by Roger Hudson
"In politics, there are other considerations, Lysanias. The city has need of men with the skills of Amynias and Inaros, for instance," Perikles continued. "I suggest a spell of preventive detention in the prison alongside Lydos will put sufficient fear into them to make them good citizens in future. Does that sound acceptable?"
"Not very, but I suspect I have no choice."
"I hoped you would realise that." Was that a friendly smile, as though Perikles were accepting Lysanias into his club of conniving politicians? If so, Lysanias wasn't sure he wanted it.
“You promise you’ll make that hard for them?” He tried to shout it but his voice blurted through the bite of bread he had just taken.
“Very hard.”
“And explain that I may take action against them at a future date. So they have something hanging over them?”
“I will interview them myself.”
Was that the promise he wanted? Or a politician being evasive?
“If it makes it easier, I have had to take a step back myself,” Perikles confided. “The whole deal is on condition that General Myronides takes over Kimon’s leadership of the army, the city and the confederacy.”
“But why? You’re the obvious…”
“Too young. Too exposed. Too hated. The aristocrats and the allies are more likely to trust a general of Myronides' age and experience. They think he can control the hotheads.”
Perikles paused, cutting off the note of bitterness in his voice, and for a moment the mask seemed to drop and Lysanias could see that this man was vulnerable too and that he knew how vulnerable he was. Lysanias could sense the politician's deep disappointment and appreciated his struggle not to let it show as his face snapped back to firm self-assurance. So much for his theory that Perikles had manoeuvred events to win the leadership for himself. Or, if he had, he hadn’t succeeded.
Not yet, Lysanias told himself. For this man was clearly ambitious. Perhaps he thought General Myronides would be easy to manipulate. And then, looking inward, Lysanias wondered how he himself had become this cynical. Was this what it meant to be an Athenian? Could he really like himself as someone who saw the world through these jaundiced eyes?
After that, Lysanias dreaded to ask his next question.
"And what about Lydos?" The completion of his vengeance, which had seemed so assured, was slipping out of his hands.
Perikles' personal slave had come in and started dressing Perikles in his dress uniform as a general, breastplate, greaves, scarlet shoulder cape. It made no difference to their conversation. The slave might have been invisible, a non-man, but with each addition, the politician seemed to transform more and more into the statesman, the man who, whatever had been agreed about the nominal leader, knew his would be the intelligence behind the new regime.
"Ah. Well, I don't think you will like this either. The collapse of a major bank at this time could have serious repercussions on much of the city's trade and business. From what you say, Lydos was due to inherit the bank from Phraston, along with his freedom. We know that depositors will accept him, and that he is the only person available who could run it efficiently."
"You're suggesting we let the villain off! Reward him with his freedom!" Lysanias was genuinely astounded.
"After we have let him stew in gaol for a few days with some of the criminals and looters we arrested yesterday, yes, I'm afraid so. I said you wouldn't like it. I realise it may not help, but I'm sure he will be only too willing to offer financial compensation to you for the wrong he has done your family." Lysanias bristled at the suggestion that he might regard money as adequate compensation but tried not to show it.
"It means covering up the real cause of Phraston’s death, maybe presenting it as an accident or natural causes," Perikles continued. "That's why I've sent someone to remove Phraston’s body. I think we can display the body of Aristodikos of Tanagra as the assassin of Ephialtes. Apprehended and killed by a responsible citizen who prefers to remain unnamed."
"You mean I don't get any credit for all this? I can't tell anyone?" Lysanias wasn't sure he had wanted credit, but it did seem an inadequate outcome for all the worry, stress and sheer effort of uncovering his uncle's killer and Ephialtes’. Was this adequate revenge for brutal murder?
"I assure you a lot of important people will be told, but they will never mention it. That can only rebound to your credit, when you decide to take a role in politics yourself."
These Athenians were all the same. It was a gentle bribe but it was a bribe, Lysanias was sure. His pay-off for keeping his mouth shut. But, as he had said, he had no choice, if he didn't want to be driven out of the city himself. But it wouldn’t do. It wasn’t enough.
“No,” he blurted out. “No. It won’t do. I want revenge. Klereides’ spirit demands revenge. These men are tainted with the miasma of murder. The city cannot allow them to wander freely into public places and temples, polluting all they meet, the whole city, drawing down the wrath of the gods on us all. Surely you can’t allow that!”
The politician seemed to be drawn up short by Lysanias’ righteous anger. Perhaps he didn’t have the faith in the gods that someone in his position should have. Lysanias had heard that there were doubters, new philosophies.
“Ah yes, maybe I was forgetting the religious angle,” Perikles responded after a brief pause. “If you don’t mind my saying so, as you grow older, you may find it necessary to question whether some of these ancient beliefs, the ill-matched divinities are really an adequate explanation of why the world is as it is, but I would agree that a large proportion of the populace do share your fears, so we must pay attention to that.”
Lysanias’ own father had occasionally laughed at superstitions and the more implausible of the stories surrounding the gods but this was much more disturbing. However the politician went on before Lysanias could think about it further. Now he suggested, “Voluntary exile. They will be, ah, ‘encouraged’ to take a period of voluntary exile to cleanse the city and themselves. After we have ensured competent successors to handle their duties, of course.”
“No, now! And Lydos. You won’t do that with Lydos, will you? The man has no real remorse yet you want to reward him with his freedom. He could kill again. Do you want that?” He was overstepping the mark, as a very young man he knew he was overstepping the mark. But Perikles took it – and had an answer.
“I was coming to that. We can arrange a course of scourging and starvation and physical labour, which you can have a hand in approving and that I’m sure you will see as suitable punishment and expiation. After all, he is a slave and was possibly acting under instruction and will doubtless say so. It will be assumed by the court anyway. So action would have to be taken against his owner, to whom any pollution would presumably attach, but he is dead. If he acted on his own account, his master would still be liable for any penalty. So we have a clear problem here.
“If he stays, he clearly has to be under close control. With his master dead and no heirs we are aware of, his ownership now falls to the city as does that of the bank. We can refuse Phraston’s posthumous manumission and give Lydos and the bank to a responsible citizen who will exercise the necessary control.”
Lysanias didn’t like where this was leading.
“Me, you mean me,” he cried out, his voice coming out as a shriek. “You ask me to associate on a daily basis with the agent of my uncle’s murder?”
“I’m sure you could delegate that task to that very capable slave of yours. Sindron was it?”
“But Sindron would…”
“I’m sure you will be able to find ways of ensuring that Lydos does not enjoy the fruits of his crimes.” The now fully-uniformed general paused, turning away to enjoy a final olive, as though to give Lysanias time to think. Lysanias felt penned into a corner, as though he had asked for this. It was unbelievable. Could Perikles really offer this? To give one of the city’s largest banks to an inexperienced young man of eighteen who has been in the city for only a few days
? He felt flattered but doubtful. How much power would this man really have now?
“You really think you could…I could…?”
“I wouldn’t suggest it if I didn’t. We have time. Think it over for a few days.”
Lysanias expressed the one thought that tormented him. “But, if he isn’t tortured, we’ll never know the whole truth, who was and wasn’t involved.”
“Ah, well our experience is that slaves confess to anything and everything under torture. Truth doesn’t really come into it.”
“But….”
After the cynicism, a softer, more avuncular tone came into Perikles’ voice as he advised, “Sometimes it may be better not to know.”
Lysanias realised that meant he could in the future have to meet and talk and do business citizens who had had a hand in his uncle’s murder or that of Ephialtes. Could he live with that?
“But think it over.”
"Very well. I have come to appreciate that politics entails compromise." That's putting it mildly, Lysanias thought to himself. It entails conniving, deceit, conspiracy, deception, self-seeking, bribery, blackmail, pressurising – where did the list end?
"Good man!" A look in his eyes betrayed that the leader felt genuinely relieved. "Believe me, this is the best solution. Great Athene will approve." His slave placed Perikles' great bronze crested helmet on his head, the helmet that was shaped like the one depicted on statues of great Athene, the helmet that hid completely the peculiar shape of Perikles' cranium. This man is a leader, thought Lysanias, even if he is obliged to stay in the background for a while. Though, whether he himself would feel comfortable being led by someone who could think and manipulate the way that Perikles did, he wasn't sure.
Lysanias said no more. He didn't like what he had agreed to, but, in its roundabout way, it did resolve matters. And he had proved his manhood. If Perikles wasn't lying, important people would hear about what he had done and that should mean they would pay him more respect than they had so far, more respect than they normally gave to men of his age.
***
As Perikles set off on horseback to meet up with Myronides and the other generals to talk with the troops returning from Sparta, Lysanias followed as far as the Sacred Gate from which ran the road to Eleusis, Megara and Corinth. They were joined by an increasing number of curious and still worried citizens, unsure, he imagined, whether they would be called on to welcome or resist the hoplites reported by the lookout on the gate tower above as now visible in the far distance.
Lysanias noted that, as the generals made the necessary libations to Hermes of Travellers at his shrine by the inner gate, for their short but very important journey, Myronides insisted on taking the precedence that was now his due, with Kimon alongside him and Perikles quite low in the ranking. It looked as though Perikles wouldn’t have it all his own way in future. He mused that this might be the last time that Kimon would ever wear the full panoply of an Athenian general and couldn’t help feeling sympathy for the deposed hero, though not without a tinge of guilt.
As the generals advanced to meet the troops away from the city, Lysanias opted to walk home through the bustling early morning streets, surprised that life seemed to be going on normally. He felt at peace with himself but wasn’t sure why. He had achieved something against the odds. He had unearthed the killers of his uncle but failed to achieve the full revenge the gods and his uncle’s soul demanded, though the actual killer was dead, the man who would have paid the killer was dead, those who had most supported him would shortly be exiled or as good as. The others involved would be punished, if not as much as he would have liked. That was a lot. He hoped the gods would accept it as all that an 18-year-old novice could be expected to achieve and forgive him for the shortfalls. More important that they would grant Klereides’ soul the rest it craved.
Then, with something like elation, he realised he had also survived in the vipers’ nest of Athenian politics, kept his household intact and earned respect at least in some quarters. Was that enough? At 18, it felt enough. At least now he could devote himself to the mourning due his dead uncle and the rites of purification for his own infringements of his religious duties.
He allowed himself to think forward to his marriage to beautiful Philia, and, beyond that, to having nothing more to do with his time than be master of the household, manage his investments, exercise his body in the gymnasium and his mind in the Academy gardens, and do whatever military training was required of him.
And his mother, his family in Eion, why did he keep forgetting them? He must see they were alright, maybe bring them to Athens out of harm’s way. Now he could even use his money to fund a proper search to find out if his father really was dead or still alive somewhere, though he was finding it easier to accept now that he might be dead. And he really must make contact with his mother’s parents, even if they were from a class different from the one of which he was now so firmly a part.
Lysanias thought over the compromises he would have to make in his personal life. Now, on Perikles' logic, maybe Makaria and Otanes had been punished enough, but he really wanted them out of the way. If he sent them to look after the farm, that would achieve that, and there would be less chance that Makaria would disgrace the family by her affair being discovered.
That left him without a steward in the house in Athens. Would that post be a sufficient bribe to persuade Sindron not to ask for his freedom yet? Lysanias didn't feel he could do without Sindron around and the old man really had proved himself a great friend as well as a loyal servant. He’d need him even more if he did become owner of Phraston’s bank. Maybe, if he were to encourage the relationship that seemed to be developing between Sindron and Glykera, his slave would feel bound to the house? He realised he was thinking like an Athenian politician but, perhaps, living in Athens, one had to, merely to survive. After all, he had promised, but that would mean Sindron would be free to leave him, go away.
Rounding a corner, Lysanias saw Sindron coming to meet him, though it took a second look to be sure it was really his slave. The tidy hair and beard and neatly- draped cloak bore little resemblance to the straggly unkempt style he had known all his youth. Gone too was the slight stoop and shuffling gait. Although, at his age, Sindron must be even more exhausted than Lysanias felt, this Sindron strode confidently ahead, back straight, head erect, with a sprightly step, with no staff or stick to support him, though the slight limp was still there as he stepped carefully to avoid horse, mule and oxen dung. True there was also a wariness in the way he looked at his surroundings but he seemed alert, eager. The assurance was more that of a citizen rather than a slave, of which the only sign was the slightly subservient way he stood aside in deference to any oncoming citizens.
How could anyone change that much in a few days? But, then, he knew that he himself was no longer that eager and innocent youth who trotted down the gangplank at Peiraieos seven long days ago. It seemed a lifetime, so much had happened.
He hoped Sindron felt that the changes were for the better. That his master had become more mature, better able to deal with the challenges that lay ahead but recalled ruefully the impetuosity with which he had rushed alone into the trap at the dye-works. He still had a lot to learn, as Sindron would doubtless remind him. And he still had to tell Sindron what had passed with Perikles. The old man’s sense of rightness, of justice would be outraged he knew. But Sindron seemed to be coming to appreciate the ways of this world, so he would see through to aspects Lysanias had missed and give his usual sound advice. It was good to have him close.
Then Lysanias remembered Perikles' parting words.
"I must say I admired the way you went about investigating your uncle's death. Very impressive. The city needs concerned citizens determined to seek out evidence and bring charges against wrongdoers who have offended against the common good..."
The politician had left the words hanging, but his implication was clear. Well, it won't be me, thought Lysanias, I've done enough investigating fo
r a lifetime.
HISTORICAL NOTE
Something very like a revolution happened in Athens in 461BC, taking power out of the hands of the aristocrats. It made possible the development of the radical democracy in Athens, the growth of the Athenian Empire and all the artistic, architectural and intellectual achievements we associate with the Golden Age of Athens, which has played such a vital part in Western civilisation generally. Yet very little is actually known about it.
Most of what we do know about events at this time comes from writers who lived somewhat later, who are not regarded as entirely reliable - Aristotle in his “Constitution of Athens”, 130 or more years later, (which may have been written by one of his pupils) and Plutarch’s “Greek Lives”, about 550 years later (who relied heavily on gossip and anecdote but did draw on other historians whose work no longer survives). Otherwise it is mainly deduction from inscriptions and from surviving fragments of artefacts. So, in trying to rebuild this fascinating society and its events, I am speculating no more than the historians. In fact, it proved a complex detective exercise in itself piecing together likely events and attitudes from snippets of evidence.
Of the major events, we know that, in this year, instigated by Ephialtes, the Assembly voted to reduce drastically the powers of the Areopagos and create real direct democracy of all citizen males over 18, that Kimon was sent home humiliated by the Spartans, that his elite troops (all citizens) were held up at Corinth, that he tried to get the reforms reversed, failed, and was ostracised (banished for ten years), that Ephialtes was assassinated, that Perikles was associated with him in some way, and that a man from Tanagra named Aristodikos was blamed for the assassination. There is no record of an attempted coup, though it seems highly probable, nor of a riot after the ostracism vote, though not unlikely.
How long this took or the precise order of events we don’t know.