The Gates of Athens

by Conn Iggulden

  He began to count points on his fingers, his right hand splayed before the left.

  ‘Employment of craftsmen to build them – with stalls and markets springing up wherever they buy food and tools. Two hundred oarsmen and fifty hoplites to a craft – all young men earning enough to support a new family at home. Can you see it? The city growing in health and wealth and strength? Piece by piece, that wealth will come back into Athens – for food, for bricks, for tiles, for slaves. All I ask… is that we make it into ships first, before all the rest. You will have it back in time. Give it first to the wind and the sea – and it will save us all.’

  Some of them cheered him, while others merely nodded, or stood in groups to discuss the idea. It took some time for the epistates to bring order and call for another speaker. A dozen hands rose, a few with friends willing to push them forward. Yet Aristides stood apart, surrounded by at least a hundred of his supporters. When he raised his hand and gathered in the folds of his cloak and robe, the others fell silent, allowing him to come forward. Themistocles descended to the ground as Aristides climbed the stone steps. Neither man looked at the other as they passed.

  From the height of the stone, Aristides took a slow breath of warm, afternoon air, looking out over thousands of heads. The name ‘Pnyx’ meant ‘packed in’. It was certainly true that day. All of Athens seemed to be there, watching.

  After the broad shoulders and gestures of Themistocles, Xanthippus thought Aristides seemed a slight figure in comparison, more a scholar or a teacher than a fiery orator. The man’s robe and cloak were worn, with the hem ragged and trailing threads that had darkened. His beard too was wild in places, though he looked healthy, both tanned and strong. As Aristides stood before the crowd, he raised one hand to his mouth and rubbed his second finger back and forth across his lips, his teeth showing. Whispers that had sprung up fell silent to hear him. Even those who agreed most strongly with Themistocles would not try to drown him out. It was a rare event for the epistates to have the Scythian archers step in to remove a speaker, for which Xanthippus was grateful. Beyond actual blasphemy, a man would always be heard.

  ‘Themistocles speaks well – and he is a noble man,’ Aristides began. ‘On another day, I might have expected to hear his voice calling for this new silver to be spent on a feast for all Athens, or a shining force of cavalry, or shields and swords for another ten thousand of our young men. Of course, if the money owned in common is paid out, the choice will lie with those who receive it.’

  He paused to let that idea sink in before going on.

  ‘That is the only true freedom, I think. To spend what you have earned with the sweat of your brow, the ache of your back and the calluses of your hands. To spend your coins, or to bury them in a hole in the ground. To waste them on pleasure, gifts or alms for the poorest. Perhaps we would disagree which of those is foolish and which wise, it does not matter. If the money is in my hands, the choice of how to spend it is mine. If in your hands, the choice is yours – and you will have made a child of me.’

  Aristides smiled gently, as if in reproof. He widened his stance and opened his arms to embrace all those who watched and listened.

  ‘My friends, one thing is certain. If you are given a month’s pay in silver – sixty drachms to hold, you will know the value of that sum. If you wish, you will purchase goods to that value, neither over nor under. If it is food, it will be sixty drachms’ worth of food. If it is wood or the tiles Themistocles mentioned, it will be sixty drachms’ worth of wood and tiles. If it is whores, it will be sixty drachms’ worth of experience!’

  He waited through the laughter and crude comments his words drew from them. He was like a fisherman in the responses he pulled out of the crowd, sending his hooks flying far. Xanthippus glanced across to where Themistocles stood pretending he was enjoying the reply. His smile was fixed and his eyes were slightly narrowed.

  ‘I don’t think Themistocles likes the way this is going,’ Epikleos whispered at his side.

  Xanthippus nodded, but Aristides was speaking again before he could say anything more.

  ‘If you hand your sixty drachms to the Assembly to buy these new ships in a year or two, will you get sixty drachms’ worth in return? Or will it go to the salaries of other men, administrators and officials perhaps? Will it go to feed the carpenters, or the teams cutting pine trees in the mountains? No doubt they will be well shod and have fine coats this winter, but what will you see for your coins? Will you come down to the docks to watch the ships built – and point to a single rib or beam and say with pride, “That piece there. That is mine.” Perhaps. But I have never yet seen a great work spend its funds as efficiently as a man who values the coins he has earned.’

  ‘What about the Persians?’ a voice called from somewhere near the middle. Whoever had spoken was nowhere near Themistocles. Xanthippus wondered, though. It was not beyond the man to have salted the crowd with his own supporters.

  Aristides flowed on as if he had planted the man himself, which was also possible. He and Themistocles opposed one another almost every time the Assembly met. The scores were roughly even and their struggle was the subject of betting and conversation across the city each month, with supporters on both sides coming to blows. Unfortunately, it did mean that Aristides would always speak in opposition, even when Xanthippus thought Themistocles was right, as he did that day. They needed a fleet. The idea was magnificent. Was this why Themistocles had courted his friendship after Marathon? For the first time, he considered speaking himself.

  ‘What of the Persians?’ Aristides replied. ‘Should we fear them? The Persians have never fought a battle at sea. They are creatures of the land! What good could it possibly do to chase them at sea – at risk of drowning and shipwreck – rather than wait for them to step ashore and destroy them then, on the good earth? That is what we did at Marathon, as Themistocles would do well to remember. My nameless friend, we do not fear Persian ships, any more than we fear their men!’

  He pitched it well, so that it felt like a crescendo. Xanthippus saw Themistocles dip his head to hide his fury as many in the crowd cheered. It was an easy point. The victory at Marathon still resounded with them, though a full year had passed. Yet there were many who did not cheer, who remained unmoved. He was not sure Aristides had done enough to sway them, though he had appealed to both hearts and heads.

  In the lull, other men signalled they would like to add to the discussion.

  ‘Will you give way?’ the epistates asked.

  Aristides bowed his head on the instant and stood back from the speaker’s rostrum, though he remained on the stone rather than go down.

  One by one, speakers were called forward. Some climbed to the steps to declaim breathlessly in support of a fleet, or money in their own pockets. Others called out questions from the floor and received scattered applause for their points, even as the debate moved on.

  Aristides came forward once more to answer a specific question, but it was Themistocles who brought forth a cheer as he rose to explain his position. He took questions from the massed gathering and gave them time to judge his replies, so that he found himself deep in the details of his offer.

  ‘Which way will it go?’ Epikleos said at Xanthippus’ shoulder. ‘I could put a tetradrachm on Themistocles and make myself another, at least if I choose the right moment.’

  Xanthippus frowned. His father had warned him against gambling from a young age. Having tried it anyway, he’d lost a small fortune and developed a lifelong dislike of those who seemed to have better luck.

  ‘I would not have thought Themistocles had a chance,’ he replied, aware of those around who would listen and take his lead. In such a way, a small speech from the floor could raise him to the stone dais. Xanthippus firmed his resolve and went on. ‘Before Marathon he would not have swayed this crowd. What was Persia to most of us? Some distant empire. Yet half the men here saw that great fleet. You remember! As much as it galls me, I think Themistocles is right. We ha
ve funds no one expected. What better use can there be than this, for Athenians? Ships…’ He tapped his forehead and raised his hand to be heard.

  ‘Speaker here!’ Epikleos said immediately, in support.

  More of those who knew Xanthippus cried out his name. On the speaker’s rock, he could see Themistocles watching him, so Xanthippus dipped his head a fraction. Themistocles bent close to the epistates and directed his attention on the instant, pointing Xanthippus out. There was an advantage to being on the stone. When the epistates called his name, Xanthippus found a path opened before him, leading to the steps. He went quickly, ordering his thoughts.

  Both Aristides and Themistocles stood back, rather than be seen to crowd him or show favour. Xanthippus had held a number of senior roles over the previous nine years. His wife’s uncle had created the very laws that ordered their debates. More importantly, Xanthippus had commanded his tribe in battle. On that authority, he could sway a vote. Both Themistocles and Aristides knew it.

  Xanthippus held up his hands and was honoured with silence falling. They gave respect grudgingly in Athens, but all the Marathonomachoi were favoured men.

  ‘Athenians, I speak as Xanthippus of Acamantis tribe. My own experience prompts me to add my words today. You all know our laws: those who have been blessed with wealth support the city in public service. They pay for the construction of a ship, or they pay for a company and a playwright to produce a great work, as patron. Others provide food to those they employ, or sponsor feasts for all the city. I have done these things – and I have benefited from them. Two of the ships that went with Miltiades had my silver in their oars and sails. Yet I do not hold myself apart from you. On this day, we are all of the same class. It follows, then, that Athens can ask any one of us for our service. That is my first point.’

  He paused, while a murmur of interest went around the Pnyx hill. Xanthippus clenched his jaw, ordering his thoughts. He had no idea how Themistocles livened them in quite the way he did. Xanthippus had the suspicion that any attempt at humour would be met with funereal silence. He felt himself flush at the thought. Better to press on with arguments.

  ‘My second point is this. A ship lasts – longer than food, or tiles or…’ He waved a hand, searching for another example.

  ‘New robes,’ Themistocles murmured.

  Aristides raised an eyebrow at that, wondering if it had been aimed at him.

  ‘New robes…’ Xanthippus added. ‘My triremes will row the Aegean long after I am in my tomb. That is a legacy – and it can belong to all of us. On this day, every man of Athens has the same choice. We must build this fleet.’

  The crescendo was a little weak, but Themistocles led the applause, so Xanthippus was able to stand down with good grace. On impulse, he decided not to leave the rock and remained instead as Themistocles approached the speaker’s stone once more.

  ‘I give thanks to my friend, Xanthippus of Cholargos deme. His words brought to mind a last point, for those of us who have debated the meanings of the oracle at Delphi.’

  Silence returned, so that Xanthippus could hear the breeze ruffle robes once more. He knew Themistocles was far too clever a man to risk being disrespectful, yet there was always the sense that he could bend anything to his will, if he saw a great enough need.

  ‘The priestess of the oracle once told Cleisthenes that “Athens will rely on wooden walls”. Do you remember that?’

  The crowd murmured agreement – with more than a few pointing to the massive rock that rose above the city. Themistocles looked up at it.

  ‘The Acropolis, yes. That is where the tyrant Hippias barricaded himself against the people – and the Spartan army that came to winkle him out. He thought wooden walls would save him. The oracle gave no details, but I do not think those were the walls the priestess of Apollo meant. They did not save Hippias!’ He went on quickly as some in the crowd were already turning to speak to their friends, seeing it before the rest. ‘I tell you, the wooden walls are the ships we will build. When Persia returns, we will “rely” on those wooden walls at sea! And the prophecy will be complete.’

  Heads nodded in support and Themistocles smiled. He’d worried Xanthippus had stolen the heat out of them with his dry style. Yet the Assembly met four full days a month. They might appreciate grand gestures and crescendos, but they disliked being pushed. At times, dry argument was more persuasive than the most impressive flourishes of rhetoric. The moment was upon them.

  ‘I call for a binding vote,’ Themistocles said.

  ‘I second it,’ Xanthippus added, though hundreds more answered at the same time. Still, Themistocles acknowledged his contribution, leaning in close to speak.

  ‘You are on the side of right today, Xanthippus. We truly need those ships. It is invigorating, is it not?’

  The voting would not be the formal process of scribing a name onto a piece of pottery, but a simple movement to the edges of the Pnyx, the two sides counted and recorded. Xanthippus looked over the men of his city as they made their way to support or deny the motion. They had given up their entire day for this. Some of them would sit all the way through the afternoon and early evening to hear urgent cases in law. Others would bring points of complaint to be judged and settled by smaller groups of their peers. There was nothing like it in the world, and yet there were times when he wished simple deference played a greater part. The Assembly was like a powerful young bullock. It could be steered with a light touch, but it was young and confident and appallingly strong.

  ‘It is… impressive,’ Xanthippus said at last. ‘You think the ships are truly the wooden walls of the prophecy?’

  ‘Of course,’ Themistocles said.

  Xanthippus wished he had not asked as Themistocles clapped him on the shoulder and headed down to be counted.

  The vote was in their favour, with the entire wealth of the new mine going to build more ships than Athens had ever known before. Aristides closed that part of the meeting with a formal acceptance of defeat on the motion. He gave way with gentle good grace, though a faint flush showed along his neck and jaw.

  13

  Ships were sighted at anchor along the eastern coast of Attica as darkness fell. If Miltiades had hoped to return to the port of Piraeus unnoticed, he would be disappointed. Night came slowly enough in late summer, but even in home waters, the captains would not risk grounding on unseen rocks, instead seeking safe anchorage until the sun rose once more. In half a dozen places along the Attic coast, that first glimpse sent runners away into the long purple twilight. For villages in that region east of Athens, noble houses like the Alcmaeonidae had always paid well for such information. Boys were employed, in their youth and stamina, to bring news of heavy-laden ships or the return of expeditions. Or word of a Persian invasion. Fortunes could be made and lost on that knowledge. While the moon rose and fell, lonely tracks through the mountains echoed to the slap of running feet as those lads earned their pay, racing to be first to the gates of Athens.

  The Assembly was called at dawn, with news spreading from street-criers to the ears of those heading to work, or rising to attend trials at the Pnyx and the Areopagus. Though the work of the Assembly paid barely half a day’s wage, most men saw it as a privilege. Yet on that morning in autumn, all such lesser tasks would be left undone. Miltiades had been gone from Athens since the beginning of spring – longer than anyone had expected. They had feared reports of a great summer storm smashing their triremes to pieces before they could reach shelter and be pulled clear of the sea’s wrath.

  Xanthippus came awake with a start when someone touched his arm. He lurched up and put his bare feet to the tiled floor, stifling a groan at the ache in his knee and twinges from his lower back, just above the hip. He had never known a wound there, but something had drawn tight over the previous year. It troubled his sleep.

  ‘What is it?’ he hissed.

  The slave Manias had brought a clay oil lamp with him. The wick spat and crackled as it shed light. Manias placed it sa
fely on the bedroom table before replying.

  ‘The fleet, master. Miltiades has returned.’

  Xanthippus was on his feet in an instant, his aches forgotten. There had been rumours of a disaster. Though Miltiades had gone hunting far from Athens, it was astonishing how news could travel, fishing crew to fishing crew, warship to merchant trader. The sea was wide, but with enough time, news travelled to every cove and inlet along the shores.

  ‘Bring me…’

  He stopped as he saw a clean chiton robe and sandals draped over the older man’s arm. Xanthippus dressed quickly.

  ‘Is Agariste awake?’

  Something shifted in the man’s expression and Xanthippus wondered if the slave of a previous household could ever be properly loyal to a new master. The law said Manias was his property, but Xanthippus didn’t trust the man. A slave who had known Agariste as a little girl would never betray her confidence.

  ‘I believe she did not sleep well, master,’ Manias said.

  Xanthippus paused in the act of putting a knife under his belt. Did Agariste have a lover? Perhaps Manias was there to distract him while some youth climbed out of a window. Stranger things happened every day in Athens, but he shook his head at the image.

  Being disturbed in the night gave him the sense of preparing for war, but if it was just the return of the fleet, they had no more than rumours and gossip fit for the markets. For all he knew, Miltiades could have captured the Persian pay chests and won a great victory. Wild rumours describing plumes of smoke could just as easily be a Persian camp as any ships of Athens. He hoped so.

  Xanthippus looked up when he heard one of the children call out nearby. They had their own nannies, of course, but it would not hurt to send Manias as well.