The Gates of Athens

by Conn Iggulden

  Xanthippus frowned. He had heard no rumours of Hippias in the battle, nor seen his banners, nor any Greek shields in the Persian lines. How could Miltiades have learned such a thing? There had been prisoners taken and interrogated, of course. They had suffered before being killed, some of them. Perhaps they had told Miltiades more than he had revealed the night before. Even so, suspicion flared.

  ‘Before the battle,’ Miltiades went on, ‘I had word Hippias would return from the palaces of Persia to accompany the Great King. A traitor to all Greece, to be aiding our enemies in such a way.’

  Miltiades paused while a growl swept through the crowd. It was a sound of true anger, and if Hippias had stood before them then, Xanthippus thought they would surely have torn him apart.

  ‘Much of their fleet survives, with their cavalry and thousands of soldiers. They remain a threat to us – with Hippias among their number. So I ask no victor’s wreath from you for yesterday, not for me, nor for the men who held the line. We know what we did – and we know it was enough. All I ask is to be given a fleet, to hunt down the Persian survivors, to seek out Hippias wherever he has gone to ground. If the Assembly votes today, to allow me construction of ships and men to crew them – as well as the silver from our treasury to pay for their service – if you can do this, I will bring back a greater sum in Persian silver, and I will exact our vengeance on Hippias: long, long overdue.’

  As the crowd erupted once again, Epikleos leaned in very close, so that his lips almost touched Xanthippus’ ear.

  ‘At least he will be away from Athens for a time,’ he said. ‘If the gods are willing, we may never see him again.’

  Xanthippus nodded, watching as Miltiades was lifted once more onto the shoulders of his friends and supporters. The man had held back the wing to give the battle to the Persians, Xanthippus was certain. If he had succeeded, the people who cheered would have wept in chains that very day, bought and sold on the slave blocks. It did not matter that Miltiades had failed, only that he had not been punished for his attempt. There was an injustice there and it burned in his breast.

  ‘I am for home,’ Xanthippus said to Epikleos, repeating it more loudly when the man cupped a hand behind his ear and looked blank. ‘The house in Cholargos deme.’

  Epikleos nodded. He knew his friend detested crowds. His duty had kept him there, to hear Miltiades and Themistocles speak. Yet the pressure of eyes wearied him.

  Xanthippus and Epikleos waited only long enough to raise their hands in the public vote. Even then, Xanthippus might have kept his down. Epikleos tapped him on the elbow.

  ‘Never let the deer see your bow,’ he said into his ear.

  Xanthippus breathed long and slow and raised his arm with the rest to be counted. Miltiades noted it, he saw. Amongst all the others, he seemed to spot Xanthippus in that instant. The man missed very little as he looked across the people he would have betrayed, tears shining in his eyes.

  10

  Xanthippus breathed in the smell of clean new wood as he watched ribs of pine and oak being shaped and lowered into place. The keels of forty new triremes had been laid in cradles all along the shore of the port of Piraeus. All but three had been finished through the winter months, ready for the spring he could already smell in the air. The work was almost at an end and with it came a sense of anticipation. Some of the new fleet were out, the crews training to work together, to learn commands roared in the heat of battle, to stop and turn in just a few lengths, astonishing anyone who saw them move. They would be able to defend themselves against any Persian warship. More, they would be hawks to them.

  When the last ones were ready, there would be a final launch, with all the rest in formation on the sea. Galleys of pine, oak and bronze would surge out then, past the sheltered shores and into the deep. Ninety oars to a side in three banks of thirty, sweeping the dark waters of the Aegean. Free men rowed the ships of Athens, men who bore arms and could defend their ships from being boarded. They had surprised enemies before with that simplest of tactics. Chained slaves did not fight like free Greeks. Though they had to be paid, it was honourable work for those who wanted to play a part but had no armour or weapons. They too had a vote in the Assembly – and they wanted to defend the city.

  Athens lay behind him as he watched the carpenters at their labours. Xanthippus smiled when he realised the beat of mallet and chisels made his ears ring, yet left him perfectly calm. There were different kinds of noise, it seemed. The shaping of wood and shouts for nails and glue did not trouble him. In comparison to arguments in the city, mere physical labour was a balm.

  The port lay just thirty stades or so to the south-west of the city walls. Xanthippus could run to the shore in half an hour and he enjoyed having a destination. Some of the serious young men of the Assembly pounded laps at the gymnasia, lost in a sort of dreaming state as they poured with sweat. Xanthippus preferred to aim at a place – and he had an interest in the ships being constructed.

  The city could not afford them, not really. The richest families had all been approached to do their part and provide vast sums of silver. Two of the keels taking shape in sections on the shore had been financed by the Alcmaeonid family. A piece of his wife’s wealth – his wealth! – would travel with Miltiades when he set out in the spring.

  Xanthippus had no responsibility for the ships, not once the payment had been made. He had heard one would bear a likeness of Agariste on the prow, but that was a whim of his wife and a side arrangement with a master carver, not any recognition of the payment. Xanthippus sighed to himself. The simplest design would be an eye painted on either side of the ram – to see the way to the enemy. As with his old shield, simple was often best.

  He walked slowly along the quayside, where unfinished skeletons lay in cradles of grey oak, held away from the sea by wooden doors and great baulks. When the time came, when they were ready, the waters would be allowed to pour in, raising the triremes in their new element. They would be towed out then, for sea trials.

  He watched in fascination as a ram was fitted to one that was almost ready. The massive bronze ship-killers were fearsome things, sheets of metal nailed onto wooden beams for the perfect combination of lightness and strength. Long and wide, they looked blunt, though he knew the reason for that. Rams were meant to break a hull and then allow the living weapon of the attacking ship to withdraw and seek another target. Anything like a spike would remain stuck. These rams were hammers. At full speed, with the weight of a ship and two hundred men behind them, they could smash through anything afloat. It was a kind of warfare that appealed to Xanthippus.

  He stood naked, letting the sea breeze dry his sweat. His knee was hurting, of course. He missed the days when he had been able to complete a little run like that a dozen times if he’d wanted, without a week of stiff muscles and an aching lower back. He sighed. The years were cruel. At least the day was clear, after three of solid rain.

  From among the triremes further down the line, he saw two men walk out together. Xanthippus swore under his breath as he recognised Themistocles, the taller man’s head bent in conversation with Aristides. No doubt they were fulfilling their duties for the Assembly and checking each nail and tool and silver coin. There could be no waste, not with a fleet of this size. Seventy ships was a huge undertaking, a good share of the wealth of Athens sent out onto the waves to be fortune’s plaything. There were some who said Miltiades should never have been granted his request, but he had picked his moment well.

  Xanthippus turned to go, but of course in that instant Themistocles felt his gaze and looked up. The big man raised his hand and called out his name. There was a single heartbeat when Xanthippus might have pretended he had not heard, but he hesitated and the moment was gone. The pair strolled over to him. Both wore simple robes and carried scrolls of papyrus under their arms, marked with images and tally lists. Xanthippus groaned to himself, but he would not retreat. Instead, he forced a smile and stood, feeling sweat drip down his back. Had he grown so unfit
since Marathon? He had trained harder than ever, but age stole all in the end. He imagined getting so soft he grew a stomach, as some men did in their middle age. The idea filled him with horror and he resolved to run hard on the return, knee or no knee.

  Themistocles eyed him as he drew up.

  ‘You are looking well, Xanthippus,’ he said. ‘I thought I recognised you. Have you come to see your ships?’

  ‘They are not mine,’ Xanthippus replied immediately. How was it that Themistocles always seemed to nettle him with just a word? It was frustrating. He saw Aristides looked calm and unruffled and understood in that moment how the man irritated Themistocles above all others.

  ‘It is good to see you both well – and your concern for the new galleys,’ Xanthippus said.

  Aristides smiled gently.

  ‘We all have an interest, Xanthippus,’ he said. ‘We three stood with him at Marathon. We bear the scars of that day. It is my duty to see Miltiades launched and launched well. It is the will of the Assembly, after all.’

  Xanthippus dipped his head. He thought he saw Themistocles roll his eyes behind him but he did not look past the Assembly member.

  ‘I heard of your appointment as eponymous archon, Aristides. It is much deserved.’

  To his pleasure, Aristides waved away the compliment.

  ‘Such things matter not at all, Xanthippus, as you know very well. At best, they are temptations to vanity. At worst, they are a worm in the soul! Should it matter to me that the Assembly of the people voted my name as the name for the year? There were other candidates. Were they somehow less worthy of honour? Themistocles could have been named to the position just as easily. A single vote might have separated us – would I then be eaten with envy? Would my worth be less, or his, more? Of course not. It is all trivial, Xanthippus. You understand, I know.’

  Xanthippus felt himself flush. He was delighted to be included in the intimacy of equals, regardless of the truth of it. There could only be one eponymous archon elected each year. The year of Aristides would be the pillar on which all events were set. ‘That was three years after Aristides,’ men would say, perhaps for centuries. Xanthippus believed the older man cared little for such honours, but he knew he was not so detached himself. Neither, he suspected, was Themistocles.

  ‘I am heading over to see the dockmaster,’ Aristides said. He reached out and Xanthippus took his hand, feeling a firm, dry grip. ‘I have found discrepancies in his accounts.’

  ‘Criminal, or incompetence?’ Xanthippus asked. He found the presence of Aristides made him want to be serious and thoughtful. The man set a high standard.

  Aristides weighed his answer before replying, given that a man’s life would hang on it.

  ‘I believe it is the latter, but I will judge his reaction. If necessary, I will bring him before the Assembly to be judged.’

  ‘Is there a chance of violence?’ Xanthippus said. ‘I have no sword, but I could accompany you. It would not do to have an archon assaulted in his duties.’

  Aristides looked away in thought, then shook his head. He had no physical fear at all, Xanthippus had noted before, as if the threat of mere injury or even death were of no concern.

  ‘I don’t think so. I am well known here. If he did lash out, there are a dozen carpenters and slaves who would restrain him. Thank you for your concern, Xanthippus. You are a good man.’

  Xanthippus felt himself flush again as Aristides turned and walked down to the docks. It was tempting to go with him. He sensed Themistocles watching with raised eyebrows. The atmosphere was different, as if they had both stepped off the stage and could be themselves. Aristides had done that, Xanthippus realised. Or his admiration for the man had.

  ‘I have spent the morning with our new archon,’ Themistocles said. ‘A morning I will not get back.’

  Xanthippus glowered, unwilling to be drawn in and wary of criticising Aristides in any way.

  ‘He is the best of us,’ he said firmly, ignoring a snort from the other.

  ‘For some, perhaps,’ Themistocles said. He shrugged when Xanthippus looked over to him. ‘Some men are ruled by greed and stupidity and lust. They would steal a drachm from their own mother, or stamp on the fingers of another man to stop them rising. They are like children in their spite.’

  ‘You are not talking about Aristides!’ Xanthippus said, turning to face him in his astonishment.

  ‘No, of course not. Men like those need men like Aristides. They need to see that there are those who could be left guarding a room of gold coins and not steal a single one. More, they would starve to death and not lift a crust of bread that was not theirs. Aristides is such a man, I know it. You know it as well. His will… his honour – it is like iron. He could run this port of Piraeus, or the whole city, and it would work like a phalanx in perfect formation.’

  Xanthippus looked suspiciously at him.

  ‘You admire him then…’ he said. ‘As do I. We need men like…’

  ‘But it would be a dead city, with men like Aristides in charge of the laws,’ Themistocles went on. He turned to watch the small, slight man making his way to the dockmaster’s office. ‘Oh, it would run well enough, as a ship can be made to move against the wind. The rowers give their labour and the entire vessel cuts the waves, carrying us all. Aristides can make that happen.’

  ‘Why then a “dead city”?’ Xanthippus demanded, growing angry. How was it that every conversation with Themistocles seemed to go this way? The man had the most extraordinary ability to prick at him.

  Themistocles shrugged again.

  ‘Men need more than bread and wine, more than lovers, more than gold.’

  ‘You mean the gods?’

  To his surprise, Themistocles chuckled.

  ‘I do not. How interesting your mind is, Xanthippus of Cholargos! No, men need ambition. Those like Aristides would be content to maintain, to conserve what we have.’

  ‘That does not seem such an ill thing,’ Xanthippus replied.

  ‘The world changes. If you merely repaint and rebuild, the cracks will show eventually. You have seen ruins, my friend, of temples and gates. There are peoples gone before us, who would not change. Who did not have the ambition to stand up and say, “We will make a mark that will never be forgotten.”’

  He had taken on a strange intensity that was almost uncomfortable to witness. Xanthippus watched the gleam of it fade from his eyes. Themistocles shook himself as if waking.

  ‘Either way, I would not want him at my dinner table. He kills laughter with that sour expression of his.’

  Xanthippus nodded uncomfortably. In that moment, he was weary of Themistocles.

  ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I am going back to the city. I promised myself I would put in a hard run today.’

  Themistocles eyed him, seeing the long limbs and powerful muscles of a man who trained every day in the skills of war.

  ‘May I run alongside, or would you prefer to be alone?’

  Xanthippus heard the challenge and he smiled.

  ‘I would be happy to have company, but I warn you, I set a hard pace.’

  Themistocles shrugged out of his robe and sandals, pulling his tunic over his head so that he stood naked. Xanthippus was reminded this was a man who loved to wrestle and box. He gleamed with health and Xanthippus wondered if he had overreached. He was no longer young and his knee was already aching. He showed nothing of that.

  Themistocles arranged his belongings in a small pile, then whistled down the hill. A slave came trotting up from the docks in answer.

  Themistocles nodded.

  ‘Lead on, Xanthippus. I will do my best to keep up with you.’

  They set off at an easy lope, each man aware of the other and determined not to lose, even if they died in the attempt.

  11

  It was the knee that let him down. Xanthippus and Themistocles had almost burst their hearts racing all the way back. With the city wall in sight, they’d both broken into a sprint, pounding the earth road
and spattering drops of sweat as they went. Xanthippus had felt his knee give way as if an iron spike had been driven through it. He’d lost speed, reduced to a hobble. He’d forced himself on even then, though Themistocles had pulled ahead without looking back. Some of those taking ox-carts from the port to the city had even cheered the heroes of Marathon, no doubt recognising Themistocles.

  The two men ended up panting wildly at the city gate, watched by Scythian archers on the wall. Those metics were employed by the Assembly to keep order on the streets, or sometimes when an argument broke into violence on the Pnyx hill itself. That single space could hold twenty thousand, so when currents of anger or discussion became too rough, bloodshed was not uncommon.

  Themistocles chuckled as Xanthippus joined him. They were both red-faced, but recovered quickly, though it nearly strangled them to give that impression.

  ‘You are limping,’ Themistocles noted. ‘Though I give thanks for it. I was fading when you slowed down.’

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Xanthippus said. He did not want to give anything like an excuse. Themistocles had won their race. He would not complain about it.

  ‘I know the gymnasiarch by the Ilissus river – just a few stades from here. The new place. He’ll make us welcome. He ought to, he is Leontis tribe – and he stood with me at Marathon.’

  Xanthippus hesitated, rather than refuse. He needed to be rubbed down and oiled if he was to walk at all the next day. His knee felt like it was on fire and he could see the muscles fluttering around it. Yet his preferred gym was either the Academy, to the north, or one to the east of the city. More, he didn’t want to feel indebted to Themistocles. Sweat dropped from the tip of his nose, making him rub his face with one hand. On impulse, Xanthippus nodded and Themistocles led the way, already breathing well.