Stealing Athena

by Karen Essex

  “No, he was upstairs in his bedchamber, waiting for the newly corrupted women to join him. I suppose he and Aspasia need the income from their brothel workers to pay for his extravagant building projects! That is what I believe.”

  “Well, that is certainly an outrage, Alkibiades. But why do you think the husbands of Athens agreed to allow their wives to enter this place of iniquity and fornication?”

  “Because they were intimidated by Perikles, of course. Under him, Athens is no longer a democracy but a monarchy. He considers himself the city’s ultimate authority. He behaves autocratically, as if he has modeled himself after the tyrant Kreon in Sophokles’ play Antigone.”

  “And the attending women? Do we know what has happened to them?”

  “Their husbands may punish them in any way they see fit. There is no reason to drag them into the public sphere any more than has already been done by Aspasia. Women belong at home, in their own quarters. Making Aspasia pay for her crime will surely send that message. Athenians, we must restore order in our homes. The women of Athens used to shun courtesans. Now they are being drafted into behaving like them—attending parties, drinking to intoxication, and fornicating with strangers.”

  “Thank you for your eloquent testimony, Alkibiades,” Hermippus said. “It is true, what you say. The world is turning upside down.” He turned to the jury. “By convicting the accused, my fellow citizens, we may rid our city not only of Aspasia, but of her influence, which as we have seen is toxic to our wives. If Aspasia wishes to conduct business as a madam, then let her do it legally. We have invited the Board of Ten to the proceedings. If Aspasia is convicted, they will fine her an appropriate amount of money, and force her to pay the proper fees that all brothel owners must pay, including taxes on her income.”

  I did not want to turn around, but I could hear the jurors talking. I thought that Hermippus was merely trying to humiliate me by portraying me as a brothel owner, much as he would do if he were writing a farce with me as a character. But from what I could hear, the jurors were taking this seriously.

  “True enough. If the woman wants to operate a brothel, then let her do so legally!” I heard a man behind me exclaim this, and I could not believe my ears when others in the vicinity shouted their agreement.

  “Who can say what fury from Athena—virgin goddess, keeper of women’s chastity and piety—Aspasia’s actions will bring down upon the city of Athens?” Hermippus continued. “Does it matter if Aspasia set out to insult the goddess by posing for her visage, or even if she knew what she was doing? The fact is that a whore’s face is on the statue of the goddess of the city. The fact is that respectable women were seduced into entering Aspasia’s house and participating in dissolute activities. Only by conviction and punishment will Athena’s wrath be assuaged. A vote to convict Aspasia is a vote to save Athens.”

  Hermippus’ speech garnered thunderous applause from the jury. The swell of sentiment against me in the theater seemed very great. I wondered if I would be denied the right to speak in my defense after all. And if I did speak, would I be safe?

  I looked at Perikles, who remained impassive. While his nonchalance normally contributed to my own feeling of serenity, this time it made me feel even more insecure. How could he remain so calm, considering what was being said against me, and the rousing approval it received from my judges, and the enormous consequences for us that might result? I did not wish to be carried away by insecurity at the very moment when I was to stand before these thousands of men and speak, but it did occur to me that Perikles might have been somewhat swayed against me by the testimony. Would his political life not be easier if he had a respectable Athenian wife who remained anonymous and in the home, instead of me, a constant target of public criticism? Surely he was sick to death of defending me when he had so many more important matters to attend to.

  But now it was time to defend myself. I stood up, taking the stage.

  “This is not the first time your comic imaginings have been presented on this stage, Hermippus,” I began, putting my hand on my belly to emphasize my condition. I was not above using it to garner sympathy and to make them feel guilty for putting a pregnant woman through this nightmare. “But not to worry. Everyone admires your skill in staging a farce, and this trial is no exception.”

  I looked out over the entire landscape of spectators. The theater, said to have a capacity of fifteen thousand people, was about half full. I was not an actor trained in recitation and oratory, and I could only hope that my softer female voice would carry to those sitting farther away. I could not yell and scream with the thunder of Alkibiades, so I would have to find another tactic to utilize the theatrical setting to my advantage.

  “I have been drawing up a mental list of the accusations made against me here today, many of which have nothing to do with the actual charges. But I will try to address them all, and put many of these ridiculous rumors to bed.

  “As far as my being the instigator of the war with Samos, I won’t address that preposterous idea, Hermippus. It cannot be proven, for one thing. No one knows the contents of Perikles’ mind. He may have gone to war in Samos on my account. But that charge does not figure in this or any trial. You might think that it is immoral to go to war to appease a woman, but it is not illegal. You may go to where the laws of Athens are written for all to see. Nowhere is it written that starting a war at a woman’s behest is a crime.”

  I could hear the snickers from the jury, and I must say that it gave me great satisfaction to use humor to make a comic poet look foolish.

  “A good prosecutor sticks to the facts. The sun will be high in the sky and the citizens soaked with sweat by the time we finish. I wish your witnesses had known how to get on with it. As it is, everyone will have to go to the baths twice today.”

  This brought outright laughter.

  “We have heard much talk today about the natural order of things. So I ask you, Athenians who so love your laws: Is it written on any stele anywhere in the agora that a woman must not upset the natural order? And is the natural order, when it concerns these issues, written for any eyes to see? I have not seen one Athenian law concerning women and the natural order, so whatever the natural order of things is, it will have to be clarified and in writing before you can prosecute me for upsetting it.

  “I am on trial for impiety and—oh, it is so foolish that I can almost not utter the word—procurement. To refresh the memories of my esteemed jurors, I shall now recite the laws against impiety.

  “There are four offenses that prescribe the charge impiety, according to the law—Athenian law, that is. The first such offense is wrongdoing in connection with a festival. As I have not taken part in any festival, except by invitation to march in the procession of the metic women at the Panathenaea—and my behavior at that event is not in question here—I cannot see how I can be prosecuted on this element of the law.

  “The second offense is the theft of sacred money, a charge of which I am not accused.”

  “The statue of Athena was paid for with public funds, Aspasia,” Hermippus interrupted. “Therefore, I submit that you did steal sacred money!”

  “Hermippus, I invite you to come to my home and search for gold. Let us do it right now, or please stop this broad interpretation of the laws of Athens to include anything you wish them to encompass. One might say that you are absconding with sacred money today by staging this trial. I invite you to look upon the many jurors who will be paid today out of the public coffers.”

  A few of the old men of the jury beat their canes against the ground to signal approval of what I had just said, which gave me confidence to continue in this vein.

  “The third category of criminal impiety is temple robbing, and again, if you believe that I have taken money or objects from any sacred place, let us search high and low so that I may be brought to justice.”

  “That is not the accusation, Aspasia, and you know it. You are the one who is going to keep us here until sunset, so please
stop enjoying the sound of your own voice and say what you have to say.”

  “Hear, hear!” Many of the jurors shouted in support of this. Unfortunately, the approval for Hermippus was still outweighing any favor I was getting from them. Perhaps Sokrates was correct; I should try to wear the persona of a good and obedient girl. He had set the defense up for me. All I had to do was embellish it.

  “The final category of criminal impiety involves a more general prohibition. One must not perform actions giving insult to the gods. Athenians, to address this aspect of the law, I ask you to listen to the testimony of Diotima, the High Priestess of Athena, who will speak in my defense.”

  It was so quiet as Diotima rose that one could have heard the fluttering of a tiny moth’s wings. She pushed the long white scarf that was protecting her skin from the sun away from her face and spoke. “I have prayed to the goddess and opened the belly of a sheep. The entrails were clear. Mortals may claim that Aspasia of Miletus has given offense to Athena, but the goddess does not concur. That is all that I have to say on the matter.”

  Unlike other witnesses, she did not return to her seat, but covered her head and departed the theater, leaving a wake of concerned mumbling from the jurors.

  I stood, striking quickly while I felt the tide turning in my favor. “The letter of the law is clear. Actions insulting to the gods may be punished as impiety. But as you have just heard, while you may be offended by me, the goddess Athena is not.”

  Hermippus did not seem either upset or surprised by Diotima’s words. “I’ll thank you to remember, Aspasia, that there are many gods, and Diotima speaks for only one deity. If you wanted to prove that you had immunity, you should have consulted with the clergy of all the Olympians, for I fear that while Athena is showing you mercy, many of her peers are not.”

  He seemed quite prepared to answer what she had said. I wondered if someone—perhaps Diotima herself—had tipped him off as to her testimony. The jury was happy to be relieved of the proof of my innocence, and began shouting approval for what Hermippus had said.

  I could feel my confidence begin to slip away. I had lost control of the crowd, and of myself, truth be told. “Athenians, please hear me! I have no tribe, no family, no household, no father to care for me, no brothers to protect me, no place in your society outside of the home of Perikles. I am no threat to you! You have heard the words of the priestess. I am innocent!”

  But I saw no sympathy in their faces. These were the cantankerous old men of Athens, who no longer had a place in civic or military life. Their hard work and good deeds, including any heroism they might once have displayed in battle, were long forgotten by the young, who were running the city now. They were beyond the years of drinking and sexual pleasure, no longer vulnerable to the charms of a young woman. Who knew how many of them were friends of the late Kimon, brother of Elpinike? In truth, they were much closer to Alkibiades’ age than to Perikles’. They were a different generation, too—the generation that thought that Perikles’ grand building projects cost too much and were ostentatious. It seemed to me at this moment that they were out for my blood. I could easily come up with more clever arguments, going word for word with Hermippus, challenging him, perhaps even mocking him and making a fool out of him. But I realized that the more I did that, the more I would prove that I was a dangerous woman, and one who had to be silenced, exiled, or made to live as a brothel worker.

  I wanted to lie down on the altar and die.

  Suddenly Perikles stood up, motioning for me to take my seat. I had no idea what he was about to do.

  “Athenians, I would like to exercise my right as a citizen to speak. Will you hear me?”

  A resounding cry of approval rang out from the jurors. A speech by Perikles was an unexpected bonus to the trial, a bit of theater they did not expect. Of course they wanted to hear what he had to say.

  “I know that some of you here do not approve of me, but let me remind you that it was I who instituted pay for those who serve on juries. Before I pushed for that piece of legislation, which has proven very lucrative for our elder citizens, jurors had to give their time in court for free. I hope all of you will enjoy the money you have made today and put it to good use in our economy.”

  It was brilliant of him to remind the lot of them of their debt to him. No one could begin a speech like Perikles—that was one of the few facts upon which all Athenians agreed. Once he started speaking, no one could resist listening. He continued: “I must also censure you, Alkibiades, for invoking the name of Sophokles to criticize me. General Sophokles fought side by side with me in Samos, so don’t think you can turn his words or characters against me. His plays portray the human condition in all its tragic beauty, whereas you are a mere murderer of character. And may I remind you that I hold no office other than general, to which I am elected every year. The people of Athens can rid themselves of me anytime they like. But they choose not to. So much for my being an autocrat. Please, brush up on your political terminology and your knowledge of the theater before you throw such language around. Now, to the business of this trial.

  “I have but one argument to make in the defense of Aspasia of Miletus. All of you are familiar with our relationship. It seems to me that you are putting this woman on trial not for any crime she has committed, but because her status as a concubine makes her vulnerable. Notice that none of the legally married women who you say were behaving like prostitutes has been charged with a crime. No, you dare not attack a married woman for fear of reprisal from the men of her tribe.

  “I would like to make Aspasia my lawful wife, but I cannot. She is kept in the concubine status against my will and against her will by the law I myself enacted that forbids marriage between a citizen and an alien.

  “Why did I make that law? I made it to protect the wealth, as well as the women, of Athens. Do you remember, Athenians, how citizens were marrying foreign women, even Syrian streetwalkers they met at the docks? Individuals who were half Athenian, half foreign—the issue of those unions—were legitimate and were inheriting Athenian wealth and Athenian land. The law was designed to retain all Athenian resources for Athens, to keep our money and our land among our people. Citizens! I was protecting the freeborn women of Athens by making that law. I would never do anything to harm or corrupt our citizen women. They are our great treasure.”

  Hermippus interrupted him. “Perikles, thank you for your impromptu oration, but you are not on trial here. Aspasia is on trial for trying to gain your favor by bringing you women.”

  “Here is where you are completely mistaken, Hermippus. You are confusing real personages with the farcical characters you create for Athens’s amusement. You portray me upon the stage as a carouser, but my fellow Athenians know that I have always said that a general’s hands and his eyes must be pure. Aspasia of Miletus is privy to the inner workings of my heart and mind. She knows that the actions she is accused of would displease me greatly and violate my code of ethics.

  “She is a wife of the heart, if not in the eyes of the law. Our child, whom she carries, I will love as I love my two sons from my first wife. It is my fault that my child will be born a bastard, but it is a responsibility that I will bear. I made the law and I will live with its consequences, though it breaks my heart.”

  “We didn’t know you had a heart, Perikles!” one man yelled. It was not a criticism, but said with humor. Everyone who had heard it erupted into laughter. Though many had come today to punish Perikles indirectly by punishing and shaming me, true to form, he had won the old men over.

  “Laws are not made for individuals. A law cannot be changed for me, or for Aspasia, or for our child, or for any man or woman. The laws are for the good of the citizen body of Athens as a whole. The laws serve the community and the community must serve the laws.”

  Now the canes thumped wildly in support of Perikles and what he was saying. He had complete command of the crowd. He did not stop.

  “Athenians! Why did we fight the Persian king? S
o that we might preserve the right to govern ourselves according to our own laws, the laws we have set forth and agreed upon. My fellow Athenians, I serve the law, as you must too. It is our laws that have made a courtesan out of a respectable woman. You heard the testimony of the holy priestess Diotima. You have heard me swear that Aspasia did not bring women into our home for any purpose other than their own curiosity about what men do at parties. I ask you now to respect our laws, the sacred and holy laws that keep our society together and make it great, and not twist them to punish an innocent and helpless woman.”

  To the astonishment of every person present, and especially me, Perikles allowed one large tear to roll down his cheek as he uttered his last words. He let it slide almost to his mouth, and then he wiped it away dramatically before sitting down again. Later everyone who was present at the trial, and many people who weren’t, would say that the departed Aeschylus, the gifted tragedian whom Perikles had sponsored in the Dionysian theatrical competition so many years ago, must have inspired his impassioned speech in defense of his lover. Even his enemies were amazed to see him so moved.

  It did not matter what Hermippus said after that, for no one was listening. When the vote was taken, almost every juror was in favor of acquittal on all charges.

  “Are you happy, Aspasia?” Perikles asked as he put his arm around me and we walked into the crowd of well-wishers who had gathered at the entrance of the theater.

  “Of course I am,” I said. “I am the happiest woman in the world because I have the love of the greatest man in the world.”

  I was relieved and delighted that I was acquitted of the charges and could continue with my life as it was. But I was disquieted too. The only reason I was set free was not because I was in the right, or because I had defended myself with skill, or even because I was innocent, but because two male Athenian citizens had vouched for my virtue. It was a victory, but one that did not leave me feeling completely victorious.