The Gates of Athens

by Conn Iggulden

  ‘Is that you, Xan?’ Themistocles said, too loud.

  ‘Are you trying to signal the Persians or something?’ Xanthippus hissed at him. ‘Keep your voice down, would you?’

  ‘Oh, they’ll all be snoring by now, I’m sure, ready for tomorrow. As I should be, instead of here, summoned by… Ah, Eurybiades! What an honour!’

  Though no lamps had been lit, moonlight had revealed the navarch rising from the hold. Without a word, the Spartan gestured for them to approach. Xanthippus and Themistocles might have exchanged a glance, but it was too dark.

  Xanthippus heard another boat bump against the side. He hesitated as Themistocles went forward, leaning out to see who it was, then lending an arm. He held it steady as Cimon grasped his hand and sprang up, so lithe and fit Xanthippus felt like an old man in his presence.

  Half a dozen senior officers had been called to the Spartan flagship. Xanthippus followed Themistocles down to a cabin in the bowels of the trireme. Two benches lay alongside a narrow table and a small lamp had been lit, swinging from the timbers above and casting the dimmest of golden glows on their faces. Xanthippus stifled a yawn as he took a seat. He had fought for hours that day and truly lost count of the number of ship actions. He thought if he tried to remember them one by one, he would drift into sleep.

  He bit his lip hard enough to cause him pain, needing to be alert, caught between the desire to check on his crew and his duty there. The truth was, Epikleos and his ship’s captains could see to binding wounds and repairing broken timbers. His role was more than a fighting ship officer. Even so, he felt torn. He had formed bonds with his crew that day and he had felt their confusion as the boat came to take him away.

  ‘Gentlemen, I congratulate you,’ Eurybiades said. He stood before them, wide-shouldered and stern as any tutor.

  ‘Is there wine, Eurybiades?’ Themistocles asked suddenly, perhaps just to be difficult.

  ‘We used the last of it to wash wounds,’ Eurybiades said with a shrug. He opened his mouth to continue, but Themistocles went on immediately.

  ‘What? My dear boy, you should have let me know! I would have brought you some, if only for me to enjoy now. The thought of going in again without a skin or two tomorrow… I won’t be able to enjoy it if I think of you Spartans without even a drop of wine, I tell you.’

  Eurybiades blinked slowly as Themistocles rattled on. The Spartan had never understood his Athenian counterpart. On that night, it was no more than a token effort. Themistocles was almost too weary to argue. Xanthippus saw him smother a yawn when he stopped talking. The Spartan navarch only stared, considering.

  ‘If you have an excess… I would welcome a few skins,’ Eurybiades said slowly. ‘Perhaps you can send your boat back before morning. That is not why I called you here, however.’

  Xanthippus saw Cimon lean forward like a hunting hound as the Spartan went on. He sat straighter himself, while sleep washed along the shore of him, threatening to pull him under. The little cabin was too warm, that was the trouble… He came awake when Themistocles reached across and tapped him hard on the forearm without looking round. The Spartan went on.

  ‘I have had word from my own people. King Leonidas has taken position in the only pass through the mountains. He will hold it against the Persians as they come.’

  ‘Can he block it?’ Themistocles said sharply. ‘The only pass there is the path along the coast. I know it well. It is a little wider than I would have liked, but if the Spartan army has chosen to hold there, perhaps it will serve. Have they sent word to Aristides and the hoplites marching out of Athens?’

  To their surprise, the Spartan did not reply immediately. Eurybiades looked irritated and chewed one side of his lip in a manner less certain than Xanthippus had seen in him before.

  ‘According to the messenger, King Leonidas does not have the full army with him. He has only his personal guard and some thousands of… others, allies and helots.’

  There was a beat of silence before Themistocles asked the question.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The army cannot march during the feast of Apollo.’

  ‘We celebrated that feast a week ago, in Athens,’ Themistocles said, his voice higher than usual. ‘But your king has taken just a few thousand against the entire Persian army?’

  ‘He gave his word,’ Eurybiades said. ‘If Leonidas had to stand there alone, he would. I wish I could be there with him, if my duty didn’t hold me here! My king!’

  He rubbed a hand roughly over his face, so hard he left pale marks.

  ‘The army will come out when the festival ends in three days. It is the will of the gods.’

  Eurybiades glared round as if expecting them to argue. No one said a word and he subsided.

  ‘We did well today. I think we sank or boarded as many as eighty ships. We have lost around forty of our own, with all their crews. I kept my triremes in the heart of the fighting and I saw four of them rammed and sunk as a result. Men I called friends and brothers. A quarter of Sparta’s fleet.’

  ‘And we will do as well again tomorrow,’ Cimon said suddenly.

  The young man seemed to be frowning at the Spartan. Xanthippus looked from one to the other, unsure what was going on.

  ‘No,’ Eurybiades said firmly. ‘The numbers – the losses are too great. If we hold them here, if we do just as well as we did today, we will be worn down to nothing – and they will still have hundreds of ships. Have you ever seen so many?’

  ‘I never thought I would see the day when a Spartan counselled turning his back on an enemy,’ Cimon said softly.

  Themistocles was close enough at the table to lay a hand on the younger man’s arm, stilling any further words from him. Eurybiades froze. His fist clenched on the table before him so that the muscles of his right arm swelled.

  ‘If you knew a little more of war,’ Eurybiades said, ‘you would know a leader may withdraw when the odds are against him – without stain on his honour. He may pull back in good order, to fight again where the odds favour him rather more. Where the land is better or his reinforcements have come. You are a young man and too wet behind the ears to know how to address me. I suggest you note well how Themistocles tapped you on the arm then. Rein yourself in, boy.’

  Cimon had already made his decision before the Spartan had finished speaking. He dipped his head and Themistocles pulled back his hand. Eurybiades went on, his words slow and precise, as if he crafted each one from stone.

  ‘We have seen the size of the Persian army marching south – towards Athens, towards the Peloponnese. King Leonidas stands in their way, though he has only his guard and a few thousand. He cannot hold that pass of Thermopylae, not for long. How many days then before Sparta too has them in sight? If we pull the fleet back tonight, before dawn, we can still protect the peninsula of Sparta – and of Corinth. King Leonidas will not have given his life in vain. I know that coast as well as my own home. We can block them there and prevent them landing.’

  ‘Prevent the fleet landing where they can assault Sparta and Corinth, yes, I see,’ Themistocles said coldly. ‘But what of Athens?’

  ‘We cannot save Athens,’ Eurybiades said. ‘You’ve seen their fleet, you’ve seen the vast stain of them on the land. I have never known as many on the field of war. Athens… is gone. You must realise that by now.’

  Themistocles lost all the lightness of manner from before. He rested his own fists on the table and for a time it seemed they were the only two men in that small room.

  ‘We cannot save Athens because the Spartan army will not march during a festival,’ he said softly. ‘Your King Leonidas swore Sparta would join Athens and Corinth and all the rest of our allies on land – if we held the Persians at sea. That was our arrangement.’

  ‘Never doubt the oath of my king,’ Eurybiades growled. ‘He has given his life rather than break that vow, risking his own honour and worship of the gods! Speak not one word more of Leonidas! The world could fall and he would still be in that pass, wa
iting for the enemy!’

  Eurybiades had half risen from his seat, but he mastered himself and sat down, smoothing his tunic and cloak. After a moment, he spoke again, his voice once more calm.

  ‘My sole concern is for this fleet – facing more ships than I knew existed in the whole world. When they have broken the last of us, where will Athens be then? What of Sparta then, without my ships to keep that coast? I lost a quarter of my fleet today. If tomorrow is the same…’

  He seemed to realise the Athenian had drawn him into an argument and snapped his mouth shut.

  ‘As navarch of the allied fleet, I have given you your orders. I will withdraw the fleet at first light and refuse engagement. Send word to Athens overland if you wish. Tell them to run for the Peloponnese. We’ll make our stand behind the barricades there, on land and at sea.’

  ‘No,’ Themistocles said. His voice was utterly confident and he even smiled as both Cimon and the Spartan looked at him in amazement.

  ‘If you take the ships of Sparta and Corinth with you,’ Themistocles said, ‘it will not be with those of Athens. Not on those terms. Every day we win here is one more the Persians are delayed in whatever plans they have made. That is beyond dispute. I must refuse your order, navarch. I believe you are in error. So – the ships of Athens will remain to block the Persian fleet. We’ll last as long as your King Leonidas, at least.’

  ‘And those of Corinth,’ another voice sounded.

  All eyes turned to the Corinthian. The man only shrugged when Eurybiades glared at him.

  ‘My captains saw no action today,’ the Corinthian said. ‘I won’t go home until we have taken the measure of these Persian crews. Put us in the vanguard tomorrow and set us free to attack. We’ll send these bastards to the deep.’

  There was a growl from the other captains and Eurybiades matched it in frustration, silencing them.

  ‘Either I am in command of this fleet or am I not. Which is it, Athenian?’

  Themistocles said nothing and only waited until the Spartan was certain no one else would speak in that room. Eurybiades gathered himself in cold dignity then, his anger vanishing as he twitched his red cloak into place, ready to rise.

  ‘You command then, tomorrow,’ he said. ‘As you seem to have done today. In time of war, I will make no threats, Athenian. But if we survive this, you and I will find a quiet place and I will make my objections clear to you.’

  ‘Very well,’ Themistocles said.

  He rose as the Spartan stood, out of respect and also in case the man lunged at him. The Spartan’s anger could be read in every quivering line, for all his self-control. Eurybiades left the cabin and the tension seeped away as all eyes turned to Themistocles.

  ‘Eurybiades is a good man… though I think his judgement has been shaken, perhaps by worry for his king. We cannot aid Leonidas by pulling back, only by completing his task. While he holds the pass, we remain. We will give the army time to form.’

  He shook himself, as if moved. Xanthippus could see the effort it took for Themistocles to smile and adopt a more reasonable tone.

  ‘Now, someone whistle up my boat, would you? Look to me for signals tomorrow. We have them bottled up. Win another day. Check your water and make sure the men eat. And get some sleep if you can,’ he said to the captains. ‘We’ll take the fight to them tomorrow. Corinth – you have first rank. Be sure – Sparta and Athens will be watching.’

  They trooped out past Spartan soldiers on deck watch. Xanthippus saw Themistocles lean in to Cimon and paused with the pair of them, waiting for the boats.

  ‘Do you know, Cimon,’ Themistocles said, ‘why good men are thirty years of age before they can be an epistates or a magistrate, or hold any of the council posts?’

  ‘I am sorry. I…’ Cimon began.

  Themistocles spoke over him.

  ‘It is because the twenties are the most perilous years of a man’s life. He is no longer a boy. He feels he is fully grown, that he can be a father and a husband, that he can argue with wit and wisdom and clarity. And he is both right and wrong. If he works hard and well, he will have all the qualities he wins for himself, all coming into glorious season. Yet he lacks the wisdom and experience to temper them. He drinks too much, perhaps. He acts… rashly, perhaps even to the point of arguing with a Spartan navarch on his own ship.’

  ‘You argued with him,’ Cimon said, a note of anger in his tone.

  Themistocles nodded.

  ‘I did, yes.’ He waited until the young man understood that was not his point and deflated.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Cimon said.

  ‘Your father would be proud of the man you are becoming, Cimon. I look forward to seeing you speak in the Assembly, in a free Athens. I pray that you will have the chance.’

  Themistocles heard the bump of boats against the side and leaned over, nodding to men he knew.

  ‘Look for my signals tomorrow,’ he said. ‘It will be a long day – and your father will watch every beat and stroke of it. We cannot let them go through. Leonidas holds the army in the pass. Every day we block them at sea is one more they cannot join up and crush our people. Aristides is already out in the field, gentlemen, with all our hoplites, all our hopes. The Spartans and the men of Corinth will march to join him, when they are ready. We just need to give them time.’

  46

  At dawn, Xerxes watched his scouts come back through the lines. They ran well enough, but their faces showed confusion and fear as they reached the king and prostrated themselves on the sandy ground. The day was cold and the king shivered as he stood with the sea breeze rushing through his standing ranks.

  ‘Report to me,’ Xerxes said.

  Mardonius too had reined in and dismounted, desperate for news. For an entire day, they had sent a number of messages to the Greeks waiting in the pass, offering them a chance to surrender. There was no need to throw away their lives for nothing. The Spartans were renowned for their skill and Xerxes had hoped for a peaceful settlement, perhaps even to meet the king who stood in their centre, with spear and shield, his helmet topped by a high crest of horsehair.

  One of the messengers rose faster than the other two. Xerxes gestured for him to speak.

  ‘Majesty, they have not withdrawn as you commanded. They remain still, across the narrowest part of the coastal path.’

  Xerxes pursed his mouth, biting the soft skin on the inside of his lip. He’d thought it would seem a grand gesture worthy of his father, to agree to spare the small force arrayed against him. By all accounts there were barely enough of them to block the pass. They stood with sheer cliffs on their left shoulders and the sea on the other.

  ‘What are they doing? Just… standing there?’

  ‘They are braiding one another’s hair, Majesty.’

  The words brought a moment of silence as the Persians listened and decided not to look up for the king’s reaction. After a pause, Xerxes spoke again.

  ‘You told them we would blot out the sun with our arrows?’ he said softly.

  The messenger trembled, he saw, as if he had caught an ague in the morning cold.

  ‘Majesty, their king replied that it was good news, as they preferred to fight in the shade.’

  Xerxes nodded.

  ‘I am my father’s son,’ he said, raising his voice. ‘I make war to have the world shake to my steps. Not out of spite or anger, but only because God himself has decreed my right to rule. In my father’s memory, I have sought to show mercy. No more, now. No more.’

  He turned to Mardonius, smiling in a brittle fashion that made him seem made of wax.

  ‘General. Darken the sun as I promised. Then, if any of them still live, send my hazarabam thousands, then another and another. Fill the pass with our soldiers and cut them down. They are just men. Allow no surrender, no grand gestures. The Spartans have refused my mercy. Grind them down, these who dare to stand against me, until there is nothing left.’

  Mardonius grinned as he bowed. He had marched for months to reach
this place. At last, he had an enemy and a purpose.

  ‘Thank you, Majesty. It will be done.’

  Within moments, regiments of archers were jogging forward, their steps a clatter on the broken grey stones of the coast. Xerxes only wished he could see the faces of the Spartan warriors when they understood he had not been making an idle threat. He had thousands of archers and each one carried thirty arrows in a hard quiver. Between them, they could cover the sun.

  Xerxes glanced up at the cliffs. He would have liked to look down as the Greeks were slaughtered, but there was no path visible. The dark crags rose like shadowed blades, impossible to climb, all while the sea crashed against that part of the coast. There was but one way through. He just had to sweep the defenders away.

  Out on the sea, he could see the fleets manoeuvring. In the grey dawn, they readied themselves once more for the day’s labour, for the plunge and spite and savagery of war. Xerxes had brought them to that cold coast, but it was his father’s oath and promise they would enact. The royal house of Persia had remembered the Greeks well enough. Xerxes felt his eyes sting with pride.

  * * *

  The ships of Corinth fared badly against the first ranks of Persian galleys, losing a third of their number before Themistocles furiously ordered them back. He let the gasping crews rest then, sending in fresh galleys of Athens, though his heart pounded at a greater stake than anyone else endured. The allied cities had sent smaller numbers in their fleets, but with almost two hundred triremes fully crewed, the Athenian ships were literally the Assembly at sea – the free men of Athens. Behind them, they had left women and children, the old, the slaves, the foreign metics. Every man who could hold a sword and shield was either in that fleet or marching with Aristides away from Athens. There was no place of refuge, no safe harbour. They either won or they gave up all they were, all they would ever be.