began to make tiny dots on a piece of velum.
He was making a pattern – a tiny pattern, meticulous and
perfect. Of course, he was a goldsmith, and such men can
always draw.
‘The Persians?’ I prompted him.
He peered at his work. ‘Datis is forming his fleet at Tyre,’ he
said. ‘He intends to have six hundred ships.’
I confess that a curse escaped me, despite my new-found
piety.
‘That’s not the worst of it, son,’ Abrahim continued. He
glanced at his notes, and shook his head with his lips pursed.
‘Datis has approached each of the islands – and al the leaders –
‘Datis has approached each of the islands – and al the leaders –
with money. Gold darics. Sacks of them.’ He looked at his work
again. ‘I saw the money caravan come through from Persepolis –
not three weeks ago. Datis is determined to take Miletus and
break the rebelion – even if he has to buy it.’
‘What of Artaphernes?’ I asked.
Abrahim shrugged. ‘I am an old Jew of Babylon, and I live in
Sardis,’ he said. ‘Don’t ask me about Ephesus. I don’t live in
Ephesus. Datis comes here, and his money and his plans come
on couriers from Persepolis. Artaphernes is a different animal.
He strives to be great. Datis seeks only to win and curry favour.’
‘Artaphernes’ wife is my love,’ I said. Whatever prompted
me to say that, I’l never know.
‘Briseis, daughter of Hipponax?’ Abrahim asked. He looked
up, and our eyes met, and it was as if I was looking into
Heraclitus’s eyes. Eyes that were a gate into the secrets of the
logos. The man had seemed comic, even while bargaining. Now
I felt as if I was in a presence. His eyes stayed on mine. ‘You,
then, are Arimnestos. Ahh.’ He nodded. ‘Interesting. I am
pleased to have met you.’
I shot an arrow at random. ‘You know my master,
Heraclitus,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘I do. Even among the goyim, there are great
men.’ He finished his work, and he sat stil for a moment, and
then he passed his hand over the tiny scrol, roled it tight and put
it in the tube. ‘Like most young men, you are in a war between
the man who acts and the man who thinks. Take my advice and
think more.’ He tucked the scrol tube into the red leather. ‘Six
think more.’ He tucked the scrol tube into the red leather. ‘Six
hundred ships – ready for sea by the feast of Artemis in Ephesus.
Datis wil command them. Gold to every lord on every island –
watch for treason. Understand?’
I nodded. ‘Do I . . . owe you something?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘I am a Jew, boy. The Persians broke my
people, and I wil help any man who is their foe.’
I clasped arms with him, and in his doorway, he caled me
back.
‘I don’t know you, boy,’ he said. ‘But I wil try to give you
advice, nonetheless. Go straight to your own people and never
see her again. My scrol cannot protect you from – from what is
between you.’
I smiled, embraced the old Jew and went back to the agora,
where my shadows picked me up with obvious relief. I let them
accompany me as I bought Philocrates a fine knife, and
Idomeneus a bronze girdle, and my sister a pair of fine scissors –
something the men of Sardis make to perfection. I bought myself
a lacquered Persian bow – and then, on impulse, another for
Teucer. I bought sheaves of arrows, and I bought a horse – a
fine gelding, saddle, bridle and al. It is good to have money.
Buying things makes you feel better when someone has just told
you that the enemy has six hundred ships.
I bored my shadows to complacence, and then I walked
back to Cyrus’s house.
We ate together. Cyrus was quiet and so was I, but we were
good companions, pledging each other’s healths, and saying the
good companions, pledging each other’s healths, and saying the
prayers and libations together.
‘You are as sombre as I am,’ he said at the end of the meal.
‘The rumour of the market says that your Datis has six
hundred ships and a mule train of gold,’ I said.
‘What did you expect, little brother?’ Cyrus asked, and he
was sad – as if the victory of his master was an unhappy event.
‘You cannot fight the Great King.’
I shrugged. ‘Yes we can.’ I thought of the beaches ful of
ships at Samos, and the training. ‘Ship to ship, we can take any
number of Aegyptians and Phoenicians. Were you at Amathus?’
I asked.
He shook his head. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Artaphernes and I were
campaigning in Phrygia.’
I nodded. ‘I took four enemy ships that day, Cyrus. If Datis
gathers six hundred ships, half of them wil be unwiling alies –
like the Cyprians. And after we beat him, the Persian Empire in
Ionia wil be at an end.’
Cyrus shook his head. ‘It is a noble dream,’ he said. ‘And
then al you Greeks wil be free – free to be tyrants, free to kil
each other, to rape and steal and lie. Free of the yoke of Persia,
and good government, low taxes and peace.’ He spoke in quick
anger, the way a man speaks when his son or daughter is
thoughtless at table.
Now I had to shake my head. Because I knew in my heart
that he spoke the truth. The world of Ionia had never been richer
– or more at peace – than when Persia ruled the waves.
‘The freedom you prate of benefits the heroes,’ Cyrus said.
‘The freedom you prate of benefits the heroes,’ Cyrus said.
‘But the smal farmers and the women and children? They would
be happier with the King of Kings.’ He drew his beard down to
a point, twirled his moustache and grunted. ‘We grow maudlin,
little brother. I fear what wil happen when we win. I think there
wil be a reckoning. I think this revolt scared my master, and
even the Great King. Blood wil flow. And the Greeks wil know
what an error they have made.’
I swirled the wine in my handleless cup and felt Persian. But I
had one more arrow in my quiver, despite the way my head
agreed with everything he said.
‘Cyrus?’ I asked, when he had been silent a long time. It was
dark in the garden, and no slaves were coming.
‘I am tired of war,’ Cyrus said.
‘Listen, big brother,’ I said. I was pleased I had received this
honorific from him – that I was part of his family.
He grunted, a few feet away in the dark.
‘If you were Greek, and not Persian, how would you think
then?’ I asked.
He laughed. ‘I would fight the Great King with every weapon
and every lie at my disposal,’ he said.
Persians do not lie.
We laughed together.
In the morning, I rode away after we embraced. I thought
about him as I came to the pass, and I thought about him when I
poured another libation for the dead of the fight there. I thought
about Greece and Persia while I stood in the remnants of ruined
grape vine
s at the top of the hil where the Athenians stopped the
grape vines at the top of the hil where the Athenians stopped the
men of Caria at the Battle of Ephesus, where Eualcidas fel, the
greatest warrior and best man of al the Greeks.
And, of course, I thought about Briseis. About her words,
and her body, and how often the two are at odds.
It is the terrifying error of al boys to think that a woman’s
body cannot lie. That her words may lie, but her kisses are the
truth. Chastity is a myth made by men to defend territory for men
– women care little for it. Or rather, women like Briseis care little
for chastity. Their territory is not lessened when they take a lover
but expanded. They are, in fact, like men who are kilers. They
have learned the thing.
If you don’t know what I mean, I shal not be the one to
burden you.
Then I mounted my little horse and rode down the ridge to
the river, took the ferry above the town and just after supper I
came to Heraclitus’s house.
He embraced me.
I didn’t let him speak, beyond blessing me in the gateway,
and told him that Abrahim the Jew of Sardis sent his greetings.
‘Datis has al the gold of Persia and six hundred ships,’ I said.
‘I have to go to Miltiades. But I need to see Briseis. Wil you
take me to her again?’
He looked at me – a long time, I think. I don’t realy
remember – or perhaps I don’t realy want to remember.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘I must see her,’ I said.
‘I must see her,’ I said.
Even sages make mistakes. ‘Very wel,’ he said.
She sat in the dooryard where the porter would usualy sit, her
face hidden in the dark. Where her father had led me into his
house. Where her mother had first toyed with me. Where
Artaphernes had befriended me. In truth, if the toe can touch the
same water in the stream twice, there were many echoes of the
logos there.
‘You left me,’ she said. And then, in a matter-of-fact voice,
‘And now you return.’
I shrugged. The silence deepened, and I realized that she
couldn’t see me shrug.
‘I ran al the way to Sardis,’ I said. ‘You hurt me,’ I added,
and the honesty of that statement carried more conviction than al
my pretend nobility and al the speeches I’d practised.
‘Sometimes I hate you,’ she said.
I remember that I protested.
‘No – listen to me,’ she said. ‘You have al the life I crave.
You are the hero – you sail the seas, you kil your enemies.
When you feel powerless, you turn and leave. You run to
Sardis.’ She laughed, and it was a brittle sound in the dark. ‘I
cannot leave. I cannot come or go, kil or leave alive. It is greatly
daring of me to come here, to my own gate, but I am a slut and
a trul and a traitoress, and no one wil think worse of me if I
spend the night here, though they may think worse of poor
Heraclitus.’
‘Come with me,’ I said.
‘Come with me,’ I said.
‘So that I can pine for you from your house? Perhaps I could
talk of you with your sister while you make war on the
Persians?’
Only then did I realize that she was crying, but when I went
to her, her strong right arm pushed into my chest – hard – and
she shook her head. Tears flew, and one landed on my cheek
and hung there.
‘Come and be a pirate queen, then,’ I said.
She reached out and caught my hand.
At that contact, everything was healed – or rather, al our
troubles were pushed away. For a few heartbeats.
‘Datis has six hundred ships, or so I’m told,’ I said.
‘This is courtship?’ she asked. ‘He has what he needs to
crush the rebelion. But my husband wil win without him.’
Instead of answering her, I kissed her, being not entirely a
fool.
She returned my kiss with al her usual passion. Our bodies
never indulged in al the foolish pride of our minds. Our bodies
united the way tin and copper make bronze.
But lovers must breathe, and when we separated, she pushed
me away. ‘Datis has more than six hundred ships,’ she said, her
voice a trifle breathy.
I put my hand on her right breast and traced the nipple. She
caught my hand, licked it and pushed it back into my lap. ‘Listen,
Achiles. I am married now to a man. Not that posturing fart you
kiled. Artaphernes is my choice.’
I realy didn’t care. I imagined that she sought power through
I realy didn’t care. I imagined that she sought power through
her marriages, but I was hardly in a mood to say so.
‘My husband stil seeks to reconcile the Greeks to his rule,
but Datis wants them broken. Datis has been promised the
satrapy to be made of Europe when the Greeks surrender. Datis
has enough gold to buy every aristocrat in every city from
Thebes to Athens. The tendrils of his power are felt among the
ephors in Sparta. And he has bought every pirate on the Great
Sea, from Cilicia to Aegypt and Libya.’ She smiled into my eyes.
‘I need to help my husband – see, I don’t even lie. If Datis
triumphs, my husband is the loser.’
Every time she said ‘husband’ was like a blow. A wound.
‘Ah,’ she said, and kissed me again. ‘I never mean to hurt
you like this.’
Then she pushed me away. She put a smooth ivory tube in
my hand. ‘For more than a year I have tried to contact you, you
fool. Artaphernes loves you. He speaks of you. He needs you.
Most of his captains are fools or simple men. With us, you could
be the man you should be. A great man. A lord of men.’ She put
a hand behind my head. ‘Why did you take so long to come to
me?’
Then I felt defeated, and a fool. And my love and my hate
were a deadly brew mixed together.
‘You want me to stay here and serve your husband?’
‘You thought I toyed with you?’ she said, incredulous.
‘No,’ I confessed.
I remember it so wel. If only I had walked away from her. If
only I had never gone to see her.
only I had never gone to see her.
‘I thought you wanted to be rescued,’ I said.
‘You fool!’ she muttered. ‘You need saving. As a pirate –
Achiles as a pirate? Come – come and be with my lord. And
with me.’
‘You spurned me, when I kiled Aristagoras!’ I said. ‘And
now you propose that I should share you with Artaphernes!’ I
shook my head, trying to clear it of the red rage. I had enough
sense to see that if I kiled Briseis, my life would end.
‘I have children!’ she said softly. ‘I have dependants, women
and slaves and family. My brother can’t live without my
protection. You expect me to leave al that, abandon my own, so
that I could live as a farm wife in Boeotia?’ She sat up. ‘I have
said it, Arimnestos – I love you. You, foolish child of Ares. But I
wil not be a farm wife or a pirate’s trul. I have found a way
for
al of us to be happy. The Persians – Artaphernes is the best of
men. And he loves you. And he is not young.’ She smiled. ‘I
have enough honey for both of you,’ she said.
‘Yes,’ I said. I had lived for two days as a Persian, and
honesty was coming a little too easily to my lips. I could see it.
Taste it. Like poison. ‘You could,’ I said, and my contempt was
too obvious.
‘Oh, how I could hate you,’ she said. ‘I should hate you, as
you, by your last statement, have told me that you think I’m a
faithless whore who lies with men for power – and yet you love
me! Which of us is the greater fool?’
I stuck by honesty. ‘I have wronged you,’ I said. ‘But I love
I stuck by honesty. ‘I have wronged you,’ I said. ‘But I love
you. And I don’t want to lose you through pride. Our pride.
Come away with me.’
She stood up. She was tal, and even barefoot her head was
just below mine, and her lips were inches from mine, and she
pressed close.
‘I have offended you, but I love you, and I don’t want to lose
you through pride, either.’ She smiled then, and standing, I could
see her face in the torchlight from the garden. ‘But I wil not be
second to you. You wish to be the hero of Greece? So be it.’
She must have given a sign.
The blow to my head might have been from a rock, or a
sword hilt.
I awoke with a pain in my head like a lance driven into one eye –
the sort of pain boys get from drinking unwatered wine.
Too many blows to the head can add up, and this second felt
as if it had falen directly on the one received from the oars off
Miletus. I couldn’t see very wel. I must have moaned.
‘There he is,’ Philocrates said. ‘You al right, mate?’
They were al around me – my friends. Someone caught my
hand, and I was gone again.
Recovery from wounds is dul story-teling – and not very heroic,
when you find that you’ve been wounded by the woman you
love. Not by any barb of Eros, either. Briseis didn’t hit me
herself – later I learned that it was Kylix – but it might as wel
have been her own hand, and she was never a weak woman.
‘Ares and Aphrodite,’ I cursed.
‘Are both figments of the imaginations of men,’ Philocrates
blasphemed. ‘We thought you were a corpse.’ He grinned. ‘A
pair of slaves brought you to the beach, with that philosopher
you prate about – bony thief of a man!’ he laughed.
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