The Gates of Athens

by Conn Iggulden

  ‘Were they brave?’ one of the Arcadian contingent called out.

  There was a longing in that room for humour. Men needed it when the news was bad. Themistocles considered his response for a moment, then decided to tell the simple truth.

  ‘Brave enough.’ He watched the Arcadian’s smile fade. ‘They stood in good formation and they did not break – though the sea was at their backs and their king watched, or one of his lords. We never saw him. Perhaps they could not run. In the end, we had to kill them all.’

  He saw the Spartans look up at that, watching him. Cleombrotus knew very well his people had not made it to Marathon in time. Themistocles and Aristides had gone out to meet them the following day, when they finally arrived, having force-marched for two days and nights without rest. The dust and sweat on the Spartans had stilled the quick humour in his throat that day, for which Themistocles was grateful. More, there had been a kind of madness in their eyes. They hated to fail. No barb he might have fashioned could have hurt them more than their own shame – but they would have remembered it even so. Themistocles shuddered to recall their expressions. The men who sat with Cleombrotus were the same breed, like mad dogs with the will and discipline of men. They were terrifying. He was pleased to have them under the same roof, with a common enemy.

  ‘The shield drills protected us against sling-shot and arrow. Not all of you use spears as long as the Athenian style, but they were effective. When it came to the shield wall, the Persians were brave enough, but they carried no hoplons of their own and they were vulnerable. If they bring the same armour and arms to another battle, I would bet every drachm I can earn or borrow on us beating them.’

  There were nodding heads and smiles enough at that. More than a few bent close to others and a dozen conversations began. Themistocles found himself clearing his throat once more, interrupting. His people! He loved them, but given time, they would talk a man to death, Athenian or not.

  ‘I have two reasons to doubt my own judgement,’ he said. ‘Between us, we can put… how many? Athens will offer two hundred ships, eight hundred archers… eight thousand hoplites. Can Sparta match that last?’

  He waited for the Spartans to dip their heads reluctantly. They were famously reticent on the strengths of their army, but he had to know. Themistocles hid his relief.

  ‘The rest of you can field thirty or forty thousand between you – at most. Not all will be fully armed hoplites, not all will be experienced. When we stand together, we will have no more than sixty, perhaps seventy, thousand Hellenes.’

  He paused for a moment. What he was about to say was not news to them, but the comparison was still stark.

  ‘The Persians can put at least five times as many in the field. Some reports are of half a million.’ He waited through the murmur of disbelief and dismay. ‘Not all will be fully armed warriors, not all will be experienced, but there are so many, we will be hard pressed.’

  He saw by their expressions that he did not need to elaborate further. They knew the stakes, just as he did.

  The Megaran stood up at the back, a short warrior with a black beard close-cropped. He looked around thirty, in his prime.

  ‘How can we stand against such a host?’

  ‘I don’t know that we can,’ Themistocles replied. ‘I know that Athens will. We will meet them at sea and I pledge our one hundred and eighty ships in service of all Greece. Forty thousand rowers and hoplites, gentlemen. We have trained every son – and we will hold nothing back, nothing at all. Understand that. We will ram their ships and drown anyone attempting to make landfall. Gentlemen!’

  He had to call again to interrupt the nervous conversations breaking out across the room. With bad grace, Themistocles gave way to one of the Corinthians. He did not know him, except by the reputation of his city.

  ‘Corinth can add forty galleys to this alliance.’

  Themistocles blinked in surprise as the man sat down. He had not intended to request ship numbers, but he rode the moment and gestured calmly to another as he rose, a man of surpassing ugliness and a broken nose that suggested a youth spent fighting.

  ‘The island of Cythnos has but one trireme to pledge,’ the man said. ‘But our entire navy stands with you.’

  There was laughter at that, though it died away as one of the Spartans stood.

  ‘I am Eurybiades, of the Spartan fleet. We have only sixteen galleys to patrol our coasts. It is all we need. Our rowers are helots, but each ship carries forty Spartiate warriors. If there is to be fighting at sea, we will play a part.’

  Themistocles nodded. He expected the Spartan to take his seat once more. When Eurybiades did not, Themistocles had to pause in the act of acknowledging one of the Arcadian officers.

  ‘I can pledge our sixteen,’ Eurybiades went on, ‘but I cannot give up its command, nor accept the command of others in war. That is our code, gentlemen. If I went back to tell the ephors and kings of Sparta that I had given our fleet to the orders of Themistocles of Athens, I would be given a knife and a quiet room to make my ending.’

  Themistocles hesitated, thinking fast. He missed Aristides then! That man could spin an argument from spiderweb and Themistocles was coming up short.

  ‘Our ships…’ Themistocles began, ‘have trained in manoeuvres you will not have seen, could not attempt with just sixteen. We have tactics and formations, commands you will not have heard… a thousand things.’

  To his dismay, Eurybiades sat down. With anyone else, Themistocles would have counted the point won. With the Spartan, he had the suspicion that the man had laid out his offer and saw no reason to discuss it further. Themistocles might have gone on speaking for an hour and made no impression at all. He wondered if Aristides could have done any better.

  Themistocles bit his lip. He was on his own in the room, with vital decisions that would affect the lives of every man there. It was also true that whatever he agreed with the Spartans could be revoked when they were at sea, or when battle was joined. He closed his eyes for a long blink, knowing this was exactly the sort of Athenian low cunning that the Spartans detested. Too many beats of time had passed already, with fresh conversations breaking out.

  ‘Athens accepts your offer to lead the fleet, Eurybiades. We are grateful. Are there any dissenting voices? Good.’

  The Spartan dipped his head in acknowledgement, though there was no triumph in it. It was truly as if Eurybiades knew there was no alternative.

  Themistocles took a deep breath, settling his nerves. He dabbed at his forehead, where sweat shone.

  ‘The second reason victory will be hard is the numbers here tonight. Where are our brothers this evening? I sent delegates all over Greece, west and east and north, right to Macedonia. You answered, but the influence of Persia spreads further every season. I know some will have been bought off by coins and promises, made slaves by gold archers.’

  ‘None of that matters,’ Cleombrotus said.

  The senior Spartan spoke softly, but the whispers died away as the others realised who it was. His voice was warm and low, like a growl. He tapped Eurybiades on the arm and rose to his feet, as if they had agreed it was his turn. The Spartan’s mouth twitched as he found the rest of them literally looking up to him.

  ‘Themistocles has spoken much of ships, though wars are never won at sea. We will face the invaders on land – and we will prevail.’

  To Themistocles’ astonishment, the brother of the king of Sparta sat down as abruptly as he had risen, as if he had finished and said all he wanted to say. They were infuriating, almost as if they understood exactly what would annoy an Athenian and then plucked that note, over and over. Themistocles rose again, this time with half a dozen others wanting to speak. To his pleasure, they gave way when they saw he was on his feet. In truth, they were less hostile than the Assembly.

  ‘Athens stands – with our wooden walls at sea, with all our hoplites committed to war. When they come, we will accept Spartan command on the field. Shall I put it to the vote?�
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  Cleombrotus rose once again. To Themistocles’ irritation, he shrugged.

  ‘If you wish. You know we will command. We do not accept orders from other Greeks, Themistocles, even those of Athens.’

  The gathered men groaned or grumbled at that. Cleombrotus waited for the sound to die down, his gaze turning back and forth as he looked for opposition. He would not let them blow air and roll their eyes to keep their dignity. There were two great powers in that room and two alone. Cleombrotus challenged them with his flat stare, forcing them to accept what they knew to be true. One by one, Themistocles saw them look away or dip their heads. They were like dogs with a lead wolf, accepting him. It was astonishing. He wondered if it would work on the Pnyx.

  ‘You have my oath,’ Cleombrotus said, looking across the room to Themistocles. ‘That is what you wanted, isn’t it? I speak for my brother, King Leonidas. If the Persians come, we will march to meet them on the field. Five thousand Spartiate warriors, five thousand lesser men… and our helots. It will be a good day.’

  Themistocles opened his mouth to speak, but the Spartan rose and left, his three companions trooping out behind him. The brother of King Leonidas glanced only once at Themistocles, a quirk of his lips indicating at least some humour.

  When they had gone, a subtle tension left the room. Themistocles wiped sweat from his forehead. His return to Athens was already days overdue. The Assembly would be demanding his report with increasing urgency, and the fleet was hardly ready to fight a mock battle, never mind a real one. He had wanted this, he reminded himself. He had wanted to lead. He had just not expected it to be quite so much work.

  ‘Will you accompany the Athenian hoplites?’ his friend the Megaran asked.

  Themistocles scratched his chin. He had built the fleet himself, from the silver of Laurium, to training captains and rowers to their labours. The thought of leaving it to another was like a physical pain. He needed good men. He needed strategoi. His heart sank as he understood what he had to do. It was against the law, but in his heart of hearts, he knew laws were for lesser men. He would make them anew, if he had to persuade the entire Assembly to do it.

  30

  Themistocles stood on the Pnyx, facing Athens. In response to news of his return from Larissa, the centre of the city was packed. There had to be twenty thousand on the Pnyx hill alone, with at least as many around that rock, in every street. Most could not hear a word, but with talk of war on the wind, they had come even so, to be there.

  The archons of the Areopagus had taken positions close to the speaker’s stone, with the epistates of the day. For once, it was a man Themistocles knew, from his own tribe. There was no sign of fellow feeling, however. Themistocles was losing the crowd, he could feel it.

  ‘If I had not given command of the fleet to Sparta, we would have lost their ships – and perhaps their army as well. Can you deny it?’

  ‘The motion under discussion is whether you should have returned here first to seek the approval of the Assembly,’ the epistates said.

  Themistocles glared at him.

  ‘No man here has supported this Assembly with more energy than I. I sought the support of all Hellas as your representative.’

  ‘As a tyrant, then!’ someone shouted from the back.

  Themistocles forced a smile, raising his voice to carry as far as he could, though it strained his throat and stole subtlety.

  ‘Never! I have honoured Athens and this Assembly with my every breath. Yet in war – and war is what we face – we appoint strategoi, do we not? In that moment, faced with losing Sparta from our alliance, I chose to accept on behalf of us all.’

  He gave way to Cimon, as Cimon expected all men to do. The Assembly member did not yet have his father’s powerful presence, but it was coming, Themistocles thought. As a shepherd can feel the first heat of summer, he could sense it. Though all the senior roles of the city were denied to Cimon until his thirtieth birthday, he had established himself as a name. He would certainly be an archon and a strategos like Miltiades. Yet he had been raised without his father’s hand on his shoulder. There was a roughness, a simmering violence in Cimon. He had learned to harness other men to his service, though with little subtlety. Cimon wrenched savagely at whatever reins fell to his hand. With war coming, Themistocles thought there was a chance the young man would break free of all restraint.

  Themistocles kept a smile plastered across his face, but he had been accused and jostled and irritated since the sun rose. He had seen himself once as a master of those around him, capable of employing the currents of public feeling to take him anywhere he wanted to go. He shook his head as if in sorrow, feeling his thoughts moving sluggishly. Had he lost that sense, that delicacy? Age stole many things from a man. Had the scythe of time taken his ability to read a crowd? How many greybeards had he known who no longer seemed to understand the conversations of the young?

  ‘… of walls built across the isthmus,’ Cimon was saying, haranguing the crowd.

  Themistocles dragged his attention back, realising he had missed the main point. By Athena, he was tired! He rubbed his face, wanting nothing more than a little wine, a few hours of sleep. He had to struggle to listen to whatever Cimon was saying, though it seemed to support him.

  ‘If the cities of the Peloponnese believe they can live behind those walls while Persia rapes Greece, they are certainly mistaken! Sparta has but sixteen warships. The Persians could land armies anywhere on their coast. Yet that does not matter. If the Spartans and the Corinthians believe they are safe behind their barricade, they might not engage. Remember, we are their allies only by necessity. Themistocles made them understand we had a better chance together than in two parts. That is a victory, regardless of how it came about.’

  Cimon stepped abruptly away from the speaker’s stone, as if he disdained their support. Some of his people cheered him even so. Yet there were not enough of them, even though he had offered his fields and harvest to any man of Athens who needed food.

  Themistocles saw dozens more wanting to speak. He felt his eyelids droop at the thought of listening to them all. Though he loved them, by Apollo, they burned the hours.

  He knew he could not leave the Pnyx, not without securing what he had come for. Themistocles sighed to himself. One hand hid the other as he tugged one of his fingers and then twisted. The joint popped and dislocated, as it had a dozen times before in his life. It was an old wrestling injury, but the effect was immediate. Pain snapped him back to sharpness and his thoughts flew. He approached the stone again and the epistates gestured for others to take their seats. They had summoned Themistocles, after all. He had the right to speak.

  ‘Thank you, Cimon,’ he said, formally, before raising his great head and voice. Themistocles felt his jaw jut as he looked across his people.

  ‘You have all heard the reports!’ he said. ‘One by one, we have had witnesses traipse their way up here to tell their stories over the previous months and years. Will you deny all of those? Persian soldiers spotted in Macedonia, building camps and forts and cutting roads. A bridge of ships across the Hellespont! An army of such numbers no two men can agree. A fleet of empire, commanded by Xerxes himself, with his brothers as his officers. They come! At last! And they will be met  !’

  They cheered that, some of them, though it was no full-throated roar. They were afraid, he realised. The angry accusations of him having overstepped his authority were all because they were afraid.

  ‘We have people watching in the north,’ Themistocles continued, ‘ready to gallop in with the news. When their army appears, we will march to meet them. Athens and Sparta and Corinth and all the rest of our alliance. An alliance you sent me to secure for the Assembly. If the price of that is Sparta in command, I am willing to pay it – and a thousand times more. I stood as the representative of this Assembly and I gave over the command.’

  ‘What of the fleet?’ someone called in anger.

  Themistocles felt his finger throbbing as the
first pain died away, leaving him drained. He knew the fleet better than any man. It was the source of his authority in Athens, with over thirty thousand employed and paid as rowers. The entire city seemed to work on his ships in some role or other – certainly the bulk of the Assembly. They thanked Themistocles for that wage and took pride in the labour. On that day, it seemed they felt he had given their service to Sparta, that he had thrown them aside like an old lover. Of course, the one thing he could not say was that he had no intention of following a bad Spartan order. No, he realised. He had to say something or he would lose them.

  ‘We will have over three hundred ships in our alliance. A fleet of Hellenes, of rowers and hoplites and archers and bronze rams. I will be there, among you. Cimon, too, will have command of a dozen ships.’

  He looked to the younger man as if in question, though it was all agreed. Only his youth had limited Cimon to so few. Cimon nodded, accepting.

  ‘With me will be Eurybiades of Sparta,’ Themistocles went on. ‘No, gentlemen! Are you geese? You demean yourselves with your hissing, no other! You will treat that name with honour. Eurybiades stands with us, as all Sparta stands with us. There is no place for petty rivalries, not this year. We stand together or we die alone. Understand that! There is no retreat, no place where we can retire to lick our wounds. This Persian king comes for us. He comes to burn, rape and murder. He comes to own, to make all Greeks slaves. I tell you, there is no hiding place.’

  He paused a beat.

  ‘The senior officers will put our fleet where it can bring oars and rams and force of arms to bear. Like a spear thrown to kill a running man, we will send them to the bottom of the sea. Yet in the end, it will come down to the crews. You know it better than I do. When battle is joined, your ships will be on your own, hunting like hawks and leopards. You will hole one enemy and pull back, faster and more cleanly than any of their poor slave rowers. Or you will board and make their decks red, then burn their hulls and go on! Will it matter then whether a Spartan or an Athenian brought you to the battle? You will know I am watching, regardless!’