care little for these men—all save one. But I care very much for my City. If they’re destroyed, so is Athens. And I’m not indifferent to my own safety.’ He paused for an instant. ‘I have been an exile too long,’ he said, his eyes on the distant harbour across the straits.
He walked across to his horse and swung himself up into the saddle. ‘Besides,’ he remarked, as an afterthought, ‘their gross tactical inefficiency offends me.’
The Arcadian shrugged his shoulders. Then he too mounted. Together they rode at an easy pace down the hillside, their horses picking their way delicately among the lichened boulders, till they came to the outskirts of the camp.
The sentry sat nodding, half-asleep, a bottle of wine beside him. Alcibiades brought the flat of his sword down across the man’s shoulders, and he leapt to his feet with a howl of pain, oversetting the bottle as he did so. A stream of wine spread out in the white dust, and rapidly soaked into the ground.
‘And they complained of the discipline I kept,’ said Alcibiades through his teeth. ‘By the Gods . . . !’ He turned to the sentry. ‘You can be glad I am not your commander. You should have had fifty lashes for this. Tell the General Adeimantus I wish to speak with him. At once.’
The sentry stared at him as if he could not believe his eyes. ‘My lord Alcibiades . . .’ he stammered. Several other soldiers began to walk over to see what was going on.
‘What are you standing there goggling for, man? Be off with you. I’ll stand guard for you while you’re gone. At least I have eyes in my head.’
He dismounted, and the Arcadian silently followed suit. By now a large crowd had gathered. Excited whispering began. But no one dared to come near him, or speak to him.
Presently Adeimantus appeared, the sentry trailing along nervously behind him. His face was pale and worried; bu
t a broad smile of welcome spread over it as he caught sight of the familiar spare figure.
‘Alcibiades! By the Gods, it’s good to see you. What good wind blows you here?’
‘An ill one rather, I fancy,’ said Alcibiades. ‘Can we go somewhere more private?’
Adeimantus took him by the arm and they walked away together, the Arcadian following a short distance behind them. Adeimantus glanced over his shoulder. ‘Who’s that?’ he inquired.
Alcibiades seemed oddly embarrassed. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said.
‘What do you mean, you’re not sure?’
‘He’s been with me for over a year now. Ever since I left Samos, in fact. I don’t know his name,’ he concluded lamely.
They bent down and entered Adeimantus’ tent. Outside they could see the Arcadian’s shadow as he paced up and down.
‘I was hoping you’d come—’ began Adeimantus; but Alcibiades cut him short.
‘Are you all mad here?’ he asked bluntly.
‘What?’
‘Your position is—well, it couldn’t be worse. You’re on an open beach with no cover. There is no kind of proper discipline in the camp. There’s no harbour here. All your supplies have to be brought from some distance—Sestos, I imagine. Your men spend their time wandering about the countryside. What do you imagine will happen if there’s a sudden attack? I don’t know about your colleagues, but I should have thought that you at least would have had more sense.’
Adeimantus flushed. ‘I think you overestimate the danger,’ he said. ‘The last thing Lysander wants to do is to fight—’
‘Are you so sure? My impression is that he’s waiting to take you off your guard. In which, I may add, he looks as if he’ll succeed notably.’
‘We’ve gone out every day to try and provoke a battle . . .’
‘I know. I’ve been watching you. Do you think Lysander’ll play into your hands as easily as that? Oh no. Besides, there’s a certain regularity in your indiscipline that positively invites trouble. If I was at Lampsacus in Lysander’s position, it’d be clear to me that every day about this time the ships are unmanned and most of the camp deserted. Doesn’t that suggest anything to you?’
An unspoken barrier was slowly forming between the two men. Adeimantus said awkwardly: ‘We know all about that . . .’ The we suddenly brought home to Alcibiades the complete isolation of his position. Adeimantus went on: ‘We want to keep Lysander in sight, and bring the thing to a head as soon as possible. We couldn’t do either from Sestos . . .’
There was the sound of footsteps outside the tent, and two men came in. They were both about thirty-five. One was thick-set, with a crop of reddish hair; the other tall and dark. His face (which Alcibiades found vaguely familiar) was acidly disagreeable.
‘Ah,’ he said: ‘the exile, I believe. Might I inquire what you think you’re doing here?’
‘Tydeus and Menander,’ said Adeimantus, ‘my colleagues in command here . . .’
Alcibiades’ face lightened. ‘Tydeus . . . you must be Lamachus’ son. I thought I recognised you.’
The tall man bowed stiffly. ‘I must repeat my question,’ he said. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned to Adeimantus and observed: ‘I have just heard of this—this fellow’s arrival. I consider it highly imprudent of you to have acted in this way. The men are bound to talk. Don’t you realise that he is a fugitive from justice . . .?’
Alcibiades controlled his temper with difficulty. ‘I came here,’ he said, ‘at considerable personal inconvenience—and probably at some risk—to give you advice, of which you appear to be badly in need. Your incompetence appals me—’
Menander flushed angrily. His face under his auburn hair was an unpleasant brick-red. ‘If your only intention is to insult us—’
‘That, I think, would be difficult.’ Alcibiades repeated the gist of his remarks to Adeimantus. ‘If you were deliberately trying to put yourself into Lysander’s hands you couldn’t go a better way about it. I have no personal stake in this business at all. As you were kind enough to remind me, I am a fugitive. But I am still a patriot—however individually foolish my fellow-citizens may show themselves. If you lose this fleet, you will have nothing to replace it with. I gather that the Assembly in its wisdom saw fit to execute some of your late colleagues after the victory off Arginusae. You are standing in dead men’s shoes. I think you will get little mercy if you are defeated. And if you are defeated, it will be the end of the war.’
There was a short silence when he finished speaking. Then Tydeus said, despite himself: ‘What do you propose?’
‘Take your fleet to Sestos. Wait till Lysander tires of his delaying policy. Sooner or later he must do. Keep spies posted along the coast. As soon as he sails out you can intercept him.’
Was it possible that they would take his advice? He saw hesitation on their faces, and in his anxiety to convince them once and for all he produced his final argument.
‘I have raised a considerable force of Thracian mercenaries while I have been out here,’ he said. ‘As a result I have been able to get on excellent terms with two of the local chieftains. They are quite willing to put an army at my disposal to deal with the Spartans. If they could be ferried across the straits we could attack Lysander by sea and land simultaneously.’
Menander and Tydeus looked at one another. At length Tydeus said: ‘You say “at my disposal”. What exactly do you mean by that?’
Alcibiades, caught up in his own enthusiasm, secure in the belief that he had won them over, failed to notice the peculiar tone of the question. Adeimantus tried to give him a warning glance, but he was oblivious of it.
‘The Thracians are a barbarian race,’ he said smoothly, ‘and they have barbarian notions of loyalty. They know me; they have fought under me many times already. To get their help it would be necessary to place them temporarily under my command. They will not readily obey a general they do not know—’
‘I see,’ said Menander. ‘I thought we should come to something like this. You’re a disinterested patriot, are you? I know you, Alcibiades. If we win this campaign you’ll take steps to see that you get all the credit in Athens. If we don’t, you’re none the worse off. It’s exactly as I thought. All you want to do is to engineer your recall—’
Alcibiades sprang to his feet, white with rage. ‘That’s a lie!’ he cried. It seemed as if he would spring at the self-confident man who now sat staring at him with amused contempt. With a vast effort he pulled himself together. ‘Don’t be a fool,’ he said. ‘I want nothing, do you hear me? Nothing. All I am anxious to do is to save you committing an incredible folly—’
‘We’ve heard that story before,’ said Tydeus. ‘That’s all you wanted to do when you sailed for Sicily, wasn’t it? You killed my father as surely as if you’d struck him down yourself. Get out of here before I have you thrown into irons. You sicken me.’ He thrust his lean face forward and shouted: ‘Do you think you’re commander-in-chief still? You come here with your supercilious talk and try to teach us our business. You’re an exile with a price on your head.’ He struck his fist on his chest till the brazen breast-plate rang. ‘We are the generals here. Do you understand? We are the generals here!’
Alcibiades seemed to shrink into himself; it was as if all the strength had gone out of him. He shrugged his shoulders wearily and said: ‘As you wish. You are the generals. I charge you to think well of the responsibility that rests on your shoulders.’
He walked out of the tent into the spring sunshine, and Adeimantus followed him. The Arcadian, who had been waiting close by, fell into step behind them. Had he heard the conversation? It seemed highly probable. But his dark face betrayed nothing.
Alcibiades said, hopelessly: ‘I was speaking the truth.’
‘I know you were,’ said Adeimantus.
‘It’s maddening. If I could have had a week—five days, even—I could have made Lysander fight. The one time my motives have been completely disinterested . . .’
He laughed, despite himself. Then he looked earnestly at his companion and said: ‘Do what you can. You know how things stand. It may be your last chance.’
Adeimantus nodded. ‘I shall do what I can. But my own position will be none too easy. They won’t take your advice now, whoever puts it forward. And they know I am your friend. If there’s any blame, they’ll try and put it on my shoulders. I may even have to face a charge of treachery.’
Whom the Gods wish to destroy . . . thought Alcibiades. They reached the camp boundary, and paused, awkwardly. The horses pricked up their ears at their approach.
Alcibiades hesitated, trying to find words. Then he shook his head in a queer bewildered fashion and climbed into the saddle. The Arcadian was already waiting for him, his horse stamping impatiently. Alcibiades looked at the camp stretched out along the shore, and that other camp a mile distant across the bright, fast-flowing water. He did not look at Adeimantus. Without a word, he dug his heels into his horse’s flanks, and went pounding away up the dusty track at a headlong gallop, the hooves throwing up a fine curtain of dust as he went, the Arcadian at his side like a shadow.
Adeimantus watched him till he was out of sight over the ridge. Then he turned and went slowly back to his tent.
• • • • •
For three days Alcibiades waited on the hill-side overlooking the straits, his eyes fixed for hours at a time on that narrow deadly strip of water. The Arcadian put up a tent there, and brought in food from a nearby village, and tended to the horses. He watched all night outside the tent with a drawn sword while Alcibiades slept, and took his own rest during the day.
Alcibiades accepted all the Arcadian did, without seeming to notice it. Time and again he would rise from his vigil and walk up and down restlessly, half-minded to go. But always something held him back. Every morning the Athenian fleet rowed out across the straits; and still Lysander made no move, except to send out light reconnaissance craft, which followed in the wake of the Athenian triremes as they returned to base. Alcibiades noticed these, and was worried by them. And daily the Athenian watch became more lax.