‘I stand corrected,’ Alexanor said.
Early summer rolled into late summer. Ships from Greece reported that the Illyrian prince, Demetrios of Pharos, had been badly defeated by the Romans and fled to exile in Macedon. Philip himself was reported to be hard-pressed, with Macedon invaded by Dardanians and Aetolians; confusing stories, and there was no word from Philip himself, even though he was the ostensible paymaster and head of the alliance of the Neoteroi on Crete.
‘We are forgotten,’ Dinaeos said.
‘Sadly, we are not the centre of operations,’ Philopoemen said. ‘And yet the Aetolians continue to remember Knossos. When our citizen levy is stronger, we might consider sending a contingent to fight with the Macedonians,’ he suggested.
Cyrena nodded, her magnificent eyes narrowed. ‘This is good thinking. If he looks on our soldiers every day, he cannot forget that we are his allies.’ She looked around. ‘Listen, brothers. I am afraid we have … traitors. In our midst.’
‘Traitors?’ Philopoemen said.
Alexanor sat back. He didn’t want to dislike the African woman, but she was strident, insistent, too direct. And he feared she harboured political views more radical even than the Stoics. She had spoken openly of levelling: taking the property of the rich to help the poorest class, freed slaves and labourers, an idea that Alexanor found abhorrent.
‘Someone paid a slave to go to Knossos,’ she said. ‘I don’t know who, yet, but I’m in contact with the slave.’
‘Someone?’ Alexanor asked.
‘Whoever did it was cagey enough to use a cut-out,’ Cyrena said. ‘He paid a tavern owner to find him a messenger. I’m still looking into it.’ She put a badly stained square of cut papyrus on the table. ‘But I did get the message. The slave sold it to us.’ She smiled nastily. ‘The slaves are with us.’
The message consisted of the recent voting in the Assembly, itemised, and a neat list of all of the military resources of the city, followed by a well-written paragraph on the new ‘League of Crete’.
The so-called Neoteroi intend to form a League, or Federation, of all the cities of Crete on the model of the Achaean League or the Aetolian, with a single army and a single coinage, and a uniform administration of the whole island, by a Federal Assembly. I do not need to tell you how small our voice would be in such a Federation, or how much injury it will do to our commerce. Philopoemen of Achaea is the wellspring of all this; he must be dealt with immediately.
Philopoemen glanced around. He was smiling.
‘You know that you are doing the right thing when the oligarchs hate you,’ he said.
Later, Alexanor was eating in Phila’s home. She had freed Thais, but the younger woman continued to serve them at table.
‘I still find it hard to like her,’ Alexanor said, speaking of Cyrena.
He was lying on a kline, facing Phila who lay on another, looking at him over her folded arms.
‘She certainly speaks her mind,’ Phila said.
‘She speaks as if she understands politics and war.’ Alexanor raised a hand. ‘I am not saying that a woman cannot understand such things. I’m saying that she is ignorant of these things – a North African slave who no more understands Cretan politics than we understand the actions of the gods.’ He shrugged. ‘Damn it, I’m not even sure I understand Cretan politics.’
‘Philopoemen loves her.’ Phila shrugged. ‘Love is an odd thing, don’t you think?’
‘But she wants to democratise everything. You cannot democratise art. You need excellence for art. You cannot democratise philosophy. The discovery of the world of the mind, or nature, requires careful study. Which reminds me … may I take your pulse?’
Phila smiled her enigmatic smile. ‘What is a pulse?’
When he had demonstrated, she became excited.
‘So this is how the blood serves the body?’ she asked.
‘I believe it is pushed through the body by means of the great pump which is the heart. Here,’ he said, putting a hand on her chest above her left breast. ‘Here, feel my heartbeat.’
He put her hand inside his chiton, on his chest.
‘I feel it,’ she agreed.
‘Now feel my pulse here at my wrist,’ he said.
‘I have it!’ she said. ‘Amazing.’
‘When we make love, I will take your pulse and mine—’
‘How romantic,’ she said with a wry smile.
‘Last night I felt mine elevate. No, listen – when you disrobe, my pulse rises. The emotion feeds the heart, and the heart works harder, providing more blood. The excess of humour is transformed into my erection, yes? And in a woman—’
‘You will rob love of all mystery, strip it and make it a science.’ She made a face. ‘Sounds dull. I hope I am more than an elevation of the humours.’ Her thumb began to trace one of his nipples under his chiton.
‘But, my dear …’ he began.
She called to Thais. ‘Please put a wax tablet and a stylus on either side of my bed, there’s a dear. We’ll be taking notes.’
‘How exciting,’ Thais said, with just a little sarcasm.
‘For science and the study of philosophy,’ Alexanor insisted.
‘Oh, of course,’ Thais said.
‘But this kind of thinking,’ Phila went on, her hand going deeper into his chiton, ‘is exactly what you and Dinaeos seem to dislike in Philopoemen and in Cyrena.’
‘How so?’ Alexanor asked, trying to keep his mind on matters of the intellect.
‘Innovations. Science. Careful examination of conditions instead of accepting the assumptions of the past.’ She lifted his chiton off him.
Alexanor answered her by putting his lips to her neck. She laughed.
‘Wait,’ she said, pushing him away. ‘You need to take my pulse.’
He grabbed at her.
‘Fie, sir!’ she said. ‘What has happened to science?’
In the Assembly, men were openly questioning the conduct of the war. As the Assembly had been re-established specifically so that men of small estate could speak freely, Philopoemen had to answer every question put to him. Most of the complaints centred around the cost of the war. Philopoemen had entered a motion to purchase two hundred horses so that he could convert Aristaenos’ Achaean League soldiers to the cavalry they should have been to start with, and dozens of small farmers complained bitterly of the costs associated with having them.
Zophanes rose to his feet and decried the very existence of the war, claiming that it could be settled in a simple peace conference.
‘This mercenary Achaean,’ he suggested smugly, ‘who you have mistakenly included in our citizen body, is here only to make his fortune. He and his “Achaean allies” – nay, friends! Achaean mercenaries is what we should call them. They are richly paid with our money. Illyrians, Boeotians … we are paying good money while they get fat. We can settle our differences with Knossos in a day. This long war of constant raiding only enriches and empowers these foreigners!’
Men shouted him down, although the term ‘Achaean mercenaries’ had been planted like an evil weed in the Assembly.
But Zophanes was not the only man against Philopoemen’s policies. Another farmer, a veteran hoplite, rose to his feet.
‘Give us a proper battle,’ he said. ‘Us against them, eh? Let’s fight the damn thing and get it over with. Not this endless raiding.’
There was some debate on that, as other farmers were growing prosperous on stolen sheep and goats. But the older man would not be shouted down.
‘No!’ he roared. ‘Fuck all this shilly-shally fake war! Philopoemen and his friends were all very well when they came, but now they are just stringing it out to stay in power. Send the heralds, line up the phalanx, and go for their throats. One big fight and we’ll be done.’
Hundreds of voices were raised in approval. And the next day, the same man spoke from the rostrum; he asked the same question. When he was done, and thousands of men had roared their approval, the farmer turned t
o where Philopoemen and his friends stood.
‘I am not against you, Hipparchos. Appoint us some officers, form the taxeis, and lead us to battle. We’ll get this done, and we’ll vote you thanks.’
‘Hear him!’ roared the crowd.
Philopoemen tried to walk to the rostra to speak, but the crowd kept cheering the farmer.
‘Battle! Battle!’
The roars shook the walls.
That evening, Phila told Alexanor she had invited Philopoemen for wine.
‘And a few other worthies,’ she said with an enigmatic smile.
Philopoemen was the first to arrive, with Cyrena and Dinaeos. Dinaeos threw himself on a kline and called for wine. Philopoemen lay down next to Alexanor. He was silent, even when Dinaeos began to tease Thais.
‘Now that you are free, you can marry,’ he said. ‘I’ll bet you have a dozen suitors.’
‘They only want one thing,’ she said. ‘And that’s my money.’
‘I’d marry you myself …’ Dinaeos said.
‘Oh, no. Red-haired children? I couldn’t stand for that,’ Thais said. ‘More wine, gentlemen?’
Phila took Cyrena’s cloak herself, and then put an arm through the other woman’s and took her off into the house.
Philopoemen looked around. ‘Phila must think things are desperate,’ he said.
‘That farmer who advocated battle is not alone,’ Dinaeos said. ‘In a few days they’ll start calling us foreigners.’
Philopoemen drank wine, tugged his beard, and said nothing.
Alexanor leant forward. ‘Can you tell me why you can’t just force a battle? Or answer the complaint?’
Philopoemen nodded slowly. ‘I’m finding that some things are very difficult to discuss in the Assembly. Every man has his own interest – most of them aren’t even rational in their arguments. It’s not at all as I expected it to be.’ He frowned. ‘I think the logic is obvious, but I find I can’t bring myself to tell them that if we fight a battle, they might lose.’
‘I agree that won’t do our cause much good,’ Alexanor said. ‘But I’m also not sure I understand your logic. Why not fight a battle?’
Philopoemen sat back. ‘Why do battles happen, Alexanor?’
The priest looked at Dinaeos, opened his mouth, and closed it. After a moment, he shrugged.
‘Because cities send each other heralds?’ he asked.
Philopoemen nodded. ‘And you are a highly educated man. Dinaeos?’
‘Battles happen because both sides think they can win the war with a decisive engagement,’ Dinaeos said, like a schoolboy reciting a lesson. ‘That’s what Philopoemen says.’
Philopoemen frowned. ‘What do you say?’
Dinaeos shrugged. ‘You’re usually right,’ he admitted. ‘But I’ve been in four battles, and honestly, I can’t tell you why men fight them. Cleomenes … hmm. Fair enough. He thought that he could stop Doson at Sellasia. But when the Spartans sacked our city … we didn’t fight because we thought we could win.’
‘We fought because we had no choice.’ Philopoemen nodded agreeably. ‘And we lost. Like Leonidas at Thermopylae.’
‘Except that many of us survived!’ Dinaeos said.
‘Many of the men, with armour and horses, survived.’ Philopoemen didn’t flush, or show anger, but his voice sounded dead. ‘Women and children died.’ He sat up. ‘I’ll allow this as a codicil. Sometimes, men fight battles because they are left no choice, except slavery and degradation.’
There was an interruption – people at the door outside. Soon after Lykortas came in with Kleostratos, Aristaenos, and Dadas.
Philopoemen laughed. ‘Phila is holding a symposium.’
Phila appeared, dressed regally in a long himation. Thais brought two chairs, and then Cyrena came in. She wore a rose-coloured himation with a peplos covered in embroidery. She looked like a queen, and Alexanor was shocked at the change in her. She held her head differently; she stood differently, and when she sat in a woman’s high-backed chair, she did so with a dignity she never showed squatting by a table in a wine shop.
He rose from his couch and bowed. ‘Good evening, despoina.’
She smiled and nodded, but said nothing.
When the new guests were seated, and had honeyed almonds and watered wine, Phila raised a hand. In it she held a fennel stalk.
‘This is a council,’ she said. ‘Philopoemen, matters in this city are coming to a head. We are your closest friends – we love you. But you need to explain your strategy. Because if we don’t understand it, the farmers on the plain and the herdsmen in the hills can be forgiven for not understanding it.’
Philopoemen smiled. ‘I would like nothing better,’ he said. ‘Mistress Phila, thanks for this opportunity.’
He rose to his feet and stood like a philosopher delivering a lecture.
He turned to Alexanor. ‘Tell me, brother, what is the principal political difference between Gortyna as she is presently constituted, and Knossos?’
Alexanor had a moment to see Cyrena master herself, so desperately did she want to answer the question. Phila has begged or ordered her to say nothing, and she is taking the injunction literally.
Alexanor sat up on one arm. He took a sip of wine to moisten his mouth.
‘I suppose that the principal difference is that Gortyna is ruled by an assembly of citizens – several thousand. And Knossos by a council of oligarchs. A hundred?’ He looked around.
Cyrena winked. Lykortas nodded.
‘Exactly,’ Philopoemen said. ‘Now, brothers and sisters, why do Greeks fight battles?’
Dinaeos shrugged. ‘Battles happen when both sides—’
Philopoemen interrupted. ‘That’s the answer to a different question. Why do Greeks, specifically, fight battles?’
Lykortas finished his first cup of wine and waved for the hipparchos’ attention.
‘Achilles,’ he said. ‘Greeks want to be like Achilles.’
Philopoemen smiled. ‘Yes. That plays a role. Heroism, and the emulation of heroism. But let me suggest, friends, that Greeks fight battles because they want to get wars over with in a hurry. Like our farmers. And why? Because war is an interruption to the life of the community – sowing, reaping, cooking, festivals. War interrupts, and farmers want it over with. We have no warrior class.’
‘The Spartans …’
Philopoemen waved Lykortas off. ‘And further, because cities discovered that they need a fair number of soldiers to fight decisive battles with a phalanx, they had to grant citizen rights to a great many men. But, by the same logic, a defeat in battle kills many citizens, and thus their army is defeated. Whereas, the defeat of an army of professional warriors changes little or nothing. Perhaps that defeat exposes the farms of the losers to looting. Perhaps it means that the victorious army can lay siege to the city of the defeated. But in the old way, in the contest between two citizen militias, the battle itself decided the issue. The voters of one assembly killed the voters of the other assembly until the issue was settled.’
The men looked at each other. Cyrena smiled. Alexanor wondered if this line of logic had come from her. What happened behind those dark eyes?
‘Knossos is ruled by a tiny council of fabulously rich men who can hire mercenaries forever. Gortyna is ruled by an assembly of the very men who will form our army, with the exception of perhaps a thousand foreign auxiliaries. If we force a battle –’ Philopoemen’s eyes were very dark – ‘victory will win us nothing. And defeat will be catastrophic.’
‘This is a new way of thinking about war,’ Alexanor said.
Philopoemen shook his head. ‘No. No, pardon me, brother, but it is not new. Have you read Thucydides?’
Dinaeos sighed and rolled his eyes. Alexanor shook his head. Kleostratos took more wine and translated for Dadas, who laughed.
Lykortas nodded. ‘Yes, I have,’ he said.
‘Well?’ Philopoemen asked.
Lykortas shrugged. ‘There are many battles in Thucydides.�
�
‘But what did the Spartans do in Attica?’ Philopoemen said. ‘Athens tried to fight the war at sea. And they tried to undermine the Spartans at home by coercing the helots to revolt. They refused to face the Spartan phalanx in open battle.’ He looked around. ‘Instead, the Spartans built a fort near Athens and used it to raid and plunder the whole plain of Attica, daring the Athenians to come out and fight. The situation is different here – we are the democrats, and our adversaries are the oligarchs. But we need to fight a war without a decisive battle, if we can. I have built my fort at Petra. I raid the plains and valleys around Knossos.’
Alexanor shook his head. ‘I still think this is a new way of looking at war,’ he said. ‘As a science.’
‘This from you?’ Phila asked with a very knowing smile. ‘Shall I tell you my pulse rate right now?’
Alexanor could not help but grin.
‘I do not know that the process of making war can be described as a science,’ Philopoemen said. ‘But some things are predictable. Alexander of Macedon proved that. Some victories are repeatable – some armies will reliably win. I do not want glory. I want Gortyna to win. I want our reforms to have time to take hold. This is not an empty war fought for possession of a few olive groves. This is a war for men’s happiness.’
‘And women’s,’ Phila said, before Cyrena could explode.
Philopoemen nodded. ‘I know a little about how armies make war on women and children. We are making war on cattle. I agree that other people will be killed. War is terrible – we know it.’
He paused, drank wine, and Cyrena reached out a hand to him, and Alexanor, for the first time, felt an urge to like her. So she knew of Philopoemen’s loss …
Philopoemen took a deep breath. ‘I can do no better than to minimise the horror, and do my best to make sure it happens in the valleys around Knossos, and not in the Vale of Gortyna.’
He sat down.
Dinaeos rose. ‘Philopoemen, I understand. I understand. I am not a rock. I know what will happen if we lose. But I’m going to say to you as someone who is, perhaps, formed of a more common clay, I understand these men, and their numbers grow every day. You need to fight a battle. And while I admire your logic –’ he smiled – ‘I think you miss something that great Alexander of Macedon understood. Men are not rational creatures. Flesh and blood men –’ he nodded to Cyrena – ‘and women are creatures of spirit and emotion. If we win a battle –’ he waved out towards Knossos – ‘the oligarchs will feel it, and feel insecure, regardless of the logic of their position. And by the gods, Philopoemen, however rich they are, they cannot make war forever.’
The New Achilles Page 29