‘No better than we know him.’
‘Oh, I suspect I know him better. I remember when he threatened to invade the sanctuary of Asklepios at Epidauros.’ Alexanor smiled. ‘To answer your question, I believe that you can ride. Need I tell you that you are taking a risk, even a sizeable risk, and your wound could open at any time? Then the disorder of the humours will set in, and rot, and you will die.’
‘So I can ride?’ Philopoemen asked.
‘Sometimes I feel you are not listening to me,’ Alexanor snapped.
‘I am listening, but events are moving and I have lain on my back for eight days.’
‘Seven days.’
‘And I want … Damn it, Alexanor. They sent a killer to murder me. They killed Cyrena. And now they’ll just meet us at a peace conference.’
‘Nabis might say that he had nothing to do with your murder. That it was all done here, in Gortyna, without his authority.’ Alexanor shrugged. ‘Zophanes hates us – you and me both.’
Philopoemen sighed. ‘Do you know what Lykortas is doing?’
‘No,’ Alexanor said. ‘But he’s quite gifted, in a bent way.’
‘That’s what worries me. If I ride out to meet Nabis tomorrow, will you come?’
‘As your bodyguard, no. As your physician, of course.’ Alexanor clasped his friend’s hand.
CHAPTER TWO
Gortyna, Crete
217 BCE
The two parties met at the sanctuary of Herakles, well out on the plain of Gortyna, almost halfway between the Knossian encampment by the mountains and the city to the south and east.
Alexanor knew Nabis immediately. He was older, more dignified, and his armour was, if anything, richer, but he was the same man, and his face still wore something of the habitual sneer that had decorated it six years before. He came with an escort of Thessalian cavalry; two of them looked familiar to Alexanor. In addition, he had a pair of officers in the red cloaks of Spartiates, as well as an obvious Illyrian and half a dozen other men, all well mounted and wearing riding clothes.
Nabis’ cavalrymen went through the entire sanctuary, lined up the slaves, and examined everything, including the sacred inner rooms of the temple.
Dinaeos then entered the sanctuary with Antiphatas’ escort, and did the same, searching every room. Only then were the principals invited to enter.
A table had been set up under the sacred pines, where it was cool. The grove was beautiful, with the mountains of central Crete as a backdrop. Antiphatas sat on a stool that Dinaeos had brought for him.
‘Who are you?’ Nabis said. ‘Where is your pet Achaean?’
Antiphatas sat back. ‘I am the Archon of Gortyna. I am here to listen to your proposals on behalf of the Polis of Gortyna. Aristaenos is here to listen on behalf of the Achaean League, and Telemnastos is here for the League of Crete.’
‘You are joking,’ Nabis said. ‘I am not going to deal with some flunky of your so-called democracy.’ He looked around, but did not sit. ‘Where is Philopoemen? Or is he even alive?’
He looked at Dinaeos. ‘You, I know,’ he said.
Dinaeos smiled. ‘Philopoemen is alive, Nabis,’ he said.
‘Philopoemen is Strategos,’ Antiphatas said. ‘But he is not the head of government. And you, sir? Who are you? I do not know you.’
Nabis shrugged. ‘I am Nabis of Sparta. I command here.’
‘So you, and not the Council of Knossos, are leader of the Presbyteroi?’ Antiphatas asked. ‘You have been elected leader of the Boule of Knossos? You are perhaps Tyrant?’
Nabis shrugged. ‘I’m done here. I came to hear you democrats crawl. Surrender, or die. Those are your choices. I thought Philopoemen was man enough to come and answer in person. Apparently not.’ He sneered. ‘Goodbye.’
‘I am right here, Nabis,’ Philopoemen said.
He was wearing armour and standing next to Antiphatas’ chair. The cheek plates on his cavalry helmet hid his face, and, as Alexanor had found with some experiment, the tight bronze thorax actually supported the wound.
Nabis looked Philopoemen over. ‘There you are at last,’ he said. ‘You know, I politicked to get this mission just so that I could be the one who put you down. So, do you surrender?’
‘What are the terms?’ Antiphatas asked.
‘When I want to speak to the master, I do not address his dog,’ Nabis snapped.
‘I find it interesting,’ Philopoemen said quietly, ‘that you lord it over these men just as they seek, using you, to lord it over Crete. Do they have minds and mouths of their own?’ He looked at the Knossians in their riding clothes.
‘We are not here to make speeches,’ Nabis said.
‘Aren’t we, though?’ Antiphatas was relaxed, even cheerful. Alexanor found time to admire him. ‘We’re politicians.’
‘Are you here to surrender?’ Nabis asked.
Antiphatas shrugged. ‘I have to hear your terms.’
Nabis looked at Philopoemen. ‘There are no terms. You surrender without condition, and I, personally, will guarantee the lives of all of the Achaean soldiers and their property.’ He grinned. ‘Except Philopoemen. Sparta wants him.’
Philopoemen nodded. ‘You make this sound as if the war is between Sparta and the Achaean League.’
‘So it is,’ Nabis said. ‘What else is there?’
‘Interesting that you are so bold as to admit it. Convenient, too. You take away their citizen rights, and then send their sons to Aetolia to fight, so they cannot revolt.’ Philopoemen shrugged. ‘As I am only here as a guard, I have to decline to respond to your offer. Aristaenos, here, is the commander of the Achaean forces. Do you agree to these terms?’
Aristaenos shook his head angrily.
Antiphatas smiled. ‘So I suppose the answer is no, we won’t accept an unconditional surrender.’
Nabis looked puzzled. ‘Then why are you here?’
Antiphatas met his gaze and held it. ‘Listen, Spartan. We are citizens in a city, as you used to be. A city with laws, and with a constitution, and with an assembly—’
‘Spare me,’ Nabis said.
‘No, I will not. Your fabled lawgiver, Lycurgus, learnt his wisdom on Crete. Everything that made Sparta great came from Crete. Today, you are representing a tyranny of rich men. I represent an assembly of free men.’
‘Are you through?’ Nabis yawned. ‘I was told you were ready to surrender. I can tell I was misinformed.’
‘Surrender?’ Antiphatas asked. ‘I was told you had terms to offer. The Assembly voted to hear them. I will report them to the Assembly, but I must tell you that it seems unlikely to me that anyone in the city will accept them. Even Creon, when he hears how you silenced his allies.’ He rose.
‘You have wasted my time,’ Nabis said.
‘Supplies running low?’ Philopoemen asked.
Telemnastos, who had sat silent, grinned. ‘Running out of Illyrians?’
‘Why don’t you come out and fight, and see what happens?’ Nabis asked.
‘Why don’t you go home?’ Philopoemen asked. ‘Have you even told these gentlemen that you lost the fort at Petra? Or that there is smoke over Knossos?’
The Knossians, silent until then, all looked at each other.
Nabis was unmoved. ‘Do you know that there is a Rhodian fleet on your south coast?’ he asked. ‘Or that they are landing at Lentas?’
Alexanor felt as if he’d taken a knife in the gut.
Nabis shook his head. ‘Well, so much for talk. When we storm your city, there will be no mercy. Indeed, there is talk of massacring the population and resettling with Spartan colonists and helots.’ He made a brushing motion with his hand. ‘You are dismissed.’
‘Speaking of storming,’ Philopoemen said, ‘we have the bodies of three of your Spartiates. Would you like them returned?’
Nabis froze. Then his eyes seemed to catch fire.
‘You know I would, you bastard, ’ he said.
‘Excellent,’ Philopoemen said. ‘Then s
end a herald, as is customary, when one is defeated.’
‘I should have gutted you when I had you under my hand,’ Nabis spat.
Alexanor spoke for the first time. ‘You never had him under your hand, Spartan. Chiron, our high priest, threw you in the dust, remember? How’s your arm? Shall I look at it?’
‘Ah, the Rhodian traitor,’ Nabis said. ‘Your turn is coming.’
Antiphatas rose. ‘I see you offer nothing but taunts and threats,’ he said. ‘The saddest thing is that I, a democrat, should find that you will not even allow my actual enemies, the oligarchs of Knossos, to speak. I pity them.’
‘Enough speeches!’ Nabis called. ‘Come out and fight, or be branded cowards.’
‘Cowards?’ Philopoemen asked. If his wound hurt him, he showed no sign. ‘Cowards? When you send a hired killer to murder a woman, you have the effrontery to call me a coward?’
Nabis sneered. ‘No idea what you’re talking about,’ he said, without even trying to appear truthful. ‘Anyway, my sources inside your walls say that only some black whore died. Don’t get all pious at me.’
Philopoemen was livid. His hand went to his sword …
Alexanor had seen it all – the escalation, the tone. Philopoemen found his sword hand gripped by his friend, and Telemnastos took his other shoulder.
‘Friend of yours?’ Nabis asked. ‘Come on, break the truce and attack me.’
Antiphatas shook his head. ‘You are an ignorant man. And as the gods love justice, you are about to receive your punishment. But it will be in an open field.’
‘Last chance, Archon. Surrender and we don’t kill everyone in your town.’
Antiphatas turned to the oligarchs. ‘If you should reconsider,’ he said, ‘we would welcome all of you as free men and Cretans.’
‘This parley is at an end,’ Nabis said.
His Thessalians closed in around him. The Knossians dignitaries were left unguarded, to shuffle out of the sanctuary on their own.
‘That was no parley,’ Antiphatas said bitterly. ‘Is this all personal, between you and Nabis?’
‘Me?’ Philopoemen hissed. ‘I scarcely know him.’
‘He killed your wife,’ Antiphatas said. ‘Or so I hear.’
‘No,’ Philopoemen said. ‘Other Spartans killed my wife. Machanandas and his mercenaries. Believe me, I know. Nabis was busy trying to kill me at Epidauros.’ His voice was flat. ‘I put the good of our city ahead of any personal quarrel. And the Spartan never intended us to accept the terms. He meant to gauge our resolve while he bought time for damned Rhodian marines to land.’
‘That is a bitter blow,’ Alexanor said. ‘And they landed during a truce – surely an affront to the gods.’
‘Perhaps,’ Philopoemen said. ‘But I confess that we only wanted time, as well, and we’ve been moving people during the truce, too. If it was a truce. I swore no oath, and my legal quibble is that since Nabis never sent a herald to collect his dead, we’re still fighting.’
Alexanor looked at his friend, and thought you never used to quibble at all.
They rode carefully back to the city. Philopoemen was pale and quiet, but he appeared well enough. He led them up onto the walls of the citadel, a long climb even for a healthy man.
‘You should not—’ Alexanor began.
‘I need to see,’ the Strategos said.
And indeed, long before they were at the top, they could see columns of smoke away to the east – four of them.
‘Try that, Nabis,’ he said.
‘What are we seeing?’ Alexanor asked.
‘Several hundred low-class citizens led by Simos.’ Philopoemen waved, and then winced as he hurt his wound.
‘The man who lost a hand in the first fighting?’
‘Exactly. A good leader. Of lower-class men like him. I sent the farmers and labourers back out onto the plain. They know the olive groves – they’re attacking Nabis’ foragers. And burning anything that the enemy tries to steal.’
He was white as parchment, and unsteady.
Alexanor caught him. ‘This is an ugly kind of war, brother.’
‘All kinds of war are ugly. We will fight a battle, outnumbered almost two to one. I’m making sure that my opponent has little sleep and no food.’
‘Those men will die,’ Alexanor said.
‘They are all volunteers. Many of them volunteered because of Cyrena. They are earning their full citizen rights. And because of Cyrena, we have the lower-class men and women with us. They aren’t observers, Alexanor. They’re people, and we’re making them into a force.’
‘You are full of righteousness, I find.’
Philopoemen looked at him and nodded. ‘I agree. I fear it too.’
The next day, Nabis moved forward towards Gortyna. He linked up with four hundred veteran Rhodian marines.
‘Shouldn’t we have prevented that?’ Alexanor asked.
He was very bitter about facing his own. Once again, they were watching from the wall.
‘He’s stretching his already stretched supply line to Knossos,’ Philopoemen said. ‘Today, unless everything goes wrong, Plator will take his daily food convoy from Knossos. He’ll have to leave more than five hundred men to watch his supply lines and his camp. Maybe more.’
‘We won’t have the Illyrians …’ Alexanor began. ‘If we fight a battle in the next few days.’
‘I don’t tell you how to operate—’
‘You never trained as a physician,’ Alexanor said. ‘I was a hoplite.’
‘Quite a good one, given your fight on the wall. Leon makes you sound like Hector come to life.’
‘I prefer to think of myself as wily Odysseus,’ Alexanor said. ‘But I admit to being proud. I have never fought better. Falling off the wall wasn’t too clever, though.’
‘You walked away alive.’
‘Limped.’
‘Alive. Listen, brother. The Lyttians are a day’s march away – the best hoplites on Crete. Rumour says that the Polyrrhenians are coming behind them. We’re going to face this army. But I’m going to do everything I can to take the sting out of Nabis before I face him.’ Philopoemen pointed. ‘There they are. He’s forming the whole army, to show us his power.’
‘You seem pleased,’ Alexanor said.
Philopoemen gave him a wry smile. ‘Now I know what his fighting order is. Dadas is out there right now, counting everything.’
‘Is it tomorrow?’
Philopoemen shook his head. ‘Ask Lykortas,’ he said enigmatically.
The next day, the Knossians formed at the head of their camp and marched out onto the plain. Antiphatas drilled the phalanx inside the city. Dinaeos drilled the Allied Cavalry behind the city, to the west, towards Phaistos, and then returned suddenly, the dust of his rapid passage rising into the still late-summer air. Hidden in the dust were two thousand Lyttians, all wearing their own armour. They’d lost their city, but they were unbowed.
Kleostratos and the Thracian cavalry, reinforced with another hundred mercenaries paid by the Cretan League, were out amid the olive groves, harrying the Knossian foragers and supporting the small farmers and labourers. They were winning against Nabis’ light troops, but Nabis had taken to putting any man caught on a stake, or crucifying them on large crosses. A few had their heads removed and thrown at the town walls. The dying men screamed their lives out within sight of the city.
But instead of cowering, the new Gortyna psiloi struck back. Any Knossian straggler, any man found too far from the Knossian camp, men relieving themselves, or looking for food, were killed, their throats slit, or worse.
‘We should not be letting these men behave thus in our name,’ Antiphatas said.
Philopoemen shrugged. ‘This is war. Our opponents have no rules. We must answer in kind.’
‘Must we?’ Alexanor asked. ‘You didn’t always believe that.’
Philopoemen frowned.
Alexanor dreamt, that night, of men he knew, men he’d served with in the marines, bein
g dissected alive by Cretans. It was a terrible dream that reflected all his own fears, and he worried that it was a god-sent.
Late in the day, Nabis set up a battery of heavy engines.
In the night, Dinaeos stormed them and burnt them.
They went up to the wall nearest the house, the same stretch of wall that Leon and Alexanor had defended, to watch the engines burn. After they had been reduced to glowing embers, they walked back through darkened streets. There were barricades of carts and paving stones at some cross streets, and an impromptu militia of men and women who called out in the darkness for passwords.
‘The city is alert,’ Alexanor said.
‘The whole city is fighting,’ Philopoemen said. ‘Not just the rich.’
Leon supported Philopoemen, who was already tired, while Alexanor let them into Phila’s yard.
‘I’m going to lift weights,’ Philopoemen said. ‘I am sadly out of shape.’
‘You bear a strong resemblance to a Titan, I find,’ Alexanor laughed. ‘More like Herakles than most of us.’
Philopoemen smiled. ‘I feel as if my whole body is slipping away since this wound.’ He sat down with lifting stones. ‘Tell me what I can do?’
‘You can do any exercise that doesn’t hurt. I still fear that a little too much strain and we could open the wound, or worse. It is a miracle that you have survived two abdominal wounds. You must not strain it.’
Philopoemen nodded, an odd smile on his face. ‘I can’t lie around and do nothing any more,’ he said.
Then he began to lift the stones, favouring the left side over the right, protecting the wounded area.
A quarter of an hour later, there was a banging at the outer door, and Arkas went to answer it. He returned with Lykortas, who was beaming like a boy with his first sword. He had a roll of parchment.
‘Our traitor has served us very well,’ he said.
Philopoemen looked up. He was still exercising, sitting on the mosaic floor, lifting stones.
‘How?’
Lykortas was smug. ‘I arranged for him to see all the gold we have prepared to buy Nabis’ mercenaries.’
The New Achilles Page 35